Edited for punctuation. Matt's turn to get analyzed by me. I'm actually kind of surprised I got this out; I never intended to write Matt, and when I did start… ah. I have at least three other versions, that go in total different directions, too. This is the one that turned out, so hopefully it's the best concept. Seems to be the most complete, anyway. So, here's Matt; enjoy.
"Oi, Red!"
"Yeah?"
Matt isn't beautiful, he's fairly sure, and he doesn't care. Beauty is defined oddly, so he can't be certain, but it's something to do with pattern and smooth and something people like to look at. No one likes to look at him, even when he gives them the chance, so he must not be beautiful. And he's fine with that; if people wanted to look at him, it would be much harder to move around unnoticed. He'd have to go in disguise, and from Mello's complaining, disguises must not be much fun. He never has disguised himself, because the only time he's ever felt he might need to was when he was searching for Mello, but Mello would have recognized him anyway and by not going in disguise Mello overlooked him—he figured that since Matt wasn't trying to hide himself or what he was doing, he must not have been looking for Mello. Matt had found Mello's expression quite funny when he woke up and found Matt waiting for him.
That was always Matt's talent; being overlooked. Mello and Near stood out—Mello beautiful, Near strange and maybe beautiful too. They made people look at them, notice what they were doing. Matt didn't. He didn't want to be noticed; he didn't want to be the best, and be pushed into being L. So he didn't try, and he wasn't seen, and he didn't become L. He found it kind of funny. Mello and Near were L's heirs because they were the best. But Matt hadn't wanted to be, and he wasn't. He hadn't wanted to catch Kira, and he hadn't. He'd wanted to be left alone, and he was. They had wanted to catch Kira, but they didn't. They wanted to be L, and they weren't. He achieved what he wanted, they didn't, so technically, he should be the best. He'd never say that, though. That really would be a stupid thing to do. He wouldn't be overlooked anymore, and then he wouldn't be the best, he wouldn't have gotten what he wanted, and it would all be moot, anyway.
"Are you still playing games? Seriously? It's almost time!"
"…Yeah…?"
He wondered what the definition of overlooked was. Someone who wasn't seen, or someone who wasn't seen and wanted to be. The word seemed to imply a failure of some kind to so many people, it seemed unfair to apply it to people who were only invisible because they chose to be. But then he had to define failure, and that definition was harder. Failure meant not achieving something—but every achievement was a failure at something else, so it was impossible not to fail, and at the same time impossible to fail. It didn't make sense, even though it did.
Matt didn't even know why he wondered. He didn't care about many things, and definitions were definitely on the list of things he didn't care about. But it was hard to stop his brain from working, once it started, and he didn't care enough to try very hard. That was why he'd started playing games, to begin with; to keep his mind busy. But his mind adapted and got used to it and he began to be able to think just as well when he was playing as when he wasn't, and by that time it didn't matter because the games were a stronger addiction than the cigarettes, and Matt didn't really care enough to stop.
"And will you quit smoking? It smells horrible."
"Yeah…."
He wondered what the definition of addiction was. Did it count as addiction if you could stop but didn't, or only if you tried but couldn't? He knew he could set the games, and the cigarettes, down, and never touch them again for the rest of his life. He just didn't feel like it. It would take effort to accomplish something that he didn't care about and that wouldn't ever matter anyway. And he'd probably just pick something else to replace them, so maybe that was what the difference was.
Though, he thought, he may have done that already. He played his games because he enjoyed the adventure, but he didn't get the sense of adventure anymore, not even of challenge. So instead he'd chased after Mello, and ended up taking real risks, first just to find him and then to help him, even if it was just because he had nothing better to do.
He wondered what the definition of a gateway drug was. The idea of videogames being a gateway drug to Mello—it should have amused him.
Maybe he should get a dictionary. If he looked up all the definitions, he could stop thinking about it. But then, maybe that would become a new addiction, or maybe he'd just spend his time reasoning out why the dictionary was wrong. He certainly wouldn't trust it, anyway; not without a lot of proof.
Or perhaps it already had. He always seemed to find himself thinking about definitions now; where was the line between suicide and martyrdom and execution, murder and defense and justice. Weren't they all the same thing, in a way? Kira was a murderer, for carrying out the justice that others would be praised for, and he was defending people from crime. So they were all the same—but at the same time, so different. Defense and justice, but still a murderer. He wondered, if he looked the definitions up, how much would overlap, and how much would talk about legality and circumstances? As if laws were the basis for the definitions; as if it wasn't supposed to be the other way around.
But then, the definition of 'supposed to be'—he wasn't even going to try to go into that.
"You ready?"
"Yeah."
And the definition of 'ready'—he was physically capable, sure. But mentally, he didn't know. He knew the likely outcome better than Mello, he thought; their IQs were the same, but he'd never bothered to point out that he hadn't tried on his IQ tests. Perhaps they'd worked around it, perhaps it didn't affect it anyway. But perhaps it did... perhaps he was right, and Mello was wrong, or perhaps they both knew and they were both living out lies to the end because they knew there was no other way to go through with it. And he didn't know if he was ready mentally, so maybe the right answer was 'I don't know,' and when he said 'yeah,' he was lying.
But the definition of a lie—well, he knew the definition. Saying something that isn't true. But there were so many other words, so many ways to say something untrue and still not call it a lie. Twisted truth, exaggeration, understatement, sarcasm, omission, jokes, ignorance, white lies… truth, Matt thought, may not exist at all.
"The car's out front. I'll meet you at the church, right?"
"Yeah."
Matt spent most of his time looking for answers, really. Definitions, whys, whats, even the solutions to math problems—they were all answers. Matt tried to find them all, and sometimes he wondered why he hadn't ended up the best even without trying, but he thinks he knows that answer already. The answers he looks for are trivia, meaningless, just curiosity. He probably knows more than Mello or Near, but the ability to play an entire video game through with your eyes closed isn't valuable to a detective, even if he does it by figuring out the equations the game is made with. So, he supposes, he's the best in a way, just a way that doesn't count.
"Matt, come on!"
"Yeah…."
He's halfway through a game, one he's almost done memorizing. Another few days, and he'd be able to do it with his eyes closed. He replaced the batteries recently, so he just pauses it; he never saves his games. The battery will last five or six hours, probably, before it dies. He figures two is probably enough. Mello is looking edgy, impatient.
"Ready?"
"…Yeah."
Matt wonders why he still says that. It's not true, he knows it's not. He and Mello both hate lieing or being lied to—the reason, he thinks, that Mello didn't get the name of L. Lies are useful, but they're something that he and Mello both find revolting. He doesn't know why they do, though. Sometimes he wonders. He doesn't know why he bothers.
He doesn't know why he thinks it matters, either. He puts the thoughts aside as he follows Mello outside, gets into his car, picking up the oddly modified gun waiting for him on the seat, and Mello pulls ahead of him on the motorcycle. He waits for a few minutes, and the questions come back again, hovering in his mind more urgently than they ever have before. His cell phone rings.
"Ready. You?"
"Yeah."
Well, they say that after you die you get all the answers.
Matt just isn't sure he wants all the answers, anyway.