Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note, and if I did, these two would live in the canon, like they deserve to.

A/N: Okay, I'm really, really sorry I took so long with this. I didn't mean to, but first I was lazy, then I had writer's block, then I was away at camp. I finally finished it last night. I'm going to try to write chapter 19 a bit faster *knocks on wood* I can't make any promises, but there's actually a defined arc in my mind for this, so it'll hopefully be a bit quicker, but again...no promises.

Chapter 18: Truth

To my surprise, Mello still hadn't surfaced by noon the next day. The bedroom door was still closed, and I didn't want to open it if he was sleeping, since he could use all the rest he could get. I also had no idea when he'd gotten to sleep the night before. He'd still been making a racket with the bedsprings when I'd finally fallen asleep myself.

By the time three o'clock rolled around, though, Mello was still conspicuously absent. I couldn't imagine him sleeping this late, not if he had the physical capacity to get out of bed. He hated sleeping in the day. Either he was in a bad mood and wanted to be left alone, or something far more dire had happened. With that cheery thought in mind, I went and knocked on the door. "Mello?"

I heard the bed creak. "What?" Mello snapped through the door. Well, at least he wasn't dead or seriously incapacitated…I didn't think, anyway.

"Are you okay?" I called through the door, just to check. He could be just minorly incapacitated and not want me to know for some reason, after all.

"Yes! Go away!"

Or he could just be in a bad mood that I wasn't making any better. Sometimes I thought that pissing him off was part of my job in life. "You know that it's three in the afternoon, right?"

"Yes! I do!"

"No need to bite my head off," I called back through the door. "Have you eaten anything today?" He couldn't have, nut unless he could walk through walls and turn invisible. I wasn't even sure if there was any chocolate in the bedroom. I didn't think there was.

"Matt, leave me the hell alone!" Mello yelled through the door.

I took a step back. "Okay, okay. I'm leaving now." There was no response, so I meandered off into the kitchen. I dug through the freezer, grabbed a box of frozen waffles, and popped a few in Philbrook. "Come on, boy," I urged. "These are for Mello, not me. I know you like Mello."

Philbrook, ever a stubborn, insolent toaster, dinged and spat the waffles back out, completely untoasted. I smacked him. "Work, dammit!"

He buzzed at me.

"If you don't work for me, I'll go tell Mello, and he'll come in here and shoot you," I threatened.

Philbrook emitted a small, high-pitched ding that sounded suspiciously like a surrender to me.

I popped the waffles in again, then went to grab a plate and fork. When I turned back, the waffles had popped up, toasted to perfection. "Thank you," I said, snatching them, dousing them in syrup, and then heading back to the bedroom door.

There was no immediate outcry when I pushed the door open, so I felt it was safe to go in. Mello was sitting on the edge of the bed, glaring at me with more hostility than usual. "I brought waffles," I informed him, ignoring the glare.

"I'm not hungry."

I shrugged. "Well, I brought waffles anyway." I handed him the plate and sat down. He pushed the waffles around in the syrup, not showing any indication that he wanted to eat them. "…Mello, what's wrong?" I finally asked.

"Nothing," he said, not looking at me.

I sighed. "Mello, I can't do anything if you won't tell me what's wrong."

"I don't need help!" he snapped.

"So something is wrong, then?"

"No! There is nothing wrong!" I was surprised the waffles didn't burst into flames, what with the force of the glare they were receiving. "I'm going to watch television," he said abruptly, setting his plate on the floor.

"Mello, why don't you just tell me what's the matter?" I knew that getting Mello to admit to weakness was like getting blood from a stone, but I was determined to at least try.

He turned and shot me a glare of pure poison. "Maybe I'm sick of being around you and want you to leave me the hell alone!"

I stared at him. That hurt. It hurt a lot. I didn't even bother trying to hide it, although I doubted I could've even if I wanted to.

For a moment I thought I saw regret in his eyes. Then he stood up and marched out the door.

Or, at least, he attempted to. Whether he was distracted by whatever was going on in his head or he'd just plain forgotten it was there, I wasn't sure, but he realized too late that there wasn't nearly enough traction to march anywhere when there was a plate of syrup-slathered waffles between his foot and the wood floor. But there was plenty of slipperiness to fall in a rather undignified sprawl on the floor.

I was crouched next to him almost before he hit the ground completely, although I was too late to catch him. He didn't move to get up, and the agonized look on his face told me that he must've hurt his burn on the landing. I put my hand on his good shoulder. "Can you sit up?" I didn't bother to ask whether he was okay or not, since the answer was obvious.

He opened his eyes, glared at me, and pushed my hand away. "I'm fine!" he grunted, struggling into a sitting position and grimacing.

"Are you sure? You didn't hit your head or anything, did you?"

He glared daggers at me. "Just leave me the fuck alone!" he snarled, reminding me of a wounded animal. "I don't need you!"

I wasn't sure if that was what he intended to say or how he intended to say it, but I didn't stick around to ask. I just walked out. Out of the bedroom, out of the apartment, down the steps and onto the sidewalk.

After five years of him not needing me, hearing him say it to my face shouldn't have hurt so much.

But for some reason it did.