AN: And now it begins to get depressing... The rating may change to M for violence later, by the way. As always, thanks to all our readers and remember that reviews are always very greatly appreciated!

The door from the bedroom creaked open at about a quarter to four in the afternoon and Mello slipped out into the living room with a decidedly sour scowl on his face, still toweling off his hair and now nursing a stubbed toe.

Matt hadn't cleaned shit.

His eyes lighted on the couch, at the steadily snoring gamer sprawled out upon it with one arm hanging over the edge next to a pack of cigarettes, and Mello barely resisted to the urge to go kick the lazy bastard in the head right then and there.

"What the f-ck, Matt?!" he yelled instead, throwing his damp towel--it being the most readily accessible object around-- at the sleeping boy's face angrily and tromping over to the couch to shake him awake. "I told you not to go to sleep, you bastard!"

The hot shower having eased the throbbing in his head enough for him to raise his voice somewhat, Mello used the opportunity to also point out that Matt hadn't cleaned anything either and he'd tripped over his shit on the floor and, hey, was he even listening?!

Blue eyes flared angrily. "Matt!"

The gamer shot to his feet, nearly falling on his face when he sprung off of the couch and onto the carpet. It took him a moment to remember what he was doing on the couch, and when he did, his gaze jumped to Mello's icy blue eyes that were currently skewering him alive.

He gulped, not liking the enraged glare sent his way, and suddenly glad that Mello didn't have a gun on him at the moment as he wasn't very fond of staring down the barrel of a 44 caliber, even if he knew the blonde wouldn't actually pull the trigger.

This was definitely one of those moments where Mello would pull the gun had it been in his possession at the time. He could tell from the infuriated look on the blonde's face.

He felt a sudden wave of irritation wash over him, a startling change from the guilt he'd been feeling just seconds ago. But then, what did he have to feel guilty about?

I haven't done anything wrong! The thought came bursting into his head and he knew it was true. Sure he'd messed with Mello's drink the night before, but they'd had a good time hadn't they? No harm done! It was like the blonde was just looking for a reason to argue.

Really, it was getting kind of old being yelled at for no reason, and that seemed to be the only thing Mello had been doing all morning.

Perhaps it was this thought, or possibly the lingering effects of the hangover, he wasn't sure which, but rather then apologize to avoid an argument like he would usually do, he didn't bow his head this time, instead lifting his gaze to meet cold blue dead on.

"What the hell is your problem?" His own eyes were emerald steel. He was tired of always being the one to compromise. Tired of having to watch his step with every word lest he offend the blonde.

He did just about f-cking everything for Mello, and he neglects a chore for fifteen minutes and gets his head bitten off.

The blonde's eyes narrowed skeptically, as if now adding "complete simpleton" to Matt's list of offenses for the day.

"What's my problem?" he repeated with a snort, impatiently smoothing the woven turtleneck over his chest as if itching to grab something else and throw it at the gamer and making a show of physically restraining himself. "Well, let's see, my problem is that my head feels like my brain is f-cking attempting to bash its way out and it f-cking hurts, my legs feel like lead, my eyes f-cking hurt too... oh, but wait." He skewered Matt with another deadly look. "...I wouldn't have a problem if a certain bastard hadn't f-cked with my drink last night, now would I?"

He waved an arm sharply around the room, grimacing in angry disgust. "And to top it all off, I was going to try to be civil about it, but there's so much shit on the floor there's hardly room to put your feet down, and you know it's really not helping my headache any to keep having to f-cking hop over all your shit! What the f-ck, Matt, we've only been here a week and you can't keep the place any semblance of clean for even that long?! Why can't you even try to stop being such a lazy lump and get your ass off the couch for a change?! It's disgusting!"

"Jesus, Mello!" Matt couldn't help it, he fired back, and with every single word that exited his mouth he knew he was going to be sorry for it later. He should just let it go, apologize, shut the hell up, anything but continue to talk.

He knew he was over-reacting, just the same as he knew Mello was, but he couldn't for the life of him stop.

A tiny voice in the back of his head screamed at him that, It's not worth it, but he could care less, and rammed the voice back, deep into his mind where he couldn't hear it anymore, though a small part of him is still aware of its existence.

"Would you just f-cking get over that stupid drink?" It was a combination of his rough morning, his still tender head, and just plain irritation that inspired him to instigate (because with anyone else it would be called speaking in self-defense, but this was Mello, and he knew Mello, and this was instigation) Mello the way he did, where usually he would have backed off to avoid the argument.

Instead it seemed he'd rather rush to meet it head on.

His eyes flew to the mess that the blonde demanded he clean, and his anger grew.

"Don't tell me to clean all of this shit up, when half of it is yours! I'm not the only damn one who lives here, you hypocrite!" He gestured wildly to the piles of paperwork, chocolate wrappers, and leather lying around the floor and counter tops.

"And don't," and here his voice took on a dangerously low tone, one that he only used as a self-defense mechanism when something cut too deeply. "Don't f-cking call me lazy. In case you haven't noticed, I'm a f-cking hacker, so just because I'm sitting down, doesn't mean I'm not working my ass off."

The icy blue glare directed at him flashed dangerously, and the blonde's hands fisted tightly at his sides as he stood up a little straighter in some subconscious attempt at intimidation. Something about that last part rang true, and that pissed him off even more than Matt's accusation about the junk on the floor. Something about the fact that when he was already angry at the gamer, the fact that Mello was actually right grated far more than anything else and the frustration of having nothing to contradict that with made him bare his teeth in a grimace as he stepped closer, meeting Matt's glower dangerously.

"Really? Well, then, my bad... Go ahead and sit back down then, and we can wallow in our own filth in the meantime."

Matt opened his mouth to make an angry retort, but the blonde cut him off with a sharp gesture, snorting skeptically.

"Fine. Okay. I get it. You think I'm overreacting, but really, I did not f-cking appreciate that last night and the fact that you insist I shouldn't even be angry when it's a perfectly understandable reaction is absolutely infuriating." He let out another growl, turning away and slowly unclenching his fists to stick his hands in his pockets. Apparently having dropped the matter of cleaning--at the thought that Near's men would just have to clean up after them, after all, and that was just fine by him--he continued. "Now don't you f-cking tell me it's no big deal and if you want to make amends like you damn well should, sit your hacker ass in front of the computer and get us some tickets home because I've concluded I can't stand another damn minute of this below-zero weather."

Matt stared, emerald eyes swimming with rage but unflinching at Mello's hard blue gaze, mentally overcoming the urge to let his jaw drop in awe. It was amazing how not one single word he had said had actually made it into Mello's thick blonde skull.

F-cking amazing.

He switched his attention back to the computer lying only a few feet away, taking a deep breath in and willing his facial expression to remain apathetic despite the fact that his insides were liquid fire, and his overwhelming desire to break something was growing steadily stronger. His hands were clenched tightly at his sides and he was sure that where his fingernails dug into the flesh of his palm, little half moon marks would remain for the rest of the day.

Suddenly, without reason a memory came back to him. A night not too long ago when Mello had come back to their apartment in a rage. The blonde had been angrier than even Matt had ever seen. He'd returned from meeting with Near, and Matt remembered it had been sometime in the midst of the Kira case.

Matt struggled to understand why he'd recalled such a memory at a time like this, and the answer came in the form of the reason behind Mello's anger that night.

Near had been using him. Those were the words the blonde had been shouting, albeit with much more profanity and general death threats on the white haired boy's life involved in the conversation.

And he, Mello, was nothing more then a pawn.

Well, Matt thought with a bitter taste in his mouth, Mello was no f-cking better than the rival he claimed to detest with all of his being. Because that was exactly what Matt had become to the blonde.

He was itching to hurt something but still he remained impassive. It was who he was.

Nothing but a f-cking pawn.

The realization left him with a sick feeling in his stomach, like someone had walked up to him and socked him in the solar plexus and he just hadn't noticed until now. Until he looked down and felt a strangely familiar pain coursing though his body, and saw that a bruise was already forming on his skin.

A sort of buzzing filled his head, and his eyes stared numbly at the world before him. He couldn't see the computer screen anymore, despite the fact that at some point during his recollection he'd walked over and sat in front of it.

He continued to stare for a moment more at the black screen before him, incomprehensive, and wondering how the hell he'd gotten there without noticing.

Habit, he thought with a bitter smile tugging at his lips.

God. He was so f-cking angry, and he didn't understand why he was acting so f-cking calm.

Finally, after an eternity of doing nothing, Matt stood from his place at the monitor.

He grabbed his DS off of the couch as he headed towards the bedroom without uttering a word.

The hacker didn't even spare Mello a glance as he pressed a few buttons and the handheld device sprung to life with a few telltale beeps and a familiar little tune. His eyes were immediately drawn to the dual-screened game, and he effectively shut out the real world as he neared the door.

He stopped for a moment, pausing in his steps, but keeping his attention on the blinking device before him.

"Do it your f-cking self," was all he said before he continued on his way to the room.

Blue eyes widened momentarily and Mello froze, hand half-stretched out to retrieve his fallen towel from before.

Oh, no, he f-cking didn't just do that...

Slowly, the blonde straightened, turning to glance over his shoulder while attempting to muster all of the self-control he had ever bothered to learn in his 21 years.

Apparently it wasn't very much.

His eyes found Matt in a second, lighting on the dimly glowing rectangular object in his hand, and he absolutely lost it.

With an angry hiss and half-suppressed curse, eyes flashing, fists clenched and clawing at the insides of his palms, Mello was suddenly there, covering the few strides between the couch and the bedroom door in less than a second, nails biting into the flesh of Matt's arm as he grabbed it sharply, jerking him out of the doorway to face him.

"Now listen here, you sorry motherf-cking bastard," he began, thinking he was already absolutely livid. But the fact that Matt's eyes didn't even move from the tiny screen with Mello directly in his face proved him wrong.

Mello was usually good with words. This time, though, even if he'd been asked to he couldn't even have thought of one to describe the intense rage which flashed red before his eyes.

"Look at me when I am f-cking talking to you, Mail Jeevas."

The words were hissed in barely more than a whisper but could not have been more threatening.

Before the gamer even had a chance to look up, Mello struck, his hand appearing out of nowhere right underneath Matt's nose, dark-polished fingernails swimming into view for just a second as the blonde grabbed the beeping device from the gamer's grasp, tearing it out of his hands, and hurled it behind him without even looking around to strike with a thunderous thunk against the door.

Matt stared, a look of pure loathing flooding his normally unresponsive features as he watched his game system fall to the ground with a stuttered flicker of light before going black, a distorted sound that must have been a beep echoed throughout the silence of the room.

It took only a few seconds for his mind to register what had just occurred, and when it did, he lost it.

Without thinking, without caring, without worrying about consequences and repercussions, he pulled back his fist momentarily before shooting it straight into Mello's jaw, sending the blonde tumbling to the ground.

His self-control lay shattered on the floor with his DS, and Mello was going to pay dearly for it.

"YOU BASTARD!" Matt screamed, and before Mello could completely right himself from the first swing, Matt was already pulling back for another. His eyes clouded over with the complete and utter rage pulsing through his veins, and he didn't see Mello before him any longer. He didn't care about anything anymore; he was too driven by fury, hurt, and absolute detestation, and the goddamned sting of that name.

Still pulling himself up using the back of the couch, Mello barely had time to glance up, the shock making his mind go blank momentarily, all other things forgotten for just a second as he tried to grasp what had just occurred. He even forgot to block and by the time he saw the fist again, he felt it collide full-force with the soft flesh just beneath his ribcage.

The world went black. The breath froze in his lungs. Someone was screaming curses at him from far away.

And then rage and instinct and years of fighting for his life in dark alleys kicked in and he leaped to his feet again, not even bothering to wait for his breath to recover, ramming all of his weight into his attacker with a muffled cough as oxygen finally rushed back to his lungs.

For a second, black spots still dancing before his eyes, he hardly even registered who it was he held pinned against the wall, left arm twisted sharply behind his back, suspended a foot in the air with his face rammed into the wall. His goggles had been dislodged and now slid over Mello's arm as they fell to clatter softly to the floor.

Matt's vision went white and when he heard a sickening pop come from his left shoulder, he was barely able to hold in the instant cry of pain that sprang to his lips.

He was a moron and he'd known it the second he dared lift a hand against Mello. There was no question as to who would win in a fight between the two of them, and the throbbing pain in his shoulder only served to drive that fact in deeper.

Damnit. Damnit. Damnit! He mentally cursed himself, though he wasn't even sure for what reason.

There were so many to choose from.

The gamer was beginning to be glad Mello had so unceremoniously shoved his face into the wall; it meant the blonde couldn't see the look of pathetic defeat that had stung his features. His eyes were bright and watery from the pain, and he was sure if Mello didn't release him soon, he would either get sick to his stomach, or pass out right there in midair.

When it seemed the blonde would never act, he attempted moving on his own accord, and immediately regretted it as a wave of agony overcame him, and this time he couldn't stop the soft whimper that forced itself out of his throat, his humiliation clear for Mello to see.

He saw no point in even trying anymore, and managed to gasp out a few strangled words between the agonizing ripples of pain.

"Just f-cking let me go already. Can't you see you've won?"

The dark red haze pressing in at the edges of his vision clearing only slightly, the blonde let out another guttural growl, letting go, literally dropping the gamer to crumple on the floor.

Breathing heavily, he stared down imperiously at the striped heap at his feet. F-cking God, that punch had packed some serious power. He still couldn't get his breath back.

Words were a little hard to come by, but he managed to hiss them out after a minute. "Get up...you lazy lump..." he half-gasped, half-growled. Turning away, he slunk toward the kitchen, suddenly in dire need of some chocolate, and buried his head in the fridge, mumbling to himself as he pulled out the desired candy bar.

"F-cking teach him...a lesson... goddamn mouthing off to me like that..."

Frowning over the candy at the other boy, who had hardly moved, Mello turned back sharply, feeling in a particularly sour mood when the simple act of biting off a piece of Hershey's sent dull throbbing pains into his jaw. The metallic taste mixing with the chocolate also let him know his lip was bleeding pretty badly. What the f-ck was Matt's problem? It was his own fault, really. F-cking bastard... No one ever hit Mello in the face and got away with it. No one.

Grimacing, he strode back over to the darker haired male, stooping swiftly to grab a handful of striped fabric and drag him to his feet.

"I don't know what's gotten into you," he hissed, shaking him slightly, "But I f-cking swear if you don't get your ass over to that computer right now and do what I tell you, you will be in a world of pain." The blonde shoved him toward the couch with the sharp crack of another hapless piece of chocolate being demolished by the angry gnashing of teeth. "You got that, smart-ass?"

The minute Mello had grabbed him by the shirt, Matt sunk his teeth into his lip in some futile attempt to redirect the center of pain from his shoulder to anywhere else. It didn't work, and the only thing he got out of it was a mouth quickly swelling with blood.

God, he hadn't even felt it, at the moment it seemed every nerve in his body was focused on sending the searing pain from his shoulder, spider webbing up his arm, and transmitting it to his brain.

At the second commanding shove from the incensed blonde, his vision became dizzy, and he grabbed onto the couch for support, careful not to jostle the left arm that he had held in front of his body in a meager effort to protect it.

He lifted his head and was met with the sight of the black computer screen once again.

And f-ck it if he just didn't care anymore.

The worst Mello could do was make something hurt more then his arm already did, and it was looking like that would be a challenge.

"You know," he began shakily, struggling to keep the sound of misery out off his voice, "for someone who claims to hate Near so much, you sure as hell do a great job of imitating him…No, that's not even true. You're worse the Near, because when Near uses someone as a pawn, at least he doesn't pretend that they're something else…"

He didn't even bother to make it past the couch. Instead he slid to the floor in a crumpled heap, leaning against the back of the couch for support, still holding his arm cradled in front of him.

He didn't meet Mello's eyes. He was too afraid he would find the truth written in them.

A truth that would tell him that he was useless, expendable, convenient…

A truth that he couldn't face.

There was a flash of red before his eyes and the blonde's slim body stiffened, the half-consumed sweet substance dropping from nerveless fingers, the breath hitching in his throat, unable to get past the raw unbridled fury that roared over him in a wave of loathing and disgust and rage at that goddammed name and when the words finished registering, entering slowly and deliberately to echo in his brain…

Then he registered the vile comparison.

And his world spun on its axis, blind fury claiming his vision in a red haze which obliterated all else, the ground spinning beneath his feet as he lurched forward, a bitter, burning taste in his mouth and a loud, high buzz in his ears, echoing thunderously in his head the detested name..

Just like Near…

The world was whirling; he could hardly see past the blind rage blanketing his vision.

Worse than Near…

He was on top of the object of his hatred in less than a second, a howl of fury escaping his lips, imagining the thrilling spatter of bright red on loathsome white pajamas.

Near…

The bastard who was living his life at this very moment, living his life and gloating by offering a tiny part and he knew he'd never get the rest and the bastard was taking his place in the world and calling himself a name which should have belonged to him, to Mello, to him, goddammit!!

He drove his fist into the warm flesh beneath him, straddling his opponent and landing another strike into the pale jaw swimming foggily into view.

…How dare he?!

He gasped as a foot connected hard with his stomach, a desperate attempt at self-defense, and he was thrown into the coffee table, the sharp edge meeting forcefully with the side of his head.

Blackness rolled over his vision in a sickening wave and instinct helped him attempt to right himself again, a faint flash of silver on the tabletop drawing his attention. He lurched forward, fingers groping, finding the cool metal in a flash, and he turned back, crouched defensively with his back to the overturned table, blood streaming down the side of his face, left hand bracing his other wrist, barrel cocked expertly toward the opposite end of the room, finger bending toward the trigger.

Matt stared, uncomprehending at the gleaming silver barrel pointed directly at his chest. He didn't move, didn't blink, didn't breathe.

And with the flick of a switch, all of the anger, all of the rage, all of the intention to hurt that had been bubbling up so strongly, over-powering, all of it died in a single breath, only to be replaced by a different kind of raw emotion. It twisted his insides into a knot, pulling at his skin, and tearing at his mind. Like little fingers taking hold of everything that he knew, and pulling, pulling, pulling until it all fell apart, and there was nothing left of him but a big gaping hole of a person.

It f-cking hurt. A lot.

His shoulder something of background music to the new wound that seemed to open up his chest and rip him apart from the inside out. It was something he'd felt before, but never in his entire twenty one year long f-cked up existence, NEVER had he expected Mello to be the one to inspire this kind of desolation.

It was an emotion that spoke of lies, and anger, and shattered promises, and never EVER being able to go home, and knowing that he could never put his faith in anyone.

Broken trust.

So he lowered his head, lowered his eyes, and prayed that Mello would pull the trigger because this hurt so much worse.

He couldn't look up, couldn't stare into the eyes that he knew wanted nothing more but to watch his own suffering.

He broke then, choking out a half-sobbed and practically inaudible word.

A name. A concept that he could no longer grasp, because his best friend was looking at him, and wanting him dead, and he was just broken.

"Mello…"

A single word, a mere two syllables whispered into the ear-splitting silence.

His name.

Gasped out in barely a whisper, louder than a peal of thunder in Mello's dully ringing ears. Slowly, it cleared the crimson clouds over his vision, over his mind, cutting through the chaos of just a few seconds before sharply and swiftly and excruciatingly. It penetrated his heart, his very soul and left him on his knees with the gun slowly slipping from his numb fingers, blue eyes regaining their focus and growing wide, pupils shrinking, trembling, staring.

At the crumpled bloody heap a few feet away from him.

At the downcast eyes which refused to meet his gaze.

At the unprotected chest which heaved and lurched with something akin to dry sobs.

Mello tried to swallow, tried to speak, tried to blink. But couldn't. His mouth was dry, his throat so tight it hurt, his eyes glued in place. He forgot to breathe. The sound of his own heart hammering in his chest must have permeated the entire room, filling his head with a deafening roar, beating against his bruised ribs so hard it hurt.

The world whirled around him, stomach clenching painfully in an attempt to lose its contents right there on the living room floor. ...No, this wasn't... this wasn't... he hadn't... he didn't...

But he had. In a stupid blind rage, for a goddam stupid reason, for practically no reason at all... But no matter all of that. He had.

Mello barely registered the action as he pulled himself to his feet, reaching for his coat, one violently trembling hand stuffing the loathsome silver weight in his fingers--on his soul--into the pocket as he threw it over his shoulder. His heart was still pounding in his head, loud and fast, that of a small frightened animal's beating wildly in its last moments. The cold breath that slipped past his half-parted lips came quickly, shaking and trembling, in broken gasps as if he'd been running for days.

His mind was blank. Nothing. Nothingness. Only the soft sound of his name whispered into the silence with the sting of a thousand knives of ice and fire. And the sheer weight of his own guilt washing over him in a tidal wave that left him breathless and drowning and sinking and crushed...

...And walking out the front door. And running down the street. And vaulting onto the ice-rimmed seat of his bike, and turning the key with a sharp jangle in the crisp freezing air, and pressing the gas, and tearing down the street with the engine screaming in his ear and his hair whipping his face and the cold air biting his bleeding knuckles and lips and tearing into him with cold sharp fangs of ice and belated remorse and self-loathing.

With utter disregard for street signs, for other cars, completely unaware of any surrounding, Mello floored the gas pedal and let the subzero wind freeze his heart before it bled right out of his chest, before the truth was able to permeate the furious pounding roar in his ears and he would let himself realize...

...He'd overreacted. F-ck, f-ck, f-ck, he'd done something stupid, something so f-cking stupid and all because... All because...

Why?

The outskirts of Manhattan flashed past him, the loud honking of cars nothing compared to the thunderous, ear-splitting shriek in his head, the roar of his engine trailing into the cold winter air as he fled, weaving past cars, past the bridge, past the bay, into the hills where there was nothing and no one and silence.

Why?

Swerving off the road, he cut the engine, letting the bike clatter and fall onto the snow in the rolling hills on the roadside.

Pride. Selfishness. Stubbornness. Foolishness... So many reasons. None of them adequate. All of them laughable.

His breath gusted in white wisps before his lips as Mello dropped to his knees in the snow, head bowed, shoulders heaving, hands clenched in the pockets of his new coat, clenched around the cold metal death inside.

"M-mello..."

How could he... how could he... how could he have let himself get so carried away... let himself... almost... almost...

"...Mello..."

It was too much. The piteous whimper in his head, the stabbing pain in his pounding chest.

He shouldn't have stopped. He didn't trust himself anymore.

Mechanically, shivering violently, gasping raw white regret into the freezing air, Mello righted his motorcycle slowly, pulling himself back into the seat, and pressing the gas down, down, flying through the hills and the snow and leaving a dark trail of bitterness in the pure innocent white which had never asked to be placed in the way of his deathly existence. Had never asked to, but was thrown before him anyway.

Had never asked to, but stayed anyway.

And he crushed it with his passing, trampled it to black.