"Get up!" I aim my pillow squarely over the human-shaped lump under the covers and slam it down. I don't quite know where what is—he's so gangly, sheesh—but a tuft of red-brown hair clues me in to where specifically his head is under the mound of pillows and covers. I whap him again.

A string of curses that no thirteen-year-old should know soon follows and the tuft of hair disappears as he burrows deeper into his fortress.

I make a sound of irritation, glaring at the heap as if he'll feel the heat of my gaze; if I'm lucky, the blankets will catch fire from pure force of will. "We're going to be late! For fuck's sake Matt, get up!"

I don't know why I don't just leave him here in the room. Obviously he has no desire to get up. God damn it, why do I even try anymore?

I jump up on his bed, the mattress bouncing and letting out a whine as I climb over his form.

"Shit!" is his muffled yell when I accidently knee him in the back on my quest to get him out of bed. I now have a much better idea of what is Matt and what is just bunched up quilt and squished pillows. He's such a weird sleeper—I use one pillow, he must have at least five.

I sit down on his back, and I hear him grunt from somewhere under the comforter. "I swear I'll suffocate you if you don't get up," I growl.

"Fuck off!" is his choice response.

The house has put us in separate rooms at least three times, but always we end up back together again. Sometimes people say that I'm a bad influence on Matt, sometimes that he's a bad influence on me. Other times—and this is far more likely—the reason is cited that we bring out the worst in each other. For whatever the reason, our quirks are amplified when we're in the same orbit and we tend to get into worlds of trouble.

I like to think that Matt is weirder than I am, but that's probably a lie. It really depends on the criteria we're looking at, too. Matt calls me an obsessive, misguided brainiac. (Believe it or not, that's actually a compliment coming from him. I won't tell you what he calls me on bad days.) In my opinion, Matt is an introverted, single-minded, lazy-as-fuck brat. The only way to get him to do anything is to sit on him. Or hit him with pillows. Both have been effective, depending on the day. Sometimes I think he wouldn't do anything if I didn't harass him into getting out of bed.

"Matt, I'm going to count to ten," I say, my voice barely controlled. I've been working on this. The mandatory counselor that everyone at the house has to see (we're all orphans, yada yada, life sucks, don't kill yourself,) says that I have anger problems. According to her, I overcompensate emotionally. I guess that's another problem I have.

"One," I start, my voice shaking a little. "Two, three," not as big of a pause this time. The firm human lump beneath me has stilled, turning into dead weight. "Four five six," Jesus Christ, what the fuck is wrong with this kid? "Seven eight—" He slams me into the wall. Well, not the wall, but the pillows he has stacked up against the wall. Because he rolled over so quickly he took me with him, sending me careening into the mountain of down stuffing.

I lose it. He knew that I would, the little fucktard, so as I'm scrambling out of the bed he's already run across the room in only his underwear. "I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!" I scream, and he sends me a grin over his shoulder before slamming the door shut, his clothes a hasty pile in his arms.

I'm silently seething. I could run after him—I know he's going to the showers—but I don't. He knows safe zones. If I beat him to a pulp in a visible place like the showers, I'll get in trouble. I usually don't have a problem with that, but lately punishments have gotten worse. No dinner, yeah, I can deal with that. (We have a snack stash.) No computer and no books, I guess I'll survive. But all that plus a trip to the counselor to talk about my feelings and a visit to Roger to be harassed? I don't think so. Matt knows my limits.

They've been threatening to separate us again, and that always bugs me. Leave it to Matt to provoke me into screwing up. I think he enjoys when we get separated, because then he gets a new roommate who doesn't bother him and he can be as lazy and unproductive as he wants. But I know him. He gets bored, even if he doesn't say so. He likes it when I pester him, so that's why he usually ends up back in whatever room I'm in. He'll be such a nuisance that my roommate will complain, and eventually Matt and I will be back together again. We know how to work the system.

I'll try to put off the inevitable (if not temporary) separation for a while longer.

Since I don't habitually oversleep, I'm already dressed and ready to go. I stand, glancing back at his bed and the mounds of bedding with a roll of my eyes. My side of the room is tidy, not obscenely so, but certainly a lot nicer than his. While I overcompensate for things, I think Matt under compensates. (If there is such a thing.) In theory we balance each other out, but in reality our personalities seem horribly unmatched. It's weird to say that he's my only true friend, but I'd be lying if I said otherwise.

Class has already started when Matt walks in. His hair is still wet, but at least he's clean and dressed. Our teacher sends him a dirty look, which Matt doesn't even acknowledge, instead walking up to my table and plopping down in the chair beside me. We sit in the back, because we're less likely to be yelled at back there.

The teacher continues what he'd been saying before Matt's interruption, writing chemical equations on the board. My hand works automatically to copy down the equations as well as the exact words that leave the teacher's mouth.

Matt is getting his notebook out of his bag; I glance over, hand still writing, and send him a death glare. "This is not the week to be late," I say through my teeth, voice low.

He sighs dramatically, earning himself a few nasty looks from the students around us who are intent on paying attention. "I know, you're spazzing, I get it," He mumbles, clicking his pen and flipping open his notes to a blank page.

"This is our final chance for review before the test." I tell him, like he hasn't heard me say it a million times before.

"Oh yes, The Test," He says, and I can tell that he's beginning an imitation of what he thinks I sound like. (For the record, I don't sound like this.) He continues in a dramatic tone, "This isn't just any test; this is how we will be ranked and viewed for a whole six months. Our futures depend on this test, not just at Wammy's but as future candidates for L. How we do on this test will determine—"

"Shh," The girl in front of us hisses, then turns back to face the front.

I roll my eyes, not really at her, but at Matt. "Just pay attention," I say in a low tone. "This is important."

Mercifully, he stays quiet for quite a while after that. I can hear his pen scratching, and when I glance over I'm surprised to see that he's actually taking notes and not doodling. I smile to myself, pleased that he's taking something seriously for once.

But of course I've spoken too soon. With just ten minutes of class left, I feel his hand nudge my thigh under the table. I look down, and see that he is offering me an elaborately folded note. We're sitting right next to one another.

I almost don't take it from him, thinking that taking it would only encourage his wandering attention. But I'm curious, and, to be totally honest, a little bored. I already know everything that the teacher is saying, and I can learn it better (and faster) on my own.

So I take the note. Matt pretends to be absorbed in writing as I unfold it under the table, looking down at my lap to read what he's written. In his scrawl the paper says, 'Maybe you should stop worrying so much about these tests. Everyone knows you're better than Near, it would be stupid for them not to pick you. Let's have fun this week.'

I frown down at the paper for a moment before lifting it, smoothing it on top of my notebook page so I can write my response. But before my pen touches the paper, I glance sidelong at Matt. His damp hair shines in the light, and I wonder if he even tried to dry it because I can see visible water drops. His goggles are set over his eyes, squishing the hair down above his ears and at the back of his head. He's as pale as I am, but a few freckles dot his cheeks. I know he has more on his back.

Matt's my best friend. He drives me crazy most of the time, but I can't imagine life without him. As I tune out our teacher's droning and just focus on the boy beside me, I feel the hum of nerves and anxiety start to calm. I don't give myself a chance to change my mind, instead writing on the paper, 'We'll do something this afternoon.' Before I can over think it and change my mind, I refold the note and pass it back.

I see him smile out of the corner of my eye. It makes me feel a little warm. He carefully tucks the folded paper into his pocket, no doubt to wave it in front of my face later if I try to go back on my word.

Class is over minutes later, but I've stopped paying attention. I'll have time to study outside of class, even if Matt and I do something fun this afternoon. There's plenty of time to do both. He's right, I will be the best. It would be ridiculous if I didn't test highest this term—it's my turn. This is finally the time I'll win. I've crawled my way up to the second spot, I won't give up now. But despite all that, I deserve an afternoon with Matt. Because I've worked so hard, I deserve this.

Matt has already collected his things since the bell and he gives me a half-wave, leaving the room as I'm just standing up. I won't see him again until lunch, since we placed at different levels in our other classes. Matt could be really smart if he tried, but he doesn't. The only reason he does as well as he does is because I nag him so much.

The rest of the morning is uneventful. My classes are all review, and by noon I'm practically banging my head against the wall. I have excellent memory, so this is useless. I find myself looking forward to the afternoon with Matt more and more. I don't know what he has in store, but even if we just play one of his stupid games it will be better than these classes.

This week is a special schedule for lessons because of testing coming up, so my last class is over by 12:15. This is supposed to give us kids the rest of the afternoon to study, but most of us don't. A lot of kids at Wammy's have stopped trying on the test. If they don't want to be L, or don't think they stand a chance, there's no point in even showing up.

I'm walking down the hall heading to the cafeteria, my backpack slung over one shoulder. The hall is mostly empty, and I bet Matt is already sitting at our usual table with his lunch. I turn the corner to head down another hallway—this place is like a fucking maze sometimes—and a hand grabs my wrist. I'm yanked into the supply closet before I can see the face of my attacker, and the door slams shut behind us. The closet is dark except for the sliver of light coming from the crack at the bottom of the door. A warm body is pressed against my side, still holding my wrist.

I twist, about to hit whoever it is, but miraculously he's able to grab my other wrist in the dark. "It's me!" Matt cries.

I quiet, and after a moment he releases my wrists. I hit him anyways, smacking him right on the back of the head. "Ow!" He yelps, and I know he's holding his head where I hit him. "What the fuck?" He demands.

"Don't drag me into dark closets, Jesus Matt," I growl, trying to step away from him, but I nearly knock over a broom. It's cramped in here. "Is there a light or what?"

He grabs my arms again, this time at my biceps, and I'm pulled back against him. My backpack slides to the floor with a thud, and I can feel the warmth of his chest through the back of my shirt. "Will you just chill out?" He hisses.

I wonder if he notices the closeness too, or if it's just me. It's surprisingly intimate in this little closet. "Why aren't you getting lunch?" I ask, trying to be mad, but I can't manage it. His proximity has cooled my anger and warmed my body in ways that it shouldn't.

"I wanted to talk to you, and I can't do it in the cafeteria." I hold my breath, and he continues after a beat, "I had an idea of how we can prank Near."

I exhale the breath, carefully shaking myself loose of his hold and managing to maneuver my way around in the closet until I'm facing him. I squint, and I can faintly make out his features. I can at least see his outline in the dark. My eyes are adjusting. "What?" My tone comes out clipped.

I see his eyes narrow. "Are you mad at me?"

"No." I cross my arms. "What was your idea?"

"You're mad!" He throws up his hands. "Is it because I grabbed you and dragged you into a closet?"

I set my jaw, trying not to snap at him. "No." My voice is deathly calm.

"You are!" He shoves me with a hand to the chest and I stumble back a step, tripping on something—I think it's a bucket—and before I can recover I'm tumbling backwards. Matt curses loudly, his hand twisting into the front of my shirt to try to pull me up—he ends up falling with me.

We hit the stacks of cleaning supplies with a loud clatter, a mop falling over and banging against the other wall of our small space. "Shit," I say loudly. My back is soaked; I think a bottle must have broken on me. The smell of lemon cleaner invades my nostrils, making me sneer in disgust. But even the goo seeping into my clothes isn't enough to distract me from Matt for long; he has landed squarely between my legs. His hand is pressing hard in the middle of my chest, his fingers still clutching my shirt. His breathing is a little uneven, and I find myself stilling.

"Are you…okay?" I barely whisper. Did he hurt himself? My pride is bruised, my clothes are wet and "fresh scented," but otherwise I think I'm fine.

He doesn't answer me for a moment, but I feel him shift. Our clothes make a rustling sound as he moves against me. My cheeks warm without my consent. "Mello?" I barely recognize his voice. It's a little lower, soft and serious.

My eyes focus on his face, trying to make out the details of his features in the dark. "Yeah?" My voice sounds weird too. I can hear my own heart pounding, and I wonder if he can hear it too. He can at least feel it, with his hand on my chest like that.

He doesn't say anything for a moment, instead leaning forward. His breath is warm on my face. He pauses, hovering. "I—"

We're both blinded by light when the door is thrown open. I look up right as Matt does, and we both gulp audibly. Roger glares down his nose at us, disgust obvious on his face. Matt scrambles back from his place between my legs.

I should be freaking out because I know we're in serious trouble, but all I can think about is that I really liked having him there.

Roger thinks we're sleeping together. When he said it in his awkward, judgmental sort of way, I actually laughed out loud. Roger and Matt both looked at me when I did, the former with a look of serious distaste and the latter with slight amusement on his features.

We're not sleeping together, just so you know. It's not like that at all—we don't even kiss or anything, we're best friends. Just because I've been thinking about this sort of thing lately doesn't mean I'm doing it with Matt.

After my outburst Matt is the first to speak, "We're, uh, you know we're both guys, right?"

This doesn't seem to be what Roger expected. He splutters, then recovers and says, "I've been worried about this happening for some time."

Matt and I exchange a look. I raise an eyebrow, and he heaves a silent sigh. Neither of us say anything, so Roger continues, "I think it would be healthy for both of you to be reassigned to new rooms."

"What?" I demand, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. "We weren't doing anything, you can't put us in new rooms for no reason!"

Roger sends me a look that, if turned on anyone else would probably be crippling. I meet his glare with one of my own, jaw setting, obviously issuing a challenge: I will always win when it comes to a battle of will.

Instead, Roger says calmly, "This conversation is over. Matt, collect your things. I'll have a room assignment for you within the hour. You two aren't allowed to see each other unsupervised."

I kick the edge of Roger's desk with my heavy boot and it screeches as it slides a few inches back, now sitting crooked. I hope I scratched his damn floor. "Fucker!" I shout at him, flipping him the bird before stalking out of his office. I want to kill something.

I didn't even hear Matt run out after me, but he grabs my arm when we're in the hallway. I almost shake him off, but I catch the look on his face and pause. He looks…sad. Hurt. I frown. "What?" My voice is calmer, but not by much.

"Will you help me pack?"

I look away. "I'm covered in that cleaning shit. I need to take a shower and change."

"Change after." He pulls me by the wrist, and my legs start moving again. I let him lead me towards our room. Well, what used to be our room.

Both of us are quiet for the rest of the walk. I think we both realize how serious this is. We're not going to be roommates again if Roger will have his way.

I stop in the doorway, watching Matt as he mechanically gets his bag and starts to pack his clothes. We won't get to stay up late talking when neither of us can sleep. I won't be around to nag him to be serious, and he won't be around to nag me to loosen up. At least not as often.

I carefully shut the door behind me, watching him for a moment longer. I mentally steel myself. Deep breath. I stride up to Matt, grabbing him by the arm. I catch the look of surprise on his face before I press a hard, fast kiss to his lips. He just stares at me, shocked as I step back.

My lips are tingling where they touched his. The kiss was warm and a little moist. I wonder what his mouth tastes like past those wet, supple lips. I cross my arms, not speaking a word.

He just stares at me for a long moment, seeming to try to figure out what to say. "You…you…" I raise an eyebrow. He finally gets it out, "You've never kissed someone before."

"Neither have you." It's weird how well we know each other. "Aren't you more worried about that?"

"But…you…" I watch in fascination as he lifts a hand to lightly touch his lips. "Why?"

"If you have to leave, maybe there should be a real reason for it. Not that Roger should be right, he's a douche, but I wasn't about to let you leave for no reason at all."

"Well…thanks." He murmurs, and turns back to his bag. I help him finish packing. Neither of us say another word about it, and I like it better that way.

Once he has his clothes and videogames, I help him zip closed the bag and we both sit on the edge of his bed. I stare across the room, looking at the far wall. I don't know what to say. I feel like I'm losing him, just when I finally found him. That sounds stupid. It is stupid, but it's how I feel.

Matt finally breaks the silence, "We should meet up tonight."

I glance at him sidelong, lips pursing. "Meet? You mean after curfew?"

"Yeah." He turns, pulling one knee up on the bed so he can move his entire torso to face me. I do the same. "Just so we can…you know, hang out."

I nod slightly. I think of the test, but suddenly it doesn't seem as urgent. I still have a week. "So where do you want to meet?"

"Let's meet in the kitchen."

I think of all the times that we would visit the kitchens late at night to pilfer snacks; I nod again. "What time?"

"Midnight."

We part shortly after that, Matt going to see Roger about his new room assignment. The room feels empty without him in it. I leave his bed and dresser the way he left them. Pillows are strewn about, empty drawers left open…that's how it usually looks on his side of the room, except the drawers are supposed to be full of his things.

I sit on the edge of my bed, waiting for the room to feel less empty, for me to feel less abandoned. I'm in here alone all the time…I shouldn't think about it so much.

I open my book bag, taking out my notes to go over while reviewing in my textbooks. I start to study, losing myself in stringent formulas, overarching concepts, interpretive literature and passionate poetry. As the hours tick by, I don't feel quite so lonely.

It's midnight before I know it. I skipped dinner all together; I could have seen Matt there—that is if he went, and I doubt he did. If I know Matt (and I think I do), then I bet he didn't want to deal with Roger's disapproving glances and snide remarks anymore than I did. Not to mention all the talk that must be going around Wammy's. We may be supposed geniuses, but that doesn't mean we aren't kids—kids who gossip, and can be damn mean when they want to be. I think we're even more vicious than normal kids.

I leave my room, exiting into the darkened hall. The sconces are dimmed, but I can still easily see. I look in either direction before heading for the kitchens. The carpet cushions my footsteps, my bare feet padding lightly on the floor. It takes me about five minutes to get through the dorm hallways and over to the kitchens; I have to walk slower so I don't make as much noise.

When I reach the double doors I push one open slowly, careful so it doesn't squeak. The light is on in the kitchen. It usually isn't this late at night, but Matt is already here. He's sitting on a stool pulled up to the center island, a bag of pretzels open in front of him.

He smiles when he sees me, and I can't help but smile too. "I thought maybe you'd been caught," His voice is amused.

"I never get caught." I shoot back, grinning. I grab a stool and pull it up next to him before taking a handful of pretzels and start eating.

"Did you go to dinner?" He asks.

"No. Did you?"

He scoffs, "Of course not."

I smile. So does he. We eat pretzels, talking in low tones about classes, teachers, and everything else. Everything but the kiss. Neither of us brings that up, and oddly I'm okay with that.

We meet again the next night, and the night after that. We fall easily into the new routine. I ask Matt if his new roommate notices when he leaves; he says yes, but the poor kid is afraid that I'll come beat him up if he says anything to Roger about Matt's midnight escapades. That makes me laugh.

The two of us usually just sit around, raiding the cupboards and refrigerator for snacks. We never take things that the cooks will notice missing the morning; sometimes that's hard for Matt, who has an affinity for cake and always tries to sneak a piece when I'm not looking.

It's the night before the big test. Our meetings have become shorter as the test approaches, and Matt knows I'm anxious tonight.

"Cupcake?" He offers me a chocolate frosted cupcake, taking a bite out of his vanilla flavored one.

I frown, looking down at the sugary thing. "I'm not hungry," I grumble.

Matt smiles a little. "Fine." He sets it down, just to my right. I glance sidelong at the dessert, waiting a long moment before reaching over to start peeling off the paper. He grins at me, triumphant. "Knew you wanted it," He says haughtily.

I scoff, twisting the bottom off the cupcake and leaving it on the paper. I take a bite of the frosted top. "I just didn't want you to feel bad," I say through a mouthful of chocolate.

"Mhm," He grins at me.

I'm about to retort again when I hear footsteps. Matt hears them the same moment I do, and we both freeze. Our eyes connect, and an unspoken, 'Oh shit' passes between us. We both scramble up, Matt nearly knocking over his stool.

We rush for a place to hide. I throw open the pantry, realizing belatedly that the shelves are flush with the door. We couldn't fit a baby in there, let alone two teenage boys.

"Mel!" He hisses, and I glance over my shoulder. Matt is standing by the walk-in freezer where the cooks keep meat and God knows what else. He gestures for me to hurry up, and I run across the kitchen to join him.

Just as we're slipping into the freezer I hear Roger's voice, "Why is the light on in here?"

Matt pulls the door shut, the click barely audible. We're both holding our breath; it's pitch black in the freezer. Matt still has his hand on the door as far as I know, and I'm just inches from his back. I can feel his radiating warmth, so noticeable compared to the frigid air around us.

I lean in a little, my chest pressing against his shoulder. We're both totally quiet, listening. Through the thick door I can faintly hear Roger walking around the kitchen. He's talking, although I don't know what he's saying. He could be talking to himself, or demanding that the delinquents show themselves.

After the sounds of Roger fade, we're still totally still and silent for a good five minutes. I'm shaking faintly, the cold starting to seep through my clothes. It smells weird in here. Finally, feeling safe, I exhale, my warm breath puffing against his neck. I can faintly see his outline now, and feel him because of he's so warm.

"I think he's gone," I whisper.

"We should wait a minute longer," Matt whispers back, falling silent again to listen.

I hear nothing. "We should get to our rooms before he comes back," I say, keeping my voice low.

"Yeah," He agrees. There is a faint crack, like metal rubbing against metal, then everything is still. The sound comes again, and I realize that Matt is leaning into the door handle. "Help me find the light," His voice is strained, and I try not to panic.

We grope around the wall for a tense moment, and Matt finds the switch. The light flickers on above us, momentarily blinding me. I blink, looking from Matt to the door and back again. "What's the matter?" My heart is sinking; I already know what he's going to say.

"It's…it's locked."

AN: This little fluffy story is for April, who you guys may know as Living in a Fantasy. We decided to do a one-shot trade a while back; you can go read what she wrote for me, an adorable story called Found You. =D Since I've taken so long to get this to her (I'm far overdue,) I've decided to make it a two-shot. =P She keeps me motivated (or just nags me, ha!) so you have her to thank for a lot of updates. =) She requested the boys getting locked in a freezer, which I was more than happy to do. =D

Expect part two soon! I haven't been the best at updating this last month, and I apologize. I'm back and school, and some things going on with my family have made it difficult for me to write. This was a nice change to get back into the swing of things. =) For Hire can be heavy at times, and a lot of plot to handle. It was fun to write something lighter, with less intense plot to keep track of. Hopefully I'll be back on track soon! I appreciate your support and patience. =) As always, reviews are really appreciated! Thanks for reading guys!