Author's Note: So this chapter and the next were actually supposed to be one chapter, but it got obnoxiously long and I had to split it into two. The good news is, we get two chapters of Matt POV! Which you may not be as excited about as I am, but seriously, I love writing as this guy. XD Had to write Mello's family in this one, which wasn't easy and I had to do a lot of rewrites, but I think they came out okay… Meh, good enough, at least.

Thank you as always to my readers, reviewers, and followers! As I always say, "Some people think I don't suck." And isn't that all you really need?

Disclaimer: Blah blah blah, I don't own Death Note, blah blah blah, something witty, blah.

Secret Admirer

Chapter Nine: Perfect

When he woke up on Sunday afternoon, he was eighteen years old and a legal adult, so he did what any new adult would do: he ate a huge bowl of Lucky Charms. After all, what was the point of being an adult if it didn't allow him to eat sugar-coated goodness no matter the time of day?

Never mind the fact that he had already been doing that for the past several years. Today, he was eating Lucky Charms as a grown-up, and that was special, right?

After he finished, he rinsed out his bowl and put it in the dishwasher. There was a card waiting on the dining room table for him, with his name in his father's handwriting on the envelope; he opened it, smiling at the cartoon animals on the front. His dad still tried. Even if he couldn't bear to actually be home for his son's birthday, he was still trying, and Matt could appreciate that. Besides, the sizeable check inside was a nice bonus.

Retreating back to his room, Matt hunted his cell phone out from the pile of crap spread across his desk. The little light in the corner was blinking, and he unlocked the screen to see two texts. The first, surprisingly enough, from Near—a quick, plain message wishing him a happy birthday, but he was still proud of the little albino for initiating human contact. The other, of course, was from Mello.

"Good morning—ah, who am I kidding? Good afternoon, Sunshine! Whenever you manage to drag your eighteen-year-old ass out of bed, let me know. Oh, and happy birthday, jackass."

Rolling his eyes at the sentiment, Matt tapped the keyboard open. "Yes, I am a responsible adult like you now, Mello!" he wrote back. "When do I get to learn the secret handshake? Before or after you teach me how to subsist solely on chocolate and rage?"

A few minutes passed—long enough for him to boot up his computer and load a game to keep him occupied—before his phone buzzed.

"It's your birthday, so I'll hold back my 'fuck you' for now," he read. "Heading over to L's now. Want to meet me there, or at my place?"

Matt thought about that for a moment, then typed back. "I'll meet you at L's. It's been a while since I've seen your creepy detective."

"He's not creepy," came the too-fast response. Matt could practically see the indignant scowl on his friend's face, and it made him laugh.

"Dude, I've never seen the guy blink. I have, however, seen him eat his weight in frosting," he typed, hitting send. "I mean, I know you think he's the Second Coming or something, but damn. Our Lord and Savior is gonna get the beetus before the Rapture comes at this rate."

"Just be here at 5, asshole."

"Think he'll let me have a piece of his cake since it's my birthday?" Matt wrote back, just to be obnoxious... not that he was completely kidding. That guy did always seem to have the best cake. He took his sweets very seriously.

"You can try to take one, but you're likely to lose a hand."

"Meh, I can learn to play my games with my toes."

"You're aware that getting weirder in your old age, right?"

"Aware and proud, baby!"

There wasn't a response after that, and Matt grinned and shook his head. For all the crap that he gave his friend about L's bizarre behavior and Mello's hero worship of him, he did like the detective. The guy was cool, in a weird, socially inept way. Matt could appreciate that. It would be good to see him again.

In the meantime, he popped some Professor Layton into his 3DS to get himself in the proper mood.


Matt knocked on the door to the L&L Investigations detective agency at just a little before five o'clock. He heard some muffled cursing coming from inside—yep, Mello was definitely in there—and a moment later, the door swung open. Mello, standing on the other side, gave him a bewildered look.

"Critical thinking is the key to success!" Matt announced cheerfully, grinning and adjusting his top hat.

"…Okay, what the fuck are you on?" the blond asked with a sigh of exasperation.

"Nothing, I wasn't sure if they did drug tests here…" Matt said, shrugging, as he stepped inside.

"They're detectives, Matty, not the fucking police."

"Well, now I know for next time, then."

"Uh huh," Mello said, closing the door and giving him the sort of look that said, "I don't care if you're my best friend and it's your birthday, I will end you if you embarrass me in front of my hero." But Matt was already wearing a top hat and goggles, so really, Mello was kind of screwed on that front.

Matt looked around the place as he followed his friend into the main office. The place was as nice as he remembered it—hardwood floors with fancy rugs, well-maintained antique furniture, and plush chairs in the waiting area. Pity about the clutter, but then, that was what Mello was here to help with, and if it gave his friend a way to stay out of trouble one day of the week, hey, who was he to complain? Anyway, it was definitely the kind of place that he could see fancy rich people coming into for help finding their lost purebred lapdog, but he knew that L did much, much more than that.

And if he knew that much in part because he had done a thorough investigation of his own on L's background and work (using some not-entirely-legal methods) when Mello first started these visits, who was to know?

"So, where's Sherlock?" he asked, eyeing a candy dish on the reception desk. Even that was nice, all crystal and shiny. He reached over and grabbed a Jolly Rancher.

"I suppose that would be me," said a voice from one of the other rooms, sounding vaguely amused. "Hello Matt. It's been a while. Oh, and happy birthday."

Matt turned, grinning as his gaze fell upon quite possibly the strangest person he'd ever had the bizarre pleasure of meeting. He was thin and pale, and he stood hunched over, with long, spindly arms and hands shoved into baggy jeans. His hair was a riot of black spikes, as if it hadn't been combed out in days and he'd just rolled out of bed. But the most striking thing about him was his eyes. Coal-black and deep as oceans, they stared at Matt, stared through him, and he could definitely tell how so many criminals ended up faltering beneath the intensity of that stare.

But for him, L just smiled—an expression possibly as disturbing as his calculating gaze, just for different reasons—and pulled one hand out of his pocket, extending it towards Matt. The redhead shook it amiably.

"Hey, L," Matt said. "How's it hangin'?"

"It hangs well," L said, eyeing him curiously. "The top hat is new, is it not?"

Matt reached up to tip his hat at L in his most gentlemanly manner, beaming. "Every puzzle has an answer," he said gleefully, and L tilted his head slightly, like an owl. Somewhere to his right, Mello groaned.

"I suppose that's true," L said agreeably. "How did that computer build end up working for you, by the way? The one that you were mentioning last time you were here?"

"Like a dream, man," Matt answered, a blissful looking crossing his face. He was dimly aware that this was the sort of expression normal guys made over the hot girl in class, but how could anything be hotter than a custom-built computer with a top of the line processor, three monitors, and way more RAM than even he could possibly ever need? "That baby is a freakin' beast. Handles everything I throw at her without breaking a sweat, and she looks sexy as hell doing it."

"I am so very disturbed right now," Mello grumbled, going back to the (inferior) computer in the corner that he had been working at and organizing the massive stack of papers beside it. Matt cackled from the sheer joy of torturing his best friend.

L still looked thoughtful, though, and Matt could practically see the data being calculated and analyzed behind those dark eyes. The man was nearly a computer himself—Matt supposed that that was one of the reasons he didn't mind the detective's company, and why he found him so interesting… But still, he had to wonder what conclusions the man was drawing about him when he got that look on his face, and the thought sent a strange shiver up his spine.

Ah, well. He was sure he'd learn eventually if it was anything important.

Finally, black eyes blinked and turned away from him—calculations complete—to settle on the blond in the corner. "You are just about done now, aren't you Mello?" L asked, and Mello nodded.

"Yeah, there are just a few more files left—it'll be enough to keep Light off your back for a bit, anyway," the blond said, grinning. "But I can come back sometime after school this week, just to finish up, if that's okay."

"Ah, my thanks," L said, and there was a sincere note of gratitude in his voice. From what Matt had heard, this Light guy was kind of a pain in the ass. "For now, go enjoy your afternoon."

"Sure," Mello said, shoving a huge sheaf of papers into his backpack before zipping it up and shouldering it. "I guess I'll see you later, then. Bye, L!"

L waved them off, and Mello led him back out towards the front door. Matt followed obediently, more than happy to get home to Mrs. Keehl's famous Sunday dinner.

"Oh, and Matt?" L called out, and the redhead paused and turned around. The man was staring at him, the corners of his lips still quirked up just slightly in that disturbing manner of his. "Feel free to come back any time, if you'd like."

Matt grinned. "Thanks," he said. "I may just do that."


"Mom, I'm home!" Mello called as he opened the front door, his voice echoing off of the high ceiling in the foyer. "And I brought Matt with me!"

Matt breathed deeply as he followed his friend in, kicking off his shoes by the door. The place already smelled heavenly, like spices and roast meat and those weird little dumplings that he loved so much. His stomach growled, and he was suddenly very grateful that Mello had talked him into coming over rather than spending the day at home, most likely trying to eat an entire cake by himself just because no one was there to stop him.

And there, coming towards him like a vision, was the cooking goddess herself—a tall, solidly-built woman with a tumble of blond curls, just a shade darker than her son's, and deep brown eyes. She wore an apron over her jeans and sweater, and a familiar rosary around her neck, and she smiled when she saw him, her face lighting up.

"My other son!" she exclaimed, enfolding him in a hug. Matt grinned, hugging back and inhaling the scent of flour and vanilla. There was a charming lilt to her voice, a remnant from the old country, and Matt would always associate that sound and those smells with warmth and light and home. "Happy birthday, Matt! Ah, you are an adult now, just like my Mihael! How could we let that happen?"

"Time machine didn't work out," Matt said apologetically as they parted. "I'll keep working at it for you, though."

"I would settle for seeing more of you in the present, you know," she said, chiding without nagging in that way that moms do. "You should come over for more dinners. I miss you, and Mihael is less of a belligerent hellion when you are here."

"Thanks, Mom," the aforementioned hellion grumbled as he looked on, rolling his eyes. "I'm only standing right here."

"Yes, and you haven't yet thrown a tantrum or started complaining, because Matt is here," she said, raising an eyebrow at her son. "Perhaps you would even like to help me by setting the table, since you seem to be in a good mood?"

"I can help!" Matt volunteered, raising a hand enthusiastically.

"Kiss-ass," Mello muttered at him, earning a light smack on the shoulder from his mother.

"Play nice, Misha," she said lightly. Giving Matt one last hug—and reaching up to adjust his top hat, as if that were an everyday occurrence—she turned back towards the kitchen and the all of the amazingness therein. "The roast will be done in five minutes, boys. I expect that will be plenty of time to set the table, yes?"

"Yeah, sure," Mello said, sounding exasperated, but Matt could see the fond smile hovering at the corners of his mouth. It was practically microscopic, probably not noticeable to the average human, but the redhead was pretty well-attuned to his friend's emotions. Like a dog with high-pitched sounds.

Which was why when he slung his arm around Mello's shoulders and said, "Yeah, Misha, let's go set the table," he knew that he was about to get a not-so-fond elbow to the ribs. He was practically psychic.

"You know the rules," he said, glaring. "She can call me whatever the hell she wants because she birthed me. You did not birth me, so you may call me 'Mello' or 'Supreme Overlord.' That's it."

"Awww, but Misha sounds so much cuter!" Matt gushed, pulling his friend towards the dining room. Mello wasn't fond of his real name, Mihael, or the Russian shortening of that name, and most people didn't know that he had not been born a Mello. As his best friend, Matt was privileged to have that information, and he loved using that privilege to be as obnoxious as possible. "I swear, I can't wrap my tongue around the Russian language at all, but the nicknames are freakin' adorable!"

"Yeah, and that's why you don't get to use it. Ever," Mello stressed, flicking him in the forehead.

"Not even when we're alone?"

"Especially not when we're alone."

"Why 'especially'?"

"No witnesses, it would be too tempting to murder you," Mello said with a shrug. "And then who would fix my computer when it breaks down?"

"Aw, you do love me!" Matt said, laughing gleefully as he grabbed the plates.

Mello gave him a strange look, then opened the cutlery drawer and gazed contemplatively therein. "Ever wonder how much damage you could do to someone with a butter knife?" he asked.

Matt proceeded to shut the hell up.


Keehl Family Dinner was as good as he remembered it.

Trays of pure ambrosia were laid out on the dining room table, and lest there be any doubt that this feast was in Matt's honor, all of the redhead's favorites were there. There were even enough weird dumplings (which he was told had an actual name, but they would always just be "weird dumplings" to him) that he and Mello didn't have to fight over them. Of course, they fought over them anyway, piling unreal amounts onto their plates as quickly as possible, while Mrs. Keehl smiled indulgently and gently reminded them to eat their vegetables, as well, or they wouldn't get dessert, and her threat was so perfectly 1950's-housewife that Matt had to obey.

Even Mello's father, who was some sort of bigwig international businessman and rarely ever home, showed up halfway through the meal. He gave Matt a warm hug and a "happy birthday" before filling his own plate with whatever scraps he and Mello had left behind. They chattered politely about school and work and Mello's college applications—simple, little things, but the pure Rockwellian nature of it all made Matt smile. Even Mello was behaving and making pleasant conversation, which was a damn miracle. Matt said as much, and got a roll chucked at his head for his trouble.

Then came dessert—and oh gods, what a dessert! A cake with eighteen candles and what seemed like inches of chocolatey frosting, topped with strawberries so perfectly ripe that Matt had to wonder where Mrs. Keehl had found them in February. Mello, predictably, was in heaven, his eyes rolling back into his head as he took a bite from the huge slice he'd cut for himself, and if they had been alone, Matt would have made some seriously fucked-up jokes about the blissful, quasi-orgasmic look on his face. As it was, he just snickered quietly and took a bite of his own… then, realizing just how good it really was, had to stop himself from making a similar expression. It was definitely worth eating his vegetables for, that was for certain.

And just to top it all off, Mr. and Mrs. Keehl had gotten him a present.

He tore excitedly through the shiny blue paper and opened the box beneath, pulling out a tan coat with a faux-fur trim. It was definitely nicer than what he usually wore—but then, what he usually wore was practically falling apart at the seams. But it was more than just its ability to stay together without hasty patch-jobs. It suited him, and it had been chosen for him by people who knew him well enough to recognize that. He loved it immediately.

"Thank you," he said quietly, a wide smile spreading across his face as he stroked the velvety-soft lining.

"Now, I know that we're giving it to you late in the season," Mrs. Keehl started, "but it will be chilly for a few months yet, and there's a bit of room to grow, so you can wear it next winter, too."

Mr. Keehl chuckled as he sipped at his after-dinner tea. "Liza, he's eighteen. I think he's done growing by now."

She arched one delicate eyebrow at her husband. "He is too skinny, Maksim," she said adamantly. "He and Mihael both. I've given up on Mihael by now, he has your wretched metabolism, but Matt… Well, a few good dinners could do wonders for him by next winter…"

Mello nudged Matt with his elbow. "Watch out, Matty," he stage-whispered. "She's gonna try to fatten you up. You've read Hansel and Gretel, right?"

"And who would be the witch in this analogy, Misha?" Mrs. Keehl asked sharply, making Mello wince and mutter some half-assed explanation while his father laughed at his misfortune.

Matt, absorbing it all, shrugged into the new coat. It fit perfectly.

Everything was perfect.

And for a moment he wished, with every fiber of his being, that he could hold onto this night forever.

But all dinners had to end sometime.

End Chapter Nine

Author's End Note: …dun dun dun, I guess? ^^; Also, for anyone who is reading this and thinking to themselves, "Wow, this bitch knows nothing about Russian names," you would be correct! From what I understand, Misha should be the shortening of Mihael (though hard to gauge since it's kind of a made-up name), but I could be very, very wrong. But seriously… isn't Misha the cutest nickname? Doesn't it make him sound like an adorable kitten or something? Yes. It does. And I find that hilarious, and so does Matt, because he is not an adorable kitten, he is a disgruntled-ass budding sociopath. And his name is Misha. (Someone make this into a children's book, please.)

Anyway, hope you liked it. Part Two of Matt's birthday next time. Please review if you can, and keep reading if you can stand it!