WARNING: Strong language.

It is with more than the usual amount of trepidation that Matt stands, one hand half-raised, in front of the solid oak door. Coinciding with his latest birthday, almost like a gift from his own body, had arrived a highly satisfactory growth spurt, allowing him to open the heavy doors in the building with unprecedented ease- and yet now, for the first time in months, he is finding it difficult to enter a room. In reality, he has not yet summoned the nerve to even touch the door yet, but he thinks to himself that he had better take this whole endeavour in small stages anyway. If he had his own way he wouldn't be here at all, but he had sensed a force in Roger's voice that took this mission beyond the day-to-day assignments he was given. This had almost been a command.

Now that he considers it, he realises that there had been anger in that voice too. Not fury, though, that was the thing. It had sounded like the sort of anger most people feel towards Mello most of the time- the long-suffering, frustrated, bewildered sort which bubbles to a messy head every so often. He supposes that he has now witnessed the explosion in Roger. And yet he has never seen any hint of it before today.

Roger must have the most incredible self-control, he thinks in wonder. Then again, he would need to, in this place.

Something smashes against the door, and Matt leaps backwards, suddenly reminded of the enormous amounts of rage currently contained in the room in front of him. He pulls a face once his heart has slowed to its normal rate once more, apparently only just noticing the large piece of wood which currently shields him from any missiles. "Go and talk to him, Matt, calm him down," he mutters in the uniquely high-pitched voice he reserves for mimicking others. "Why me?" He makes to kick the wall but stops just in time, remembering that wild animals are often said to be enraged by loud noises.

Not that this animal hasn't made enough noise of his own today.

He sighs, wondering whether this rocky and potentially fatal friendship really makes sense in the long run. What does he gain from it? Besides fear.

Speaking of which…

His skin attempts to desert him then and there as the door handle begins to turn beneath his outstretched fingers. He feels his hair stand on end, and his hand quivers gently as he watches. He is stuck to the ground, like his shoes are made of steel. He cannot move.

He is reminded of a horror film- the one he borrowed from an older kid in exchange for 50 pence and a bag of sherbet- as the door swings open with a slow creak, revealing a dusty room, a shaft of light stabbing out from the window, and a pair of eyes, shadowed by bruises and dirty hair yet filled with enough anger to singe his eyebrows.

Matt takes three hasty steps backwards in an involuntary, futile attempt to escape the furnace of that glare.

"Matt."

"Yes?"

"What the bloody fucking hell are you doing lurking outside my room?"

Matt hesitates, wondering for a second how it is possible for a skinny boy with the perfect complexion and symmetrical haircut of a choirboy to possess such a terrifying temperament. "It's not your room," is all that he says.

"They put me in it, so it might as well be."

"Is that why you broke half the things in it?" Matt asks, gesturing at the shards of glass littering the floor around Mello's bare feet. For a second he is concerned that the other boy will cut himself, but then he notices the blood dripping from his knuckles and remembers that when he gets like this, Mello is oblivious to pain.

Mello snorts. "Who cares? That vase was fucking ugly anyway." He turns and strides to the other end of the room, his foot landing squarely on a nastily pointed piece of glass on the way. Matt winces at the crunch.

"Are you coming in or what?" Mello snaps, turning and shooting another dose of Evil Eye in his direction, pulling off a sneer despite his split lip. "I know Roger sent you. You may as well just do what you've been told."

Matt, deciding that he could hardly endear himself to Mello any less by this stage no matter what he does, steps inside. He pads to the centre of the room, avoiding the pieces of vase even though he has shoes on, turns around in consternation, then settles for sitting cautiously on the windowsill.

"Yeah," Mello says, heedlessly flinging himself onto the ground and stretching out his legs. "I think it used to be some kid's room, but his stuff's been cleared out. Most of it, anyway."

Matt nods, scanning the room. There is the wreckage of what could once have been a chair, now nothing but a heap of sharp splinters, and next to it a framed photograph, the glass of the frame having been smashed on its speedy trip to the floor. Obviously the picture had not enraged Mello to the same extent as the chair had, as it is otherwise fairly intact. The curtains have been ripped, and all the coat hangers from the wardrobe have been flung in a heap on the ground, some having been bent almost beyond recognition. In fact, there is very little in the room that has been left untouched, except, miraculously, the window.

Although he has been attempting to retain a poker face throughout this inspection, he must have expressed shock, or alarm, or awe, or at least some sort of emotion, because Mello is smirking at him from under his currently rather dishevelled fringe. "I was pissed off to be put in here," he says coolly. "They just shoved me somewhere safe, you know? So that I couldn't cause any more trouble. D'you know they only unlocked the door so you could get in? Bastards. So I thought I'd make a bit of a mess for them."

Like everything else he does, Mello when making a bit of a mess undertakes his task with great enthusiasm, and the results are simply on a different scale from other mortals. Matt can't help but be impressed.

However, the scale of the destruction presents him with a problem: namely, that he has been sent here to calm his friend down, but judging by the damage inflicted on an innocent room, this task can only be achieved by a miracle-worker, or possibly a professional therapist. He gulps, watching Mello moodily kick at a disembodied chair leg.

"Well?" Mello says abruptly. "Aren't you going to deliver your speech? Roger's probably given you a whole list of things to say."

All the recriminatory remarks which he has been given drop out of Matt's head at once, leaving him alone. Suddenly finding he is sweating, he struggles for words, desperate to say something. "W-What was it… that got you so angry?"

"Near."

Well, it would have been, wouldn't it?

"Damn Near… I've worked so hard this year. I've stayed up every night. He doesn't work at all! Well, I've never seen him work. He plays with his stupid puzzles all the time, anyway. That's really weird, though, isn't it?" he asks, suddenly rounding on Matt, who nods immediately. "He's like a little kid. And then he acts all smug and rubs it in my face that he came top again."

"Really?" Matt asks with genuine interest, unable to imagine Near doing any such thing but intrigued by the thought.

"Yeah. Sort of. He didn't actually say anything- not at first- but he was all quiet and complacent and stuff, and he kept looking at me every so often, even when people were talking to him."

Silent, unaffected, examining everyone and not engaging in social interactions… wasn't that what Near was like every day? All the same, Matt can imagine how this attitude would affect Mello, especially after a year like this one.

"Hey," Mello says, interrupting his thought process, "why weren't you there, anyway? Don't you care about the results?"

Matt shifts and coughs awkwardly. "Not much."

If Mello only knew the extent of that lie… He does care, of course, just like every single child at Wammy's does. He cares so much that he spent all of last night bypassing the security on Roger's computer in order to sneak a peek at the rankings before anyone else. He has been shocked by how well he himself had done, but more concerned by Mello's scores. He had consequently spent the entire morning attempting to sound genuine in his encouragement and agreement that Mello would "surely win this time", dreading lunch time when the results were handed out, and had hidden himself in his room at quarter to twelve sharp, bracing himself for the imminent catastrophe. It was a simple message that he had learned that morning: knowledge may well be power, but it also puts one in the firing line.

Mello narrows his eyes as Matt fidgets. "Anyway," he continues, "Near was on the next table at lunch and people were still talking to him- poor bastards. So then he acted all stupid and modest, like he hadn't tried to win. He knew I could hear, and he said that! So he provoked me," he finishes, and folds his arms defiantly.

"What did you do?" Matt asks, by now fully engaged in the story despite already knowing how it ends.

Mello shrugs, "I punched him, didn't I?"

"Did he fight back?" Matt says disbelievingly, looking again at Mello's black eye and bloody lip.

Mello shakes his head. "Some other kids. Near just sat there. His nose was bleeding, though," he says with some satisfaction. "It was the most colour I've ever seen on his face… ow!" He blinks in shock and looks sharply down at his hand, the split skin now healing a little so that the blood is barely oozing. "Son of a bitch… I guess it wasn't just Near's blood, then. At least it must have hurt him as well."

"You stepped on some glass, too," Matt says, hoping that Mello's new awareness of his injuries means that he has calmed down enough to be treated as only mildly insane.

Mello looks at him blankly for a second, then leans over and pulls his feet towards him. He hisses as his fingers unwittingly discover the shard lodged in his flesh. "Aaah, fuck! How did I not feel it?"

Matt shrugs. "You don't normally notice pain when you're angry."

It was meant as an offhand statement, but Mello reacts with a look of such astonishment that Matt almost laughs. Still, it is hardly surprising. How can you expect someone to be aware that they are occasionally unaware of something?

"You know, that could be really useful," Mello muses, feeling around the wound for a suitable angle to get at the glass and wincing every so often. Suddenly, his eyes light up with an unholy glint and he thrusts his foot out. "Hey, get me mad again! Then you can take it out and I won't feel a thing!"

Matt laughs weakly, convinced that this is one of Mello's confusing jokes. When his friend's disturbingly eager expression does not waver, he begins to shake his head rapidly from side to side. "No, no, no, you can't be serious. I'm not doing that!"

"Why not?" Mello asks, looking genuinely confused.

Matt can think of a million reasons, but explains just a few. "First of all, I've never done anything like that, and I might mess it up. Secondly, it'll probably hurt anyway, now that you know it's there. And there's no way I'm going to deliberately make you angry. Not a hope in hell. It's really-" dangerous "-pointless. When you've just calmed down."

"It's just pulling a bit of glass out of my foot, Matt. How could you mess that up?"

"I don't know- leave a piece behind?"

"Not likely."

"I just don't want to risk it, ok?"

"Honestly!" Mello scoffs. "You're such a baby. I didn't think you'd be scared by the sight of blood."

A stab of irritation fills his gut. "I'm not scared. I just don't want to… to…"

"Well?" Mello jeers.

Matt rolls his eyes. "Look, would you shut up? You're just mad because Near beat you again."

The air freezes. Mello's voice is like a knife in ice. "What did you say?"

"You were beaten, Mello. And you're so bitter about it that you're taking it out on me."

Mello goes very stiff and silent, and Matt can see the muscles in his jaw working as he clenches his teeth. He tenses, placing both feet squarely on the ground.

Then he flings himself forwards, landing on the floor and rolling to one side as Mello lunges at him. He is on his feet with his fists up by the time Mello is facing him again, and although he is not intending to fight very hard, he throws a punch out anyway, catching Mello on the shoulder.

Mello responds with his own fist, swinging at his face from the side, but Matt is ready. Aware of Mello's heavy dependence on his dominant hand, he steps to one side, catches the punch and twists Mello's arm away from him. At the same time, he kicks at his ankles, taking Mello's balance out from under him and sending him toppling to the floor. Matt falls as well, rolls, grabs Mello by the knee and pulls the glass out of his foot in one motion.

He underestimates Mello's ability to make a swift recovery, however, as no sooner has he allowed himself to relax than the very same foot lands itself in his stomach. He wheezes, stunned, unable to breathe, and the next few seconds take place in darkness.

His vision returns in time to see a black-clad twelve-year-old, panting, red-faced yet extremely self-satisfied, plant himself on Matt's legs and pin his wrists to the ground. Any number of thought pass through his head, mostly along the lines of "Fuck" and "How did he beat me when I'm stronger than him?" He wriggles ineffectually, but is forced to stop when the movement causes him to run out of air again.

Mello smirks breathlessly, opens his mouth to speak- and breaks off abruptly, staring at something above Matt's head.

Lying on the floorboards, bloodstained and glistening, is a thin shard of glass, around an inch long with one jagged edge.

Mello swings himself off Matt and crawls forwards, picking it up carefully between thumb and forefinger. Matt barely registers his absence, thinking only of the sudden freedom allowing him to follow his instincts- namely, to curl into a ball, hug his knees to his aching stomach, and gulp for breath.

Mello turns slowly, and waves the piece of glass at the younger boy. "When did you get it out?"

Matt looks up and makes what could have been an attempt at a shrug. "Just now. After I knocked you over." He coughs slightly.

Mello looks at the glass in wonder. "I didn't realise."

"I told you."

"No, I mean I really didn't realise. I had no idea- I just thought you were useless at fighting."

Matt sniggers lopsidedly, still catching his breath. "At least I got rid of that impression."

"I beat you, you smug shit!"

"You winded me, you stupid asshole!"

They hesitate, and then grin at each other with a sudden relief. Mello extends a hand, which Matt grasps gratefully, pulling himself up onto his knees. He bends forwards and peers at the glass. "Looks sharp… It would have really hurt a normal person, you know."

"Good thing I'm not normal, then."

"I guess." He looks around the room, and sighs heavily. "Roger's not going to be happy with us. You smashed the place up, and I ended up fighting with you when I was supposed to stop you destroying things."

"He knew it was going to happen, anyway. That's why he put me in a spare room."

"He knows too much, then," Matt says, annoyed. He hates the idea of being treated as predictable.

"Doesn't that mean we'll have to kill him?" Mello says with an utterly straight face, and then laughs spectacularly with a flash of teeth. His smile vanishes after a few seconds, however, and he leans forwards, prodding gingerly at the sole of his foot again. "Hey," he says.

"Yeah?"

"Did you plan all that? You know."

Matt glances at him. "I'm not really sure," he says with a show of thought.

"For fuck's sake, Matt."

"What?" he snaps, taken aback and enraged all over again.

Mello does not even blink. "Either you did or you didn't. It's a simple question."

Matt glares at him- his too-long hair that gets in his eyes; the tear in his shirt; his bruises and scrapes; blood on his face, his hands, his feet- and then sighs, folding his arms. "Look, would it piss you off if I said yes?"

Mello considers. "Probably."

"Then yes."

Author's notes: Written on request by VincentFaust9 on dA. And yes, I am currently open to requests from anyone who reviews and asks nicely.