I don't know how I forgot; I'm usually good at these things. Mello is still asleep in bed when I get up, but I'm not so worried about him now. He's been taking the antibiotics that Dr. Kinsley brought, and I've been keeping a schedule for his pain medicine. I go to make some scrambled eggs, seeing as I don't know how to make any other kind and I need to eat something for breakfast. I turn on the TV, just to keep up on the news.

Nothing new is going on in the world—but the tedium is not what makes me remember. At the corner of the screen, where the little news logo is spinning, it shows the date and time. 7:49 a.m., December 13th. December the thirteenth. Today is Mello's birthday.

Oh, shit.

We've never been very big on holidays, but just saying 'happy birthday' sounds lame. I had been planning on getting him something, but I'm a procrastinator, and hadn't found the time yet. Also, he blew up his face, which was pretty distracting. So I have a pretty good excuse, but I still feel stupid for not thinking ahead. Anything now would just seem like an afterthought gift. We have bucket loads of chocolate, so getting him more wouldn't really mean anything.

I can just picture it. 'Hey Mel, I got you this candy bar.'

'Oh? Can you add it to that pile over there?'

How memorable. I'm a terrible friend. Everything I can think of seems tacky, and he probably wouldn't even use any of it. Flowers are cliché, kind of stupid, and would probably end up dying because we'd forget to change the water. I could get him a movie, seeing as our DVD collection is pretty lacking, but he'd probably just watch it once, if he even finds the time to watch it at all. I could get him a book, although I have no idea what he's already read, or what he's even into at the moment.

This is hopeless! He has everything he could ever need. Anything he wants, he goes and gets himself, or demands that I go get it for him. It's not like we watch our money—I can get us anything we need with a few clicks of a mouse—so he never has a reason to wait for anything. (Also, he likes instant gratification.)

While I was thinking of all my options, I completely forgot about my eggs—which are now burning onto the pan, and starting to smoke. I curse aloud, take the pan off the stove and drop it into the sink. I turn on the water, which seemed like a good idea at the time, but it hits the scalding hot pan and now it's steaming and smoking. The smoke detector above my head starts beeping, announcing, rather obnoxiously, that there's smoke. Well, thanks for stating the obvious. I thought, (okay, wished,) that we'd broken that thing ages ago.

I turn off the water, attempting to wave away the smoke with my hands. It's clearing, but that stupid smoke detector isn't turning off! I'm wondering if I stand on the counter, if I could reach it and take the batteries out—it's kind of in the middle of the kitchen, so I might need a ladder. I'm starting to climb up on the counter when I hear Mello's voice from the bedroom, yelling, "Did you set yourself on fire again?"

"No!" I call back. "Just a minor malfunction! Go back to sleep!" I'm on my knees on the counter now, grasping at the cabinets to help pull myself up and stand. I'm balanced between the sink and the stove. I reach for the fire detector, but my arm is about six inches too short. I curse again. It's still beeping, but the smoke has pretty much gone away. We get it, okay? I'm a screw up, I know.

I'm not surprised that Mello finally gets up; the noise is unbearable. He observes me from the doorway to the bedroom. He seems to be considering whether or not he actually wants to help me, or just continue to watch for his own amusement. He raises a blonde eyebrow. "You look like an idiot—your arm's not going to get any longer, you know."

I'm holding onto the edge of the cabinet, leaning out over to the open floor, groping for the smoke detector. So close. I send him a glare, and have to do a double take. He's wearing one of my long-sleeved, striped shirts. And nothing else. I nearly fall off the counter. It's loose, which is probably why he picked it up, so it won't irritate his unwrapped wounds. The length is the best (or worst) part. The hem falls just above his midthigh, hiding the best part, barely.

It takes me a moment to realize that the smoke detector has stopped beeping. Mello's laughing at me, probably because of the stunned expression on my face. My cheeks flush, and I work to climb off the counter without falling and hurting myself.

Mello rolls his eyes. "I'm taking a shower. Don't kill yourself with stupidity while I'm away." He turns—I can't help but tilt my head to the side to improve my view—and saunters back into the bedroom. (Bastard—I bet he knows that he looks amazing.)

The tightness in my pants is begging me to follow him, but I keep myself in place. Birthday. Focus. I need to figure out a gift. I start to scrape the ruined eggs out of the pan with a spatula, turning the garbage disposal on and washing them away. So pretty much I need to find something that he can use and will like. Something that says, 'Congratulations on making it through another year without dying!' Great. I know that I should just forget it and make a chocolate cake or something, but I feel like I need to give him something. I want it to be thoughtful and show him how much he means to me.

I've already given him everything. He lives in my apartment, sleeps in my bed, uses my shower. Everything that's mine is already his. I'm already his. Not to sound cocky, but what else could he ever want? Nothing, obviously. I listen to the sound of the water turning on in the bathroom.

Hesitantly, I head into the bathroom as well. "Hey Mel, I've got to go out for a little while." I call over the sound of the shower.

He pulls back the curtain, completely disregarding modesty. "Out?" He repeats, hands returning to his hair, water and suds sliding down his body in rivulets. I ache to follow those trails with my fingertips, my lips…

I swallow with some effort, and then nod. "Yeah."

He frowns a little, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror behind me. "Ugh, I'm hideous." He turns back to the showerhead, tilting his head up. "Are you going to the store?" He doesn't even wait for a response. "Get me some aviator glasses—you know, those huge ones with the dark lenses."

"Mel, you're not…" I say softly.

He rolls his eyes, shaking his hair so little drips of water fall off the ends. I still need to cut it—maybe later, if I remember. "Easy for you to say." He scoffs. "Your body isn't mutilated."

"Come on Mello, it could be a lot worse."

"No, it couldn't." He deadpans.

"You're being overly dramatic. You could be dead."

I realize a moment too late that I shouldn't have even gone there. He's silent, I'm holding my breath—the only sound comes from the pounding water. But after only a moment he reaches forward, and turns off the faucet. His hair is still lathered with shampoo, but he steps over the lip of the tub. He's dripping all over the floor.

He faces me, naked and wet, staring me down. I can't read his expression. He reaches forward, taking my hand in his. For a horrific moment, I think he's going to break my fingers. But he's oddly gentle, moving to rest my hand against his ruined cheek. I don't try to pull away, but I don't encourage the action, because I know it must hurt him despite his blank expression. "I'm sorry that you have to be the one to look at me every day." He says finally.

Shocked, it takes me a moment to respond, but finally I say, "Mel, stop this…You're the most beautiful person I know."

"You're just as sheltered as ever, I see." He muses.

My fingers curl a little, pressing the pads fingertips against his rough skin. "No." I shake my head slightly. "Just honest. I love you Mel, none of that matters."

He sighs wistfully. "You don't understand…I guess I couldn't really expect you to. My body's not my own anymore. This isn't me. This isn't what I wanted."

"No one would want this."

"I guess not." He lets go of my hand, but I let my fingers remain, ghosting over his mutilated face. "Matt…just get the glasses, okay?" His eyes are downcast.

I nod a little, and he pulls away from my touch to climb back into the shower. He doesn't draw the curtain yet, turning the water on again. He rakes his fingers through his hair, pushing it back from his face. "Oh, and Matt?" He draws my attention back, just as I'd been getting ready to turn and leave. "Thanks."

I smile a little, nod silently, and leave him alone.

I'd been planning on going out and wandering around downtown until I found a good present. Now I have more of a purpose. I grab my jacket and keys as I head out the door, lighting a cigarette while I walk down the stairs. The Camaro purrs when I start her up, raw power at my fingertips. Gloved fingers flex over the wheel—the only thing that could possibly make this better would be Mello in the seat beside me. But I have to do this alone—I have to find him something worthy.

I buy some sunglasses at a boutique downtown. I'm pretty bad at stuff like this, so the girl that works there helped me pick out a pair. (Her nametag says Krystal—yeah, with a K and everything.) I described to her what Mello had asked me to buy, and we found the best looking pair.

That out of the way, I'm still left with the problem of a gift. Since she seems knowledgeable, and her presence is tolerable, (she's not chewing gum,) I decide to ask for her opinion. I'm paying at the counter, and she's placing the glasses into a small black bag. "So, I was wondering…" I start out hesitantly, putting my credit card away. "You're good at picking out gifts, right?"

Krystal smiles, and shrugs her shoulders a little. "I know the store, if that's what you mean. Was there something else you're looking for?"

"Well, that's the problem. I don't really know what I'm looking for."

She has a knowing look. "Girl trouble?"

"Boy trouble." I correct sheepishly. "It's his birthday."

She laughs. "How long have you two been together?"

"Since forever."

Her smile grows. "Well, what's he into?"

I consider this for a moment. What does Mello like? Sex, leather, beating Near…I don't think any of these things are going to help me find a present. "Uh, no specific taste…" Unless he's tasting me. "He likes black; leather, especially. He's Catholic. He's into me." I add, smiling a little.

She giggles. "Well, have you ever thought of proposing to him?"

I shake my head a little. "I don't know if he's really into that sort of thing. I mean, it's not even legal."

"True." She taps her French manicured nails against the counter. "I don't know what to tell you." She says finally. "He likes leather? I mean, you could get him a jacket, or gloves. Catholic, hm. Bible? Rosary?"

I sigh. "He has all those things."

"Sounds like a toughie. Anything else you can give me to work with?"

I struggle to find the words the describe Mello. "He likes chocolate, and sex, together or separate. He's my best friend and my better half. He's a little crazy sometimes, kind of OCD, really smart. Too smart for his own good; he thinks too much sometimes."

Krystal seems amused, smiling a bit. "You're really into him, aren't you?"

I smile sheepishly. "Yeah. He's everything."

Her smile is gentle. "Well, prove how much you love him. Let him know that you care."

I nod a little, although I still have no idea how to do that. "Yeah, you're right. Thanks for all your help." I take the bag containing Mello's new sunglasses and leave the store. There's a diner just down the street, and I go to get some pancakes. I hadn't eaten anything today, since my attempt at cooking eggs had failed horribly, and I'm starving. Food will help me think.

Although it looks like a dive from the outside, it's an oddly nice place on the inside. Sports relics clutter the walls, red and white vinyl booths line the walls. Couples sit in the corners, girls chatter back and forth over breakfast, and gentlemen sit alone to read the paper. I take a seat at the counter, grabbing a menu out from between the napkin holder and the salt and pepper shakers. I flip through the sticky, plastic protected pages.

"Do you know what you want honey?" The waitress asks from the other side of the counter, a woman who might have been pretty if she wiped off some of her dark makeup. She taps the pad of paper in her hand with the pen in her other.

"Coffee would be great. And some pancakes." I smile.

"You want the pancake breakfast?" She continues, scribbling something onto the paper.

"Sure."

"Bacon or sausage?"

"Bacon—really crispy. Just burn it, actually. That would be perfect."

She chuckles. "How do you want your eggs?"

I'm reminded of my mishap this morning, and can't resist scrunching up my nose. "Pass on the eggs."

"Sure thing sweetie. I'll be right back with your coffee." She saunters off to put in my order.

I stare off into space, trying to think about Mello's birthday present; I want to prove how much I care about him, like Krystal suggested. A small crash brings me back to reality, and I swivel my seat to look and see what all the ruckus is about.

One of the other waitresses just dropped an entire tray of food. She looks flustered by her mistake, bending over to start picking up the larger pieces of broken porcelain. The back of her uniform shirt rides up a little revealing the hint of a tattoo—the name 'Michael' flanked by two red hearts. There might be a bird or something there too, but she straightened too quickly, and I couldn't tell.

My waitress joins her in cleaning up the mess. The poor woman who dropped the tray looks embarrassed for drawing so much attention; she's apologizing profusely to the couple she'd been bringing the food to. Michael…like Mihael. Like Mello.

And then, I realize exactly what I'm going to get Mello for his birthday.

Seven hours. Seven—freakin'—hours. When I finally get back, it's late in the afternoon. I expected that Mello would be worried about me, but when I open the door he's sitting at my desktop, typing away. He's in one of my shirts again, but he's wearing boxers this time. He looks completely absorbed, and doesn't even spare me a glance upon entering.

"Hey…" I say hesitantly.

"You get my sunglasses?"

"Yeah." I toss him the bag, and he catches it by the handle without even looking away from the screen. He pulls out the glasses, glancing at them once. He seems to approve, because he slides them on, despite being indoors and it being pretty poorly lit anyways.

I wait for a response, but get none. He keeps typing. I slink into the kitchen, grabbing a large bowl out of the cupboard. I start to make up the chocolate cake from the mix I bought at the store. (The only problem is that I don't have any measuring cups, so I just guess on how much water is a cup, and how much vegetable oil makes up a few tablespoons.) I'm stirring the chocolate paste when I hear Mello enter the kitchen behind me.

He's silent for a moment, just watching. His expression is probably either confused or amused—I don't turn to look. "What are you doing?" He asks finally, using his, 'oh God, not again' tone.

"Making a cake." Isn't it obvious? I have a pan out and everything.

"Why didn't you just buy a cake?"

"Because this is more thoughtful."

"Right…you're going to poison me, aren't you?"

"Probably." I dump some more water in there, because it's kind of thick.

Silence stretches for a moment. "Why are you making a cake?" He asks finally.

I actually have to turn and make sure he's serious. He is…he has no idea why I'm making a cake. "For your birthday." I say slowly.

"My…" He pauses, blonde eyebrows furrowing. "Oh, is that today?"

"Yeah."

He shrugs. "Oh. Cool, I guess." He joins me at the counter, dipping a finger into the cake batter and licking it clean.

"Is it okay?" I ask hesitantly.

"Pretty good, actually." He smiles a bit. "You didn't get me anything, right? I know we do the Christmas present thing, but birthdays aren't so important. You don't have to get me a gift."

"Kind of late for that." I respond sheepishly.

This catches his interest. "What'd you get me?" He's such a child—even though he says he doesn't want a present, he's excited. I can see it in his eyes.

"Well, this cake for starters."

"Uh-huh, I got that much."

"And something else."

"I got that much too." He looks a little irritated at my evasiveness.

I'm having second thoughts on my choice of gift, but it's too late now. "You'll have to wait, maybe until tomorrow."

"What?!"

"It's a surprise!"

"But I want it now!" So much for not wanting a gift; he seems to have completely abandoned that idea.

I turn back to the bowl of cake mix. "Be patient." I chide.

He's glaring at me through his sunglasses. I don't give him the satisfaction of responding, and start to pour the batter into the pan. Frustrated, he finally turns away and starts rooting around the bags I'd brought back from the store. "This is all groceries!" He cries, grabbing a bar of chocolate and taking a vicious bite. "Don't tell me you got me groceries for my birthday."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. "Maybe I did—I thought you didn't want a present."

"I didn't! But since you got me one, I'm not going to refuse it. That would be rude."

I can't resist a chuckle. Picking up the pan, I place it into the oven and set the timer. "Being a genius obviously doesn't mean that you're mature."

His eye twitches behind the dark lenses. I expected him to snap at me, but instead he grabs me from behind, taking me off guard, and putting me into a headlock. "Tell me what it is!" He demands, dragging me backwards so my back is bending at an odd angle.

I choke, his elbow digging into my shoulder, front pressing to my back. "Ow, ow! Uncle, God, uncle! Get the hell off of me!"

He releases me, seeming satisfied, and I rub uncomfortably at my left shoulder.

He frowns a bit. "What the hell Matt? Since when are you such a wimp?"

"I'm not a wimp." I snap, rolling my neck.

His eyes narrow behind the glasses. Uncomfortable under his gaze, I drop my hand from my shoulder. "Take your shirt off." He demands. Damn, he is a genius.

"What?! Fuck no!"

"Take the damn shirt off, or I'll cut it off you with a kitchen knife!"

I'm backing away from him, but my butt hits the counter—I turn and run. He's right behind me. I dodge to the other side of the couch. While I'm usually faster than him, I'm also wearing heavy boots while he is barefoot. "Let me see it!" He demands.

"There's nothing to see!"

He scoffs. "Like hell."

We're on opposite sides of the couch, trying to fake the other out—finally I dart to the side, heading for the door. He's faster though, and grabs me before I get there. He twists my arm behind my back, and slams my front against door—hard. I groan, and he keeps me pinned.

While he's still holding my wrist, his other hand is fumbling for the hem of my shirt, pulling it up to my mid-back. I'm holding my breath. "Holy fuck." He says, startled. "It's huge Matt! Where does it even end?"

"…"

"Matt." He growls.

"My forearm."

"Holy fuck." He says again. "What's it even of? Can I take the bandages off?"

"It's mostly just a design—no, I have to leave them on until tomorrow. I can't…breathe. Get off of me!"

He releases me, and I take a deep breath before turning to face him. He's wide-eyed. "Let me see all of it." He sounds excited.

I sigh, shoulders slouching, but reluctantly pull my shirt over my head and let it drop to the floor in a crumpled heap. The tattoo is still fresh, and some of it bleeding. The artist had bandaged it up, mostly with clear tape and some cotton swabs. It probably looks pretty gross right about now. The black ink starts at my forearm, swirling up to my shoulder, then down the left half of my back and front, twisting together at my side. Mello pulls me out from against the door so he can step behind me, and then come back to my front again. I can tell that he's trying to pick out the pattern through the mess of bloody bandages and tape. Some of it is visible, but most not.

"Is this fire?" He asks, prodding the skin beneath my nipple with a finger, the tape crinkling under his touch.

"Kind of, yeah."

He just stares. "God, it's fucking huge."

"I think we've established that, thanks."

"You got a tattoo for my birthday? Isn't that kind of selfish?" He seems amused. Even though he can't see all of it, I think he likes it.

"Well," I take a deep breath. "This morning, when you said that your body isn't your own anymore…well, mine never belonged to me."

"What do you mean?"

"It belongs to you." I smile weakly. "I wasn't about to go burn the left half of my body, but I thought that this way…we'd sort of match. All of it means something. It took a whole hour this morning to map it out. I was going to show you tomorrow, when it isn't so gross. I thought…you know, in a tacky, sentimental sort of way, that it would be like giving myself to you. Like a present."

He just stares at me for a long moment. Finally, his lips turn up at the corners. "You're a piece of work Matt." He wraps his arms around my midriff, pressing his lips to mine for a short moment. "I love you." He says upon retracting. "Next time you get a tattoo, can I come and watch?" He grins mischievously.

"You want to watch me cry and bleed while some stranger is poking me with needles?" I ask incredulously.

"You cried?"

Ah, crap. "No!"

He's laughing at me. "Ah, you totally did! Oh my God, Matt! You poor boy." He's obviously teasing me, but my cheeks flush despite myself.

"Come on, there's some really sensitive spots—like around the armpit. You totally would have cried too!"

"Uh-huh. Whatever makes you feel better. Now go finish my cake."

I grumble, stepping away from him and leaning over to grab my shirt. I catch him admiring my ass while I'm bent over, which makes me feel a little better. "Pervert." I mutter, before I turn to head back into the kitchen.

He completely ignores my mumbled jab. "You should put chocolate shavings on it." He adds, calling after me. "And chocolate sauce!"

"I'm not putting fuckin' chocolate sauce on a cake!"

"It's my birthday!"

I yank open the fridge door and pull out the icing and chocolate sauce, grumbling to myself the whole time. Mello just watches me smugly. I'm so whipped.

AN: I seriously thought that Matt was going to get a nose bleed when Mello came out in his shirt. xD I had so many 'That's what she said!' moments while writing Mello looking at Matt's tattoo. Which will be described in more detail in the next chapter, promise. The idea was partly inspired by a doujinshi cover that shows part of Matt's arm, covered in ink. (Matt's leaning over a very cute looking Mello, who has his hair tied back. I can't remember the name of the doujinshi though! Ugh. No doubt it will come to me as soon as I post this.) My wonderful friend and editor Sam has a cousin who's a tattoo artist, so he helped me make sure everything was accurate. I hope this chapter was of my usual quality—I'm getting over the flu so I'm not really at my best. I had way too much fun writing this though, it made me feel better.

I was very pleased with all the reviews I recieved from the last chapter, but I would love more! =D Please take a moment to tell me what you think. It really makes my day to hear from you guys! (Don't they say that reviews are the best medicine? Oh right, only I say that.) I'm aiming for, oh, say, fifteen reviews before I'm going to post the next chapter. ^^

This was written listening to 'Le Disko' by Shiny Toy Guns. (xD Random.) Might actually be plot-ish the next chapter...eh. Maybe.

Edit: The doujinshi cover is 'Rag'. =D Thanks so much to Sir SmokesALot for reminding me. ^^