Author's Notes:

PAIRINGS: Matt/Mello. Mello/Near.

SPOILERS? Yes, for the entire series.

Back from my hiatus! Hooray!


Chapter 11: Colorless Rain

Matt, the less-than-proud owner of a new automobile (Cadillac) and motorcycle (Harley-Davidson), courtesy of none other than Matsuda, ditched both that Sunday in favor of a long walk with Mello.

Mello, of course, would've preferred to be as flashy as possible — his philosophy in life was "if you've got it, why not flaunt it?" — but he agreed with the decision to walk. He was just as unwilling to attend Matt's initiation party, if not more. Mello missed his friends a lot, but he wanted to delay for as long as possible his inevitable reunion with Near. He hadn't even said goodbye on the day he upped and left the flat, and they hadn't spoken since then, not even on the phone. There was too much awkwardness there.

"Hey, Mello!" Matt hollered.

"I'm right next to you, you dick. Do you need to shout?" Mello anxiously looked around to check whether anyone was paying attention, but no one nearby showed the slightest sign of interest. Luckily, they hadn't heard his idiot of a companion.

"Just eleven blocks more!" Matt said happily, ignoring Mello's obvious irritation.

"Must be a relief to you, huh? You look beat."

"I am not beat."

"Liar. You're panting like a dog."

"Let me guess. You have a thing for your man looking wet and sweaty, am I right?"

Mello wasn't able to resist this time — there was a loud crunch as he punched Matt's shoulder.

"Ow! That hurt like hell!"

"Good."

"Yeah, real good. I've got a masochistic side, you know? Don't hesitate to bring out the whips and chains!"

Laughing, Matt ducked as Mello's arm swung around for another blow. To Mello's surprise, he found himself laughing as well. Matt was like that — he simultaneously inspired annoyance and affection.

They walked for a while longer then Matt said, "You know something, Mello?"

"What now?"

"There are only ten — almost nine — blocks to go till we reach our destination!"

"Are you going to keep announcing the number of blocks we still have to walk? 'Cause if you are, then I can tell you now that you'd better shut your trap. I'm pissed enough as it is. I didn't want to go to this stupid party. I'm holding you wholly responsible for this 'cause it's your fault for being so fucking flirty or whatever it was that caused the fans to lose all sense of judgment and declare that we, of all the possible couples in Death Note, are the best couple. Do you know how fucking ridiculous that is? We only had one scene together, for crying out loud! One poor excuse for a scene! We weren't even touching! Or talking! Explain it to me, 'cause I'm finding this whole business bonkers. And when you died — when I heard the news that you got your ass gunned to death — do you remember what I said in the show? I said 'sorry'! Just that! No heartfelt confessions or, at the very least, indications of deep regret. A tiny modicum of regret, maybe, but that was all. So where did they get the idea that we were, and I quote, 'gay lovers'? Does one lousy moment of sitting opposite one another and spying on Misa signify in any way that we were spooning or — I don't know — sucking each other on the down low? Where is the logic in that, huh, Matt?"

"Nine blocks to go!"


It took Mello five seconds after stepping inside the flat to discern that the others were already drunk. When Light opened the door, Mello leaned away, waving a hand in front of his face — he could smell the booze wafting from his body. From farther in he heard yelling and whooping. He guessed by the noise that Matsuda was making fantastic toasts and that the others were agreeing and drinking to whatever he was saying, too drunk to understand anything.

"You're late," Light mumbled around a wonky cigarette.

"That's news to me," Mello said boredly. Towing Matt along, he pushed past Light and announced, "The star of the show has arrived!"

"Mello!" Matt protested, drooping his head as Mello lifted his hand in the air, much like a referee would to the champion of a boxing match.

Even as Matt lowered his hand, he saw four pairs of eyes light up at the announcement, as if suddenly awakened from an inebriated haze. Not counting Light, who was still swaying by the door as if trying to remember how to close it (he was more than a little intoxicated, after all), Near was the exception to the transparent excitement of the others. The boy's expression darkened when he caught sight of Mello's fingers wrapped around Matt's wrist.

Matt smirked and looked away.

"Sit," Matsuda commanded, and Misa moved closer to L to make space for the new arrivals.

Matt sat down, fixing his face to match the somber mood that had suddenly settled around the table. He was itching to take a swig of beer to prepare himself for whatever they were planning to do with him, but something told him that it wasn't the time.

"Hold hands," said Matsuda. In one swift motion, as if they were a single entity sharing the same mind, they all grasped hands with the ones sitting on either side of them. Matt was the only one who lagged behind, but luckily the others were too preoccupied with maintaining the solemnity of the ceremony to notice any delay on his part.

He glanced at Mello and Near, who were seated next to each other. The two of them were holding hands, but their faces were wiped blank, clear of any expression. Matt comforted himself with the thought that their postures seemed stiffer than usual.

"We are here today," Matsuda began, "to welcome —"

There was a loud thud from the direction of the front door, followed by a long moan.

Matsuda's eyes narrowed, but he kept talking. "We convene today to welcome —"

There was a crashing sound now.

"Can I check on him, Matsuda?" Misa interrupted in a soft voice.

Matsuda sighed. "Very well. If you need to call a doctor, go ahead. No need to report to us about Light's every folly."

She thanked him, broke the circle, and departed. L leaned over and took Matt's hand.

Matsuda recommenced his speech. "We gather today to welcome Mail Jeevas into the Death Note family. Although the rest of us have been united for some eight years now, we hereby swear that the strength of our relationship shall not be determined by the length of time we've known each other. What matters more than anything is the fact that we're family. We shall not treat Mail as an outsider, but as a brother and as a friend. In return, Mail must utilize every skill and talent in his arsenal for the ultimate betterment of his family. He must abandon his previously selfish existence as a gesture of duty and sacrifice. He shall no longer exist for himself, but for the seven who are his kin. Are you willing to do all this, Mail?"

Startled by the sudden question, Matt said yes without thinking. He internally kicked himself when he realized what he'd just committed to doing.

"You realize that your life shall no longer be your own? That your every action may have repercussions affecting not only yourself, but your brothers and sister as well?"

"Yes, I realize that," he muttered, though a part of him burned with hatred at what he was saying.

"This isn't going to be an easy ride, Mail. You must understand that there are new conditions and responsibilities that you're bound to fulfill. I'll publicly announce your initiation into our family a few weeks from now. I expect you to have learned by that point how to conduct yourself in an acceptable manner. Mello will be there to assist you. The prospect of his mentorship was my primary purpose for moving him to your dormitory. See that you will pay attention to whatever he teaches you."

"Yes, Matsuda-sa —"

"Just Matsuda. Are you even listening to what I'm telling you about responsibilities? Even at this stage, you're performing poorly."

Matsuda stared him down and, despite himself, Matt had to suppress a shiver. He'd never imagined that Matsuda could act like this, although in hindsight it seemed obvious. The car, the motorcycle, the gadgets, the custom-made clothes . . . would Matsuda bother to waste so much money on an endeavor in which he wasn't totally serious? "I'm sorry," Matt said, his voice small.

"I forgive you. Just promise me you won't commit the same mistake — I couldn't stand such formality among family."

"I promise."

"Good. Now here's a crucial condition I require of you. On its face, it may seem simple and unimportant, but it in fact serves as the backbone of our collective connection to Death Note's millions of devoted fans. Mello, Near, what is this extremely important skill that Mail must learn?"

"Fan service," Mello and Near said together.

"That's right. This is your primary responsibility, Mail."

Yeah, that's every club's biggest reason to consider a new addition to their perfectly suitable number: fan service, Matt thought bitterly.

"From now on," Matsuda said, "you and Mello are required to have at least an hour-long conversation per day. And I don't mean fifteen minutes in the morning, twenty more in the afternoon, and the rest before you go to sleep. Instead of having a disjointed conversation, you must both sit down and talk for an hour straight. If you can exceed that time, then even better. And let's not forget the dates."

Dates?! Matt wanted to scream.

"Yes, dates." It was as if Matsuda could read his mind.

"What are the exact conditions for these dates?" Mello asked, his expression wary.

"One date per week. The date should last the duration of a day, of course. I understand you're busy being a good college student, Mail, but you have your weekends free, right?"

"Fridays and Sundays," Matt corrected.

"Yes, those days, then. So are you agreeing to this requirement? Or are we dealing with another homophobic person here?"

"I'm more than okay with it," Matt assured him. He saw, in his periphery, Mello glowering at him, but he ignored him.

"Of course, I'm not asking you to do anything for real. Just get to know each other better. And put on a show whenever there are other people around."

"Fine."

"All right. I think I've relayed to you the key points you should know." Matsuda paused as if to contemplate, then he said, with more volume and conviction in his voice, "Mail, answer these questions honestly. Do you want to create a new world?"

No. "Yes."

"Are you willing to give up anything — anything at all — for that new world?"

No. "Yes."

"Are you absolutely certain? Can you commit to this right now and promise you'll never back out?"

No! "Yes."

"Very well, then. From now on, you are no longer Mail Jeevas, but Matt. You have now been erased, and I shall rewrite you at my leisure." Matsuda released Near's and Mikami's hands then raised his glass of beer. "To Matt."

"To Matt." They all bumped glasses and drank to him.

Matsuda drained his glass. The moment he put it down, his eyes were less fierce, his smile gentle. Matt found it difficult to reconcile this mild-looking Matsuda with the intimidating person who'd been grilling him earlier.

"So, guys," Matsuda said amiably, "what say you to a few rounds of karaoke?"


At four in the morning, Matsuda suggested they all get going. They were too drunk to crawl back to their respective residences, so Matsuda flipped open his phone. With a single call, five limousines materialized outside Near's flat: one for Mikami, one for Misa, one for L and Light (who was sleeping soundly in Near's bedroom), one for Matt and Mello, and one for himself.

"I fucking hate limousines," Matt grumbled once they'd gotten inside theirs.

"Drive yourself home in your new Cadillac, then. No one's stopping you."

"I don't have the Cadillac with me, Mello. We left it at home, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah. I remember. So stop bitching."

Matt didn't answer. Mello leaned back against the satiny seat and looked past his window, where rain was falling in a slant and thrumming against the glass.

"Hey, Matt?"

"Yeah?"

"Why can't you shut up?"

"You talked first just now, didn't you?"

"No, no. What I meant was —" He paused, gritting his teeth as the beginnings of a migraine began to pound in his temples. The pounding echoed the hammering of the colorless rain against the windows. "I. . . . What did I mean?"

"I don't know. What did you mean?"

"What was I saying again?"

"You were talking about my inability to shut up."

Mello smirked. "Oh, yeah. What I meant was . . . why can you never shut up when you're alone with me? Back there, you were sitting real quiet, not saying anything. Why?"

"I was talking at the party. It's not my fault you were too drunk to hear my dulcet tones."

"Yeah, of course you talked, but only after somebody would initiate some conversation. You didn't even have a go at karaoke."

"So what if I don't like to sing? What's wrong with that?"

"It's just . . . I have a feeling that if we went to a karaoke booth on our own, you'd monopolize the mic and sing half the available songs. You'd sing them terribly, sure, but you wouldn't stop until your voice bailed. Then you'd order a ginger ale to soothe your throat and carry on." Mello stopped — Matt was snorting with laughter by then.

"Ah, Mello, you know me so well."

"Seriously, though. You're already looking more spirited here in the limo. At the party earlier, were you feeling sick?"

Matt's next words were blunt. "No. I just don't like them."

"All of them?" Mello asked. He was somewhat surprised, but only at Matt's frankness — he'd suspected as much based on the way Matt acted around them.

"All of them," Matt confirmed, "except you."

"Why? They're nice to you."

"Exactly my point. They're too . . . welcoming."

"So?"

"So did it ever occur to you that I didn't want to be welcomed? That I don't want to become a part of the Death Note Club?"

This admission took Mello off guard. "Doesn't everyone want that?"

"I can't speak for everyone. But I know I don't."

"But why?"

"You all take this too seriously. As a TV show, I concede Death Note isn't that bad. But it isn't simply a TV show to you guys, is it? It's the whole goddamn world. You actually believe it's real."

"Matt, it is real."

"Don't say that."

"Why?"

"If it were real, then we'd lose. We'd die."

Matt was making a valid point, Mello realized. Mello would have to think about all this later. At the moment, though, he wasn't in the mood to delve into such serious matters — this turn in the conversation was making him uncomfortable. "Don't go philosophical on me, Matt. I'm too drunk for this shit. Besides, why'd you even audition if you hated Death Note so much? You say you don't like being initiated into the main cast, but why wouldn't you? You're going to be wealthy and famous. Everybody who might have looked down on you before will admire you now. You're finally going to be somebody. Isn't that what you wanted — what everyone wants — from the start?"

"Yeah, you got me."

Matt bit his bottom lip to prevent the words threatening to spill from his mouth, the words he truly wanted to say aloud: No, Mello. I never wanted any of that. All I wanted was to get close to you.