Names Are Just Words

by SingleOrganicMachine

This is my best Death Note fanfiction, that spans from the night Mello blows up the Mafia base, November 10th, 2009, to January 26th, 2010. This is an in-depth, behind the scenes analysis of every move made by Mello and Matt, as told from Mello's POV. But don't worry, I never said it wasn't erotic.

26. Chapter 25

+Part 25+

January 25, 2010

7:32 p.m.

I spent the rest of the day making my very final preparations. I acquired a new two-seater motorcycle, and then reviewed the business operations of a couple local small shipping companies that I had been monitoring for this purpose. I settled on one called, "Transport! Inc" since its procedures were far from complex and I could afford zero mistakes. I hijacked one of their trucks and stole a uniform, making sure it had a full tank of gas before I parked it in the alley beside the lot. I ensured it was hidden from the street, and then had Matt check the engine thoroughly to make sure it was in prime condition. I topped off the motorcycle next, and instructed Matt to be sure the car was full as well, and also that he prepared everything he would need. I organized a few last minute details, looking through the equipment in the back of the truck. All they had in there were a few empty boxes and some blankets for wrapping fragile goods. I packed some bottles of water and medical supplies, and also put some tools in the motorcycle's saddlebags just in case I ran into any unforeseen mechanical problems. I also packed a box of other, less conventional "tools," for use in Takada's interrogation.

I'd been checking some isolated places ahead of time, and decided to go with my favorite choice—an abandoned Christian chapel outside Nagano, which was about a couple hour's distance from town on the highway, near Karuizawa. It was crumbling apart and soon to be condemned, and judging by its current satellite photos, it would be the ideal location to avoid being seen or heard. I would take her there. It would be fitting for Kira's final judgment to be determined in a decrepit house of God, after all. Almost poetic.

As the hours passed in relative silence, my only thoughts were on the plan ahead, but as the evening wore on and all my preparations were at last complete…I found all I had left was a single loose end. Now, like before, there was inescapable guilt, an emotion I couldn't spare room for. Not here. I was taking Kira down with my own hands, at the expense of everything, and I absolutely could not allow for a distraction like this.

"I'm going to be frank, Matt," I said as I shut the television off in front of him.

"What's going on, Mello?" he said, slightly irritated at being interrupted in the middle of his new game, where he got to play as a voluptuous British witch who became more and more naked the tougher your combos were.

"This is important. I need you to listen to me seriously, and pay close attention."

"…Okay." He set the controller down and tapped the ash off the cigarette he was smoking. I sat myself down in the chair across from the sofa where he was. He looked at me, waiting.

Now was the time. "Everything's almost ready, so we're going to go ahead and make our move tomorrow."

"Tomorrow for sure? That's good news, right?"

I shook my head once. "Near is going to end everything with a single, decisive move—a lethal move. If we don't act tomorrow, I'm certain Kira will destroy everyone who's been chasing him up to this point. Near will ruin it all…if I don't do this now."

Matt seemed to think about that for a moment. "…So you're saving his ass? That doesn't sound like you."

"I know that," I scoffed. "And believe me, I keep telling myself to just leave it alone and let Near die so I'll have no more obstructions… If he and the rest of the investigators dropped dead, I would have a clear path straight to Kira, but for some reason…I can't."

"It's okay, Mello. I know why you can't." I looked up at him. "You and Near had something I could never understand. It's okay if you feel that way, and you shouldn't beat yourself up over it. Near's a prick, and your whole life has revolved around grinding him into the dirt, but after all that, he's still…our little brother." My eyes narrowed, the grotesque truth of his words stinging my pride. I couldn't deny it, I had already admitted it to myself, and so I nodded. "But you've accepted that. It's not what's really bothering you," Matt told me. "It's not what this is about."

"No," I agreed. "I also can't stand to think that Near will face Kira without me getting my own shot first. I want to rip his victory right out from under his feet, while there's still a chance. That's why it's got to be tomorrow."

He nodded. "I follow you. So what's the deal?"

I could smell smoke soaking every molecule of my vicinity, and hated to think of that customary fact of life coming to an end, for some ridiculous reason. "…We've both been watching the NHN woman, and the number of her bodyguards only continues to expand. We both know they're Kira fanatics, and in this day and age there's no doubt they're trained and armed. I need you to be the decoy so I can kidnap Takada and disrupt Kira's plans."

"Yeah, I remember."

"But being a decoy comes with great risk. I honestly don't think they would openly gun you down in the street if they caught you, since the news choppers will be following…but the world is falling farther and farther under Kira's influence. If they do capture you and you live through it…you'll only be subjected to the law of Kira later on, and I can only imagine the torture they'd put you through then. Despite my optimistic assumptions, Matt…there's a very good chance you could die during this mission."

I lifted my gaze to him, my muscles burning in apprehension as my chest crushed in on itself. He was listening intently, possibly for the first time. The cigarette was burning away in his lips but he wasn't inhaling any of the smoke at the moment, just letting it float away.

"But you're confident the plan will work, right?" he said at last.

"Yes, I'm confident… We've both been preparing for weeks, and everything I've worked on has led up to this, but there are many unpredictable variables…many things I can't foresee. Anything could go wrong."

"But as long as you think it'll work, then I'm fine with it. If you need me to be a decoy, I'll do it. I'm a kickass driver anyway, so they won't catch me."

Again his words roused me to fury—fury I couldn't contain. "Damn it, don't you hear what I'm saying!" I demanded, standing up swiftly. "I just told you you're going to die!"

"No, what you said was there's a chance, but you don't think it'll happen. That's good enough."

"What the hell is wrong with you? Why are you so fucking relaxed?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" I shook my head as my vision clouded with rage. "…Why are you getting so angry? I told you that whatever you needed me to do, it wouldn't be a problem. It's all worked out so far. Just use me, Mello. You need me to do something and I'm gonna do it, so why are we arguing?"

"Fuck!" I hissed, turning to the side and waving a dismissive gesture at him. "You're hopeless, damn it! Why did I even warn you? Why did I even bother? Fine, you're right! I don't care if you die! You're just a tool, and I don't care how a tool feels—all I care about is how well the tool works the way it's supposed to! Forget I said anything and just get back to your game!"

Damn him, why did I even try? Why did I have to say anything? I'd already tried this with him, hadn't I? So why all the questions? Why the doubts, the hesitation, the ice-cold fucking guilt? It wasn't like me, and I hated it, and so I hated him for forcing it on me!

I stomped away but he grabbed my arm, and for some reason I couldn't bring myself to beat him to a pulp like I so desperately wanted to.

"Mello, relax," he said, pulling me to him easily, in spite of my outrage. "I'm glad you're upset," he told me, right to my face. "It's been happening so often lately…that I think I was caught off guard for a while…but now I know it makes me feel important. I hardly ever get to feel important around you, even though I know I am. I'm probably the only one who knows that feeling in the whole world and I'm good with that." I shook my head. "No, stop trying to put up this front with me," he demanded, a little roughly. "It won't work anymore. I see what you're trying to do—you want me to argue so you'll have an excuse to dismiss me. You want me to try and run away so you can shrug me off. You want me to leave because you want to save me without jeopardizing your pride, Mello." I didn't answer—I couldn't. So I looked away. He was right! "Yeah, I know…but I don't want to be saved, okay? I want to be where you need me to be. You said you'd take my word for it from now on. You said we had no more need for questions. You said we should accept it."

"…I know that. I did…and I do. I just… I don't WANT to!"

"Yeah, I know." He was still holding my arms, keeping me near him. "I like that," he told me quietly.

"Well, good for you," I sneered, pushing him away. He persisted, sliding his hands over my shoulders. "Quit it! I'm not in the mood for this! I can't take it anymore! You keep wrecking everything! If you stay…I'll…!"

"Listen, Mello, I may not be the same to you that you are to me, but I do know what I am. I'm not your brother or even your lover, I know that," he told me, lightly shaking me. "But I do know I'm your friend, the only friend you've ever had. That's what matters, get it? That's why I don't mind being used this way, because at least then I'm something you can't replace."

I stared at him, not understanding his faithfulness. I just could not absorb it or take it in. He had always been this way, hadn't he? Devoted without seeming to care? Honest without having regrets? Singularly loyal without any sense of consequence? But this devotion of his was entirely bittersweet—and I found that here, at the end, I could hardly stand it anymore. Here, at the end, it was all caving in on me. I didn't think my shoulders could bear its weight. I had no admirable conscience, of course not, but this was different. This burden he forced on me was more than guilt or remorse or even the most humane of heartbreaks—it had to be something sharper, harsher, more brutal, if it could affect ME so deeply. Nothing should be able to! I don't want any distractions, any misgivings! I'm not that weak! Why is he able to do this to me? And why can't I understand?

"Just stop it, Matt," I hissed. "I understand, okay? That's enough! Enough already! Shut up!"

"Okay…"

I pushed away again, not so forcefully this time, and he let me go. "We need to go over the plans again… Everything has to go perfectly, without room for error. We'll review the maps, the satellite photos, the timing… Everything again." He nodded as I expected he would and so I began to walk away. I made it past him but suddenly he hurried after me, grabbing hold of my arm again.

"Wait," he said urgently, the only time I'd heard urgency in his voice— when I wasn't in mortal peril that is. "I want to tell you something, Mello."

"…Fine. What is it?"

"Tomorrow is important, I know. And I know you've planned ahead even further than you're telling me. Tomorrow decides it all—we're bringing down Kira and avenging L. We're finishing the mission no matter what. Tomorrow is strictly business, so I want to say this now while there's still time." I stared at him, waiting, feeling an apprehension I had never known build up from my core. He bit his lip once before he opened his mouth again. "I want to tell you my name, Mello…my REAL name."

My eyes opened wide, disbelieving, but he held onto me, a look of intensity in every inch of his visible expression. Immediately I rejected the idea. "No," I said, shaking my head. "You don't need to tell me. It's better if I don't know. If something goes wrong—if Kira gets control of me…!" I shook my head again. "I tested the notebook and you can't make people do something impossible. I can't give away your name if I don't know it. If we fail…and Kira wins against Near, he'll kill everyone without ever knowing I had an accomplice, and if Near wins against Kira, there'll be no need to find you. I'LL be the only one in a position where Kira could control me with the notebook to get what he wants, so I can't be allowed to know your name. DON'T tell me."

"I don't care about that," he insisted. "If I might die, I want you to know it. All Wammy kids walked through the halls as nameless blanks, ready to be carved and shaped into backup copies of L. People like us don't need names or even faces. People like us aren't meant to have lives or identities. We aren't meant to even exist, except as rumors. L broke the rules and it got him killed, but I'm not a puppet and I can make my own decisions. If I might die anyway, I want you to know the name I was born to—the only thing that proves I'm human. My dad probably killed my mom and he didn't want me or my brother, so I always hated the name he gave me. But it's still mine, and you're the only person I'd want to tell it to. No matter what, we have to hold on to something, even if we're damned, even if we're not normal. We can't let everything slip if it might all end tomorrow. I told you I don't care about heaven or hell, but I do care about here and now, and right now…I want you to know it."

I was nearly speechless after that, after the severe profoundness in his lazy voice. I couldn't see his eyes fully behind his orange lenses, and I wasn't sure I wanted to. I didn't know what that entailed. I didn't know how much of him remained to be seen or understood, how much of him I'd dismissed and overlooked. I'd missed so much, and now I might not have any time to get it back.

I nodded once, slowly. "Alright…you can tell me. What is it?"

He forced an inward flinch of my spine when he yanked his goggles down off his face. He let them drop around his neck, focusing his thick pupils through the dusty clover-green of his eyes. I would've liked to call them unused, since I knew I was the only person left who'd seen them more than once or twice. He took a deep breath, reaching out to grab my other shoulder tight, as if to steady himself in place.

"…It's Mail. Mail Jeevas. M-A-I-L J-E-E-V-A-S." He exhaled steeply, half-smiling at me as he chuckled. "That's the first time I've heard it out loud in like…twelve years."

"Mail Jeevas," I repeated, meeting his eyes against my better impulses.

"Yeah… It sucks, I know…but it's mine." I nodded, not sure what else to do. "Okay then, now that THAT'S off my chest..." He patted one of my shoulders casually and then trotted off, lifting his goggles back over his eyes and adjusting them.

That was it? He told me and it was done? Didn't he even…?

"Stop," I barked, so quickly I hadn't even thought of doing it. I heard him quit walking so I turned to him. He was heading for the equipment, ready to sort through and do a double-check on what he needed no doubt, but he halted and returned my gaze.

"What's wrong?"

It was against my better judgment, against every warning alarm in my brain, against every raging fiber in my body. I gritted my teeth, breathing deep, clenching my fists.

"…Mihael…Keehl," I growled, unable to say it calmly or gently. "My name is Mihael Keehl. M-I-H-A-E-L K-E-E-H-L." I hadn't heard it out loud in over a decade either, not until Yagami had said it right before he died. It was a shock to hear then, almost as if I didn't recognize the sound of it. Surreal. Painful. More like a curse than a nostalgic memory.

Matt didn't seem to react at first. He just looked at me; I knew it even as I couldn't see past his goggles. He slowly lit up a fresh cigarette, puffed it, and blew the smoke through his lips.

"Mihael, huh?" he commented. "I like it. It's a hell of a lot better than mine, anyway." He grinned, showing teeth, but it wasn't smug or obnoxious. It was just a smile, the simplest he'd ever given.

"…It's Slavic," I continued, my blood boiling in recoil. Secrecy was ingrained into my very DNA by now, and I was acting against an entire life of training and conditioning. I didn't know why I was doing it, but I was determined to tell him everything that I had never told another living soul, suddenly, earnestly. "It's a variant of Michael, meaning 'who is like God.' I can't remember the faces of any of my family, but I vaguely remember a couple of the other children, my siblings I assume, the older ones who called me Miha. I ran away when I was probably not even six, and everything between then and the Convent is a blur. I woke up with the nuns and they saw that I'd been beaten and kept me there. They baptized me like new and gave me my First Communion…and then some arsonists burned the Convent down and most everybody was killed. I found out the same arsonists burned down my home as well, ironically enough, and that's when I became an orphan… I don't know how I ended up at Wammy's House. Somebody must have found me…but that's all I can remember. That's everything. You know the rest."

He nodded once, his face not quite in awe but not at all at ease. Of course he was surprised at my forthcoming confession, which was given without a shred of insistence. His cigarette was still smoking, but he wasn't inhaling, so the ash just burned away in his lips again. He took a few steps back towards me, and then stopped.

"…I was born in Ireland," he said suddenly. "My folks were poor, dirty, and drunk, and my mom just suddenly wasn't there one day. My dad told me and my older brother that she died, and my brother…his name was Liam… He used to tell me it was Dad who killed her. He only got louder and drunker as time went on, and beat the hell out of both of us. Liam took off as soon as he was old enough, but he didn't take me with him. Didn't even say goodbye. It was probably too hard for him, so I can't really blame him…but he left his sport goggles behind. I took them and ran away after my dad locked me out in the cold one night…and he killed himself not long after that. I went through a few foster homes before I ended up at Wammy's. That's pretty much all there is to tell about that…" He scratched his head before he continued. "It doesn't even compare to what you went through... I got used to being overlooked, and so I just quit trying to be somebody. When L picked me…it was something new, but I still wasn't first choice, or even second. I was a 'just-in-case' model, ready if the real two choices failed. The backup to the backup's backup."

He shrugged a little and then took a deep drag, blowing out the smoke with a sigh. "But you… Mello, you know…you're the first person who's ever really…needed me. That's why I stuck with you no matter how you treated me. When you and Near got chosen for L's heirs, you had better things to think about, and I didn't want to get in your way. Nobody needed a Number Three, and I could tell you wanted to beat Near more than anything. That's something I couldn't help you with, something you had to do on your own, so I left to give you the space you needed. I go where you need me to go, Mello. Even if you don't say it out loud, I can tell what you want, what you need. I've always been there, occupying the empty space next to you, under your boots, or wherever you require. That's my place, where I belong, where I'll always belong—at the end of your chain."

He plucked the cigarette from his lips, lowering it and flicking the ash slowly, never deviating the gaze of his unseen eyes. I could feel them on me, penetrating through fiberglass, through his internal blockade of disinterest and solitude, and even through the wall I had built around myself—the wall I had thought was impenetrable.

"Matt," was all I could say.

For the first time, I had no harsh words come to my tongue, no anger cloud my vision, no retaliation ready in my brain. For the first time, it was simply the silence left in the wake of his words. There was nothing else to do but for me to accept them. There was nothing left to say, nothing I could possibly need to say. There wasn't even a single question. He'd said it all, and that was that. It was that simple. Could that truly be how he felt all this time? Then, his tattoos…could they really mean…?

He walked back over to me, cigarette held loosely between his index and middle fingers, almost forgotten again. "I think that's the first time you listened to every word I said without a fight or a comeback," he observed, lifting his free hand almost tentatively. He slid it over my shoulder and down against my back, bringing me to his chest. We were almost the same height in our boots, so my chin pressed to his shoulder. His arm went all the way around me, holding me there, firmly but cautiously. His breath was suddenly warm beside my ear. "Is this okay?" he asked.

It took me too long to say, "Just shut up and don't ask," and by then I had curled my fingers into his shirt. I didn't remember doing it. He clasped me more tightly against him, moving to place his cigarette back in his mouth so he could use both arms. He tightened his grip, trapping me securely within his embrace. That spike of alarm went through me like it always did—that reflex to push away, to escape, to banish this nervous discomfort from me. I ignored it. I let my mind spiral away and just persistently ignored it.

"Mello," he said, still humming low in my ear, "are you afraid of dying?"

"…No," I answered, automatically. "If I die, I'll die with a purpose. I regret nothing, and ask no one for forgiveness. I meet my fate head-on. I have no reason to be afraid—I haven't been afraid since I can remember."

"Really? You weren't even afraid when the base blew…or when the mugger held the knife to your throat?"

"No. I was prepared. It's all or nothing in this game."

"I was afraid," he confessed.

"You were?"

"Yeah… When I saw you like that after the base blew…it was the first time I was afraid since… Heh, well, since you fell out of the tree when we were little." His arms gripped me even tighter. "You didn't see the way you looked that night after you got back…how bad it was… And then when you quit breathing…and when you went into your coma and couldn't stop screaming… I'd never seen you like that before… I'd never seen you show any kind of pain before at all, not ever. Even on the playground if you fell and scraped your knee, or you got into a fistfight with the older kids and were bruised all over, or tumbled out of that tree…you never cried. Even when that guy had the knife to your throat…I was terrified, but you hardly even blinked. I always thought you were invincible, and I felt invincible too when I was with you. We were just unwanted kids they were trying to brainwash…but I still miss those days. I miss the times before mind games and quests for justice. I miss not having a care in the world. I miss how simple it was when we were inseparable. We were hardly ever apart back then, remember?"

"…Yes, I remember," I said. "I hated you when you first showed up. We were both seven, but you were a quiet, reclusive, nerdy slob and I hated you at first sight."

"Yeah. You tormented me any chance you got. You threw things at me and tripped me in the halls and took my lunch and stole my toys… You were such a little bastard to me for weeks."

"I know, but nothing I did could affect you. You ignored me like I didn't exist, and that pissed me off more than anything. I finally got a rise out of you when I tried to take your Gameboy. We rolled around on the floor throwing punches and kicking and pulling hair…and when we finally quit…I didn't hate you anymore."

"When you dragged me outside to play the next day I thought you'd lost it, but we just pretended nothing happened. We were together almost every day after that, huh?"

"Yes…until L decided me or Near would succeed him. You got pushed out of the picture after that… I knew it was happening but I couldn't stop it… I…really didn't even try." I shut my eyes against his shoulder. "You didn't even see me before you left."

"You needed me gone, Mello, I know you did. If I had pushed you, I would've become a distraction. I guess things eventually turned out that way anyhow, didn't they?"

"I guess so…" I let out my breath. "It almost seems like none of it ever really happened… It wasn't even that long ago…but it feels like it's hanging on the edge of my memory, ready to fall."

"It does seem like that, huh? Hard to believe we were like that once. Guess we can't ever go back to being that way."

"No, we can't," I said. "I don't even know what we are now…even here at the end… God, I'm not even sure what I am…"

"That's fine," he replied. "Like you said, it's all or nothing…so we shouldn't think too much about it." He began to rub his hands lightly over my lower back. "And what WE are…" He took a drag and exhaled smoke through his nostrils, chuckling dismissively. "Nah… It doesn't need a name. It just IS. That's all."

I twisted my fists in his shirt, listening to him puff small drags of the cigarette in his lips. "…Are YOU afraid to die, Matt?" I asked, my face still pressed into his shoulder, lips against his hair, inhaling the scent of nicotine with every breath.

"I thought I would be," he said. "I mean, it's not like I've done very much with my life, but that doesn't mean I wanted it to end so soon." I frowned harder. "But…now that I'm here facing it…I'm not scared at all."

"You're not?"

"No. I was always willing to do whatever you needed me to do, but I thought when it came down to the wire—a matter of life and death—I would be pretty terrified. But I'm not. I feel invincible again now that I'm with you. If this is the end, I'm satisfied. It's not like I have any unfinished business, or very much to lose. All I got is what I can do for you. As long as I die doing what you need me to do, then there's no reason for me to be scared."

"…I can't STAND you!" I said harshly. "I can't stand how easy it is for you to say anything, no matter what it is! I can't stand how simple and honest and easygoing you are! I can't stand your voice or your face or those goddamn video games you always play! I can't stand the way you dress or any of your annoying little habits! I can't stand you! Why are you this way? It doesn't make any sense! Why are YOU the ONLY one…?" I bit my tongue and scoffed through my teeth, cutting off my thoughts before they could finish themselves. "GodDAMN you…!"

He chuckled briefly. "I'll just translate that to something meaningful in my head." He moved away to look at my face, grinning behind the remaining stump of his still-smoking cigarette.

"This is the last time I'm going to tell you," I barked under my breath, shoving him back by his chin. I snatched the cigarette from his lips and crushed it in my gloved fist, dropping it after. "…There are better things you can do with your mouth."

"Yeah?" His eyebrows went up on his forehead. "Read you loud and clear, Boss." Our lips met, seeking, venturing, and then engulfed each other, driving forward with equal force. My free hand went up into his hair, grasping it snugly between my gloved fingers. His tongue was everywhere, exploring with certainty. He drew away, licking around my mouth and then down my chin and neck. "Tomorrow's strictly business, like I said," he uttered, "so I've decided I'm gonna fuck you until it's tomorrow. How's that sound, Boss?"

"Depends on if you can back up your boast," I remarked.

"Well, we'll find out." He slid both his hands down, cupping my buttocks and clasping my pelvis against his forcefully. "Can you hold out that long or do I need to move slow?"

"If you move slow I'll kill you right now," I hissed. "Now get your ass in that bedroom. I WON'T do it on the fucking couch again."

"Got it."

He half-carried me into the bedroom, throwing me down on the mattress and then crawling over me. His lips and tongue drove into mine almost desperately. I tried to keep up with his pace, determined, even anxious. For the first time I was as eager for this as he was, perhaps even more so, although I had thought that was impossible with what a horny dog he was. I tasted the coarse flavor of tobacco and carcinogens, finding it no longer disgusted me, and then I was angry again. I was angry at our clothes for separating us, angry at my skin for not being bared, angry at him for not being inside me.

His hands, still gloved, roamed downward across my body, melding to every shape, causing ripples of stimulation to flow through me. I craved his foreplay and yet at the same time had no patience whatsoever for it. He reached my belt buckle and undid it, ripping the leather strap from the loops. The button of my fly came next, and then the cords that held the fabric together. He freed and fondled me without hesitation, stroking my length with his leather-clad fingers.

"How's this? What you had in mind?" he questioned.

"Just…shut up and keep busy!" I did my utmost not to cry out as my spine began to arc and my head curved back into the musty sheets. He caressed every inch of me there, hardening me pitilessly and still further. He returned to kiss me while his hand still worked at its goal, and I could barely reciprocate in-between my desperate gasps of air through my gritting teeth. I was rapidly losing control of myself, and he only made things worse when he suddenly retracted his hand. My whole body lit fire with agony at his lack of touch, but seconds later he gripped my knees and wrenched them enough apart so he could lower his head and lick against me there, dragging his tongue upwards and down with a terrible certainty. No use anymore! I screamed with a low, throaty growl in the sound, jamming my fingers into the mattress as if I could punch holes right through it.

Matt never let up, and only hastened my loss of rationality when he took the whole of me into his mouth and sucked. "Fuck!" I yelled, my head digging back into the bedding and my fingers darting out, drilling twice as fiercely into the mattress. His mouth was hot and sopping wet, and when he parted from me I was angered again, but he just bit the tip of his glove and yanked it off before he dragged a couple fingers across his salivating tongue and then promptly slid one into me. I bit into my bottom lip to hold in the noise, that sensible part of my brain still urging me to feel the shame, the humility, the degradation. I wanted to silence it!

"Go ahead and let it out," he urged, and then inserted a second finger. His free hand swam across me to resume fondling my achingly solid erection. He'd removed the glove on that hand also when I hadn't noticed, so now I could feel the naked heat of his sweaty hands on me and in me, the subtle roughness of the calluses on his palms and fingertips, the thickness of his knuckles… He was driving me out of whatever was left of my sanity. "C'mon, Mello…" he insisted huskily, his tone thickening as it tended to do when we were in bed. Was that just a normal inclination for men in bed? I wouldn't know. "Make noise," he encouraged, still pouring that strongly masculine tone across my ears. "Go ahead, at the top of your lungs. Scream my name."

"…Which…one…?" I scoffed through my bared teeth, and succeeded in spilling the drool I'd been attempting to keep in check. Damn it! I felt it drip over the edge of my lip and down, leaving a trail, but there was nothing I could do about it now.

"Whichever one you want," he replied, and then shoved a third finger through the tight ring of muscle, widening my flesh as well as my desire. In sequence, he circled the base of my horridly swollen organ and stroked it faster. "Whichever one you want to scream—whichever one that comes to mind first."

I tried to fight it, tried to refuse, tried to bite back, but what reason was there to do so? This was it, the end. This was possibly—probably—my last night on earth. So really, what the hell? To hell with all of it! You're dying anyway—dying as we speak! Every second is a second closer to hell! Just let it go! Just let it shatter!

"…Matt!" He smiled at me and then resumed sucking me off, still while he massaged his wet, sweltering fingers in and out of me. The ecstasy was doubled to new heights and I couldn't keep my teeth together. "Jesus, Matt!" How could he keep on getting better at this…? "Ahh—Goddamn you!" He didn't pause, only increased his pace and his force, drowning me in mindless drunken euphoria until I was drooling open-mouthed and shouting his name unabashedly, lacking any self-consideration or personal dignity, and completely unable to hear myself over the pounding of my blood in my temples. Finally the summit was climbed, throbbing at its highest. I lunged out and latched onto his shaggy hair with both my gloved fists. "Matt, it's…!"

He pulled away just as I came violently, jolting from head to toe with it and straining my spine in a vicious maneuver. I screamed and nearly yanked his hair out at the roots. I let him go as my voice died and then I fell lifelessly into immobility atop the sheet, sweating and panting. He took his fingers out of me and crawled over my body, crouching above me and looking down with a grin.

"So how was it?" he remarked, and wiped at his eyes. I glared up at him through the strain in my face, seeing a few droplets of my semen had managed to spatter across the orange lenses of his goggles. I reached up and gripped his hair again, bringing him down closer to me. He followed my lead smoothly, blind at the moment due to the heat of his face fogging his lenses. I slipped my thumbs underneath the straps of his soiled goggles and pulled them over his head, tossing them away. He was now free to regard me with that customary lazy gaze, lids sagging, brows relaxed, the dark bags underneath both eyes only emphasizing the absorbent green of them. Why did he always conceal his eyes from the world? Would I ever know? Could I ask him, or did he even know the answer himself? Shit, did I even care? "Hmm?" he hummed, lowering himself onto his elbows and stretching back his feet, tucking himself between my knees so we could lay chest-to-chest. "Like it so far, Boss?"

"I guess," I remarked.

"Maybe I need to try harder," he said.

"You'd better do more than try." He grinned and then kissed me deeply, trying to drink me down. I curled my fingertips against his scalp, giving back to his advances heedlessly. I could taste my salt on him. He began to hump against my groin with his own, swaying in a rushed rhythm. "Nnnn…!" I moaned inside his mouth, still latched onto his hair. My legs were getting sorer by the second and I had to struggle to keep my knees from crushing him.

He withdrew, trailing a thread of warm spit between us. He didn't bother catching his breath. "Trying…to tell me something?" he huffed. I licked my lips and glared at him, wondering why he wouldn't just get on with it. "C'mon, don't tell me you don't feel like ordering me around? When did hell freeze over?" He lapped at the scarred side of my neck, nibbling here and there, his heavy breathing only multiplying the level of sweat on my surface. "Just open your mouth and tell me what you want me to do, like always… Or do you want me to ask 'Mihael' instead?" He snickered sensually under his breath.

I twisted a handful of his locks in my fist and jerked his ear against my lips. "Not unless you want me to tell 'Mail' to fuck me already!" I hissed. "Fuck me now—as hard and as long as you can!"

"Yes, Sir," he replied with a chuckle. He moved up onto his knees and lifted my legs one at a time, removing both my boots for me. After that he started on my pants, yanking the waistband down past my hips, grumbling as he struggled with the tight leather. "I'm never gonna get the hang of this." I aided him by wriggling out of the fabric and he tossed them aside afterward. "Y'know it's not surprising you don't wear underwear," he mentioned, "but I just wanted to tell you I always thought it was hot." I frowned up at him as he leaned over me, gathering the crucifix of my rosary into his mouth using his tongue. He lifted the chain of beads off my chest and unzipped my leather vest all the way.

"You ruin everything when you talk too much," I sneered at him as I maneuvered out of the fabric, and then he tossed that away next. He shrugged and dropped my rosary back to my bare chest before he traced along the curvature of my pectorals with his strong fingers, brushing over my nipples, my stomach, my pelvis, raising chills in my body. I don't know why I always ended up naked first. He lowered his mouth to me again, rolling his tongue against mine. I ventured searchingly, charting the territory, letting my hands wander down his sides as I did. I extended both hands behind his back to tear off my gloves, throwing them carelessly before I grabbed a bundle of striped cloth in each hand and gathered it up in both fists. I let my hands wander underneath his shirt, taking down the tactile blueprint of his chest and shoulders. He stopped kissing me just long enough to rip his shirt all the way over his head, discarding it, and then picked up right where he left off. I took my time and smoothed my bare hands over the subtle contours of his frame, from shoulder blades to ass.

I knew he was a lazy, antisocial slob who never liked to go outside, but even so he was well-built, all his sinews formed of lean muscle, never fat or bone. He was slender, though not quite as much as me. Every fiber of me was pure muscle, despite how skinny I appeared to be, but you couldn't tell from a distance. I was used to being underestimated due to my appearance, and although it could prove to give me an advantage by utilizing the element of surprise, it scraped at my ego to be overlooked due to size. I had always proven myself with action, but Matt literally hardly needed to lift a finger for his accomplishments. His structure was genetic, just good luck in the breeding, and he constantly overlooked his personal upkeep. We were so different, even down to our flesh and blood, so how did things end up this way?

He pulled away and burrowed his eager mouth in my neck, making me clasp my hands in place against his back, my face nearly pressed to his bicep. I took my time in freshly observing his tattoos, which had more meaning than I had given him credit for. The inked chains intersected all down his upper arms, almost concealing the reddish freckles speckled on them. They were a light ginger color, almost vanishing into his pale skin tone, and he had more dusted across his hairless chest and shoulders.

He continued to suck and nip at the scarred half of my face, his pelvis commencing its previous motions against mine. I was becoming impatient, as his dry thrusting only agitated my arousal rather than sated it. I pushed him away by his chest and growled at him. "What did I tell you about moving slow?" I lunged my palm between his legs and grabbed hold for emphasis.

He flinched and answered with a groan. "…To not do it?" he said.

"Very good, boy," I responded. "It looks like I'm going to have to take control again if I ever want it to get done."

"Whatever you want, Boss…" He let me shove him away and flip him over onto his back. I knelt in front of him and pried his knees apart, craning over to unbuckle his belt and tear it free. I wrenched open the fly of his jeans, uncovering his boxer-shorts. They were grey with stripes and had red and green mushrooms on them. They were probably from some video game, but I didn't know, nor did I give a damn. He was chuckling so I glared up at him. "I like it when you're rough with me," was what he said.

"Yes, I know, you freak."

"I like it when you call me names too."

I sighed, briefly rubbing my brow. "You tempt me to believe in fate, you know that?"

"Huh, really?"

"How else could it turn out that I'm a sadist and you're a masochist?"

"Luck? Coincidence? Deal with the devil?"

"Something." I rolled my eyes and pulled his boxers down, exposing his thick hard-on. I took it in my hand, hearing him inhale with a light moan. I stroked him, listening as his breath quickened more each moment and watching as his hips rose to me readily and his fingers clenched against the sheet until his knuckles turned white. I'd touched him like this before, but I found that I was actually still slightly nervous to pursue the venture. I still had no idea what I was doing, no technique, no inkling. I didn't like not being perfectly proficient at something, and I wasn't used to dealing with that.

Could I satisfy him the way he did me? I wanted to. I wanted to make him squirm and scream the way he made me do, especially tonight. I was bound and determined to accomplish the same results, to not fail in his presence, but my stomach was knotting itself reminding me of my lack of experience. Fuck that. It was now or never. I lowered my head and ran my tongue over the heated organ, feeling his whole body tighten once I did. He groaned, and it encouraged me to lap and then suck, swallowing him as far as I could. I moved with as much skill as I could muster, at first forgetting about my hands and then using them to massage his groin while I sucked.

"Nnn…Mello…!" he groaned hoarsely. "Don't…stop…! Don't fucking…stop…!" I could excuse his thoughtless barking of orders in this situation. I continued, pulling his jeans and undergarment further out of my way so I could fondle the remainder of him, kneading the pliable tissue in my hand. "Oh, fuck!" he yelled, and threw his pelvis forward, raising his abdomen, spurring me. I kept on, dipping my head with my mouth engulfing him, his heat close to burning my tongue. His back bowed more and more as he groaned louder and louder, deeply and gruffly. "Mello…!" His cry was throaty and crude as he came, spilling the taste of hot bitterness into my mouth. I drew back, licking my lips and wiping at my chin, hardly realizing the wicked smile on my face. I still didn't like the taste, but I overlooked it for now. He slumped into a flaccid heap on the bedding, his chest pumping with his panting breath. "Whoa," he huffed, "I think you almost killed me, man…"

"It was good then?" I asked, crawling back over his torso to lean my hands on either side of his chest.

"…Saying that was JUST good is like saying Castlevania is JUST epic..."

I sighed irritably. "Don't you know by now that I have no idea what you're babbling about?"

He let out a huge breath. "…Dude, yeah, it was good. It was so fucking good I don't know how I survived it. Is that better?"

"Substantially." He managed to smile up at me. "What's that look for?" I demanded.

"I just like looking at you, man, that's all." I stared at him. "Still don't believe me?"

"Why would I? I'm not exactly your ideal type, not to mention…" I swiped my fingertips across the scarred side of my face, looking away, "…these repulsive…" He snickered in spite of my discomfort. "What's so funny?"

"C'mere," he said, reaching out. I frowned down at him, reluctant, but he insisted innocently. I spread my legs at either side of his hips and rested my weight on him, leaning down. My hair swathed around my face, the way I liked it now, but he immediately brushed it back. "You STILL don't think you're my type?"

I frowned harder at him like the buffoon he was. "I'm STILL a man. I know you'd rather have a woman."

His face faltered for a second. "Well, yeah, there's that…but everything else makes the list." He combed his fingers upward through my tresses, gripping them lightly in a fist. "Especially since you're a natural blonde," he cracked.

I shoved him by his chest. "You think this is so fucking hilarious, don't you?"

"Pretty much, yeah," he answered. "And I honestly don't think I could stand you if you were a woman. You'd be twice as loud and even more bitchy." I slapped him in the head, but he braced himself for the impact, snickering. "Besides…I already told you I like your scars," he went on, rubbing his fingertips over the ones on my face. "They really turn my crank, if you get my drift... Wasn't lying about that…or about the fact that you're the only person in the world I like being around longer than a few days."

"Yes, you've already told me you never lie to me, so that means you really are sick," I informed him. "A sick glutton for punishment."

He shrugged. "Well what about you, sitting up there on your high horse—heh, no pun intended?" I felt my remaining eyebrow tweak. "You still won't admit that you think I'm sexy."

"You're too cocky for your own good."

"In more ways than one."

I sighed and shoved his hand away from my face, chaffing my eyelids afterwards. "Can we just get on with this?" I grumbled.

"Can do, Boss," he said, and saluted me mockingly.

"Moron." I took him roughly in my hand again, making him grunt in shocked stimulation from the suddenness. "Getting soft already? I can't have that."

"You better teach me a lesson quick then, huh? I won't dare resist."

"You're damn right you won't." I positioned myself to take him in, hesitant for a full second again due to my inexperience. It was true I'd ridden him before, but it was still he who'd made the penetration every time.

"You sure you wanna…?" he asked, I guess noticing my uncertainty.

"Shut up and don't move!" I snapped, forcing myself out of my momentary doubt and going on. He just watched me, and with a little adjusting I was successful. It hurt to let him sink so deep, but I refused to back down and exerted my legs to move on top of him. I dug my fingernails into his jeans as I worked my lower body against his, and he let out low groans of approval as he lunged out to clasp his hands over my thighs, squeezing fiercely. I screamed through my teeth and continued laboring, letting the ecstasy pool within me again and rise continually, crashing through my nerves like a boiling tide.

I was concentrating, but he became increasingly louder as I strained to move with more speed, and I couldn't finish before he flipped us over in a rush and lifted one of my knees with his elbow. I shouted as he thrust forward, driving deeper, and slammed our chests together, mingling our sweat and coupled body-heat. "…Matt!" I yelled, lashing my arms around his shoulders. "I could've—handled it!"

"Couldn't hold back anymore," he exhaled, bucking his hips against me.

"Then…harder, damn you…! Harder…!"

"God, Mello…!" He dove into my neck, his breath thundering below my ear, and fucked me ruthlessly, throwing his whole body into the heaves. His thick, masculine groans intensified until I was digging my fingernails straight into his flesh and we were both spent in a blinding wave of purely brutal bliss.

We both collapsed into a collected heap, our chests throttling each other with our exhausted gasps for air. Our sweat coated us hotly, and as we slowly cooled in the aftermath, I noticed the slick heat of blood gushing against my hands. I'd torn gashes in his back with my fingernails, not realizing I'd done so, and now the scent of copper added to the scorching aroma encasing us. He slowly unhinged his grasp from my thigh and arm, letting every extremity go limp on top of me.

"Mm… Ow…" he murmured into my hair. "Am I bleeding…?"

"I broke skin."

"Eh, no problem." He struggled up onto his elbows so that he could smile down at me. I brought my bloody hand around to look at it, but he snagged my wrist and lifted it to his mouth. He licked the blood from my fingers, still breathing unevenly. He suckled sluggishly, obviously in no hurry as he cupped the back of my hand almost delicately. His mouth was still so hot.

I just watched him for a while, licking one or two of my own fingers. I'd never felt this way before… I was nearly comfortable—at ease. No other human being could inspire my roiling fury to recede genuinely. No other human being had been able to dig their way this deep through my defenses. And I had completely allowed it to happen. We'd come so far, so quickly. When I first saw him again after Wammy's House, things had been frigid, awkward, and distant—exactly the way I'd preferred. And he hadn't made any great effort to change things. But after the night I blew the base and disfigured myself…everything altered permanently. That night was the rupture that brought down every wall between us. I could see that now.

"Matt…" I finally whispered.

"Hmm…yeah?"

"Are you really…" I trailed off, not sure if I should say it.

"What's wrong?" He rubbed his thumb across my lips, wetting them with my own saliva. I looked at him, wiping a smudge of blood from the edge of his mouth. It was still under my nails, so I only succeeded in smearing some more of it across his chin. "You can tell me, Mello. You can tell me anything."

I exhaled, my breathing finally calming down to a tolerable rate. "Are you really…ready to die?"

He shrugged after a moment. "I think that's a trick question," he replied. "Nobody's ever READY to die. But, I am ready to take the final plunge. Who knows—dying might turn out to be fun." He chuckled. I wasn't amused. "C'mon, Mello, you aren't getting cold feet, are you?"

I shook my head. "This is my vendetta. There's no way I'm backing out after coming this far."

"That's what I thought."

"…But it doesn't mean you can't," I reminded him.

"C'mon, man, you don't need to start this up again. We're sticking to the plan and that's that."

"Damn it, Matt… If you would just do the least bit of resisting, then I could have an excuse to kick you out."

"I know, but I won't."

"…I know."

He smiled again and then bent down to kiss me. We made out for a while, readily but not relentlessly because both our lungs were still recovering.

He licked his lips once he drew away. "And you still taste like chocolate. I'm actually pretty surprised you didn't BLEED chocolate right outta your veins."

I growled at him. "Well even your blood tastes like a filthy ashtray."

"…The more your face wrinkles that way and the more your teeth clench, the more it just turns me right back on."

I sighed. "You're hopeless, Matt…"

"I guess so… But we both are, so it's okay."

He picked himself up and rolled over to lie beside me, flopping heavily and wiping the sweat from his brow. I reached over to grab my final bar of chocolate from the drawer of the nightstand, and he reached over to grab a pack of cigarettes and his lighter. I lounged back with my head propped on his chest and tore open the foil around the candy. He lit up the cancer-stick and blew a cloud of silver. He rested his hand behind his head and smoked, puffing lungful after lungful of the choking fog around us. I was about to take a bite of my chocolate, but on an impulse I reached over and snatched his cigarette out of his hand.

"Aw, c'mon, man…I need my fix after all that."

"Tough." I was about to toss the cig away, but at the last minute lowered it to my lips instead and inhaled, watching the ash burn before I exhaled a cloud of silver. I nearly coughed, but didn't allow myself to. I ran my tongue across my lips, tasting the smoky grit down to the back of my teeth.

"Hey, no fair," he said, but I ignored him and took another drag. I was surprised to find that calmness settled over my nerves with the intake of tar and chemicals. "Fine then," he remarked, and promptly snatched my bar of chocolate away. I glared back at him but he just snapped off a piece, the way I did, and chewed it. He chomped obnoxiously and then licked the edge of his mouth. "I dunno how you stay so skinny."

"Don't call me skinny," I warned, "and I don't know how you can go through two packs of these a day."

"Well, I've been smoking since I was like six, as often as I could, just to hold on to the feeling of safety my brother used to give… It only got worse once you and I became friends though. Maybe I needed some way to cope with your attitude." He chuckled, and I wasn't sure if he was joking or not. "Anyway, I haven't needed to sneak around since I left Wammy's, so I guess it got even worse… Good way to relax when I gotta deal with you though." He laughed and I smacked him in the chest.

I finished off the cigarette and then snuffed it on the wall and threw the butt. He chomped through most of my chocolate by that time so I snatched back what was left and finished it, knowing it was my last one—possibly forever. I sighed afterward, licking the last remnants of sweetness from my lips. The final sample of my nearly lifelong vice. Things really were coming to an end, weren't they?

"Again," I said.

"Huh?" he mumbled, scratching at his chest.

I turned over and grabbed him by the hair, swinging one leg around his hip. "Again," I repeated.

"Already?"

"I don't like repeating myself, you should know that by now. And what happened to fucking me until it's tomorrow? Last time I checked, it wasn't yet." I tugged at his belt loops. "Get these pants off, now. The denim chafes my ass."

"Whatever you say, Boss… Or should I switch to Babe?"

I grimaced. "Call me that again and you won't have a larynx to talk with. It's my turn to do the fucking anyway, so you'd better keep your mouth shut unless you're begging for mercy."

"No worries over that."

January 26, 2010

12:18 a.m.

We were lying beside each other under the sheet, our heads propped on the same pillow, just letting our lungs and muscles recover in the immediate aftermath. We'd been fooling around for hours, even though it really would be a good idea to get back to work. It was the 26th already, and I still needed to do last-minute run-throughs and try to get some sleep. There wasn't much chance of that right away as my brain continually distracted itself. Matt was smoking a fresh cigarette, and I watched him do so attentively, trying to sort through the myriad of screaming thoughts in my head.

"…Are you sure you don't want me to use your real name?" I asked after a while, realizing our earlier conversation was still eating at me.

"Why? Matt is what you're used to calling me, isn't it? Don't you want to stick with what you're accustomed to?"

"Yes…but that's not the point." It was true that "Matt" had risen first to my thoughts and lips, but that wasn't what mattered.

"What is the point then, huh?" he asked, seeming amused by the whole conversation.

"The point is: Matt is not your NAME. 'M-A-T-T' was simply a random designation you were slapped with by the Wammy's House officials. There was no thought or consideration behind it. You could have been given any ambiguous title, any nickname at all. Those adults could have cared less about slaughtering our identities. Don't you want me to acknowledge your REAL NAME?"

He shrugged. "I told you to use whatever name you wanted to use," he said, puffing on his cigarette and starting to twirl his other fingertips in the ends of my loose hair. "That's who you know me as, who I've always been to you. My life only really started when I knew you, and when I met you I was Matt. So, as far as I'm concerned, Matt IS my real name."

I sat up, leaning my arm on his chest to stare at him. I hated him for smiling while he told me these things. He could always say them so easily, yet it was a battle for me to show him even the most meager affection. Why did it have to be this way? He was the only one who could get me to fight against my very own nature. He was the only one who forced up these acidic emotions, this sense of self-resentment, of near-remorse, of first-ever-guilt. He was the only one who made me almost feel bad for being the way I was, for existing, for being born.

I chewed my bottom lip until I tasted blood, but suddenly he threw one arm around my neck, pulling me down the rest of the way so I could hide the doubt in my eyes by burying my face in his shoulder. I made my hand a fist in his hair, inhaling the fragrant scent of smoke soaking every inch of him. Was this my last chance to do so? I just stayed there in place, hugging him to me as if I were trying somehow to forsake myself.

He didn't move much at first, but slowly he tossed away his cigarette and then wrapped his arms beneath mine and around me, clutching us close together. "Hey, what's this about?" he asked, still devil-may-care in his every decibel. "It's not that big of a deal, y'know? I never liked hearing my name, the way people said it, or DIDN'T say it. When that man took my photograph and typed up my House records, he pointed to me and without a breath of feeling said: 'Listen, kid, from now on your name is Matt. That's what you tell people your name is, no matter who asks. You are never again to even whisper or write the name you came here with. It doesn't even exist anymore. Got it? Now, repeat it. M-A-T-T. Matt.' They deleted any records of identity we ever had—wiped them clean off the face of the earth. They erased any proof that we were ever born, that we ever existed. I was never supposed to hear that old name again, never supposed to be that person again. And I didn't fight that." He was slowly smoothing his hand over my hair repeatedly, something he'd never done before. I let him. "When I first met you…you asked my name and I told you it was Matt. You crossed your arms over your chest and told me that Matt was a stupid name, remember?"

I did. "Yes."

"So, after you stared me down for a while, I finally asked what your name was, and when you said it was Mello, I told you YOUR name was stupider. You punched me in the face and ran off. And that was how we met. Nice, huh?"

"Yes," I said, laughing slightly into his hair.

He laughed back. "…They were right, y'know… I really didn't exist, not once in my life. Not until that day. I had a bruise on my cheek for a week from you punching me, and every chance you got you hurt me or tormented me, but while I ignored you I just kept wondering…why you bothered. You could have focused your wrath on anyone, or everyone, but for that first week I arrived you only tortured me. Why?"

"I… I don't know," I answered, wishing he would stop dredging up these childhood memories. The sun always seemed to shine back then, but not anymore. The real world was dark and gritty and chaotic. The past would never come to life again. So why did its colors threaten to pierce right through me?

"It hit me when you snuck into my room and tried to steal my Gameboy," he continued. "I was the only person you could never get a rise out of, and that bothered you to the point where you couldn't overlook it. Before I showed up, you could dismiss anyone and push them away from your mind. But there I was, refusing to play your game. When you finally found a way to rile me up, and I finally responded to your bullying by hitting you back, you felt better instead of angrier. That's why you dragged me out to play the next day, and every day after. That's why we became friends, because I'm the only person who could deal with you, and vice versa. Nobody else could be next to you and stay sane, much less survive. Nobody else made sense together."

"I know," I barked. "It's always been that way. No other way makes sense. I know it, okay?" I gripped his hair and shoulder tighter in my hands. "You're the only human being I trust. You're my only friend, my only partner. Alright? Now just stop!"

"…What about you?" he asked through my hair. "Would you rather I call you Mihael now, while there's still time? I can, if you want."

"No," I snapped. "I'm the same. I never existed before we told each other our names. These names we have now…are the only names we've ever fit. I've always known you as Matt and to you I've always been Mello. I don't have any reason to want that different. No matter how thoughtless and stupid and unsuitable Mello is for me, it's the only name that's ever felt real. I'm not Mihael anymore, if I ever was."

"Heh," he snickered. "Right. And I've never felt like Mail, or ever missed the sound of it. Names are just words, anyway."

"Yeah, just words... I never thought they were worth a shit…until Kira came along, that is. Just a name and a glance and you're dead—and for the first time those letters tied together to spell Mihael Keehl defined me again. Out of nowhere, after SO many years, I heard them again—and without warning they gave me enough identity to die by. Why should it matter? You can know someone your whole life and never need to know their name."

"Like us," he said.

"Yes, like us. Names are just hollow sounds—they shouldn't determine who you are, or what your fate is."

"Names don't define anything," he conceded. "Names are just letters strung together to make a word. That's all they should ever be. We've lived our whole lives bearing false aliases, and it never changed who we are. Why should Kira have the power to control someone's whole life with just their stupid birth name? It doesn't make sense. It shouldn't work that way. Shinigami really are lousy fucking cheaters…"

It was then that the solution dawned on me, like light splitting the darkness of a fog in my brain. Everything split apart—tore itself wide open! The entire case, our lives, that past, the present, the future—all came smashing apart!

"Matt, you're a fucking genius!" I screamed, sitting up in a jolt.

"Huh?" he blurted, startled at my sudden move. "Since when?"

"Since right this second!" I shoved myself from his body, turning around as the wheels in my head cranked anew, freshly oiled and fully operational. The plan was already falling into place, overlapping my previous efforts and coming together as easily as anything ever could. Why hadn't I thought of it AGES ago?

"Dude, what are you talking about?" he asked, sitting up and staring at me as I got off the bed and stood, my head filling up with the perfect intricacies of my success. "Uh, have you lost it? You've never even come close to calling me a genius for real." I turned back to him, concentration creasing my face into a wicked smirk, showing my teeth and widening my left eye. "…You're freaking me the fuck out, man."

"Get your sweaty ass up and get dressed! We have a ton of work to do, and only a few hours left to do it in!"

"A ton of work? What work? I thought you had everything set up already…"

"Change of plan," I announced, and then grabbed up my clothes and left the room.