Author's Notes:

PAIRINGS: Matt/Mello. Mello/Near.

SPOILERS? Yes, for the entire series.

A few choice paragraphs made me cackle so loudly that I woke up my dogs writing this. Enjoy!

Chapter 8: Golden Fritter

"So," Matt drawled, "you never did tell me why you went all this way just to visit me."

Mello shrugged. "I just happened to take a walk and decided to pop in to say hi. Don't look so pleased with yourself."

"Let's see . . . so you just happened to walk for about a kilometer and just happened to pass by a university and just happened to apply for a visitor's permit and just happened to cook up a commotion as a celebrity asking around for a commoner like me. That sounds entirely accidental. You won't be the last to ever commit this highly specific series of mistakes, I'm sure."

Mello had to stifle a giggle at this. "Shut up."

They were walking home together, staying on the sidewalk, their hair whipped into clouds of yellow and brown as cars whooshed by at breakneck speed.

Matt clasped his hands behind his head and flashed a grin. "Really, Mello. Spare me the suspense. Why are you being so nice to me today?"

"Can't I be nice? Am I not allowed?"

"Sure, you can be nice. I'm just saying, this type of out-of-character niceties can make the people who know you extremely suspicious. Where has the real Mello gone? Has he been abducted by a spaceship and imprisoned on an alien planet?"

Mello shook a fist in his direction. "Don't make me go over there and hit you."

"I'd do just about anything to make you come over here. Come on. Hit me."

"Fan service is over for today, Matt. Save the theatrics for next time."

Matt snickered. "What's wrong with a little practice, hey?"

"I'm shocked you even thought to cooperate earlier. You're not part of the official Death Note family, so you're not required like we are. Why bother with something so troublesome?"

"Are you kidding? Matsuda is giving me a shitload of dough just to live with you. Playing around with you is simply one of the perks of this arrangement."

"You shitface."

Matt laughed. "Oho. Upping the name-calling game, I see. I think I like that name. Shitface. It suits me, doesn't it?"

"It does. I'm glad you're warming up to it."

In the wake of this weak comeback, a long silence followed.

Matt soon cleared his throat and spoke. "Mello?"

"What?"

"Why are you so nervous?"

"I'm not nervous."

"You're sweating bullets, and it's not even hot today. Could it be that —"

"All right, all right! Where do you want to eat? It's my treat."

For an agonizing moment, Matt didn't reply. Feeling jittery, Mello glanced over at him, but he was suddenly gone from Mello's side.

Abruptly whirling around, Mello spied Matt several paces behind, frozen wide-eyed in his tracks.

Mello jogged back to him. "Matt? Hey. Did you hear what I said?

"I — I heard what you said."

Mello waited for more, but nothing appeared forthcoming. "What's your answer then?"

"Anywhere."

"No need to be shy. I brought all my cards with me, so you can go as wild as you want."

Matt was carefully examining Mello's expression now. "Look, if this is about —"

Mello cut him off. "It's not about anything. I just felt like eating out, and it seemed rude not to ask you to come along, given that we've just started rooming together and all."

Matt blinked, as if reeling from a sense of whiplash. "Oh. Right. That makes sense."

Mello gritted his teeth. He was screwing this all up, wasn't he? Damn it all.

Before Mello could dwell for too long upon his own glaring tactlessness, Matt was calling him over to an inconspicuous kiosk by the sidewalk.

"Over here! It's takoyaki time!"

Mello approached the kiosk and stared down at the golden spheres crackling over a black-topped stove.

"Here?" Mello finally said. "I just told you I was willing to go anywhere with you. Do you need more time to think about what you want?"

"No. I want to eat right here. Are you treating me or not?"

Mello sighed. "Fine."

Mello might have regretted conceding to Matt's choice of cuisine — the antithesis of good taste or glamor, it seemed — but just then Matt beamed so brightly that Mello's heart lurched. Mello clutched at his own chest, balling up the black fabric of his quilted vest. What . . . what the hell was that . . .?

"Four orders, please!" Matt was saying cheerfully to the street vendor.

The vendor gave a thumbs-up sign. "Right on!"

Mello crossed his arms over his chest, determined to sulk some more over Matt's pathetic idea for a date — hang on, did he just think the word date? — but the cooking process soon piqued his interest and made him drop his guard. "They look a bit like chocolate balls, especially when arranged over a tray like that," Mello commented.

"Hmm." Matt rubbed his chin, contemplating. "You know, you might be onto something here."

The mention of chocolate reminded Mello of why they were both even there, and he clenched his fists, mortified with himself for so thoughtlessly bringing that up.

Matt, however, showed no sign of brooding over Mello's tantrum from the night before. He continued to survey the takoyaki with renewed interest. "Octopus fritters are somewhat bumpy, yes, but you could reason with yourself that those ridges are chopped hazelnuts, similar to the way Ferrero Rocher does it. The color might be a little off, but then again, I suppose that if you can have white chocolate, you can have this sort of . . . yellowish chocolate too, topped with chocolate shavings and syrup." Matt nodded sagely. "Indeed, you've cleverly cracked the code. Octopus fritters appear to be the distant relative of chocolate balls."

Matt smiled triumphantly at him, and Mello was so taken aback that he smiled in return. Obviously, Mello didn't truly believe that takoyaki could ever be related to his beloved chocolate, considering that chocolate was simply beyond comparison, but the way that Matt had taken Mello's inane comment in stride, the way that Matt ran amok with such a ridiculous concept and analyzed it at face value for Mello's sole enjoyment, the way that Matt apparently possessed an insatiable curiosity about everything around him . . . it was as if he never got bored. Matt had been like this too when he'd first played with the Nintendo DS — he'd asked endless questions, and upon receiving only inadequate responses, he'd swiftly set out to find the answers himself.

"Four orders of takoyaki!" the vendor announced, jolting Mello from his reverie.

Mello extracted his wallet from his too-tight leather pants to pay up, while Matt transferred the paper plates to a tiny wooden table nearby.

Taking a seat across from Matt, Mello jerked his head backward as Matt brandished a toothpick dispenser right at his face.

"Let's eat, Mello!" And without further ado, Matt savagely speared an octopus fritter and popped it into his mouth.

Mello narrowed his eyes as Matt sighed in gastronomic bliss. "I realize that you're a big believer in takoyaki supremacy, but three orders for yourself, really?"

"Wha —?" Matt's jaw dropped, revealing the masticated food in his mouth. "Two for me, two for you! Of course!"

"Two for me?! But I don't even —" Mello slapped a hand over his own face and groaned.

Mello felt a hand settle over his shoulder. Matt was shaking him, gently but insistently.

"Mello, what's wrong? Do you hate takoyaki? Are you allergic? You should have told me beforehand!"

Mello slid his palm downward to regard Matt. "No, I'm not allergic to seafood," Mello clarified. "And I don't know if I hate takoyaki or not. I've never tried it before. Those, um, squirming things on top . . . they always creeped me out as a kid."

"The bonito flakes, you mean?"

"Yeah, I used to throw a fit whenever my Mom bought takoyaki for me. She learned not to, eventually."

Matt was all solicitude this time. "Do you want to get out of here, then? Is this upsetting your stomach?"

"Nah, it's fine. I can't very well leave now, right after grandly declaring that I would treat you to any meal you wanted. Besides, it's good to try something new once in a while, right?"

"Right! Look, the bonito flakes have already stopped curling, so you don't need to worry about that." Matt snapped his fingers as something occurred to him. "Ah, but you need to watch out for the temperature! The balls are surprisingly hot in their center."

Mello smirked at this. "If you consider all the bullshit I withstood during filming, you'll know that such a minor elevation in temperature won't turn me off. I can bear with things much hotter than this."

Confidence more or less restored, Mello screwed his eyes shut and shoved a ball into his mouth. He kept his eyes closed as he silently savored the taste. Before long, he was motionless, seemingly petrified into a statue right in front of Matt.

"Mello . . .?" A hand gripped Mello's shoulder, shaking him again. Matt's voice was imploring. "Do you hate it that much? If you can't stand the way it tastes, just spit it out! Don't force yourself!"

Mello opened his eyes to see Matt's face surprisingly close to his own. Resisting the urge to retreat from this sudden proximity, Mello started to speak. "I think. . . ."

"What?" Matt demanded, practically beside himself with concern.

"I think that takoyaki is way more like a plain Dunkin' Donuts Munchkin than like a Ferrero Rocher ball."

A beat of silence, then they both exploded into hysterical fits of laughter. Even after these initial fits had subsided, they still had to smother the occasional snort as they both returned to their food with much more gusto than before.

Mello smacked his lips after demolishing his fifth octopus ball. "You know, although this place wouldn't be in my top ten list of preferred places to dine — or even in my top one hundred, come to think of it — I can't remember the last time I had this much fun. Oddly enough."

Matt didn't detect, or at least opted to ignore, the note of sarcasm in his roommate's voice. "Thanks, Mello."

Mello almost protested by saying, But that's my line, Matt! I've been trying to thank you all this time! He didn't push it though. Nothing more needed to be said, lest he ruin the effortless perfection of this moment.