At nineteen
"The mafia Mello… really?" Matt asked. He was leaning against a wall, smoking as he stared at his friend, questioning the blondes' sanity. Or perhaps they were more than friends… but it was never mentioned, thought the bite marks, bruises, and scratches littering Matts alabaster skin made it quite clear just who he belonged to.
Mello just gave his friend a crazy smile, the Cheshire cat grin that usually spelt out doom and destruction. "Urg. I feel like since L died you're getting crazier in an exponential way," the words were nonchalant, but everything Matt said was like that. The grin on Mellos face didn't move.
"Got to beat that mother fucking god damned Near!" he… chirped? Well, chirped everything but the swears, nibbling on a chocolate bar.
Matt just rolled his eyes, tugging the goggles down onto them with one hand, discarding the still smoking cigarette with the other. "Whatever you say Mels," he ignored the dirty look his….Mello would kill him if he even thought "boyfriend"… shot him. Mello hated nicknames, which was why Matt used them of course.
"What we need is that notebook… so, yes the mafia."
"That…makes sense." Matt said, stretching before eyeing his… whatever's… ass none to secretly. If Mello didn't want people to look he really shouldn't wear leather pants.
The blonde just growled. "Don't worry about it Mattie," he watched the redhead frown before continuing, "Don't worry about it. Just… expect a visiter in a few days, alright?"
"A visiter?"
"Yagami's daughter, or his sister, depending on which Yagami you mean. We should make the little princess comfortable." No one could sound as innocent and vicious at once as Mello, when he kept his temper.
Matt watched the blond retreat, a small frown on his lips as he pulled his game boy out. Mello was going to get him killed someday, of that he was sure. The more terrifying notion was that Mello was going to get himself killed.
It didn't matter that Mello was clearly the dominant one, nor that he was stronger and more confident. Matt was overprotective of the fireball of a man. He couldn't help but compare the blond to little red riding hood in the forest, only there was way more than one big, bad wolf. Then again, Little Red didn't have a gun.