VI. The Act of Commiseration

"You keep an awful lot of secrets, Mello; aren't I entitled to mine?"

Matt stood over him, holding a Death Note and locking arms with Takada Kiyomi. A sickening expression of hatred lingered on his face. He reached up, pulling off his goggles to reveal scarlet eyes, blending with the glow of equally red hair. Old wounds provoked by old car crashes suddenly surfaced on his flawless skin, until it was bleeding profusely…Takada disappeared, but the Death Note remained, until the crimson tears that had obscured the other's hate-filled eyes became all that he could see. Matt began to write something on the black notebook, something unseen, awaiting the time when he turned the lined pages to face Mello and show him what was written there.

Mihael Keehl.

"Your real name," the redhead sneered.

Mello didn't know what a heart attack felt like, but this sure did feel something like it; he felt as though a heavy weight was bearing down on his chest, forcing him to his knees despondently. He gasped for air, eyes and ears unable to register the morbid scene of his own death: Matt had morphed into a mirror, showing him exactly what he feared. He was being ripped in two, the feeling so unbearable that all he could hear was his own heavy breathing until he finally went numb.

The floor rushed up to meet him.

Sticky with sweat and breathing as though he had been running for miles, Mello shot up into a sitting position, golden hair clinging to his face. He cast a frightened look around, unsure where he was, or what led him to be here. He found himself sitting in Matt's bed, the one that he had been sleeping in for a few days since the other had left.

Memories rushed back to him as he slid off the edge of the bed. Turning, he found that he had been undressed and put in an overly baggy shirt and jeans, and that Matt had been sleeping next to him, curled up with a blatantly troubled expression on his face. Mello sighed exasperatedly and left the room, seeking the one thing he could find sympathy in: his chocolate. He found it, abandon, on the kitchen counter, where the other had undoubtedly left it.

Picking out a bar and unwrapping it, the male explored the apartment as though it was something totally new. Souvenirs of the past few days littered the rooms like forgotten tokens; diminutive blood stains still decorated the couch while chocolate wrappers and technology were forgotten on the filthy carpet, from Mello's short spell on his own.

There was a slight ruffling from another room, and the blonde turned only enough to find Matt shuffling in, rubbing his eyes fiercely like a child who had just been stirred from its restless slumber.

"Mel'…" he murmured, squinting at him. "What're you doing up? You should be sleeping…you've still got a small fever."

"I thought you weren't coming back," retorted the other, inspired by a sudden rage. It was just like him to initiate such a conversation at all hours of the morning.

"Are you telling me I shouldn't have?"

"You should keep your promises."

"I promised myself I wouldn't let you die, too. Unlike you, Mello, I have my priorities in order."

"And what about Takada? Where is she on your priorities list? I thought you loved her."

"I do, I just figured you needed me more. Besides, she was going back to Japan."

"Oh, I see. You come back to whoever's more convenient."

"No."

And he left it at that, not bothering to explain or further his contradiction. He merely stalked into the kitchen and flicked on a few lights, pulling out a jug of orange juice and pouring out two glasses. Mello wrinkled his nose.

Unfortunately, Matt noticed.

"You're going to drink some," he said plainly, returning to the kitchen to thrust the juice into the elder's hands. "It looks like the only thing you didn't touch. No wonder you got a fever."

The thing was, Mello hated orange juice. It was the only thing he would never drink, not even if he was inches from death by dehydration. Not even if his very being was threatened.

And yet, he managed a few swigs at the gamer's command before snarling and throwing the rest of the glass into the sink. To hell if it was going to cure his fever, or anything else for that matter.

"So you're back," hissed Mello, turning to plant himself on the couch, which was none too comfortable after he had been subjected to the bed for so long.

Matt nodded, cracking a grin, despite all they'd been through. "Glad to see me?"

"You wish," snorted the blonde, languidly spreading himself over the back of the loveseat. "I just need someone to pay the rent."

"And that's all you want me for?"

"What else is there?"

The redhead frowned, downed the rest of his orange juice, and stepped back into the living room, scrutinizing Mello so closely that he, for a moment, thought he could see something. He didn't know what, because it was such a foreign thing. Yet it was gone in a flash, and therefore ignored.

"I dunno," he said off-handedly. "I maybe thought that we were friends. For a minute there, we were."

"When was that?" demanded the other, flicking a cynical gaze toward his companion.

"Again, I don't know," Matt replied forcefully. "That's why I think…I think I'm going back to Takada."

"What the fuck? I told you she doesn't and will never love you! She's infatuated with Kira. She'll never see you as anything more than a tool."

"No. You're just trying to talk me out of it because you think it'll harm you. I won't tell her anything about Wammy's, so chill the hell out. If you don't care about what happens to me, there's no point in trying to convince me otherwise. Even if she doesn't love me, I can…stay there with her."

"You're an idiot," sighed Mello. "You'll just be her lapdog until you die? What will that accomplish?"

Suddenly, Matt had the other by the shoulders, angrily shoving him back up against the couch. Pain fluttered across his features, turning him a sickly shade of green, but he didn't ease up.

There was a point to be made here.

"You tell me, Mel'," he hissed. "I've been doing the same fucking thing for you for at least ten years. I've always been here, waiting, and putting up with your bullshit. And then when you got tired of me and left, I still waited. I didn't give a flying fuck whether you liked me or not."

He let go, shrinking back and massaging his collarbone. His breathing had already quickened.

"And if I can do that for someone as heartless and stupidass as you, I could do it for anybody. Especially Takada. Now let me just do something for me, just this once."

He retreated into the kitchen, resolving to pour another glass of orange juice, but searched around for something a little stronger out of the crisper to put into it. Dammit. Mello had taken all the alcohol.

But he still had one more thing to say. He had to make himself perfectly clear, because even though he was perfectly willing to risk life and limb to go off with Takada, he still had a certain duty to his friend, or who he thought was his friend.

If he let him, that was.

"I'm leaving again, tomorrow morning. But this time, I'm not coming back."

Mello simply glared. "Just like that?"

"Yeah," said Matt, suddenly feeling the intensity of his words. "Just like that."

There was a stony silence.

"I'm going to Japan. I got two round tickets."

"I thought that bitch already went to Japan."

"For you, dumbass. You said you had some business there…and you needed my help."

Oh, yes, he had almost forgotten the monumental reason why he hated Matt's choice in women: he had already planned an elaborate kidnapping of Takada before. He had failed to fill the other in because his way of working was generally go wherever Mello wanted him to, do whatever Mello wanted him to, and then smoke a cigarette or play a video game afterward. It would be a touchy thing to bring up when it came right down to it, but if the redhead insisted…

"You bastard," he said, shaking his head and standing. "Thanks."

He didn't usually thank anyone. It just wasn't in his nature to need anyone but himself in the first place, so easing out this word was difficult. But really, in light of everything, he figured that he deserved it. He had let him stay, been obedient, come back after enduring Mello's assholic attitude, and after all that, bought plane tickets for him instead of going with the one he loved. You had to give him props.

"You're welcome," Matt replied. "Now go to sleep. The plane leaves tomorrow, and you're not going to be a tired douche the entire way there."

And for once, Mello did what he was told, without so much as a rancorous comment.