Disclaimer: Death Note is not mine, and I'm sure it never will be. Oh well.

A/N: Okay, I was so excited to write this chapter that I managed to get it done in record time. It might've been even faster if I hadn't spent half my study hall today giggling at it. People probably thought I was nuts. But anyway. Thanks to DessArtem for giving me some (probably most) of the ideas in this chapter, and thank you to Miyamashi for giving me a lovely quote to put in. And if you are ready to send me threats after this chapter, let me kindly redirect you to Dess, who has advised me to do what I did. I shall say no more.

Chapter 13: Flexibility

"Stupid fucking box!" Mello yelled after a minute or two of useless struggling to free ourselves from the wreckage. "I hate this fucking closet!"

"Mello, you're yelling in my ear."

"Well do something!"

"I can't. That would be the problem." I tried to sit up at least enough to see behind me. For me to do that, Mello had to give me head space, and the only way for him to do that was to brace himself on my chest and push himself up, which pushed me back down and really defeated the point of the whole thing. "This isn't working."

Above me, Mello growled in frustration.

Personally, I was beginning to wonder what would happen if we couldn't get out at all. I could see it now: "Building prepared for demolition, two bodies found inside. Full story on page A8." Definitely not how I wanted to go. Although I could appreciate the irony of me dying in a closet. With Mello, no less. And Mello dying in the closet…

I hadn't realized I was laughing until Mello fixed me with a glare made of pure ice. "What the hell's so funny about this?"

Based on the look he was giving me, now was not the best time to explain my whole dying-in-the-closet scenario to him. "Nothing. Can you see anything useful?"

"Yes, I can see an idiot laughing his ass off about us being trapped in a closet." He paused. "Oh, wait, you're asking me if I see anything useful."

"I'm wounded. There is seriously nothing in here too push that thing off with?"

Mello glared at me again. "Yes, Matt, I saw something five minutes ago and didn't mention it, because getting the circulation to my legs cut off is just so much fun!"

"No need to bite my head off." I craned my neck, trying to see into the corner. "Is that a curtain rod over there?"

Mello squinted. "Something like that. We can't reach it, though."

"Oh yeah?" I muttered, twisting around and reaching for it. "Almost…aaaalmost…yes?" I could practically feel it, I was so close.

But I couldn't reach it. "No." I flopped back down to my original position on the boxes. "Dammit. Almost had it, too."

"I'll try." Mello stretched out and grabbed at the curtain rod, but didn't end up having any more luck than I'd had. "Fuck," he muttered, putting his head down on my shoulder. He laid there for a moment, then his head shot up and he looked at me with a hint of a grin on his face. "Where are your feet?"

"At the ends of my legs."

He punched me in the side. Not that he could really hit me very hard, considering the angle. "Seriously."

I wiggled my toes. "Somewhere around the place where your feet are, I expect." I was beginning to see where he was going with this.

"Can you kick the box off me?"

"I can try." I managed to kick my legs free, then started trying to kick the box. Problem was, I couldn't figure out where the box was. "Mello, where the hell is the box?"

"On my legs, cutting off my circulation!"

I rolled my eyes. "Be a little more specific, please?"

"The far edge is just past my knees, does that help?"

"A bit." I got my feet on the sides of the box and tried to pull on it, but for some reason I had chosen that one day to wear socks, so I had no purchase on the cardboard at all.

"What are you doing?" Mello demanded.

"I'm trying to pull the box off you!"

"Well, if it was light enough to do that with I would've been able to get it off myself," he said crossly. "Just kick the damn thing off."

Grumbling under my breath at the cat and the closet, I attempted to get my feet up far enough to kick the box. Or shove the box. Or at least move the box. "I'm not that flexible!" I finally yelled in frustration.

"You can't be serious."

"Mello, I can't even touch my toes. My legs don't bend this way."

He shook his head. "You are such a wimp." Then, in what I assumed was a slightly misguided attempt to remedy my horrible flexibility, he grabbed my knees and pulled them at least a foot closer to my shoulders.

"Ow!" No, my legs were definitely not meant to bend that way. I'd always known I wasn't cut out to be a gymnast. …Also, this was definitely the most…iffy position I'd ever found myself in. Ever. Without question. If someone were to walk into that room right then – not that anyone would, as we were the only people in the apartment – their eyes would quite possibly bleed.

But I could reach the box.

"Can you get it?" Mello asked.

"Yeah, once you let go of me so I can kick the thing and save my muscles from snapping."

"Oh. Sorry." He let go of my knees, and I jammed my feet into the box so hard that it landed on the floor outside the closet with just one hit.

"Circulation!" Mello said gleefully, and for a minute I almost thought he looked like he wanted to hug me. Then he pushed himself off me and stood up unsteadily, leaning down to attempt to rub feeling back into his leg.

I watched him for a second. "Help, I'm trapped, I can't get out," I said monotonously. Mello probably wouldn't get the reference, but I could still be amused by it.

Mello leaned on the doorframe, then reached down to grab my hand, and between the two of us we managed to pull me to my feet.

"Mello, if we ever fall into a closet again, you will be on bottom," I informed him, "because I do not have the flexibility to do that ever again. You nearly dislocated my legs."

He smirked. "I've never heard of someone dislocating their legs. Is that even possible?"

"It is now."

He laughed. "Poor you. Let's go eat. I'm starving."

"Same here. It's hard to get out of a closet." I was just realizing how odd that sounded, and how much it connected to my amusing little thought about us dying together in the closet, when I saw that the front door was open. I stopped. "Mello, why's the door open?"

"I don't know," he answered after a moment. "Did you leave it open?"

I looked at him, the pieces falling into place. "No, I didn't, because I haven't been outside today. You, on the other hand…"

"I'm going to go make lunch," he said quickly, vanishing into the kitchen.

Would calling him an idiot again do any good at all?

I supposed not.