Special Author's Note at the end.
"The fuck is wrong with you?!"
Mello ceases his terror-laced wails for a heartbeat in order to cry out, "Matt? No! Stay away!" and flail his arms wildly.
"What's wrong now?" Matt slaps a hand over his eyes; thinking that maybe if he cannot see his best friend: Mello's answer wouldn't sound as absurdly ridiculous. "What seems to be the problem?"
"I... I-..." Matt removes his hand from his eyes, and faces a greatly distressed Mello, gawking at him as though he is an entirely new species of insect. The look says 'I can't really say what I want to say; because you'll hate me. Bad things will happen, and I'll die old and alone with forty thousand cats'.
He knows that look too well.
He also knows Mello is a braver soul than he; and he isn't all too surprised when the blond reaches up and kisses him. Admittedly, he thought that Mello would have been a lot more forceful, but Mello, he figures, probably doesn't know what the Hell is going on either. Mello's lips are chapped and weirdly undemanding; and in all his confusion, Matt is allowed a millisecond of bliss before Reason catches up to him and he pushes away with a shout.
"Mello, no! Bad Mello! Icky! Y- you don't... you just... no!" Mello swallows as he's shoved back. For the first time since they were children: Matt is treated to Mello's 'adorable, kicked puppy' expression; an expression which is nothing if not intimidating; because Mello misses the 'adorable' part and hits 'slightly deranged' instead. "Mello. Stop it (please). Don't... I... Ah, Jeez. Don't do this."
"Um..." Mello's voice is high and thin, somewhere in that place between panic and despair, and Matt finds himself suddenly frustrated.
"I- Oh, jeez. I hate you. I really hate you, sometimes. It took me all this time to get over you; and to live with just what we have, you know? I got no recognition, barely a friendship to hold on to... but it was- it was- I was okay..."
He pauses, and tears off his goggles, running both hands through his hair, and folding his arms behind his head, in pure frustration, "I was okay, because you were there- and it was- it was okay. I dealt. I was done waiting... I was fine. And now you've gone and done this." He chokes, "Fuck... no. Just... no."
"Matt... I-" Mello is hushed mid-sentence by the sound of Matt's fist slamming into the wall. He assumes Matt meant to make some sort of intimidating impact, but it fails dismally as he whimpers suddenly, and grabs his own hand in pain. Despite the situation, Mello looks as though he's tempted to laugh.
Matt grimaces, secretly finding it hard not to chuckle, too, "Out." He huffs, instead of laughing.
"What?"
He gestures to the door. "Get out."
"Don't you fucking tell me to get out! You get the fuck out!" Mello shouts; always fiery, always at the wrong place, and a completely inappropriate time.
Matt's eyes lock on his; bright, friendly eyes, so rarely seen, and now clouded with anger, and something defeated, and a little past despairing. Mello has never noticed the dark lines surrounding them before, never noticed how tired Matt is. Matt's voice is low and dangerous when he says, firmly, "I need you to go, now. I'll call you. Just get out."
Mello knows when to quit, nods and heads for the door; closing it just before he hears Matt drop to the floor with a sob.
"Shit... shit shit shit shit damn fuck shit!" once a good three blocks away from the apartment, where he thinks he can maybe no longer hear the sound of Matt's sob ringing through his head; Mello, feeling lost, alone, and beyond confused, catches his reflection in a shop window, and mouths 'I hate you', as though it will understand and fix something. Anything.
He fails to notice the bemused shopkeeper on the other side of the glass, scratching his head. 'You're an idiot' he mouths to himself; and his reflection raises its middle finger to him with a frown, leaving Mello with the impression that he no longer has any control over his body. He cries out in fear and backs away, knocking his head into a pole. The shopkeeper walks away; shaking his head, but all Mello sees is his own reflection mouthing something about 'drugs'...
Maybe he did get his hands on Matt's 'special' cigarettes after all...
Mello wonders if, maybe, he got his facts wrong. Maybe Matt is really just his best friend. His hilariously funny and devoted best friend, who, regardless of what Mello did, what Mello said, has always been there for him with a bar of chocolate; the beeping of one game or another; and some well-timed, sarcastic remark.
"Yup" Mello declares to himself, "Just my best friend; best friend with the ridiculous goggles and the stupid, bleeping computer games and the laziness, and the stripy shirt, and the off-key singing and the tiny apartment, and the big, friendly eyes and the shy smile and the loyalty and the contagious laugh, and the great sense of humour and the- and... the-"
The only person who has ever put up with him.
"And- and... the really nice arse..." because, really, the previous statement is too corny to say aloud. After this, Mello stops walking to stare absently at his feet, and, more importantly: his really great shoes. This is all too confusing, and he feels as though he should really take the time to sit down, and sort it all out; reassess who he is, what he wants, and why...
"Ah, fuck it. I need a drink." He decides, and marches towards the nearest bar, failing to notice his cell phone dropping to the pavement.
"Who the Hell is this guy?!" Hal cries despairingly, glancing between the man who has first spoken, and Roger, "What does any of this have to do with Kira?"
Gevanni, on the other hand, knows better than to speak, and chooses to stay silent. No reasoning, or explanation will come from Near when he is... plotting. It is the Wammy's house Way, after all, the Wammy's House, Just-Do-As-I-Say-And-Bask-In-My-Glorious-Arrogance Way.
As can be expected; Near automatically blows a raspberry in Hal's direction, and leaves it at that. "Just some tracking to be done; we'd be very grateful for your assistance, mister Aizawa." He says.
"Of course; I'm only too happy to help if it means we'll catch Kira sooner. What do I need to do?"
"Okay... um, here's where things get... kind of awkward..."
"What are you talking about?"
The first bar is dingy, overcrowded; and the perfume of the building is vaguely that of urine, with a slight hint of death. Mello takes one step inside, spots some of the onlookers from his episode earlier that day, and immediately whirls out once more. Not right.
Apocalyptically, depending on how one is to look at it, he's not in the mood for trouble.
"Too harsh." He says, wrinkling his nose.
The second bar is not, in fact, what he would define as a bar, but a family-friendly place of gathering that happens to sell alcohol. Toddlers gather at his feet, point, and say 'Who is the strange man, mama?' repeatedly as he gazes appraisingly around; and eventually retreats out the door.
"Too soft." He says, rolling his eyes.
He walks a few more blocks, and spots a place. As he steps inside, he declares, with a satisfied smile, "Just right."
"Near."
"Matt... We haven't spoken in years. How are you?" his voice is innocent, drawn-out, too genuine and utterly, utterly facetious.
"What have you done?!" Matt bellows into the receiver.
"Lately? Worked on the Kira case. Specifically this afternoon? Maybe, gotten you laid?"
"Think again, Casper." Matt hisses.
"Set a pseudo-homophobic lunatic loose in your home?" he ventures.
"Getting warmer"
"Given Mello an epiphany about his own sexuality that led to him trying to sleep with you barely a few months-"
"Try weeks."
"-weeks after you'd told yourself that you were fine with Just Friends?"
"And?"
"And you kicked him out?"
"And?"
"And I can have him now?"
"Is that your final answer?"
"So I can't have him..." Near sighs.
"Because..."
"Because you just realised that you made a mistake."
"Bingo."
He hears a decidedly dramatic sniff on the other end of the line, which is followed by "Stephen! Our baby is all grown up!" This earns a half-cheer, half-laugh from 'Stephen'. "But he won't share..."
"Dawwww" says 'Stephen'
"Not funny, man. I can't find him, now."
"What're you going to do when you do find him? Are you gonna hold him? Kiss him? Love him?" and Matt can practically hear Near's eyebrows waggling through the phone.
"Near!"
"Oh, fine." Matt picks up a hint of Near's childhood accent when he says this, and it's frighteningly cockney, "I'll see what I can do. When did you become such a fun-wrecker?"
"When I kicked my lunatic best friend-"
"Your lunatic lover..."
"- out of the house, and realised he's probably wandering the streets, trying to find that Priest and choke him with a deck of cards again."
"He didn't! Man, I knew I was in line to become L, but that's just absurd... I am one powerful kid..." Near mutters to himself.
"Whatever... just get someone to help me, okay?"
"I think I know just the person... You're really ungrateful, you know."
"Eh?"
"I made a sacrifice, you know. I could have had him; but no..."
"Near, he hates you. We've been through this. Hate does not equal attraction."
"Maybe not in your reality. Hang on a second."
"...Right."
"What's that?" Near calls, his voice distant from the phone, "Oh, Right. Hal! I said no fucking sugar! Oh, okay...Yep" Matt raises his eyebrows as Near's voice is once again close to the phone "Gevanni's made a call. Good luck. I'll call you if my man finds him first."
Matt nods, before realising that, while just about all-powerful; Near probably can't see him. "Ta." He says.
"No need to thank me. Just send me a copy of your sex tape." Near replies, Matt neglects to respond, pockets his mobile, and shuffles out the door.
The bar is intended to be retro. Retro in a dingy, tacky, attempt at the 1950's sort of manner. The lights bounce off the grimy windows in the most unappealing fashion; and Mello certainly wouldn't have put up that shade of green on the walls. But, lo, it contains alcohol, and is therefore an adequate resting place. He eyes the beer he's holding with a certain disdain. As though it is the amber liquid's fault that all this is happening, though he can't remember touching a drop in days.
He'll have to, he realises, find another place to stay now that Matt has kicked him out. He runs through a mental list of those who might be willing to live with him; or near him at all.
The list consists of Near and Hal.
This list shortens by two when he reduces it to the number of people who won't try to feel him up.
Mello breathes out a most tragic sigh; "Fuckitty fuck fuck..." he huffs to his beer. He has been sitting in the same position for an hour, and nothing has changed for the better.
"Now, my brotha-from-anotha-motha there ain't no need for that kinda talkin' up in here! I might have ta mess you up good if I'm hearin' those nasty-ass words resonatin' through mah skull again!" the beer says with a deep laugh. Followed by a second voice which exclaims. "Watch your language, young man, or I'll wash your mouth out with soap!"
"Great; the beer's talking..." Mello sighs to himself, "Matt would know how to deal with a schizophrenic pint..."
"You one o' those crazy cats?"
"Are you aware that you're a little on the unstable side?"
"Yes, Talking Beer, I am. I think I'm kind of... lovestruck..." he confesses, "But... but I fucked it all up..." he sighs forlornly again; and asks "Is it okay if I drink from you?"
"Man, you ain't right. You might wanna rotate yourself on that here chair one-hundred-and eighty degrees. I ain't no beverage."
"Beer can't talk, you lunatic. Turn around."
Mello obliges cautiously, and finds himself face-to-face with a Japanese man sporting a spectacular afro; and a rather annoyed-looking Roger.
"Oh, hi there!"
The man with the afro rolls his eyes; "Some albino dawgs be callin' for the Great Aizawa, and I am here to listen to y'all and get rid of all your troubles."
Mello stares, "My name is Aizawa, I'm working with Near." Roger offers by way of explanation. "What's the problem?"
"I... I just fell in love with someone. I mean... I think I did. They're... really something special... and I'd do anything for them- but... but it's another guy, and my best friend- and it'll-" Mello's gaze returns to his drink, and he mumbles, "It'll be really awkward, now. Because I can't stop thinking about him and he knows it, and I don't know what I'll do-"
"Say no more!"Aizawa claps Mello on the shoulder so hard he sinks into his chair by a good inch with a startled yelp. "My funky sistah, I dig ya...- and I dig that this ain't no easy Sunday, you gettin' me? But this shit-cloud will eventually float away. Ya'll just gotta wait."
Roger places a gentle hand on his other shoulder, and says, "My friend, I understand your troubles, and that you are in a time of great distress; but I assure you, as with all things, this will pass."
"So... does this make me, like, gay?" Mello asks earnestly
"I can tell you, right now, my brother from another mother, you are one of those fine-ass, lady-lovin' motherfuckers!" Aizawa laughs heartily.
"I give you my word; you seem like quite the heterosexual."
"Gee, thanks. That's a huge relief. But what about..."
"Not that there ain't nothin' wrong with a little man-lovin' in this day and age, it's all cool." Aizawa adds with a wink.
"However, you must remember that the straightest man in the world could fall for that one, special chap." Mello nods in response, and raises his drink to his lips.
"Y'all know what I'm sayin'?"
"I, myself, have engaged in homosexual foreplay on numerous occasions."
"Excuse me?! That ain't what I said, old man!"
Roger nods curtly to Mello, "Sorry, must dash. It was positively spiffing to see you! Later, motherfuckers!"
Mello promptly chokes on his drink, "Um... farewell."
"No, wait a second! Hey, man, hey! Come on! That ain't playin' fair! You can't just go around telling people that sort of punk-ass lies about me! I am talking to you!"
With that, Aizawa and Roger fade into the noisy crowd, and Mello has reached a decision. With a determined grimace, he turns around, ready to set back home.
And smacks straight into a startled Matt in the doorway. Both of them right themselves, blinking in surprise; though Matt' surprise looks more like irritation; and stand, facing one another.
There is a good five-to-six minutes of Extremely Awkward Silence; before Mello, eyes firmly locked on his feet, mumbles; "So... I'm an idiot."
"So you are..."
The Awkward Silence continues for another minute before Mello realises Matt hasn't hit him, or yelled, or anything, really. Knowing Matt as well as he does, he can deduce that this either means that Mello has been forgiven for his idiocy; or Matt is a whole new, special kind of angry. A kind of angry that only Matt could be with Mello; the kind of angry they used to express back at Wammy's house, with silent treatments that could go for days-followed by bursts of shouting... and violence.
Someone had always ended up in hospital.
"Can you just... I don't know... punch me , or something; and we'll forget this ever happened?" Mello ventures slowly.
Matt appears startled, and takes a step back, uncertainty and worry flit across his features; but they are quickly replaced by a gentle amusement. "I'm not mad." He says with a smile. "And I was... kind of an arsehole..." he admits sheepishly.
"So you were." Mello concedes, but it's without much heat. Because, really, Mello's general existence more often than not warrants arsehole behaviour from a painfully patient best friend.
"I didn't mean to freak you out, or..."
"Hey, Matt... who snogged whom?" he interrupts with a grimace. "I'm kinda...sorry about that, I guess."
"Yeah. But I... I dunno, man. I kinda... I mean... Um-"
"Yeah, man... I kinda... Um... I mean." Mello stammers, and then abruptly changes the subject, "It'd- It'd kinda suck if you, like, died on me or something..." Mello blurts out. He shuffles his feet as they both stare at the floor.
Matt scratches the back of his head, eyes roaming over his shoes, the ceiling, the walls, the bar... anywhere but Mello. "Yeah! Same here. Like, it would be really crap... if we, you know, stopped talking or something..."
"So we should, like, talk to each other more... or something..."
"Yeah... 'cause... 'cause it's kinda... it's kinda cool... talking to you..." Matt coughs into his hand, with a shifty glance at Mello. "'Cause, like... I love you, man... or...whatever..." he adds in a mumble.
"Yeah... me- me... too... or... whatever..."
And with that, Mello nods curtly; completely unsure of what had just happened, he takes a step forward and wraps his arms awkwardly around Matt's shoulders. Matt stands perfectly still for a full minute, before stepping back, and nodding in return. "So... you love me."
"Agreed."
"And I love you."
"There's no need to make this sound so gay. God!"
Matt grins, and Mello finally musters up the courage to admit to himself that it is, in fact, a nice smile; a cute face; a great backside; and, a love he couldn't possibly find anywhere else because few else would know how to handle him.
And when Mello kisses him this time, Matt doesn't push away; and he finds himself so deliriously happy that he can almost ignore the sounds of Near's heavy breathing outside the window...
END
I must now address the matter of Aizawa's OOCness:
Was it,
a) Near's doing
b) A product of Mello's drinking, and aversion to afros, OR
c) The strange love-child of an incredibly strange inside-joke that involved Aizawa saying the phrase 'like a motherfucker', based on his image in the second Death Note opening, wherein he wears aviator sunglasses, and looks generally badass?
I know which answer my therapist wants to hear.
Special thanks to all reviewers/favouriters/watchers; to Ebonny, for listening to me prattle on about this fic for months (I have no doubt a few people never expected it to see the light of day); to Maddie, for encouraging me enough to inspire me to complete the second half in less than a day;
and especially to Sarah, who, gorgeously, refrained from beating the crap out of me as I annoyingly sent her paragraph after paragraph of this story, without asking if she'd like to read it first. Not to sound, you know, gay, or anything but... I like... love you, man... or whatever...