Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note or its- wait, you don't care? Me neither. So let's move on with the story and skip all the unnecessary introductions, shall we?

Note: In the first part of the story, Matt and Mello haven't met yet.

Cooking Chaos, Chapter One

"What the hell did you just say?"

A certain blond-haired chocoholic was now hovering above a seated elderly man named Roger. With such noticeable teal-colored eyes and silky blond hair, it was hard not to notice the guy who was notorious for being the crankiest man in the whole orphanage. Giving the stunned man a death glare, Mello arched his head up and bit his lip intimidatingly.

"Listen, Roger, I can't cook to save my pathetic life," he hissed with a venomous tone in his voice.

"…Wait, Mello," Roger took a deep breath to calm himself down. Gesturing towards the seat in front of him, he coughed. "Please sit down, and maybe we can calmly discuss this issue."

Grumpily, Mello relaxed his stance and plopped himself onto the chair right in front of him. Folding his arms, he took out a bar of milk chocolate and bit off a chunk.

"Now spit it out. Why this out of a sudden?"

"As the second most intelligent person in Wammy's House, you are required to go through a number of courses from embroidery to cooking," Roger exhaled sharply, looking at the blond in the eye. "It is our job to groom your skills, Mello. Please co-operate for once." He rubbed his temple as he waited for a response, trying to curb his pounding headache.

Why is Mello so stubborn and difficult? Can't he be more like Near? If I tolerate this any longer, I'm going to go mad one day. I swear.

"…Do I look like I give a damn about cooking? I'm willing to make an exception for this." Mello snarled, looking away from the old man with defiant eyes. "I don't care if I'm second or not. If you want, you can send that stupid twit to that course, instead."
Roger frowned. "Mello, do not speak of Near that way."

"Fuck this! It's all Near that Near that! Give me a break already, old man. I'm a man. And men don't cook," the chocoholic gritted his teeth, stamping his foot in frustration. "We leave it to the girls."

Roger sighed resignedly, watching him. This was hopeless. At this rate, he was never going to convince him.

"Well, at least I can enlighten you on what you'll learn there," he said hopefully, flipping through some documents on his desk.

Mello raised his head and eyed him, curiosity present in his beautiful blue eyes. "Tell me," he urged impatiently.

"Let's see," Roger mumbled. "You'll learn how to cook simple dishes and bake cakes."

"…Like?" Mello rolled his eyes as he swallowed the last bite of his chocolate.

"Chocolate fudge cakes, chocolate muffins, chocolate-coated strawberries, chocolate…"

Mello's eyes lit up as soon as he heard his favourite word. He grinned devilishly.

"Say no more. I'm…in," he declared, crossing his legs. "Now let's get on with the shit."

Roger smiled, satisfied. He had a hunch that it would work. Actually, Mello wasn't that hard to please after all, if you knew what he liked or disliked.

"I'm happy that you decided to cooperate, Mello. Now let me tell you the details." Mello grunted, indicating that he was listening.

"…I have arranged a meeting with your partner tonight at eight o' clock sharp in the conference room. You'll go there to meet him, and hopefully, get to know each other well. This is very important- you must get along well with him to make life easier for yourself." Although technically, that's impossible for Mello, Roger thought.

Mello snorted. "Whatever. What's his name?" He dug his hands into his pocket and pulled out another bar of chocolate.

"Let's see...he's called Mail Jeevas."

"…Jeevas…what?" Mello spluttered out, his eyes wide. "Who the hell is he?"

"You'll see tonight. Now get going," Roger instructed. "I'll give you further details tomorrow."

Mello stood up suddenly, the silence broken by the creaking of the chair he was seating on. "Yeah whatever," he replied casually, biting off a mouthful of chocolate. "I'm going to go sleep."

Mail Jeevas, huh. Mello let his mind wander as he headed back to his room. Weird name for a guy. Who the hell is he? Somehow, it seems familiar, but I can't fucking remember. Goddamn it! He was getting pretty pissed with himself. Slamming open the door, he entered his room with loud and brash footsteps.

Damn. This cooking course sounds like shit, he thought grumpily. The only thing that is helping is the chocolate recipes.

He threw himself on his bed and closed his eyes, letting his hair fall to the middle of his face.

Mail Jeevas. Mail. Mail. Mail. Mail. Jeevas. Jeevas. Jeevas. Jeevas. Mail Jeevas.

…

"FUCK IT!" he growled loudly, slamming his fist on the bedside table. "I CAN'T FUCKING SLEEP!"

Cussing, he straightened the folds on his leather jacket and got out of bed, his mood as bad as ever. The clanking of his boots could be heard as he stomped out of the room, his eyes determined.

I'm going to find out who the hell is that Mail Jeevas. He walked down the aisle with heavy footsteps. Then maybe I can get some well-deserved rest.

After walking for minutes, he stopped in front of the Wammy's ranking chart which was framed on the walls of the corridor and let his eyes wander down the list of names.

"Let's see…that moron, me, and …Matt?" he voiced aloud, confusion sounding in his tone. "Never met him before…oh well, he's a rank below me, so why should I care? I only have to focus on that…brat," he hissed at the mention of Near.

As he read the names off the long list one by one, something struck him as strange. There was no one by the name of Mail Jeevas. Mello scowled and ran through the list again, his forehead creasing.

Is he even in Wammy's? I can't find his freaking name. I doubt he's even in here. Is this a fucking joke? Is Roger playing tricks on me? Bitch, please. He'd better not.

…What the hell, this is stupid. He walked away, biting his lips.

Or maybe…he's…that… Matt guy? M and M…

"Whatever," Mello grunted as he headed back to his room. "I'll find out later. Sleep comes first."

Mello huffed as he scrambled around the place, looking for the conference room. With shaky hands, he ran his fingers through his hair briskly, making sure it looked presentable. He had forgotten to comb it.

"Shit, I overslept," he snarled. "It's 8.30pm already."

…

…

After minutes of hurrying about, he finally reached the front if the conference room. Catching his breath, he tried to compose himself.

This is it, Mello. Show the kid who's the boss, he thought silently to himself as he held his breath, swinging open the door to his fate.

Reviews are appreciated! It's only going to get more exciting from here onwards.