Confession, a death note fanfic

I know I should be working on Replacement and all of my other non-Death Note stories, but I was sifting through some old files when I came up with a story I had done for Trinity Blood that I never finished and found a plot line that I really liked. It just seemed to work for Death Note in my opinion, so I began to write. Really, I have worked on nothing else, well okay school work and all, but none of my other work has been updated because of this one. It kind of just wrote itself.

I would like to mention that this one is only slightly AU, as I left them in their universe and tried to keep as much to the original story line as possible with the events that occur. So really, the life at Wammy's House, just made up and his life before that all made up and everything. I just assumed he and Mello were American so that's probably wrong. I also used an event from a one shot I found on one manga in regards to anything to do with L. It is the part in here with the voice feed and questions. I am not catholic and therefore have never actually gone to confession, so keep that in mind and this isn't a typical confession anyway, more just story telling. I've probably taken a lot of liberties with this, all of it and I hope that is okay. So I think that covers about everything I'm worrying about. I hope no one is too OOC and apologize in advance if they are. Nothing here is meant to offend. Also, the reference of Near being from Thailand is actually just from the third movie.

It is more of a chronicle on Matt's life and his life with and without Mello up to around the days before they die, so there will probably not be a sequel. It is all from Matt's point of view. I wanted to do something kind of different and I hope this goes over well as I have spent a lot of time working and editing this to make sure that I have it mostly right. With all of that mind, enjoy! This is the longest one-shot I have ever written and I'm really nervous. I wasn't sure if I should break it into parts and upload it that way as I know this is a lot to read at one time.

If you could, read and review, as I really want to know what you think but please no flaming, though I will take constructive criticism.

Rated M for language, mention of sex, some gore, and minor violence, all of which depend on your level of viewing things or frame of reference.

Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note or its characters only ones that are made up and have minor parts. No money is made from this.

Confession

One-shot

The frozen and bitter wind of January whipped around my frame as I shoved my hands further into the dun and white faux fur vest I was donning for this strange midnight call. It was somewhere near the beginning of the month, just after New Year. The red and black striped shirt I had chosen to cover up with underneath did little to block the cold. I should have borrowed Mel's jacket I mused as I pulled open the huge wooden door, my black gloved fingers gripping the wrought iron deftly. I could almost hear the blond call me an ass or something for venturing out into the cold with little more than my usual clothing.

I was back in England, after years of being pulled away. I couldn't believe it, but I had to as this was my reality; the winter, the numbing sensation in my arms, and even the brief snow particles falling toward my face. On such a peaceful night, it was hard to believe just how rotten the world was in this year of 2009. It was one of those rare times when even I didn't feel alive. I paused, just long enough to collect my thoughts that I was really going to do this.

As a rule, everyone at the orphanage had been assumed to be catholic, should they ever be asked. Personally, religion wasn't for me unless it was pixilated color and music joy coming from my handheld game system. I had to remind myself who I was doing this for, the young man that was asleep at the crappy inn room we were sharing. He had more religion than I did. He did wear a rosary after all.

My fingers twitched for my cigarettes, but I reminded my withdrawing receptors that this was a church and they would have to wait until I was done. Mel said this would help, with everything. Of course, he had been half asleep when I had woken beside him in a self induced panic, still groggy from the nightmare turned memory flashing behind my eyelids.

Mello said a lot of things though, that didn't necessarily make them true, like the time he convinced me that Mario was real when we were younger. That had, of course, ended badly with me trying to strangle the pretty blond and him trying to choke me with a chocolate bar. "Death by chocolate" would have been interesting.

The door came open with a 'creak,' heavy against my thin arms and made heavier by the added weight of the wind trying to follow me in as well. I ducked inside, pulling the door with both hands, left over right behind me, the heavy doorjamb catching. My goggled eyes took a few moments to adjust to the soft lit interior of the stone walls.

This church was older than most, the heavy quarry stones being the original, stacked one on top of the other, arranged so that they made something similar to a medieval prison or just a big stone box. The whole church was in mostly this one huge room. Plain, handmade, hardwood pews divided the room into a three separate aisles; center, left side, and right side.

The candles around the room caught the polish, making them almost glow and bringing out the natural beauty of the grains. The candles themselves started pure, virgin white at the base transitioning to an off white and eventually to a translucent version around the blackened wick and burning orange flame. These were on black, wrought-iron pedestals around the room or set on the simple wooden altar.

Enough of them fought the darkness into the cold corners and the high ceiling, giving the place the same amount of light one or two light bulbs would. It actually kind of resembled something I thought I had seen in a game. Any amount of fabric around the room was a deep crimson red, from the small rugs on the floor to the cover on the altar.

I could see the dark alcove of the confessional to the back left of the church. Black curtains separated the dark spirituality of the booth from the light of the congregation. Like a veil on a room of death, death of countless sins and revealed lies, treacheries, and all the filth of our worldly bodies. The room of secrets.

My black, gothic inspired boots scuffed against the rather tidy floor as I began to make my way in that direction. Maybe they were more like something from a video game? They were the only pair I owned but they were my favorite. Yes, you can own only one of something, but that doesn't automatically make it your favorite.

My arms were warming up from the long walk in the wind and cold to this place. I could have called a cab, but I didn't feel like paying a fine. Walking would remind me that I was alive, that I was human, and that I needed warmer oxygen or else my lungs felt like they were going to collapse. I should have lit a cigarette on the way.

I pulled the curtain back, realizing that the material was heavy, black on black with my gloves as I ducked inside the space. I could hear someone breathing on the other side of the dark screen that separated the confessor from the forgiver, so I knew that someone was here, even though I felt cold and alone. I sat down on the hard wooden bench in the darkness.

"Forgive me father for I have sinned," I stated, just as I had seen in the few movies I had ever bothered to watch with Mello. I wasn't sure how these things were really supposed to work, I was just guessing, just feeling around in the dark. Good thing I wasn't claustrophobic.

"Confess your sins and be forgiven," a gentle male voice replied. He sounded a lot like Roger. I squinted through the screen, just to be sure it wasn't. No, he was still running Wammy's house as far as I knew. Mello and I hadn't checked and since we were leaving the next day for Japan since our flight was laid over, we weren't going to get the chance. England was just a pass through.

"Where to start?" I laughed. The sound was hollow, like it didn't belong in such a somber place, like I would go to hell for doing it. Oh, I was already headed for hell; it was just a matter of how fast I would arrive. It could be tomorrow for all I knew.

"The beginning my son," the priest on the other side prompted.

"Right, as this hasn't ended yet, not until the fat lady sings as they say. Hope you have a while," I told him as I pulled my pack of cigarettes, Marlboro, from the front of my jeans along with my cheap red plastic lighter.

"Yes, there is always time," he replied. It sounded like he may have been settling in. I figured this place was far enough out of the way not to be full of Kira worshippers and the like.

"Good because this tale isn't going to be short, happy, or nice," I explained as I took a drag and tried not to blow it in his direction. I shouldn't have been smoking in the church, I know, but I was going to need it. I had a lot of sins.

I guess things really started with me being born. Not that I wanted this to be like a Charles Dicken's tale, starting with my birth like the beginning of David Copperfield, but that was when the trouble seemed to have started.

I was born into the unhappy and unfortunate Jeevas family of a single mother on February 1, 1990 as Mail "Matt" Jeevas. Now I say unfortunate as I ended up an orphan later in life, just like something out of one of the famed Dicken's tales. I also add unhappy, as my mother was one of the most pitiful creatures on the face of the earth, and that is saying a lot considering how big the world is.

Of course, the feelings between us of distain were mutual. I was upset that she was my mother and she was upset that she had even chosen to continue carrying me in the first place. Roger would always tell me that we are "born into sin," or "made from sin" or something. I guess I was my mother's largest and ultimately most painful sin. I wasn't the last, but I was certainly the largest.

Just as I am hopelessly addicted to the gaming world, my mother was hopelessly addicted to an alternate reality that existed within the pages of her cheap, yellowing, Harlequin paperback romance novels. She hated to leave the world of Franco and Natasha or whoever the hell it was every month she scraped up enough to buy one.

That was how I first entered the world of gaming. She was sick of me bugging her for something to do, so for Christmas when I was four, she gave me a used but not abused Game Boy. It was clunky, it was "uncolorized" being the word I called it, it had four buttons and one eight direction controller, and it only came with one game cartridge for Tetris, but it was mine.

I guess I owe her for bringing my true genius around by giving me the one gift I would take with me my entire life. I still have that Game Boy too, stashed away from Mello as he would die if he found out. He wanted no connections to our old lives at the orphanage, but before I get ahead of myself I need to explain my life before that so that all future events make more sense.

Back to my mother. Well, not withstanding, my mother was something of a whore, a high class one at that. It wasn't hourly rates at motels for her; no, it was hotels with champagne and business men as a professional mistress. I would have to stay in the lobby until I was five and could start school. I

think she kept leaving me down there in hopes that someone would take me. I think I used to hope that they would too.

A real peach wasn't she?

But one of those high paying customers came to be the head of our family. "Be grateful son," mother always told me. I would blow my bangs from my face and continue tapping away on the wearing out keys. That was where my religion was, my savior, my god.

It became even more so when we moved in with the man. I was too young, even for a genius, to understand that the man had killed his last wife. Like son, like mother. My mother hadn't realized what he had been referring to either when he would tell us "I've disposed of her." That could very well mean just about anything. I was just happy we didn't live in the shitty apartment anymore.

I didn't care for him myself, so he is hardly registering in my memories anymore and soon my mother will join him. I spent time at school, slacking off because I was bored and already knew a great deal of the material. But he provided me with games and systems, to keep my busy while he destroyed the woman that gave me my unfortunate life.

Of course I noticed that, the bruises, the missing teeth, the missing chunks of flesh, her drug use, her alcoholism, and eventually the blood. Yeah, she had caught a good one. He was a real winner. I probably should have done something to stop him or help her, but I was six or seven years old. What the hell was I going to do? He wasn't hurting me yet.

I say yet as he did later. But that was after he killed my mother. Now, before I am misquoted at anytime, she may have been a whore and a terrible mother, but she was my mother none the less and he had no right to take her from me. I guess in some way she loved me and I guess in some way I cared about her, for the record.

Blood.

It was everywhere. It covered the expensive beige leather couch, the once pristine white drapes on the window behind, the soft white carpet, and the coffee table. He had stabbed her to near death, standing over the body right before I arrived home from another uneventful drab day at school. All they had done was test me. She was laying face down on the cushions, her favorite white silk nightgown stained crimson.

I had never seen so much of it before. It even covered him as her dying hand reached for me. It was almost pathetic. I just stood there, backpack dragging on the floor, and my Game Boy at my feet. He just stood there, staring at me, knife in hand.

"Ma…9…1…-" Before she could finish, the life disappeared from her eyes and her hand fell limp against the side of the couch. She was dead, what was I going to do? I froze as he came toward me, one huge solid mass of murder. Hearing yourself scream is always an interesting event, just about as much fun as watching the blackness close in on your eyesight as your "father figure" tries to strangle you to death for being a witness to murder. I'm not sure what stopped him from killing me that day.

Then your world explodes into a circus filled with sirens, blue and red flashing lights, and god is several people standing above you, dressed in navy scrubs asking your most personal information. And nothing is ever the same again.

Well, almost nothing.

I still got my game and the bad guy was still caught.

"Wow, that must have been terrible, watching your mother die like that," the priest commented. I could tell he was horrified though, just from his voice inflection. It wouldn't have taken a genius to tell that much. He sounded like Roger, when he first read through my file after I was shipped. I wasn't sure that he was supposed to talk back to me while I was speaking. Of course, I wasn't really confessing.

"Terrible doesn't even begin to cover things," I puffed. I was in desperate need of an ashtray. This was a church though, naturally they wouldn't have one. I stubbed it out on the heel of my boot before I lit up another. She was the one who had instilled smoking into me, being a chain herself. "It was far worse than the censored version I just gave you."

After the circus subsided and I could tell they were cops and medical personnel, then the space of my memories I like to call 'blur' took place. Just one big navy colored blur of voices, papers, sentences, and moving.

I was probably asked what my name was well over a hundred times and that was just my name. I knew my name of course, but I felt like I was lying to the cops when I would tell them "Mail Jeevas" as many times as they wanted to hear it.

I wanted to tell them that Mail Jeevas was dead. He died that day, along with his mother. There was no Mail anymore, it was Matt. I was Matt and only Matt, not Mail Jeevas. I wanted a new life. I wanted to leave everything about the first one in the past. Mr. Wammy had called it a coping method I think.

It seemed like I would have another savior very soon.

The day that my mother had died they had been testing me at school. All kinds of tests and I had answered each question simply, bored out of my mind, and desperate for my Game Boy back. That was pretty much what school was every day for me. Bullies even left me alone.

I was a genius.

No, really. They had done things like measure my I.Q. and learning based on grade and things like that, just to show it off. Everything was just about off the projected charts, except for my social skills. If my mother hadn't have died, then they were talking about moving me up grades or to another school , etc.

I didn't really honestly care what they did with me. I just continued tapping away at the keys, beating another level of Tetris right into the ground, like nothing was wrong. Because in the world of gaming for Matt, there was technically nothing wrong.

Lucky for me, one of the detectives working on the dead woman's case, remember I was Mail Jeevas no more, had the number for Quillsh Wammy's orphanage from having dealt with him in the past and ask that he come to meet me. They told me about it and all I could think at the time was that he had a rather funny name, not that he would change my life.

The same detective just decided to keep me at his house until Mr. Wammy arrived from England the following day. They had recovered my gaming systems from the apartment where my mother had been killed, of course, since it was the site of a gruesome murder, I couldn't have them back probably ever. I wasn't too bothered though as I still had my original Game Boy with the original game.

He was nice, he just kind of left me on my own so I don't remember a lot about him other than he looked like he enjoyed doughnuts. He tried to get me to interact with him as he was afraid that my mental state was shattered. I was only six years old. I decided six as I had only been going to school for about a year. I tried to interact with him as well, over dinner and then for brief T.V time.

He was nice though, friendly, jolly type man. He was something like a father, only with a better sense of justice. He had asked me about the kinds of things I liked, gaming; what I ate, food; my favorite color, red. That seemed to bother him just a little. I guess some of that was from never having children himself and then taking in a genius after the murder of his mother.

I guess he had just hadn't found the right woman. He would have been a good father in my opinion. He made me go to bed early, so that I wouldn't look like a mess for Mr. Wammy. I think if Mr. Wammy wasn't going to keep me, then the detective would have. Maybe it would have all worked out if he had kept me, I never would have met walking sin known as Mello. I would have probably been as famous as L; I probably would have worked with L.

But that is not how this sad tale goes.

No, the next day Mr. Wammy came to the detective's house. I had spent the night in his spare bedroom on probably the most comfortable bed I've ever had in my life. I remember the one that my mother had made me sleep on until I was five in our shitty apartment and then the newish one in our newer apartment; those just didn't compare, maybe that was different though.

He had made some type of attempt to comb my hair, which was deep brown, auburn at the time. Mello was the reason that my hair was the color it ended up being. Of course, the detective didn't make me remove the goggles I had taken to wearing since I was five. I think they were another gift from my mother.

"Mail, Mr. Wammy has come here all the way from Winchester, England to meet you," the detective, I think his name was Bill, told me as he opened the door for the older English gentleman standing on the other side. I said nothing as I moved aside and let him in.

Mr. Wammy was a little younger then. He still had the white hair and matching mustache of course, but his face didn't have all of the lines and wrinkles it would later. I think L may have put them there. He took his black fedora off as he stepped inside. I remember he was wearing something similar to a funeral suit, all black, pressed very nicely, prim and proper.

His glasses caught the light and sparkled at me, like jewels or something. I was a little mesmerized. Being of American birth and of the social status I was, I had never seen a real live Englishman and it was rather a big deal you know?

He smiled down at me as he said "Hello there young one," with a kindly smile. After that, we followed him into the living room. He and the detective discussed my file, all of my life's work thus far on the table. For a six year old, I had already racked up quite a lot.

"He is very smart for his age, even for his peers too. He just doesn't have much drive," the detective explained. "He just plays his games, though I think that might have something to do more with his mother's untimely death than just a personality quirk. Do you think you can help him?" Of course, this was really reversed.

Mr. Wammy, very old, very wise, Mr. Wammy looked at me with that kindly smile and replied "Yes, I do believe I can." I had been sitting at his feet, playing with my Game Boy, so he leaned down as much as he could to my level. "Would you like to come live with me and the other children very similar to you?" he asked me.

I held out my right index finger, meaning 'just a moment' as I beat the system again, before I looked up at him through my yellow goggles and replied "sure." Why not? I had nothing else to lose anyway. Children just agree to things.

So that was how I ended up in England in the first place, Winchester to be precise. Not that scenery really mattered to me when all I needed was a room. I wasn't, am not, fond of going outside. All the way over on the transatlantic flight, I either slept or tapped away on the gaming system.

Mr. Wammy had left before me, as I still had a lot of baggage to take care of by the name of paperwork. The government had wanted so badly to turn me over to child services, where my talents would be wasted on stupid things. He was a very busy man of course, working with L as Watari, running the orphanage affairs, and trying to find other children like me, though the first we didn't know about right away.

I didn't mind riding the flight alone. I wasn't in a talkative mood. The detective warily put me on the flight, worrying the whole time about whether something was going to happen to me and the like, even though Mr. Wammy had assured him that someone would be there to pick me up.

Roger Ruvie.

He looked very similar to Mr. Wammy with the white hair, glasses, and suit, only he didn't appear as friendly. The second I got off the plane and noticed him, he looked down at me as if he couldn't believe this small thing was a genius. It wasn't in a disdainful manner.

I knew I was small for my age. At school, all of the other children had been at least half a head taller than me. The stripes I seemed so fond of wearing only made me look thinner and as underweight as I probably was. My mother was a smoker of course, so I had been born small to begin with. She had told me many times that she didn't quit smoking even in the operating room. That was when she was afraid she was running out of cigarettes.

"Mail Jeevas?" he asked to make sure as he bent down and squinted at me. He didn't have a mustache.

"Roger?" I asked. Mr. Wammy had told me about him naturally.

"You must be him. Well, come with me and welcome to England Mail." That sounded funny and I wanted to laugh but it wasn't the most appropriate time.

"Matt," I corrected as we made our way through the airport. I wasn't Mail, remember? Just Matt. Simple. Easy.

"Matt," he sighed. Though he forgot right away and called me Mail.

"So you're one of the children from that home?" the priest asked.

"Yes. I take it you've heard of the home?" I asked. My cigarette would be running out soon, but I would fix it later.

"Well, I thought it was a rumor by some members of the congregation and several other confessors. I guess it exists then?" Obviously. This wasn't a typical confession at all I mused. That was fine, none of my life had been typical and I wasn't going to start tonight.

"Damn right and you're going to hear all about it."

Roger wasn't all that fond of children, you could tell.

When we arrived at the school, they ran around him, as children do, and he sighed like my mother used to. The day was very, very sunny, like painfully sunny. The bright sunlight filtered through the brilliant emerald green leaves of the tall trees on the pristine green lawns. I guessed it was that strange transition time between spring and summer.

Personally, it didn't matter how the outside looked to me. I wasn't going to spend a lot of time out if I could. Of course, that was my original plan. Plans change, naturally.

I followed Roger past gawking and curious children, who tagged along and prodded me with fingers, questions, and toys. Roger waved all of them off as he tried to make his way to his office, calling for some of the older children to bring them to order.

That was when Roger read my file to figure out where he should put me and I played my game for several hours. I remembered he had to call for some tea to be sent up. He looked so pale after he was finished. He just kind of sat back in the chair, looking at me, tapping his fingers on the side of his face. Everyone in contact with my case had about the same look.

"Would you like some tea Matt?" he asked as he stirred quite a few sugar cubes into his. I had never had a proper cup of English tea. I was curious. I nodded. "That's a good boy." Roger still looked pale as he poured from a rather antique white and gold tea pot into a matching china cup. It was a nice amber liquid with steam coming off the top.

He asked about cream and sugar, to both of which I answered "yes." My first authentic cup of English tea. I held the piping hot china in my small hands as I sipped at the liquid. Not bad, not at all. I would have to get used to it anyway. The English do like their tea.

"Well Matt, I think I am going to place you in a room with a boy around your age named Nate River. He's very quiet and I think you two will get along." No I hadn't met Mello yet, or Mihael Keehl as he was known by to Roger.

"Nate River?" I asked. I wasn't sure if I liked the idea of having a roommate. I wasn't a very social child. But that didn't matter so much as not all the children at the orphanage were sociable like the ones I had first met, and Nate River was the perfect example of that.

I followed Roger down the halls, now free of children, to the side of the house that was nothing but rooms. I knew it would take some getting used to and that I would probably have a bit of culture shock, along with a few side effects from switching water and all. The usual kinds of things.

There, in the middle of the floor, was the strangest boy I thought I had ever met. He was surrounded by puzzles and various toys, even playing cards. He didn't turn to look back at us, he just continued putting together a picture of a farm house, one of those over a thousand piece ones?

"Nate, this is your new roommate," Roger prompted, pushing me toward him a little. He had the whitest hair I had ever seen, and it was so curly too. As if to demonstrate, he took a tiny section of the strands around his face and began to twirl them between his thumb and forefinger on his right hand.

"Hm." He turned around to regard me with huge black eyes, the sleeves of the robin-egg blue pajama shirt he was wearing resting on the floor now. His skin was almost as pale as his hair. I wondered if all children at the orphanage looked as strange as him. "Okay." That was the only other thing he said as he returned to his puzzle.

"Matt, I'll bring up your belongings. Feel free to make yourself at home and go explore." I got the idea that I wasn't the only one who didn't know what to make of Nate River, or Near, as I learned later he liked to go by. Kids are kids though, genius or not. Near invited me to play dolls with him for a little while, even though I had never heard of the game he wanted to play, just to keep me from making noise with the Game Boy.

It didn't matter that I had just taken an almost eighteen hour flight. Kids don't deal with things like jet lag. I have a theory that it might be due to the boundless energy they seem to possess up until a certain age. Then again, maybe it was just me and I was strange to begin with.

Even if I was addicted to video games, I needed to explore my new home for the next thirteen years. I left the room I would share with Near for only a little while, in search of the other children. I hadn't fully shut myself off from the world. I was still a child after all.

The halls were the original hardwood, dark with rugs laid out to protect them, I would assume from our scurrying feet. There were various kinds of furniture lining the white walls of the halls, most of it antique, and had probably come with the house. I guess they weren't worried about us breaking anything.

The whole house was kind of the same, or at least this side of it. There were other rooms, closed from my view for the most part, but I figured they were rooms like Near and I were going to share. The main thing was I didn't see any of the other children.

I wandered over to the other half, which were classrooms and various facilities of which I wasn't sure of their direct purpose. The place was like one huge maze to a six year old. I would need a map. I felt like one of the characters in my games, like packman, I felt like packman. Only, I wasn't trying to avoid things that would eat me just yet.

Then I heard it.

"Heard what my son?" the priest asked. I guessed he was enjoying the story more than I gave him credit for. I hadn't really confessed anything, so it was more like a story now.

"Hang on, gotta light another," I explained as I withdrew my cigarettes and lighter again. This was my third? I wasn't even sure how much time had passed since I had entered the box. In my life, it had been six painful years, but in minutes, who knew?

Ah, delicious toxic smoke. It calmed the raging receptors in my brain as it filled my lungs with tar. I knew it was bad for me but so were other things like Mello and chocolate and I never gave them up. Even my family had been bad for me.

"Can you not smoke in here?"

"I could, but I can't guarantee your nice little box here would be standing by the end of the next hour." Maybe I was kidding. I was smiling but he couldn't see me.

"Understood. Continue my son."

"Where was I?" I asked, just to make sure he was paying attention.

"You heard something."

"Oh…right. Then I heard it."

"Give me that chocolate bar back or I'll pound your face," Came a rather gruff, almost feminine voice. I turned the corner to find what I thought at the time was a really gender confused girl facing off against an older student. It wasn't clear who was more afraid.

"Come on now Mello, we know you can't even reach," the other student replied. He looked like he was around sixteen? I've never been terribly good with determining ages. Either way, he was much taller and older than either one of us.

At first, as I watched the struggle, it would have appeared that 'Mello' was losing. But as the other orphan moved his face down to Mello's level, something changed. The smaller boy/girl looked dead into his face and suddenly, the wrapped and undamaged bar was on the floor and the other student was straightening back up.

"I'm sorry Mello, I won't take it again," the older orphan mumbled as he rubbed the back of his neck, shrugged, and walked off. Now, what I didn't know was that Mello had made this crazy face where he bites his lip and bugs out his eyes, looking absolutely insane. I think it is his eyes as they never look right at you when he does this. You never know what he is thinking.

He even uses that look on me now, sometimes right before we have a rough round of sex or he is pissed with me or something outside of our strange relationship has fussed with him. He even freaked out a god of death with a look similar.

Yes, Mello, the really pretty but kind of butch woman, was a boy indeed. Now, still being a child, I never realized just how his appearance even at our first meeting would figure into how I would later think of him or my own sexuality. He was the first, pretty boy I had ever seen.

He turned to look at me with icy blue eyes, narrowing them just a little. He had a fair colored face, like he got plenty of sun instead of the almost albino quality of Near's with pursed pink lips, they

were chapped from him biting them often. His blond hair was trimmed nice and neatly falling to just brush his shoulders, his bangs trimmed straight across and falling just above those cold, calculating blue pools. Of course, that was how I would describe him later.

"What do you want?" he asked as he unwrapped the side of the dark Hershey's chocolate bar, biting into it viciously as he watched me.

"I'm new," I replied stupidly.

"That's your name?" he asked, raising an eyebrow as he began to make his way towards me. He was lacking shoes so his black, stretchy pants almost covered his feet. Almost all the kids lacked shoes I would see later. He began to study me as he walked circles around my confused frame.

"No, it's Matt," I told him almost proudly, trying to give him what I hoped was more of a smile instead of a grimace. I wasn't sure what it was about him, if it was that I could tell subconsciously he was a year older than me, or if it was for the fact he had this powerful and controlling aura around him, but I wanted to impress him.

"Why do you wear those gloves? Want to be a mad doctor or something?" he asked, pointing to the black gloves I had taken to wearing since my mother's murder. I still wear them, modified to fit my mostly adult body even now. Leave it to Mello to hit you where it would hurt without lifting a finger. Suddenly, my world turned into the circus again as my head reeled. This still happens from time to time.

"The blood," I answered as I looked at my hands. Now, I know that was a strange thing for me to stay, but I think it was something about the guilt of my mother's death. It was true that the only blood of hers that had been on me was around my neck from the man's hands, but it was more just a psychological thing like Macbeth. I guess I felt in some small way that I had murdered her.

"Are you okay or something?" Mello asked as he bent down to look at me, still munching on the chocolate. I didn't realize that I had sat down on the floor, staring at my hands. Those eyes seemed to pierce me right through, as cliché as that is going to sound.

"Hm, fine," I answered, looking up at him. I didn't know it for sure then, but I realized later he was the god I was looking for. Somewhere in Mello's seemingly chilling and tough body, I think he wanted to save me too.

"Well you can't sit on the floor all day," he told me, using his authoritative voice as he helped me to my feet. "Come on," he told me. Mello is still very bossy, but that's fine as I need some type of direction. He didn't seem to mind that I was a complete weirdo as he led me around the school and showed me everything I would need to know. I will admit that he wasn't the nicest soul about it, but at least he showed me some type of attention.

"You know, you're kind of weird," he told me as he led me around. He had even been able to get me to go outside without too much fuss.

"Oh?" I asked, biting my lip. I was six, who wasn't weird? At least I wasn't like the kids in my class in America and decide to eat Chap Stick or paste.

"But that's okay," he told me with a big, non crazy smile. I was someone new to control.

I was six and he was seven, and I realized then that was the man I wanted to spend my life even just being in close proximity to, no matter how fucked up our lives would become or had been, or even as much as he was going to mess mine up.

So, from that day I was automatically under the guard of Mello. He kept watch over me and made me apart of his gang. I knew he was a bit of a bully, but it was better to be on their side than on the other. Though sometimes, that had to work against my favor. I started spending more time with him, as I could actually talk to him, Near was kind of silent and unsocial.

"You need to get your shots Matt," Roger told me one morning as he had got to me before Mello could. I hadn't had hardly any of them in America I guessed. I didn't remember my mother ever taking me to the doctor.

"Shots?" I repeated. The willful blond walked up behind Roger, putting his hands on his hips and sighing. I guess he had found out from Near I would be in the nurses' office.

"Yes, but they won't take too long," he told me. I noticed he was holding my arm in a death grip. I knew what shots were; I just didn't understand that they hurt like hell when you got them.

"You've never had a shot before?" Mello asked. Now, I wasn't sure how they even let me in the country without all of them or placing me in quarantine. I guess Mr. Wammy had something to do with that. Or maybe things worked differently than I thought. Or maybe, I just didn't remember.

"No," I said. The nurse came over to me with a rather large needle; then again, when you're small everything seems huge. It was probably normal sized, although my fantasy brain will say it was huge for dramatic effect.

"Now, this will just sting like a bee, just for a second," the nurse told me in a sugary sweet voice. They always try to sugar you up don't they? I figured the needle would hurt somewhat after that.

"Hmph, she's lying," Mello told me crossing his arms as Roger turned around to hush him. I couldn't help but notice that the nurse turned to glare at him as well. She turned back to wiping my arm with the alcohol pad. I could feel my heart racing as I glanced from Roger to Mello to keep from my attention off the shining harpoon heading for my arm. "If you cry Matt, I won't talk to you anymore," Mello told me before she shoved it in.

Now, I know sometimes children make idle threats but something in Mello's expression and communicated body language told me that it was probably true. I know that sounded cruel for someone so young, but it was just how Mello was. It was something that I was growing used to. He was a very dictating and controlling type of child, but I was a born follower. I wanted to test it, just to see if he was making an idle threat or if it had something behind it.

I know it was around this time that he had convinced me that Mario was real, I think around Halloween as one of the older boys was going to dress as him. When I discovered it wasn't real of course, I tried to just choke him and he tried to shove chocolate down my throat. Of course, our fights would just grow more violent as we grew older.

When we were around twelve or thirteen, we got in a fistfight over studying and appropriate background sounds that had resulted in bloody noses, shiners, and aching heads from hair pulling and slaps. Of course, Mello always started them, I just added to the problem like gasoline to an open flame.

"Boys will be boys." That was what Roger said after he broke us up and kept us in his office, completely worn out. He had to recruit two of the older children to help get us under control.

That was the first time that I was ever truly upset with Mello. It wasn't the last time, but the first. I wasn't even sure what it was. I should have known that Mario wasn't real of course, but in some ways, despite my genius intellect, I was still a child. I would never outgrow my gaming I guess, just Near would never outgrow his toys, and Mello would never outgrow his chocolate habit. In fact, that seems to have worsened over these last few years come to think of it.

After that incident, Roger decided that Mello and I needed more bonding time to prevent another incident. I was moved from the room that Near and I shared to Mello's, while the scared boy that had been staying with him was moved to Near's. I wasn't sure what Roger was thinking by doing this. I mean, we had just tried to kill each other after all, but I guess he saw something that would work.

It wasn't like we fought all the time. In fact, that was the first real time the offense had ever taken place. Mello was almost always fighting with someone else, everyone but me it seemed like. Maybe that was what Roger had been thinking, was that I was good for him. I guess I was. I had some form of control over him, even if all I did was play my video games.

The unusual Mello liked to speak of course, though now he's quieter. That was fine, I was better at listening than I was speaking myself. I liked to listen to his excited voice of course, it has such beautiful inflection, like hearing some of the other children speak French or their native tongues. Mello had no accent, like me, as I assumed he was from America, since Near was from Thailand, at least I thought that was what he mumbled. That was a long time ago.

He would tell me just about anything, except for his past. There are still things I don't know about him, even if he knows all about me. He was talkative, but in the end, it sometimes felt as if he had told me nothing, at least nothing I could use. Of course, now he has opened up more, but I didn't mind how much people knew about me.

But it was nice sharing a room with him. He didn't seem to be distracted if I sat on my bed after classes, tapping away happily on the buttons, like Near used to get while he was working on something or trying to study. That was how I studied for things in later years. I played games to release some type of lock on my mind.

Mello would stay up long into the night, even when we were children. Now I'm the one that stays up. It was like a delayed reaction to the murder and gore I had faced I guess as now these things plague me all the time. I wasn't sure why he couldn't sleep, though I guessed it had to do with the chocolate amounts he consumed every day. So finally I asked him about it.

"Why do you stay up?" I asked while we were outside under the shade of one of the larger trees after lunch while the other children were off playing. It was one of our favorite places to stay.

"I just can't sleep," he shrugged, trying already to squirm out of answering me. His blue eyes gazed off into the distance. I had become accustomed to being able to read him. I was now seven and he was eight and it was around the time I had first come to the orphanage in the first place. One year.

"You're lying," I told him evenly, shutting off my Game Boy to show that I was serious.

"So? You lie too," he told me. I hardly ever spoke, how could I? He sounded like I had the year before, childish, even if we were still children and didn't understand everything going on around us.

"Mello, you need to sleep and then maybe you wouldn't be so cranky," I pointed out, having made the connection a long time ago with my mother, though she seemed to be cranky all the time anyway.

"Well, I guess," he sighed. "How did you go to sleep?"

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"I mean, did your mother ever do anything for you?"

"No, I just went to sleep, though if I got scared I would sleep on her bed until she found me out and kicked me off or something if she wasn't in a good mood or had someone over." There, she had been somewhat caring.

"That will work."

"What will work?" I demanded.

"Let me sleep with you tonight and see if it helps," Mello told me, using his matter of fact voice and tone with me again. I had no choice. He would just come and get into bed with me anyway, regardless of what I told him. Mello could be so hardheaded sometimes.

So I agreed.

That night, after Wammy's house had fallen mostly silent, instead of staring out the window overlooking the garden like usual, Mello came and crawled under the soft white sheets with me. His body was warm and supple against mine, wearing shorts and a t-shirt as pajamas. His blond head rested

on the pillow beside my dark brown to auburn as those blue eyes watched me hauntingly. He looked so uncharacteristically vulnerable.

It was hard to sleep with such an intense gaze upon you. He curled closer to me, being slightly taller, his body pressed flush against mine. He was so thin, still is. It was comforting though, to have someone else to share the bed with, a friend. I had never made any friends before I came to live at Wammy's house. No one else understood what it was to be alone quite like Mello or the other children.

He closed his eyes for intervals, even though I could feel mine burn and droop some, I couldn't sleep knowing that he was awake. Out of some type of instinct, I wrapped my arms around him and rubbed his back. He didn't seem to mind though, in fact, I rubbed until he was asleep.

"It was all innocent at first?" the priest asked. I guess he had enough people like us coming through or he had figured it out because I was dropping hints.

"Yes, when we were younger my intentions were to get him to sleep. I couldn't stand having my best friend be awake and restless while I was sleeping peacefully. Even if other people found me insensitive or ignorant of other's feelings, I wasn't to Mello's at all."

"So when did you stray then my son?" he asked. He wanted to get to the sinning part of course.

"Well, not for a little while longer."

For a while, Mello and I were just friends, I guess he was as close to a best as I could get, even if he was commanding and I was docile. We attended classes together, studied hard against Near's scores, played video games and ate chocolate. Just years of things like that. They all kind of blurred together honestly.

But those were happy times. Every day I was by Mello's side as his side kick, something I called myself from all the obsessive gaming. Every night, Mello slept in my bed, or just about every night. Sometimes he would sit up all night, just to study.

I knew that he had a problem with being second best; I knew it almost from the start. But I tried to never let it consume his life. I was ranking third best out of the trio of me, Near, and Mello. I constantly heard that I could apply myself and even do better than both of them, but I didn't personally believe it. I think they were just trying to get me to apply myself.

Near, who was my age and younger than Mello, just had us outsmarted in academics and schoolish things. But we had the upper hand on him as we socialized and spent time outdoors like normal children, at least while we were still children in body. But I could already tell that Mello wasn't ever going to recover from being second ranked to Near.

During the Mello years, I didn't completely lock myself up to dwell on my family and the amount of problems I suffered. I went outside, after putting the video game down after saving the level. Mello was still a bully and still did bad things, but if being good was Near, then to us bad looked so much better. I didn't mind Near, don't get me wrong, just that none of us could relate to him.

Mello and I were the "double trouble duo" as Roger and some of the older kids began to call us. We were always up to something we shouldn't have been, whether it was pranking other children or Roger, somehow we usually managed to get ourselves caught and end up in Roger's study. I think I saw the inside of that place more than any other room besides mine and Mello's.

Especially the time that we snuck off the premises and bought some hair dye with an older student. One of the girls was going to get some new shade of purple or pink or something, and we went along. This was how my hair got its violent boost in color. We were twelve then. She was trying to pick a shade that she liked while Mello and I were just laughing at all the crazy colors and how we would look with them on.

But that's when he saw the red dye. It was in a jar, gloopy looking stuff. He held it up against my head and I could tell that he was quite serious. I began to back away, bumping into the girl as she started to laugh.

"Mello, are you going to dye Matt's hair that shade?" But then she began to look from Mello, to the jar, to my head and got the same type of look. "Though, you know that is a fabulous shade for his green eyes." And so she bought it for us. That night, Mello dyed it in the pristine white bathroom that we shared with another room, well several. He had to hold my head over the tub forcefully to get me to cooperate. He was stronger than he appeared. We came close to coloring the whole bathroom in the bloody dye.

But after the whole process, it looked good. The girl had been right in agreeing with Mello. I wished I remembered her name to thank her, but I don't. I didn't pay attention to a lot of people. I stood in front of the mirror that night a really new person, as Mail Jeevas had been dead a while still and I was still Matt to everyone that met me.

"I like it," Mello smiled as he played with the feathery soft strands. His hands felt good running through my hair and I liked the contrast of his pale skin against my red hair. He had been running them through, which had rarely happened as the only time he touched my head was to grasp and tug when we fought. He wasn't as tender-headed as I was. He always used that against me.

"Me too," I beamed. Though Roger was shocked and upset with all three of us, he eventually got over it.

Years passed, grades taken, and birthday's celebrated in small ceremonies and before I knew it, there was a rare window when Mello and I were both thirteen. Mello's birthday is in the winter, the 13th of December and he would be fourteen then. I had just turned thirteen a month before I realized it.

"Realized what my son?" the priest asked, though I knew he had a good hint as to what.

"That I was in love with Mihael Keehl," I spoke softly. I knew that I shouldn't have probably said his whole name, but it was tumbling from my lips before I could stop it and I had already said it at least once. I needed another cigarette. How many was I up to anyway? My third or fourth? But on gut instinct, I figured the man wasn't a Kira follower at all. Besides, no one knew what he looked like aside from Roger and Near. Everyone else was dead.

We were both silent as I lit up again, allowing the smoke to fill me and calm my racing thoughts and memories. It had been a long time since I had thought about any of this and now I was giving a complete stranger enough information to find and probably kill both of us. But I felt I could trust him and I usually wasn't wrong.

"Continue my son," he prompted. I knew he wanted more. Who wouldn't though? Humans, even priests, thrive of love and despair. It's programmed, is my theory on the matter.

"Alright."

It was now March and I was coming out a class that Mello didn't have, being a year older and all, when one of the other students made a comment that changed how I looked at things for the rest of my life. I mean, it had always been there, but someone had brought it to light and made me see it.

"So where are you off to Matt?" It was a girl, I know, as I can still hear her high and rather irritating feminine voice. I can't remember her name, but it isn't that important.

"To find Mello of course," I told her, turning the newer version of the Game Boy on. I had still requested Tetris though, as that was a favorite game.

"Your boyfriend?" she prompted. At the time, I was just ignorant enough to believe that she really meant a boy who was my friend, not dating terms. Boys are slow on these things I've heard.

"Yeah," I answered automatically, not even stopping to analyze what she had said until she and the girl with her began to giggle. Girls are silly things sometimes, I swear. "What?" I demanded, sounding more like my counterpart than my usual soft spoken and comical personality.

"You're gay," she laughed. I, of course, knew what that meant. "You're in love with Mello," she laughed, nodding toward her friend. I can still see her mouth open rather wide, her white braced off teeth.

"What do you mean?" I asked. Nothing that Mello and I did outside of our room could be construed as such could it? She didn't know that he slept in my bed. No one knew that but Mello and I. But even as I questioned her, I began to fit things into place. Mello and I were just that close.

"I was kidding Matt," she told me with a smirk. Girls did silly things like that all the time. But she didn't know that what she had spoken was a truth. I was head over heels for my roommate and I hadn't realized it yet. I'm not saying that people put thoughts into your head; they just sometimes make you aware of things you didn't notice before. I could see where maybe she thought we were gay. I've also read that a lot of genius potential type people are, or have at least heard it mentioned.

But even if she was kidding, I wasn't. I didn't reply back to her as I headed off in search of Mello. He usually waited by the door to the outside for me, since sometimes we didn't always go outside. It was more of a choice thing. But I wanted to talk to him about it anyway.

I know thirteen, you think a lot of things and none of them are really about love, but Wammy kids were different. We were already way older than our peers as far as intellect goes. I was already twice as old as my American classmates, even if they were the same age. I was already older than even some adults. I know that doesn't always carry over to emotional maturity, but in my case it did.

Mello was waiting for me, his arms crossed, and a chocolate bar hanging from his mouth. From far off, he looked pissed, but when I got closer, he smiled. He was always like this with me, which why he didn't seem to get along with a lot of people.

"Hey red," he teased as he reached out and touched the strands. He had taken to doing that lately since we had to re-dye it. The older student that had originally bought it for us had long since left, purple or pink hair and all. But today when he did it, it held more of an emotional meaning than an annoyance.

"Can we talk?" I asked.

"Well you're talking now aren't you?" he teased, snickering.

"Jackass. I meant, could we go somewhere and talk in private?" His face sobered up as he realized I was being serious. I only ever wanted to go back to our room if something wrong, usually preferring to follow him wherever he wanted to go.

"Yeah, come on," he beckoned. We ducked around the other kids as he led me through the halls to the safety of our room. I wanted to know, I wanted to ask and see if anyone else had termed him the same word as me. "What's wrong?" he asked as we sat down on my bed. His bed was hardly ever used for anything other than rough housing.

"Well, I wanted to…" My words died on my lips. Those intense blue eyes, the same two that always pierced my soul every night before we went to sleep, were now studying my face in a way that I had never seen before.

"What?" he asked, not demanded, for once.

"Well you see, someone called me your boyfriend," I confessed. "They called me gay, even if they were kidding, it made me think." His face darkened in a way that I had never seen directed toward me and I had to wonder if he was going to beat me up or something.

"And?"

"Well, I think I am," I told him honestly. I only focused on his eyes, even though my hearing was difficult because of my pounding heart. It was better just to get this all out in the open. I was blunt about everything else.

"You think you're what?" His face was looming closer now.

"I think I'm gay," I told him in a rush as I pulled my face from his a little. Mello didn't say anything for a while. I was terrified that he was mad. Mello was very, very pretty for a boy; he looked like he probably would have been into guys at least some of the time but looks can be deceiving. But I being gay would have explained and made up for why I wasn't into girls and why I thought of Mello kissing me or holding me. Lately I just thought those things were normal.

"Well you know what," he started, that same dark look still gracing his pretty face. "I think I am too." He leaned in and softly pressed his lips against mine. I wasn't the only one then. I wasn't alone. I know that this seems sudden, but to me it never was. It was just as it always had been honestly, since we always spent so much time together. I think it had always been there between both of us, we were just too young or ignorant to realize it before hand.

I have never been kissed by anyone else. I have never allowed myself to be. Mello was my first and would probably be my last. His lips rested quietly against mine for a time before he moved away to study my face. I guess he was looking for some type of reaction and whatever he saw he must have liked as he leaned in and kissed me again.

This made sense, all of it. I liked Mello kissing me as the world just seemed to melt behind us and it was only us. His hands came to rest on my waist in a natural and relaxed position, easing me towards him as my hands rested on his skinny shoulders. Gay was just a label as the two of us didn't care what we were called. If loving Mello was sin, then I was a sinner.

"My son…" the priest gasped. I guess he hadn't heard anyone quite like me.

"Don't say anything, I know. Wrong, all wrong, but if I only make one really big sin, then I choose Mello any day. Of course, if Mello is the biggest, then I still have more little ones I haven't talked about and I know you want to know how this ends."

Just like that, we were together. Mello was my boyfriend in terms. But it was really no different than it had always been. We still did the same things out in front of everyone, just hanging around, but in our room, it was just a little more intimate.

We kissed and touched and sometimes pleasured each other. He still slept with me at night and everything was still fine. I loved the feel of his graceful fingers brushing over my sensitive skin, the way his hair was like silken threads, and his usual chocolate air. Even though he was rough with me, that was one of the better, if not best years of my life. I had my best friend and we were still in our same school standings with Near.

I knew the being a genius and all, I had a purpose being at this school other than just being an orphan. I had always known that of course. I had always heard about L, the world's most famous detective that used to live at the orphanage like us and who Mr. Wammy spent a great deal of his time with. We were being groomed to possibly be of some help to him with cases or be detectives or whatever we wanted.

None of us ever got to meet the famed detective or even learn his real name, but we did get to speak with him around the time he started the Kira case. He was nothing but a old English letter on the computer and a voice feed, answering our questions. I was fascinated though as he was very similar to all of us.

I stood near the computer with all of the other children except for Mello and Near who stayed near the back. Near was working a puzzle on the floor and Mello was slouching against the wall, barefooted and eating chocolate as usual. Neither of them asked anything I noticed after everything was over with. I don't remember what I asked anymore, but it wasn't all that important.

I was amazed though and chatted all the way back to the room with Mello. He seemed different though. I didn't make a lot of note of it, brushing it off as his usual Near argument. After that, for a time he was fine, nothing different. But I knew that coming in second best to Near all the time was taking its toll. He had begun to hate him severely.

Our lives were going to change with one message though.

"A message?"

"Yeah, but not from god. I'll explain as best I can."

I was sitting on my bed, playing a game as usual, lost in my own world and hoping that Mello would come back soon. He had been special summoned to Roger's office. Even more time had passed now and Mello was nearing fifteen while I was fourteen not that ages ever really matter in this story. He had been gone for a while it seemed and the room felt colder than it should have in the fall. It was always colder when he was gone.

Usually when Mello came back into the room, if he wasn't in a bad mood, he shut the door quietly behind him and told very excitedly what was going on. This time, when Mello returned from this meeting, he slammed the door hard enough to nearly rip it from its hinges. There was still a hole in the wall where the knob had struck.

"What's wrong?" I asked, not even bothering to shut off my game to get up and see about him. He knocked me back with his hand though, his lips set in grim determination, a change from the usual supple smile he had. Mello hadn't been that physical with me in a while, since we were smaller. Something was terribly wrong.

"L's dead, Kira got him," he finally told me as he sat on his bed and held his head in his hands, tangling his long graceful fingers in his golden locks. I sat down beside him, putting my arms around his waist and leaning my head on his shoulder. Mello wasn't crying as he never did cry, ever. I tried to comfort him in the best way I knew how, but I don't think it was enough.

"What else is going on?" I asked. I was sad to hear about the unfortunate death of the detective. But I knew there was more to Mello's anger.

"Near is going to take over, he's the best," the blond told me heavily, letting his tense and proud shoulders sag. That was what was really bothering him. I knew it.

"Mello, I'm sorry," I told him, unsure of what I could to do help him.

"I decided it though," he explained, turning those blue eyes to mine. Sorrow. His eyes were full of sorrow. He pulled out of my grasp, standing up and grabbing his backpack. Rain pounded the windows and Mello watched as I watched him. There was one more thing he wasn't telling me. It was killing him. "Matt, I'm leaving," he told me, refusing to turn and face me.

"I understand," I told him. Had that really come from me? Well, when I took my emotions out of everything, it did make sense. Here, he would always be in Near's shadow, but out there he would be on top.

"You do?" This time he did turn to face me. I couldn't be sure if my heart was breaking. They say, if you love something then if you let it go it should return if it is true.

"Yes," I nodded, trying not to listen to my heart crack. Him leaving wasn't something permanent. Nothing is ever truly permanent, if I learned anything in life from dying my hair. I explained my theory, needing to hear it myself.

"Thank you Matt," he smiled sadly as he crossed the room and kissed me. He sat down, just holding me for a little longer, caressing me slowly and speaking nothings in my ears. I was crying though,

as hard as that is to believe. I didn't want him to leave alone at that place, but I guessed it was necessary.

I had no choice but to watch him pack a few necessary items, kiss me goodbye, and walk out of my life for the next few years in the rain and chill that only someone you deeply care for leaving you can bring. Matt couldn't die that day though.

"So the years in between?" the man prompted. I guess he wanted this to have a happy ending.

"Well, they were boring of course," I sighed.

I played out my days at the orphanage only still allowing myself some dignity to be the third person. The world was getting darker by the second though with all the Kira supporters and the murders. The whole world was going insane and all I wanted to do was watch. I excelled in things like espionage.

When I was old enough, I left the orphanage to start some type of career. Mello made several attempts to contact me through letters. He was in America somewhere was the last I had heard from him. I worried every day though what he was up to, was he alive, was he still in love? None of his messages ever indicated that he had found anyone else.

I had to wonder if he was sleeping without me as well. I wasn't doing so well without him. I was having nightmares of my family several times a week, and I had started smoking probably around seventeen, yeah, underage. But I made it to Japan, after telling Roger how to get in contact with me, just so that Mello would know.

I began working for one of the large corporate companies, in secret of course. I got to play any numbers of the games on any of the systems as long as I spied some on the competition. It was so easy, like taking candy from a baby, not Mello of course. By day, I was the typical slacker gamer and by night I was the corporate spy.

I was even in some local competitions, under assumed names of course. That was fun for a short time but I hated not hearing from anyone, okay, make that Mello. I tried to keep up with contacting Roger to find out if there had been any word from the blond.

A year had passed since I had left the orphanage and there had been no word from him in way over a year. I knew he was a trouble maker and bad news, but I couldn't leave him alone. I wasn't really for sure if we had broken up or if we were still together. He had never made it official but we were long separated. I was still hopelessly in love with him and our rather dysfunctional and strange relationship.

"So how did you come back in contact with him?"

"November 27, 2009," I answered, ignoring part of the question.

I was lying on my floor, stomach of course, mostly asleep before my phone went off. It was all the way in the bottom of my pocket and I half didn't want to answer it, since I figured it was so late. I had been playing a game after work, well into the night. It was nearly day break. I grabbed the vibrating offender from my tight pocket, struggling on the floor with a controller still in my hand.

It was a number I didn't recognize, but I never saved any in the phone so I wasn't suspicious. I gripped the warm electronic device in my hand as I flipped it open and answered with a sleepy "Hello?"

"I thought that was you," someone said. The voice, to my hazy mind, was so familiar I nearly blurted his name out there. He sounded essentially the same, just a little older. I thought I was dreaming though, I had to be, this was all some sick joke right?

"Mello?" I asked. If it was a dream, might as well say something.

"Took you long enough," came the reply. I could almost see those pink lips of his curled up into a sneer that had plagued me a great deal of my childhood.

"I'm dreaming right?" I asked, hauling myself off the floor, the game controller clattering down to the hard surface as I gripped the phone excitedly.

"There you go again," he sighed, just as he would when we were small. "No, you're not dreaming New," he told me haughtily, referring to the first time we met.

"Mello, where have you been all this time?" I demanded. I had a right to know in some small way. He had more or less abandoned me after all and was suddenly waltzing back into my life.

"Here or there," he spoke. "Doing bad things. My usual," he told me. I figured he probably wouldn't tell me what he had done over the phone. I could almost see him rolling those crystal blue eyes at my question.

"I stopped hearing from you and got worried," I confessed.

"I know, I wasn't able to write for a while and so I got in touch with Roger a night or two ago about you. He told me you had left and gave me this number."

"Yeah, I couldn't stay there my whole life," I shot back.

"Look, while I would rather continue this conversation on the phone, I would much rather see you in person. I have something to ask of you," he told me seriously.

"Alright, though I don't know where you are."

"I know where you are," he told me. "I'll come get you." With that, he hung up. That was more like the Mello I remembered, always right to the point and completely in control. I had been so out of control for the past few years that I quite frankly didn't care.

I sat on the dirty floor for a long time, feeling stupid and stunned, before I realized he was coming to get me and that I would need to get up and get ready. I didn't question why he called me near daybreak or how he knew. The man had his ways I guessed. My heart was pounding and I was smoking up a storm as he hadn't seen me in four or five years and vice versa.

I would probably still be easy to recognize, since my hair was still red, I still wore the striped shirts, gloves, and goggles with jeans. But I wondered if he had changed any. Did he still have that soft blond hair? Did he still have a love of black clothing, almost always skin tight somewhere? Or did he look completely different?

I shut off all my equipment and tried to tidy up somewhat, since I didn't know if he would be coming in my humble home or not. It was more like a one room apartment, standard bed I never slept in, kitchen I hardly used, and bathroom that was semi clean. I wasn't even sure what colors the walls were since I hardly paid them any attention.

There was a loud knock on my door, stunning me from my semi-vegetable state and I jumped up to answer it. My heart began to pump blood furiously into my ears and I heard this rushing sound as everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. My gloved hand grasped the round silver in my hand as I pulled the door back.

"It's been a long time," a smooth voice pointed out. All I could do was stare.

There stood Mello, in all his tight leather glory, smiling at me. The material shined from the dim lights illuminating the hallway distracting me from the rest of his appearance. I never would have pictured him wearing that, but it looked good; it suited him. His hair was still essentially the same hair style, blond, just below chin length, and well cared for. His blue eyes still sparkled with the same mischief from our childhood; only one eye stared out at me from a mass of scarred skin.

It was the type of skin that one acquires from being burned badly.

"Mello," I said, my voice dying in my throat. He smiled at me, moving some of his hair out of his face. I wasn't quite sure what to make of him. It was I who had been standing still since our time together at Wammy's House.

"You look good Matt," he told me as he reached out a gloved hand to touch my face gently. It was cold. I remembered that it was November after all. Of course, his gloves would be cold, but that leather felt so good against my face.

"Thank you," I breathed. I couldn't believe it. After years of wanting him to be near me again, he was, just like that. I hadn't realized how much I had missed him until he was standing in front of me, staring into my eyes. He nodded.

"Come with me, I want to talk."

"But it's…six am," I complained, after looking at my phone.

"I know, we'll go for breakfast and we can catch up," he spoke, rolling his eyes. I couldn't stop staring at him. He knew what I was staring at as he touched that part of his face. "You want to know how I got this don't you?" he asked, a sly grin on his lips. I knew he had scars in other places, as when we were smaller he was always doing something to get them and wear them with pride.

So, like always, I went.

He explained all of his sins to me, from going to America and joining the mafia under a man called Rod Ross, in a place not too far from my apartment, riding on his motorcycle. I didn't feel like driving. Well actually, just as with anything Mello touched, he instantly used, me included. The mafia of course had not known, even after Mello blew of the building with the remaining members. I'm sure a lot of people would have found that cruel, but I just found that to be Mello.

He told me about the shinigami named Sidoh, the whole tale of how he acquired it from Japan from a man named Soichiro Yagami, lecturing about law enforcement and mixed groups and the like. Mr. Yagami worked with the Japanese Kira investigation. Mello had kidnapped his daughter, Sayu, to gain the notebook. That was the god of death that he had freaked out with his strange expressions of annoyance.

After getting his hands on it, he killed members of Near's investigation team, the SPK. I had heard some of it from Roger and was slightly familiar. I had figured that Mello would do something like that after he told me about the Death Note. But, he was completely alone now.

Of course the investigation team from Japan had found out about him and the mafia, so they staged a raid, with Mr. Yagami trying to kill Mello. He was obviously unsuccessful and Mello was forced to blow the building up, killing any remaining members of the mafia. He felt no sorrow over it. They had served their purpose.

But in the blast, Mello had been unable to successfully avoid all the flames, leaving his face in the state it was in. After looking at it under a better light, I found it gave him character and made him look quite a bit older. I wanted to reach out and feel the repaired skin under my bare fingers, but we were in a public place, spending a great deal of the time speaking in whispers in the back of the room.

Mello had been up to a lot of sin. He still wore the rosary around his neck though, the one I remembered from our childhood, and still ate a lot of chocolate. But, he was still essentially the same cruel Mello I had fallen in love with. Everything he told me I believed, no matter how far-fetched it sounded.

"I need your help with this though Matt," he told me, grasping my hands excitedly. "I should have called you in the first place but I was scared you had moved on since I'm no good."

"I'm not a saint either," I snapped.

"I'm glad you're not. I need your valuable espionage skills that Roger mentioned over the phone, but more importantly, I realized…"

"What?" I demanded. I was dying to know if he was still as in love with me as I was with him. I had assured myself over the years that there was no one else I could possibly love as much as him.

"That I needed you," he told me as he released one of my hands and began to stroke the side of my face. I know it was clichéd and that we probably shouldn't have even gone in public, but no one knew who we were in my neighborhood, especially since I didn't go out. Those crystal blue eyes that I could just fall into like an ocean were searching my face.

"I've needed you too."

We decided that it would be safer for Mello to stay at my place and get rid of the hotel room, which he had been using under an assumed name, to do espionage work on the investigative team. He would have to camp out elsewhere for surveillance.

We tracked two Japanese men and a woman thought to be part of the Kira case. Mello had explained all the details of where his information had come from. He had used force to get the information from Near. This had happened later in the day of course, me tailing the woman and the man with her while Mello tracked the other. I'm not sure how productive it really was.

That night, Mello stayed in my apartment with me, while I quit my job after the day of spying. It was just like the orphanage again, as if we had never been apart but had just continued on.

Only this time, we furthered our sin with a while night of losing clothing draped over my bed frame, sprawled across the floor as our lips crashed together in battle while our hands roamed fresh skin with such fervor that I was afraid it would begin to come off. In fact, with the way Mello's fingers worked he left long scrapes and thin red canyons across my flesh.

Sweat covered all available areas between us as we conjoined into one person with grunts and thrusts, constantly in connected motion in the most intimate way possible. I was his, he had finally taken me. We lay there in a mass of tangled limbs, no longer pining for the other's affection. My first time, while it was kind of painful based on Mello's aggressive personality, it was no more so than my entire life had been thus far. I wasn't even ashamed to tell all of this to a priest.

After that, we continued split surveillance of the people. I've already mentioned too many names and these are central to the investigation. I don't think they have a lot to do with any of my sin, though maybe surveillance through an illegal means. Either way, I was working with Mello again as his partner, not just in crime. I was his sidekick and I was damn happy.

"Mello is sin I know, our whole relationship goes against the whole church and all, but I don't care. Mello is religion to me," I told the priest, not bothering to light another cigarette as I would be leaving into the chilly night again. "Forgiveness really means nothing to me and you just ended up with one hell of a story."

"I see," the priest remarked. We sat there in silence for a few moments; my whole story, there on the table, all my sins, including the most recent. I would need more cigarettes after I left, but I was sure I could find somewhere open. He mumbled something, I guess was the final remarks or ending or whatever he was supposed to say but had I left.

I wasn't worried about him telling anyone as Mello had explained they were under some type of contract with God of course when he was trying to explain his religion to me when we were younger. It wasn't likely that he would violate that higher power. Besides, the church was all the way out in the middle of nowhere and so crude that there was almost no possibility of him having any connections.

Mello was right; I did feel a lot better. Soon I would be back in bed with him and out of the cold and snow. I would feel even better after I had my cigarettes, my games, Mello, and this whole Kira business was over so that my life could return to something similar to normal…

End.

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