Mello POV:

My eyes fluttered open to meet wide green ones, brimming over with concern and worry. Matt's eyes. His eyes are so beautiful, so filled with emotion, so sparkling and pure, and the deepest most luxurious emerald green color I've ever seen. But like the priceless jewels they are, they spend most of their time hidden, protected, shrouded in mystery by a pair of orange tinted goggles. But today... the cursed goggles hung limply around his neck. I lifted my hand to tug lightly on them.

"To what do I owe the honor?" I smirked.

An expression of innocent shock filled his face, so easy to read in those expressive, exposed orbs, and he made a clumsy grab at his goggles.

"No," I caught his hands. "leave them off."

"O-okay. S-so are you okay, Mels?"

"Am I okay?" I muttered to myself. What did he mean? Did I have a nightmare I couldn't remember, or something? But, wait. Our small room was illuminated with bright beams of sunlight, pouring in from the window. What time is it? I lifted my head from my pillow and craned my neck around my still blushing roommate to see the clock. What was I doing in bed at a quarter after one?

"Mels, in the cafeteria, Near- he- he- and you- you fainted, and-"

"I fainted!" I exclaimed, bolting up in bed.

"Mels, don't sit up so fast! You'll-"

Whoa. I made a small sound of surprise as vertigo hit me.

Black. White. Spots. Swirling. Soft cotton... Stripes...

I vaguely registered that my head was now resting on Matt's shoulder.

"How long was I out?" I whispered.

"Almost an hour," his voice shook. It occurred to me that our close proximity was making him uncomfortable, but I couldn't quite find it in me to care. I buried my nose in the crook of his neck. He was so warm, so soft. I don't know why, most likely due to my splitting headache, I simply didn't have the energy to restrain my actions or question my motivations as I wrapped my arms around him. For some reason, my body craved his touch, his comfort. But from what?

"Mels? You're still upset about what happened? You've had attacks before, but this one was pretty bad..."

What was he bumbling about? I ran through the main points of his disjointed speech in my mind.

Cafeteria, Near (the bastard), fainted, attacks...

Oh, god. And the memories my mind had mercifully suppressed came rushing back. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing away the images, the images, the smells, the memories, the memories, the death.

I grasped his striped shirt in my fists and desperately pulled him close, trying to get a grip, trying to stay stable. The room was shaking.

"Mello? Mello! You're trembling!" So I'm shaking... "Please. Please stop, you're scaring me! Mello!" He squeezed me with the same bone crushing ferocity that I clung to him. "Shhh. Mello. It's okay, it's okay," he chanted. Only when I felt warm drops plop onto my face did my head stop pounding, did the room stop shaking, was I finally released from my memories. Matt was crying. I wriggled out of his death grip to peer at his face.

"Matt? Don't cry. Did I hurt you? I'm so sorry..."

"I-I-" he gasped. "I'm not c-crying for me, you idiot. I-I'm crying for you."

"Crying for me?" I repeated, struck by disbelief. No one felt, or even really cared about my pain before...

"A-Are you okay? You were shaking, and- and it wouldn't stop, and I-" he choked. "I was scared. You're always so strong... so you must... D-does it always happen like this? Last time you locked me out of the room..."

"Some variation," I muttered. Despite the fact that it was him- or maybe because of the fact that it was him, I felt humiliated, utterly mortified and ashamed that I had admitted to such a weakness. But worse than that, my own spineless, selfish phobia had made him cry. I had hurt Matt because I couldn't stay strong...

I plastered on a fake smile that most likely came out as a grimace and pried his arms off of me. "I'm fine, Matt. God you worry so much, you little crybaby."

I expected him to shrug it off, I expected him to smile, hell I wouldn't even be surprised if he grabbed his gameboy and sauntered out of the room, congratulating himself on a job well done. But of course, with Matt being Matt, he remained the only person I could never manipulate.

"Mello." I jumped at the force of his voice and turned my head away, refusing to be swept away by the smoldering power of his gaze. "Mello, look at me!"

"No," I spat out, acutely aware that I resembled a petulant child. I nearly cried out as he clamped his fingers on my jaw and snapped my head to face him. When I finally saw his face, I wasn't sure whether to laugh or to cower in fear. That was my face. He had completely mirrored my 'Imma Kill You' face. His narrowed eyes bore into mine, their flickering blaze intensified by their fierce focus and control. His jaw was set and he tilted his chin a quarter of an inch higher than usual. He was pushing himself to appear menacing and deadly serious, and was succeeding to an extent. The sentiment was rather cute, and of course, his baby face could never truly terrify me, but the very image of an enraged Matt was a little frightening.

"Mello, listen. I know your not okay. Don't lie to me, don't even try, because you can't! You need to get it through that thick skull of yours that you don't always have to be the strong, hard-ass, tough guy. You're human. And your only fourteen, damn it! And I know life has been horrible to you! So whenever you feel like this, whenever you feel scared or hurt or weak, you'd better not fucking hide it from me! Especially when it's about your past!" My eyes widened. How did he- "Yes, I know. I don't know how, but I can just tell. And... you know... remember that one time when I told you about- about my parents?" I tried to nod, forgetting my head was restrained. A cute apologetic smile graced his lips. He dropped his hand to my lap, and took my hand into his own, fondling it absently. "Well, uh, it helped. It felt good, almost like I could let go of their memory, if only a little. Mello... It hurts much more to suffer alone."

And suddenly, I didn't care how weak and hopelessly pathetic I looked. This was Matt. My Matt. He would never judge me or think less of me. And right now, all I wanted was for him to hold me, to tell me it's okay, that the past is the past and it will never happen again. Of course, I could always tell myself this. I know this, but somehow, I knew it would be different hearing it from him.

"Fine," I relented. I furrowed my brow, grasping at my remaining strands of pride. "But you'd better listen the Hell up."

He stifled a startled yelp when I lay down and slammed my head into his lap. I smirked up at his flabbergasted expression. Maybe he wasn't expecting his little speech to work... Whatever. If I can't manipulate him, I sure as Hell won't let him manipulate me. He can wallow in my infuriatingly erratic temperament. This whole situation was giving him far too much control over me as it was. It was unnerving.

I scowled up at him, daring him to comment on our current- er- position. But apparently, cryptic, sarcastic Matt was currently absent, replaced by my sweet little Matt who grinned back at me gratefully. And however much I wished I could gaze at that little smile forever- so warm, so gentle, as if he was just happy to be looking at me- I was forced to tear my eyes away. What I was about to recount... I don't need his image sullied by my visions of the past. I turned my head to the side, and stared unseeingly across the room.

"I-I won't go into detail," I started.

"That's fine! Whatever you want to say... anything is fine."

"My parent's-" I sucked in a breath and steeled myself. "My parents were good to me and bad to the rest of the world. They loved me. They really loved me. They showered me with gifts and praise and adoration, but no one else saw that. My dad, and my mom by association, worked with some illegal organization- I don't really know the specifics of it.

'I saw them when they were working once. They were cold and heartless- almost like completely different people. But I didn't really mind. As long as they kept loving me, it didn't matter who they were outside of our house. But, the point is... a lot of people didn't like my parents- hated them and- and wanted them dead.

'It was mothers day and I was six years old. I wanted to do something nice for my mom, so when some guy stopped me on the street offering me a mothers day box of chocolates, I gave him all the money I had on me. I was careless, and stupid. I didn't think- I didn't know-" I took a shaky breath and focussed on the steady motion of delicate fingers stroking my hair. When had Matt started doing that? It felt nice, so soothing... "It started with just a headache. A little headache that she tried to ignore. She just rubbed her temples and forced a smile, she sat down when she felt weak, and she continued eating those chocolates... Because it made me happy.

'And then-then she started shaking, twitching and gasping for breath. I-I didn't know what to do. I just sat there and cried. Even when she called out for help. Even when she started heaving, emptying her stomach all over me. A mixture of bile and blood. I couldn't move. I cried as she convulsed, cried as she struggled for breath, cried as she died. I was too weak, too useless to do anything." I ignored the pricking at my eyes. No way in Hell was I going to cry now. I tried to steady my voice. "I-I sat there bawling, sitting in her vomit for three hours. The smell, the itching, the burning, the death.

'My cries eventually subsided to whimpers, and I pretty much passed out right there. I awoke to a gunshot. I didn't open my eyes, I knew it was my father- I just knew he had shot himself. But I couldn't block out the smell- the sour stench. Wammy got me two days later. I hadn't moved." I slowly phased back into reality. I turned my head back towards Matt, and gave him a shaky grin. "A-and that's all. No big deal really. I-I don't even think of it much. It's just when the smell-"

"It's okay, Mello," he granted me a sympathetic grin. "Oh, shit, Mels, don't cry."

"I'm not crying," I muttered. I tentatively reached a hand to my cheek, and nearly jumped when it felt warm and wet. Fuck.

"Mihael Keehl," I blurted.

"Wait. What?"

"Mihael Keehl," I repeated. "Now that you know everything else, you should know my name."

"Mail Jeevas."

"Oh." Mail Jeevas. An interesting name, yet simple and blunt at the same time. Perfect. Mail Jeevas...

His fingers danced on my cheeks, lightly brushing away the lingering tears. "Hey, Mels?"

"Mmm?"

"I'm glad you told me."

"Of course I did. You're my best friend, Matt." Somehow, that statement, that incredibly, undeniably true statement felt surprisingly bitter on my tongue. Was it because I had said 'Matt' when I knew his name was 'Mail?' Was it the slight falter of his smile? Was it because... our current... position- both emotionally and physically- didn't exactly connote with 'friend?'

Oh, well. Although I've apparently been unconscious for almost an hour, I felt completely drained. Much to tired to dwell on terms such as 'friend.' How ambiguous. And it just didn't fit... I yawned.

"Are you really tired? You were unconscious in the middle of the day!"

"Shut up and let me sleep," I mumbled.

"Okay." He lifted my head and shoulders from his lap and slid out from under me. "'Night," he called, only the barest hint of mockery in his voice.

My eyelids drooped. Why the Hell was I so tired? But I felt cold, so cold with him so far away.

I told him to shut up, but I never said leave... Mail Jeevas... my Matt... my Mail...