I went to the club for the next two nights. Each time the sofas were unoccupied—I was afraid to go sit there myself, or they might see me and leave before I got a chance to grab Mello. I hung out at the bar, guzzling coke like it was my life source. I normally didn't like soda very much, but I was afraid that if I started drinking something alcoholic that I'd just keep asking for more until I was plastered, then I wouldn't even be able to notice if Mello showed up or not.

I was originally concerned that the bartender might be upset that I was loitering without buying anything expensive, but he could care less. It was a weeknight and the club wasn't very busy. My fake ID wasn't even glanced at twice at the door; they probably wouldn't have even cared if I'd given my real age. It was just 'that part of town.'

These few nights gave me plenty of time to consider what I was going to do when I saw Mello. He would no doubt be with his mafia buddies, so I figured that I'd have to somehow get him alone. The gun in my vest reminded me that I could be subtle but forceful to get him away from the crowd. All I had to do was press the gun against his back, and threaten to blow a hole through him if he didn't come along quietly. He didn't have to know it was me. All I had to do was kidnap him, and then I'd have my best friend back. I didn't really know what his reaction would be, to be honest, but I knew I wasn't letting him get away from me again.

By the third consecutive night, I was already known by name around the club. The bartender slid me a coke when I sat down, and I settled in for another long night of waiting and disappointment. I'd brought two packs of cigarettes with me because I needed something to do. Smoking kept me occupied and a little calmer, at least.

I hunched down into the fur of my vest collar, the club looking a little darker through the tinge of my goggles. I studied the patterns in the wood of the counter. I wondered if Near was watching me now through the cameras, laughing at my lack of success. I wasn't going to give up hope yet. I sucked more smoke into my lungs, absorbed in my thoughts. What would I say to him when I finally saw him? Would he reject me?

"Can I get a couple of vodkas? Yeah, thanks." I couldn't help but stiffen in my seat at the sound of the voice. It came from the other end of the bar, but despite the space between us, I'd heard it like he was whispering in my ear. A little gruff, deeper, but smooth as melted chocolate.

I dared to tilt my head to the side a little, and I could clearly see the couches out of the corner of my; some men were standing around them, seeming to have just arrived, talking amongst themselves. And there was Mello, at the bar. Shit, he looked better in person than on a surveillance camera.

He was taller now, hair a little shaggier than when we were young, but otherwise the same. He was clad in black leather; I wondered if it was sticky against his skin, like the leather in Wammy's limos. Wasn't it uncomfortable? I caught a glint in his eyes as he stared forward, icy blue as always. There was something different about him that I couldn't quite place. A sharpness, and a tension that had been absent in our youth.

I was already getting to my feet, leaving a few generous bills on the counter to pay for the service. I made a wide horseshoe to get to the other side of the bar, my eyes never leaving Mello. He seemed impatient, waiting for the drinks he'd ordered, tapping his fingers on the counter.

I steeled myself; I could do this. So I pulled out my gun, warm from being pressed against my side all night, and took a deep breath. I walked confidently up behind Mello, pressing the gun against his lower back, making sure it wasn't noticeable to anyone nearby. He visibly stiffened. "Just act normal." I tried to make my voice deeper so he wouldn't recognize me. "Come with me and I won't shoot."

"Matt?!" He hissed.

Ah crap, how'd he know it was me? I looked up—I'd been looking at his back—only to see that there was a mirror behind the bar that Mello was looking at me through. He met my gaze through the mirror, looking livid. I looked a little like a deer caught in the headlights.

I opened my mouth to respond, but saw another figure in the mirror behind me, a gigantic man who was lifting something up, a gun, and hit me right on the head with the butt of the pistol.

I don't remember much after that.


When I came back to consciousness, which was a slow process, several things became apparent fairly quickly. The first was that I was no longer in the club. I knew this for several reasons; one being that the ceiling in the club didn't look so crumbly and cracked. (Why am I looking at the ceiling?) Also, it was too quiet to be the club, and the air didn't reek of smoke and alcohol.

I also realized that my head ached like no other, and I tried to move an arm to touch it and check for blood. My fingers came back clean, but I noticed that my forearm was haphazardly bandaged, and some blood was leaking through. How the hell had that happened? It didn't really hurt; my headache was more of a problem than my mysterious arm injury. I felt like I had a really, really bad hangover.

The next thing I noticed—and this was a slow realization, mind you—was that I was naked. Since I wasn't exactly coherent at this point, I figured, oh great, I'd been raped. And they hadn't even had the decency to let me be awake and enjoy it!

I started to push myself up, but my head was spinning something awful. It took a moment to get my bearings, and I realized that I was on a bed. (This just reinforced the rape theory.) But wait, I'd been with Mello. And that freaking giant had hit me in the head. Why would they rape me?

I checked myself for bodily fluids, and found none other than some drool that had been dribbling out of the side of my mouth. So that pretty much ruled out rape, although I still had no idea why I was naked. Or why my arm was bleeding. I was afraid to unwrap the bandage and find out.

When the room finally stood still long enough for me to see up from down, I realized that I was in a bedroom. (That would explain the bed—although, like I said, not exactly coherent right now. Even geniuses get confused when suffering from head injuries.) It was dark, and I realized that it was because there were no windows in the room. This struck me as odd, but I couldn't ponder it for very long without risking brain damage.

The room was small, the bed being the largest piece of furniture in it. Across from where I sat was a door, and to my left another door. Both were shut. Next to the first door was a dresser, and next to the bed a bedside table. It was all freakishly normal, apart from the lack of windows and cracks in the ceiling. There wasn't anything personal in the room though, not even artwork on the walls.

I crawled off the bed, taking my time in doing so; I didn't need to fall on my face and risk further injury. I used the wall as support, going to the door to my left, seeing as it was closer. The doorknob turned under my hand, and I was unconsciously holding my breath as I pushed it open—to be met with a bathroom.

I realized that I really had to pee, so this might have been a blessing. I went to the toilet, lifting up the seat. It was pretty gross, and I wondered if they had hard water or what because the stains were disgusting. After I was done I washed my hands with the soap and studied myself in the mirror above the sink. Other than being naked and my arm bleeding through the bandage, I looked relatively normal. I missed my goggles, and wondered if I'd be getting my stuff back soon. (I wasn't so concerned for my life at this point. They could have killed me already if they wanted me dead.)

I tried to part my hair and look for a bump, but I couldn't find an exact spot. It just hurt all over. Sighing, I left the bathroom and went to the other door. I was feeling steadier on my feet now. The knob turned in my hand, but the door wouldn't budge. I figured there was a sliding lock on the other side. I wasn't interested enough to try to knock down the door, so instead I went to the dresser and started pulling open drawers.

I had been hoping to find something suitable to put on, but the top drawer I opened was socks. I wasn't really so concerned with covering my feet right now. Next drawer was—leather? Oh shit, I must be in Mello's room. I opened the other drawers, just to be sure, and found more leather pants and vests. The only relatively normal things he owned looked like workout gear, and even those were black. All I really needed was some underwear, but even after pawing through each drawer twice, I couldn't find any. That was way more information about Mello than I'd ever wanted to know.

I'd been considering just going commando and wearing some of the workout clothes when I heard the lock slide on the other side of the door. I jumped back about a foot, although the drawers were still open and ruined my attempt at subterfuge. My eyes must have been as wide as saucers when the door opened, and in walked Mello.

He looked at me, then at the dresser, raising an eyebrow.

All I could think was, Holy shit, he's not wearing any underwear right now.

Although I wasn't any better, seeing as I was, you know, naked.


AN: This chapter was way too much fun to write. You know those midterms I mentioned last chapter? Yeah, I was thinking that line about Mello not wearing underwear the whole time. The mental image of Mello, with no underwear, was impossibly distracting. And hilarious. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter as much as I did! Next chapter will answer all the questions about why Matt's there, bleeding, and naked. (Yum.)

One of my wonderful reviews mentioned how awesome it would be if I ruled the world. I like this idea very, very much. First decree as ruler of the world: All readers must review, or else they will spontaneously combust. Heh. But reviewers will be rewarded with riches! So it's a pretty obvious choice, isn't it? You guys are great!