A/N: So, let me tell you a story. When I left for college and my sister was a sophomore in high school, my sister started reading fanfiction, and, of course, I started reading fanfiction, too, so that we could exchange recs and talk about it together. Then, after reading the Death Note manga, one of the first fanfiction stories I wrote was this one: Circular Logic. Six months after that, I returned to this story to write Chapter 2. And I thought, that was that, and I marked it complete.
Well... Fast forward 10 years to the spring of 2021. I'm getting married in the summer and my sister - the one who got me into fanfiction in the first place - is my maid of honor. I've had three years (after postponing my wedding once due to COVID) to think of the perfect gift for her and, for a while, I come up with nothing. Then, it hits me. I'm going to write her a one-shot, like I used to do years and years ago for birthday and Christmas and graduation presents.
So I go back through my old stories for inspiration and think, I should continue her favorite story, this one, Circular Logic. And then I notice the last date that I updated this story: July 10, 2011. My wedding was exactly ten years later on July 10, 2021.
If that's not fate, I don't know what is.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy this wedding-themed (of course) installment of Circular Logic! This one's for you, CrimsonEyes27 :)
Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note, nor any of its characters.
It had been three months since the scene at the restaurant and Matt hadn't brought it up once. Not a single goddamn time. And it was driving Mello absolutely crazy.
Sure, all five of them—L, Light, Near, Matt, and himself—had parsed the situation with the gunman over and over and over again. They had debated the ethics of Light keeping part of the Death Note and whether or not saving Near's life was worth it (it was, but somebody had to play devil's advocate, and somehow that somebody was always Mello). But they never talked about the kiss. They never talked about how soft Matt's lips were against his own or how they were smeared with chocolate by the time he pulled away.
It had been long enough that Mello wondered if it hadn't all been some elaborate prank on Matt's part. Mello had always thought of himself as the prank-master, but then there was all that crap about the pupil surpassing the teacher, and Mello was an excellent teacher. But he didn't think that his ways would rub off on Matt (innuendo absolutely intended).
And he didn't think Matt—naïve, game-obsessed, quiet Matt—would ever put those skills to use against Mello. They were best friends, weren't they?
And perhaps, thought Mello glumly, that was all they'd ever be.
He ripped a bite out of his bar of chocolate and returned to the situation at hand.
Light and L were getting married. In three days. And somehow Matt had ended up as L's best man. Mello probably should have expected it. While L was closest to Near, Near, in his infinite knowledge, lacked the attention span to stand at the altar beside L for a whole half an hour without being lured away by some mathematical equation he no doubt scoured out of the clouds at what would be Light and L's outdoor ceremony. Mello, while the obvious next choice when it came to IQ, might have ruined his chances at being picked with one too many harmless jokes about the detective and his reformed-murderer fiancé.
That left Matt for the job, and he performed it stoically, standing on the platform erected in the Wammy House living room, while a tailor made last-minute alterations to his black suit.
"Hold still," said the tailor around the pins protruding from her mouth, as Matt fidgeted against her touches.
"Sorry," said Matt. "Is it going to be much longer?"
"Only if you keep moving," she replied, cuffing and pinning the too-long pants at his ankle. "You're almost as bad as him." She jerked her head toward L, who sat, clad in a white suit, in his usual, curled position, bare toes peeking out from beneath the hems.
L smiled serenely. "I merely needed to make sure I was able to sit comfortably," said L. "And I am. You've done a fine job."
The woman rolled her eyes and straightened up. "There," she said. "All done. Let me know what you think and I'll make the changes tonight." She took a step back so that Matt could see himself in the mirrors erected around the platform. Three of them, all reflecting Matt's soft red hair and the deep pools of his spring green eyes, the form-fittedness of his suit as he rolled his shoulders. Mello would never say it aloud, but he was enjoying the view immensely.
"Umm," said Matt, nervously. He turned toward Mello. "I think it's good. What do you think?"
I think you look fucking hot, thought Mello. He swallowed his bite of chocolate bar and said out loud with a shrug, "You look like a red-haired penguin. But the suit fits all right."
Matt flushed red enough to match his hair and Mello watched him carefully. Did he look disappointed that Mello didn't give him more of a compliment? Mello blinked away the thought. It didn't matter anyway. He turned to L and said, "Traditional suits are fine, but have you considered leather?"
Both Matt and the tailor let out shouts of protest, though for different reasons.
"I'm sorry Mr. Ryuzaki, but there is not time to redo this in leather. Not with all the alterations Ms. Amane is demanding for her maid of honor gown," implored the tailor.
Matt, on the other hand, merely spluttered, eyes wide, "Please don't make me wear leather."
"What's wrong with leather?" Mello asked indignantly, unfolding himself from the chair. As usual, he wore leather pants, cinched low on his hips with a belt and his customary leather vest.
"N—nothing," stammered Matt. "It looks good on you."
Before Mello could dissect that for meaning, L chimed in, "The suits as they are will be fine, thank you."
The tailor looked relieved. "I'll leave you two to get changed. Please hang the suits in their bags when you are done." She left the room.
Mello stretched. "I'm just saying, leather might add a bit of pizazz to your wedding. I'd hate for it to be a snoozefest."
"I'm marrying a murderer, Mello," said L, getting up from his perch and removing his white jacket, "As you like to remind me. I think that is all the pizazz we will need."
Mello raised his eyebrows. Did L just make a joke? He cast a look toward the platform to catch Matt's eye. They would have cracked up over this in old times. But Matt was nowhere to be seen. He had already left to change in the bathroom. They'd shared a room at the orphanage their entire lives, but in the past few months, Matt had become more and more distant. Ever since that kiss fucked everything up. Sometimes Mello wished they could go back to how things were before.
And sometimes, Mello thought, remembering how nice—how hot—Matt looked in his suit, reflected beautifully in all three mirrors, he didn't want to go back to the way things were before at all.
Later that night, Mello lay in bed, munching on chocolate to get that horrible minty toothpaste taste out of his mouth before he slept, when Matt finally returned from wherever he was.
"Where've you been?" asked Mello through a mouthful of chocolate.
"Around," said Matt, shrugging out of his brown vest and climbing onto his own bed across the room. He turned on the old CRT television propped on a table at the foot of his bed and stared at it as the screen warmed to life with a low hum. How many hours, days, weeks, had Matt and Mello spent staring at that thing, shoulder to shoulder on Matt's bed? Matt had meticulously played his way through the classics, only to start over when he finally reached a game system that required an HDMI hook-up that his television couldn't handle. And all the while, Mello had been right next to him, narrating his various avatars' every move on screen with what Mello thought was pithy and hilarious acuity.
Matt had thought so too, Mello assured himself. He had laughed, sometimes so hard that his little character would walk off the edge or be unintentionally lured into some other horrid, 64-bit death. Sometimes Matt would give the controller to Mello and laugh as Mello butchered the controls, hiding his face in Mello's shoulder when he claimed he couldn't watch another moment of Mello's horrible playing.
They hadn't done that in three months.
"Wedding stuff?" asked Mello, sitting up. He didn't look at Matt, instead watched the screen to see which game Matt would choose today, after months of not playing.
"Yeah," said Matt.
When Matt added nothing more, Mello prodded, "Care to elaborate?"
Matt's green eyes flickered to Mello's "Seriously?"
"What?"
"I thought you hated weddings."
"What gave you that idea?" Mello placed his hands on his hips, indignantly.
Matt raised his eyebrows. "You take every moment of every day to tear apart L and Light's wedding."
"Well," said Mello, defensively, "That's more about the fact that L is marrying a murderer, not so much the fact that he's getting married."
"And the fact that he's marrying a guy," muttered Matt, so quietly that Mello almost didn't hear him.
Mello opened his mouth to respond and then closed it again. He hadn't made any jokes about that since the time in the restaurant. He hadn't even really meant them at the time, either. Mello himself found both women and men equally attractive. Just because he'd never shared it before, didn't mean it wasn't true. When he said those things at the restaurant, he'd said them because he'd been angry. Yet another thing came easily to L, because of course it fucking would.
L was the smartest person on the planet and he could come out as gay to his family, to the world and nobody would think twice. Mello would never admit it, but he was afraid to be that honest with his family and with himself.
In retrospect, this would have been the perfect moment to say something to Matt. Say anything. But Mello didn't. He, for perhaps the first time in his life, said nothing at all.
Instead, Matt said, "I don't really feel like playing anything." He turned off the television and left. He didn't come back all night.
Mello barely saw Matt over the next two days. Matt was busy helping prepare for the wedding—which would be held right in the backyard of Wammy House—and Mello was busy avoiding Matt and anybody else involved with this wedding. Which seemed to be everyone.
On the day of the wedding, Mello saw no reason to get up early with the rest of the house. The ceremony wasn't until three o'clock and Mello planned to be in his seat in the backyard exactly then and not a moment sooner. He shut off his alarm when it went off and tried to go back to sleep.
He couldn't have closed his eyes for more than thirty seconds when a hand was shaking him awake.
"Mello," said an urgent voice, "Mello, wake up."
Mello rolled over and blearily opened his eyes. "Light?" he asked, confused. As his eyes adjusted to the sunlight through the thrown-open curtains, he confirmed that indeed it was L's finacé. Mello pushed himself up so that he was sitting. "What are you doing here? Don't you have, like, wedding things to be doing?"
Light looked inordinately unpleased to be there with Mello in this moment. "Unfortunately," said Light, running a hand through his auburn hair, "I am here for wedding things, as you put it."
"Matt's not here," said Mello, gesturing to the empty bed across the room. He hadn't slept there since their conversation three nights ago.
"I'm not looking for Matt," said Light, "I'm looking for you."
Mello's mouth twisted into a malicious grin. He couldn't help it. "Does L know you're here?" he asked suggestively.
"I don't have time for this," said Light with an impatient noise for emphasis. "Just listen. Misa left."
"And you want me to find her?" asked Mello. "Sorry, I don't speak slut." He paused, then amended, "Well, I do, but I'm not using it to track down Misa. You're on your own, buddy."
Light ignored him and continued. "She got offered a part in a film and she had to fly out today—or something like that. She called from the airport. I could barely hear her, but she's not going to be here for the wedding."
"Well good thing she's not getting married," said Mello unhelpfully.
"She's the maid of honor," said Light, "That's kind of important. And without her the whole ceremony will be unbalanced. Asymmetrical."
Mello pondered that for a moment. "And L would hate that."
Light nodded. "I want this day to be perfect for L."
It was then that Mello realized that Light was holding something in his left hand. A slip of black fabric. "Is that what I think it is?" asked Mello, warily.
Light held it up and nodded. It was a dress, a slinky, black dress.
"No," said Mello. He scooted back on the bed, as far away from Light as possible. "No way in hell."
"You share her exact measurements," pleaded Light. "No one else here does and there's not time to get another suit or dress made in our exact color palette."
"How do you know my size?" Mello hedged.
"Matt told me," said Light. "It was his suggestion, actually, that we ask you."
Matt told him? Matt wanted him in the wedding? This changed things.
Mello snatched the dress out of Light's hands. "Let me see that." He stood and held it up to his frame. Matt was right. It would certainly be a perfect fit.
"Curse my effeminate hips," grumbled Mello.
"Does that mean you'll do it?" asked Light.
"You owe me," demanded Mello.
Light grinned. "Anything you want."
"My weight in chocolate," said Mello.
Light eyed him up and down. "Deal. Considering that you fit into that dress, it can't be very much."
Light was laughing as he left the room, and, although Mello kept the scowl firmly on his face, inside he was glowing. This had been Matt's idea. A small part of Mello worried that this was still part of a prank. But, Mello thought, if it was, the joke's on him. Mello held the skimpy outfit in front of him. He was going to make sure he looked fucking hot, whether Matt cared or not.
Mello only left his room once he felt he looked perfect. And, as he made his way down the grand staircase to the first floor of Wammy House, he looked fan-fucking-tastic.
The dress was a silky, floor-length garment with a slit that reached halfway up Mello's thighs. The top was a corset, which Mello cinched tightly to make up for his lack of bust. He delicately applied make-up—wing-tipped eyeliner and cherry red lipstick—before pulling on the lace gloves and stepping into the stiletto heels he'd had buried at the back of his closet for a special occasion.
This seemed to qualify as exactly that.
Mello was only a little bit disappointed that there was no one in the main foyer as he descended the stairs, but that didn't stop him from strutting. He knew when he looked good, and he looked damn good.
When he reached the bottom, Light appeared out of one of the many rooms of the mansion. He wore a pair of white suit pants with a plain undershirt. "There you are," he said, giving Mello a once-over. "I see you already did your own make-up." He paused. "It's bold."
"Thank you," said Mello, flashing a smile.
Light grimaced, but said nothing more on the matter. Instead, he intoned, "Misa's hair stylist is in here."
Mello followed Light into the room and was descended upon by the hairdresser. She bullied him into the chair and wrapped a cover around his shoulders. "Misa wanted an updo," she said. "That good with you?"
Mello shrugged. "Do your worst. I can pull off anything." He gestured to the dress, turned to Light, and grinned. "And I'm humble, too. The whole package."
Light grimaced. "Don't make me regret this."
The stylist tugged a comb through Mello's hair as he replied, with a singsong chirp, "That sounds like a challenge."
Though Mello couldn't see Light as the hairdresser positioned his head straight forward, he heard the deft slap of a palm to the face. Mello smiled for only a moment before it fell. As much fun as it was to aggravate Light, he couldn't help but hear Matt's words in his head: I thought you hated weddings. If weddings meant something to Matt, then Mello would try his hardest for them to mean something for him too.
So Mello asked, civilly, for him at least, "So what exactly am I supposed to do once this whole shebang starts?"
Light sidled behind Mello and the stylist so that Mello could see him reflected in the mirror. Light's brow was furrowed beneath his auburn hair, as if contemplating whether arming Mello with information would be a bad thing.
Mello raised his palms in a gesture of innocence. "Seriously. I don't want to fuck things up for you and detective-boy-wonder. Tell me what I need to do."
After a moment, Light sighed, and said, "Walk in a straight line, for one. Just a straight line—no strutting, no posing, no lewd gestures—from the back of the garden to the altar. Can you do that?"
Mello rolled his eyes. "Yes I can do that. " When Light still didn't look convinced, he added, "Sheesh, do you need references? I can give you the name of a very lovely police officer who knows for a fact that I can walk in a straight line, even at 3 a.m. after slamming seven vodka—"
Light cut him off. "And you'll need to stand there and not make faces for the whole ceremony, and—" he paused, as if unsure whether or not to continue "—and you'll have to give a speech. At the reception."
Mello opened his mouth to respond, but Light continued over him. "Misa already wrote one, and I already edited it for you. Just read from the script and everything will be fine."
He tossed Mello a sheet of paper. Mello unfolded it to see a speech clearly handwritten by Misa, as evidenced by the heart over each i. The only changes Mello could see was that where Misa, in her incredibly obnoxious habit of speaking in the third person about herself, had inserted her own name, Light had crossed it out and written "Mello."
Mello's eyes widened as he took in the words. "You really want me to read this?" he asked and then quoted from the edited speech, "Mello absolutely adores Light-kun and is so happy happy happy that he found happiness with L-kun, even if Mello is a little jealous."
"Well—" started Light, but Mello cut him off.
"Giggles," read Mello. "She literally wrote 'giggles' in parentheses to remind herself to giggle. I can't read this."
Light's mouth settled into a hard line. "You can read it and you will. L already approved the speeches and so that's what we're sticking with. He thought it was cute."
"You're whipped," said Mello, "Fucking Kira, mass, serial murderer, has been whipped by a guy who can't even tie his own shoelaces."
"I'm not whipped," said Light indignantly. Mello could have sworn he saw the faint trace of a blush spread across Light's cheekbones before Light turned away. "This is just what you do when you love someone."
Mello thought of Matt, and, for the second time in three days, Mello had nothing to say.
Mello had heard that brides and grooms often buckled under the weight of their nerves on the day of the wedding, but he hadn't thought that also applied to impromptu choices for maid of honor. But, once the stylist had swept Mello's hair into an elegant updo atop his head and left, and Mello had spent a good hour and a half watching Light part and re-part his silky hair trying to get it just right, Mello found that his nerves were jagged and frayed things. He desperately needed a bar of chocolate.
It was still an hour to the ceremony when Mello tried to liberate himself from Light's presence and go to the kitchen to find some sweet sustenance. However, before he opened the door, Light practically shouted, "You can't go out there!"
"Why not?" asked Mello, hand still on the doorknob.
"The bride and groom aren't supposed to see each other before the wedding."
"Last I checked, I'm neither the bride nor the groom." Mello continued to turn the handle.
It wasn't until Light spoke again in a voice so small, so un-Light-like, that Mello paused. "Please don't leave me," said Light before sitting on the chair in the corner of the room and burying his face in his palms.
Mello dropped his hand from the handle and walked over the Light. "Umm," said Mello, patting Light awkwardly on the back, "There, there?" When Light said nothing, Mello continued, "You could always climb out the window. I find that's always a good solution when something comes up I don't want to do."
"Never become a therapist," mumbled Light into his palms, not moving his head.
"Hey," said Mello indignantly, "I'll have you know that's sound advice. It has the dual benefits of both cardiovascular health and covertly running away from your problems. How do you think I eat so much chocolate and look this damn good?"
At that Light peeked up from his hands, his lips quirking into a small smile. "I can't believe you're actually cheering me up."
"It's a God-given gift," said Mello, flashing a grin. "But, if you don't mind my asking—and I assume you don't since you've literally trapped me in this desolate, chocolate-less wasteland of a room with you—why do you need cheering up? It's your wedding day. Isn't that supposed to make people all mushy and happy and gross?"
"It is," said Light slowly, "When two people who deserve each other are getting married. But do I really deserve L? I was happily living as a murderer nine months ago. Nine months. I've had leftovers in the fridge longer than that."
"You've left old food in the fridge for nine months?" repeated Mello.
"Everyone's allowed one bad habit," said Light, defensively. "Mine's refusing to clean out the fridge until the smell could knock out a small elephant."
"I thought your bad habit was murder."
Light buried his face in his palms again. "And this is why I don't deserve L."
Mello let out an exasperated sigh. He was so not good with people. Unless it was making people feel terrible about themselves. He was pretty good at that.
He patted Light on the shoulder again. "That's how relationships work, isn't it?" ventured Mello. "You both start out a little shitty—or maybe a lot in your case—and, over time, you make each other better." Matt had certainly made Mello better. Made him kinder and more caring. Not much, but a little. Mello would never be here trying to help Light if it weren't for Matt.
"Do you really think so?" asked Light.
No, thought Mello, I have no freaking idea. But he hoped it was true. He hoped that he was better because of Matt and he hoped that Light was better because of L, because it was a nice thing to hope for. But, even if it was utter bullshit, if there was one thing Mello was good at—and it wasn't therapy—it was lying.
"Of course I do," he said.
Mello never did get that bar of chocolate before it was time for him and Light to make their way to the garden for the ceremony. When they reached the French doors that opened out into the backyard, Mello peeked out the windows. Close to the doors was the patio, already laid out with white tables and chairs for the reception later. Beyond that, rows and rows of chairs were lined up, facing the wide, serene pond behind Wammy House.
Most of the seats were already filled with guests. Mello saw the other little geniuses in Watari's care, including Near, whose socked feet were just barely brushing the grass as he swung his legs. He recognized the members of Light's family from their resemblance to him, and, he noticed, with a quirk of his lips, many members of the detective team L and Light had worked with during the Kira investigation. They likely didn't know they were attending the wedding of the very man they'd been charged with catching, and the thought amused Mello to no end.
His eyes wandered to the edge of the pond. There was a white archway erected, covered in flowers. Beneath it, stood Watari, who would be presiding over the ceremony. To Watari's left, stood L in a white suit and bare feet. And to L's left stood Matt. Mello had to blink several times to take him in. Now that the suit was tailored, it fit Matt even better than before. His green eyes were radiant amongst the greens of the grass and the flowers. The contrast with his red hair was breathtaking. Mello had to look away; it was looking into the sun.
Light, casually hyperventilating behind Mello, brought him back to reality. This was Light and L's wedding; Mello and Matt were currently barely speaking. Storm clouds gathered in his mind, but he pushed them aside, saying to Light, "I know a good tree if you don't think you're going to make it."
"I can do this," said Light, more to himself than to Mello.
"Good," said Mello, and as he spoke, music drifted on the wind. A string quartet played a soft, melodious tune, and Mello knew that was his cue. "I'll try not to upstage you," said Mello, "But no promises."
Light, looking like he might be sick, gave Mello a thumbs up. Mello grabbed his bouquet and stepped out of the double doors. Mello made his way from the door to the top of the aisle, as the wedding guests turned to look. Flashing the crowd what he assumed to be a dazzling smile, he paused at the head of the aisle. He only chanced a single glance down the aisle, a quick sweep of his eyes over Watari, L, and Matt.
Had Matt's very green eyes been on him? The pit of his stomach felt like it was filled with bees, and so Mello looked anywhere but Matt and his searing, green-eyed gaze as he glided down the aisle. He focused on smiling and not letting his stilettos sink too far into the ground as he moved, certain that if he spent too long thinking about Matt, about how utterly amazing he looked in his suit, Mello might do one of two things: run for the nearest tree, as he had recently suggested to Light, or take Matt right then and there.
Neither of those things, Mello assumed, were on the Light Yagami approved wedding decorum list. And, if Matt had been confident that Mello could step in and take Misa's place, Mello was going to prove him right if it was the last thing he did. And, given how distracted he was by Matt and how terrible these shoes were for walking on grass, it might, in fact, actually be the last thing he did.
When Mello reached the end of the aisle, he took his place opposite Matt. He glanced at the red-headed boy and smiled. Said red-headed boy's face turned red as his hair and he looked away, down the aisle to where Light had appeared. Light did look striking, Mello had to admit. All traces of sickness and nerves had fled from his face and the sunlight shone against his auburn hair. His eyes were the color of honey and they were trained on L with such intensity, Mello wondered if it was indecent of them all to be watching. Then, the music started and Light practically floated down the aisle.
Is that what it's like? wondered Mello. To be in love?
The answer, Mello decided, was yes. There was a lightness in the way that Light and L interacted, as if the only thing that tethered either of them to the ground was each other. And although Mello would swear up and down that he'd gotten a bit of pollen in his eye from all the damn flowers, there was no denying the tears that welled in his vision as Watari announced Light and L married and that they may now kiss. The crowd cheered.
As part of the wedding party, Mello was dragged, along with Light, L, and Matt for pictures. This seemed incredibly unfair as the other guests moved to the patio for cocktails and appetizers. Given that Mello's empty stomach had no voice of its own with which to protest, Mello made sure to complain loudly on its behalf.
"The Mona Lisa was painted faster than this," heckled Mello as Light and L posed for the photographer at the end of the dock built out into the pond.
To which L stepped out of the pose to respond, "It is thought that it took Leonardo da Vinci up to twelve years to complete the painting, though scholars are unsure."
Both Light and the photographer groaned loudly as Mello snickered. It would take another several minutes to school L back into the proper position, at which point Mello would make another inane comment, and the cycle would begin anew. It was doing nothing to assuage Mello's hunger, but it was making him feel better. Shortly after they moved to the dock, Matt had begged to leave to go inside to get something, leaving Mello alone with the happy couple.
Matt had been gone for 22 minutes and 37 seconds.
Not that Mello was counting or anything.
Light opened his mouth as if to reprimand Mello yet again, but he paused as his eyes slid over Mello's shoulder. "Matt," he implored, "Can you please do something about this?" Light gestured in Mello's general direction.
Matt grinned. "Way ahead of you." As he walked over, he held up two candy bars. Two mouth-wateringly delicious-looking Hershey bars. He tossed one to Mello. "This ought to shut him up for a bit."
"I would take offense at that," said Mello, unwrapping the treat, "If I wasn't so goddamn starving." He bit into the chocolate and let out a sigh of relief. "Oh my God, I love you." Mello paused, mid-bite, realizing what he said and added, "I mean, I love chocolate. Our L's dearly betrothed spent the day torturing me. I mean literal torture. Not a lick of chocolate in sight for hours."
Warily, he looked at Matt and saw the other boy was smiling. "Torture, huh?" said Matt, slowly unwrapping his own chocolate. "Well, then, torture looks good on you."
Was Matt flirting? Mello grinned and said lightly, "What can I say, I wear it well. That and six-inch stilettos." He paused. "You don't look too bad yourself."
Matt contemplated his chocolate bar before responding, licked at it with his pink tongue. No, Mello thought, he had been wrong. All those hours without chocolate weren't torture. This was torture.
"I don't look like a penguin?" Matt asked.
"Not at all," said Mello quickly. "And even if you did, you would be very much pulling it off."
"Thanks. I think."
"I meant it as a compliment," said Mello earnestly. He didn't have much practice with earnest. Sarcasm? Yes. Derision? Of course. But actually saying what he felt when it didn't relate to a complaint? That, he wasn't so good at.
"I'm glad you agreed to stand in for Misa," said Matt.
"What?" said Mello with excessive shock. "You mean you didn't want to spend hours deranged by Misa and her deplorable grammar?" Mello pitched his voice higher. "Misa sooooo sad Matty-kun doesn't want to play with her all day."
Matt laughed, so Mello continued.
"Misa just loooooves weddings because all the white matches the white noise that makes up all of Misa's thoughts."
Matt doubled over, he was laughing so hard. "It's just with the dress and the hair," wheezed Matt, "Who knew you could pull off such a good Misa?"
Mello sniffed in mock offense and said, still affecting Misa's voice, "Mello is much prettier than Misa Misa." He paused as Matt straightened up, and then added, in his normal tone, "Plus I am a much better speech writer." He pulled the edited speech from his corset and passed it to Matt. "I mean, look at this drivel. No thank you. I refuse to play it sappy for those two louts."
Suddenly the laughter left Matt's demeanor. Mello saw one hand reach to Matt's pocket, to clutch the piece of paper hidden there. His speech, thought Mello. His very likely sappy and drivelly speech for L, whom he had always looked up to as an older brother, and Light, who has made L incredibly happy.
"Matt I—," Mello began, but then the photographer was waving them over. Matt passed Mello back the speech and stalked away before Mello could say anything more.
Pictures passed in a blur. Mello had tried to grab Matt's attention again, but when they finished he stalked away, refusing to look at or interact with Mello. Somehow things had returned to almost normal and fallen apart in the span of a single chocolate bar. Why couldn't Mello do anything right?
It was between the photos and the start of the reception that an idea struck Mello. Matt was stolidly ignoring him and wouldn't seem to budge on that stance no matter what. If Mello wanted to get his attention, to make a change, he had one chance, as he saw it. One moment in the spotlight to convince Matt that he wasn't the heartless bastard Matt thought he was. It wasn't really Matt's fault. Mello hadn't given him much else to go on, but that was about to change.
With a pen fished from the junk drawer in the kitchen of Wammy House, Mello stoically refused to attend the remainder of the cocktail hour, no matter how much he wanted to be drunk at that moment. With a flourish that no one saw, he flipped over Misa's speech to the blank back side, put pen to paper and began to write.
The sun was low in the sky when the reception began. The string quartet set up shop near the patio and played dignified introductions as the wedding party entered. Mello didn't even try to do a little, embarrassing dance as he and Matt stepped onto the patio together. Matt wouldn't even look at him and walked to a different table to sit as Light and L entered the dance floor.
Their first dance was sweet, Mello supposed, although if he were the one getting married, he certainly would not have been content to be described as sweet. Unless, he thought, that was what Matt wanted. He shook his head as if to rid himself of an angry gnat. He was way ahead of himself there. First step: get Matt speaking to him again. Then they could think about all those sappy things couples thought about. Sappy didn't sound quite so bad with Matt at his side.
Matt's speech was first. He stood next to L with a microphone in one hand and a sheet of paper in the other. His face was beet red—redder even than his hair—but nonetheless, he began to read.
"All of us at Wammy House are technically orphans," said Matt, his voice only a little shaky. "But it's never really felt that way. I've always had a family, and I've always had the best big brother anyone could ask for. I've always had L."
He went on to tell a few anecdotes regarding him and L. Mello noted that he had been present for several of those occasions—he and Matt had always been inseparable—but Matt never brought him up by name. Maybe Mello deserved it. But he also hoped he deserved a chance to set things right.
"I'm really glad," said Matt, his speech winding to a close, "That L found Light. I'm glad that he finally has someone that can almost match his intellect." A few chuckles resounded from the crowd. "I'm glad he has someone that will stand by him no matter what. Someone that will make him happy. It makes me so happy for them. Welcome to the family, Light. And congratulations, both of you."
People cheered for Matt, but Mello made sure to cheer louder, though Matt never looked his way. Then, it was Mello's turn to make a speech. He walked up to the head table, took the microphone, and pulled the paper out of his corset. Light seemed to notice that he was reading from the wrong side of the paper and opened his mouth as if to say something, but Mello jumped in first.
"First of all," said Mello, "I want to say congratulations. You made it, both of you. I for one did not know literally until this morning when I was unceremoniously pulled from bed and stuffed in this dress how much work a wedding is. It's a ton of work. Like seriously, you could move mountains with the amount of joules you're exerting from all this work—that's a little geek humor, for our brainy couple." Mello paused and a few Wammy House kids laughed, like the nerds they were.
"But," Mello continued, "I realize now that it's more work than just what you see on the day of the wedding." Mello paused, took a breath, chanced a glance at Matt, whose green eyes were locked on him, and then pressed onward. "Relationships take work. You're taking two completely different people and figuring out how their lives fit together like the world's hardest jigsaw puzzle." Out of the corner of his eye, Mello saw puzzle-loving Near smile.
"Sometimes they fit together easily. Sometimes they don't. Sometimes it takes time to work out how the pieces fit together, but if you're determined, eventually they will fit. And when they do they'll make one hell of a beautiful picture." Mello paused and then looked at Light and L. "You know I truly hate to say it—like literally, absolutely detest saying this—" Light raised his brow and Mello smirked, but continued, "—but you two do make a beautiful picture together. Congratulations."
When Mello finished, the crowd cheered. Light—of all people, Light—stood and gave Mello a hug. "Thanks for stepping in," he said, "You did a surprisingly good job."
"I excel in everything I do," said Mello, modestly.
Light rolled his eyes, but said, "Now go find him."
"I have no idea who you're talking about," sniffed Mello.
Light glared, and repeated, "Go find him."
It was Mello's turn to roll his eyes. But once he did, he felt better getting it out of his system. He needed to be all sincerity for Matt. "Fine." He slapped Light on the shoulder. "Thanks brother."
As Mello turned to find Matt, he could have sworn he heard Light mutter, "What have I gotten myself into?"
Matt wasn't at his table. In fact, as Mello roamed the tables and the dance floor, Matt wasn't anywhere. Maybe he was in the bathroom, Mello thought, entering the house through the French doors. It was quiet inside. Everyone was outside at the party. Mello was just about to turn around and head back outside when he heard 8-bit music floating down the stairs. Raising his brow, Mello walked up to the second floor.
The door to his and Matt's room was cracked. There was a light on inside and the old CRT television glowed. Mello knocked. "Can I come in?"
He pushed the door open to see Matt on the bed, still in his suit, a controller on his lap. "It's your room, too," he said.
Mello walked in. His stilettos were loud against the hardwood floor. Matt stared at the screen, saying nothing, so Mello said, "I liked your speech."
"Thanks," said Matt.
"I remember that time, when you got Near stuck in the apple tree," said Mello. Matt had alluded to it in his speech. They had convinced Near that the apples closest to the top tasted "redder" than the ones closest to the bottom. Near had argued that colors don't have a taste, but Mello had been so convincing in his description of the flavor that Near had doubted his scientific pragmatism long enough to climb the tree and get stuck there like a kitten.
"Near is still convinced the apples up top taste different," said Matt, still not looking at him.
"Well traumatic experiences will do that to you," said Mello.
Matt let out a huff of a laugh. He paused. Then, "I heard your speech."
"Yeah," said Mello. "What did you think?"
Matt paused his game, set down the controller and scooted to the edge of his bed. It was raised off the ground with drawers beneath for storage underneath so that sitting, he was nearly as tall as Mello standing in his heels.
"Did you mean what you said?" Matt asked.
"That weddings are a ton of work?" asked Mello. "Absolutely."
"No, the other part. The part about the puzzle pieces and the fitting together."
Mello was tempted to make a joke. To play it off as a bone he threw for Near, who loved puzzles, or L who would love puzzling over the meaning of his words. But, as Matt looked up at him through a fringe of red hair, so expectant, so hesitant, Mello didn't want to make a joke. He wanted to make Matt happy, because that would make himself happy.
"Yes," Mello breathed. "Absolutely."
Mello wasn't sure who moved first, but suddenly their lips were pressed together and it was fireworks and stars and warm summer nights and chocolate and all the other things Mello loved, but one hundred times better. His hands were in Matt's hair and Matt's hands were on the exposed skin of his back. Even as Mello stepped in between Matt's knees they couldn't get close enough. Mello was convinced they would never be close enough.
But, as they surfaced for air, he hoped they would have a very long time to try.
Matt's grin was wide and Mello's matched it.
"God, I've been wanting to do that again," said Mello, "Ever since the restaurant I've been wanting to do that again."
"Why didn't you?" asked Matt, almost shyly.
"Because I've been trying this new thing," said Mello, "Where I do what you want, for a change. It—and I cannot believe I am saying this—isn't always about me."
Matt smiled. "Well it's what I want, too."
"Thank God," said Mello, leaning in again.
It was full dark with a huge moon shining in through the window when they'd finally had enough of each other—for now. Mello's heels had been abandoned, along with the jacket of Matt's suit. The television was the only light in the room, still on where Matt had left it when Mello first came to find him.
Matt looked from his game to the door. "Do you think anyone's looking for us? Should we get back?"
Mello thought about Light's parting words. "Nah," he said. "If they want us, they know where to find us."
"Good," said Matt. "I'm not a big fan of crowds." He sat back on the bed, leaning against the wall, and took the controller in his hands. "Maybe just one level. Then we can go back."
Mello smiled at him. "If that's what you want."
"It is," said Matt, smiling back.
And Mello climbed onto the bed, sliding into the spot next to him, like a puzzle piece fitting into place.