"M-mello…" my voice says hoarsely as I struggle to hold his body up. We're both situated on the couch, doing something I could never imagine myself doing. We're stark naked, sweating…and we're…

No, we're not fucking.

We're not screwing.

Or having sex.

Or Humping, Grinding, Doing the Nasty, Having Intercourse, or Doing It.

We're making love.

I never thought something like this would happen. Mello is my best friend. He always has been, and he always will be. Through everything, through thick and thin, I'll always be here for him. To think we'd be lying with one another on this filthy, shitty couch…and I'd have Mello propped on my lap, thrusting deep inside of him.

Mello's arms are wrapped tightly around my back, his head is tilted down, almost resting on my shoulder, and he's screaming loudly. But it's not of anger, or pain, or hatred…It's of pure, absolute…adoration.

"M-mail…" he gasps, lifting his head, so our eyes meet. They're both teary from the pressure between us. His eyes are like crystals. They might be watery, but it's so clear, it's like looking into the Fountain of Youth. It's so clear, so gorgeous. I want to stay like this forever.

"Y-yeah…?" I reply, gyrating my hips slightly, hearing my friend moan gently as I press inside of him a bit more. He smiles at me brilliantly. It's so…innocent. Almost virginal. It occurs to me that I could be his first time.

He's not mine.

I wish he was. I'd give anything to go back in time to fix things so Mello and I could share this embrace earlier.

Anything but him.

"I'm ready." He says almost childishly. He sounded almost like a bride on her honeymoon, confessing to her new husband she was ready for him to make a woman of her. I knew at this moment.

Mello was a virgin.

It felt amazing…taking such a permanent sensation from someone…I was his first. Did he save himself for me? I couldn't help but wonder.

"R-ready huh?" I ask, leaning up against him, our chests rubbing together. His heart is pounding. He has to be a virgin. Mello smiles and nods. "Did you save yourself to me?" I couldn't help it. The words slipped from me so naturally.

And so did Mello's response.

"Yes." Mello says quickly, his smile somewhere between embarrassment and shamelessness. "I couldn't dream…" Mello looks away from me, the smile was more towards embarrassment. He was a big, bad mafia boss…who was a virgin. It's one of the oddest predicaments you could ever hear. But…

He was dedicated to me.

"I couldn't dream…" he says again. "Of anyone but you…taking it from me." He's humiliated.

But I don't want him to be.

I cup Mello's chin in my hand and turn him towards me. I smile at him, and manage to get a smile from him as well.

It's nothing spectacular. No big, flashing grin. No teeth. No closed eyes. No hesitating. It's just a simple smirk, his eyes are just as clear as before.

But finally…

Even with that hideous scar.

He's beautiful again.

I lean into Mello, smiling, beginning to laugh. "Then let's make this memorable." I whisper into his ear, kissing his cheek gently. "For both of us."

Our bodies lay entangled on the couch, we're sweating, but we're freezing, a blanket half yanked over our bodies. Mello is laying across my chest, his hands close to my collar bone. His fingers are tracing the outline of my neck lightly, it tickles but not enough to laugh, but closer to the point where I could fall asleep.

"Matt." Mello says, trying to speak. His voice croaks a little. We haven't spoken since we both came, a good half hour ago. In the time since then, the sun outside had set, and the only light in the room came from the auxiliary channel I had left on the television. I smile slightly at the sound of his scratchy voice.

"Yeah?" I say, my voice croaking slightly as well.

"…What did we just do?" he asks. I nearly choke, I nearly laugh…I don't know what it was, but I had to take a deep breath.

"We…" I couldn't find the right words. "Engaged in homosexual intercourse?" I muttered. My eyes suddenly open wide. "Mello…D-Does this mean…Does this mean I'm gay!?"

Mello laughs and his body twists around so we're lying on our sides, facing one another. The couch isn't nearly big enough for this. But…I've never been so comfortable in my life. "Of course not." He assures me. "It was only once right?" I nod, and Mello leans up and kisses me softly. "First time with the same sex, isn't a guarantee you're gay."

I smirk a bit, rubbing the back of my head. "Then…does this make me bi?" I ask.

Mello laughs, wrapping his arms around my shoulder, pulling me close so he's pressing into the fabric and sponge-like cushioning of the back of the couch. "Depends on what you make of it."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask quizzically, leaning my head down so our foreheads are touching.

"Do you want to be with me?" Mello asks. His tone is serious, whole-hearted and sincere. I feel my cheeks turn to fire. I open my mouth to speak.

Do I?

Do I really love Mello? Or…

Or is this just because I'm scared of losing my friend again.

No.

I do.

I really do love him.

I start to answer, but Mello removes an arm from around my neck and places his hand over my mouth. "Because I want to be with you." Mello's body stretches out, and his hand releases itself from over my mouth and becomes replaced with his lips.

It's the warmest, most sensational kiss I've ever felt. I want to say more to him. I want to say to him. 'Yes Mihael. I love you. I want to be with you forever.' But I can't.

Mello pulls from me and says them instead. "Yes, Mail. I love you. I want to be with you forever." He kisses me quickly once again, but now, there's so much more to it. It's not erotic, or scandalous or raunchy. It's passionate and loving. "All that I am." He says, looking me directly in the eyes. "All that I ever was. Is here in your perfect eyes…they're all I can see."

And that was all I needed to hear.

And my heart was his.

There was something about Mello, that was so private, it took him until we were starving on the streets in the United-fucking-States, to actually come out and tell me. It wasn't something along the lines of him having super powers, or being famous somewhere. It was something that…if the timing was just a little different…His…no, our lives would be worlds different.

It was something so small…

But so dramatic.

That he had to keep it hidden inside.

Mello knew his father.

Better than I had thought.

I was with him when he and his father spoke for the first time.

But I thought it was just the one time.

His father wasn't some serial rapist like his mother had sworn, but more along the lines of a man, slightly older than Mello's mother, who happened to be dating her when she was fourteen.

He was much older at the time, being about twenty or so, but this sort of thing happens a lot.

After Mello's mother had abandoned him for the final time at Wammy House, Mello was determined to find out about his father. He didn't care if his father was a rapist, a murderer, a hick or anything. Mello wanted to know about his father. It was the only thing he could do now. He was so sick of not knowing things, and he needed to take action and dig up information on his father.

Donovan Keehl.

Why Mello's mother bothered to give him the same last name as the man who 'raped' her, who knew.

Mello thought it was because his mother was a gold digger, and had planned to kill his father.

After all, his father was somewhat of a…

Oh what's the word?

Millionaire?

When Mello was about twelve years old, he began his research. This began the first night of his most sleepless year. He would get less than four hours of sleep each night, and spend all his free time, sneaking into the records, trying to find out about his father, Donovan Keehl.

That was all he knew at the time. He had begged Roger for his fathers name, and reluctantly, the elderly man, with the dislike of children gave in and said to him:

"Mello." His voice was stern by exasperated. "Your father's name is Donovan Keehl…And I will never understand what he saw in your mother."

And that was all Mello needed, to know that his father hadn't abandoned him like his bitch of a mother had.

After months, Mello had discovered a folder hidden away in the files of Roger's record hall. It was about a court date, back in early 1989. It was Donovan Keehl Vs. Patricia Mitchellson. The case? Mitchellson was suing Keehl for every dime he had for rape. Not very realistic.

Not much was listed about the case. Just that Donovan Keehl was being charged with rape by his ex girlfriend, a fourteen year old girl by the name of Patricia Mitchellson. No pictures were given, but there was a spare bit of information Mello based his ideas on. His father was wrongfully accused, that had to be it.

And he would ask him.

Most would be curious, how would a twelve year old boy, as his father whom he has never met, if he was wrongfully accused of rape?

It was simpler than the secret Mello harbored.

Near the bottom of the page, was the phone number of the lawyer defending Donovan Keehl. That was all Mello had to do. He would call this number, speak with the attorney, and tell him that he was the bastard son of a millionaire.

To many it seemed like a prank.

But I was with Mello when he called.

No one, not even over the phone, could have thought Mello was faking tears.

They were pure, saddened moans of pain.

I didn't even cry that much when my own mom died.

And so, this lawyer, after much debate, forfeited over Donovan Keehl's contact information.

And thus, lead to the most frightening phone call Mello had ever made.

I sat with him in Rogers office. Mello had let the old man know that he had been trying to contact his father by now, and had Rogers full permission to use the phone for this. We both sat on the floor, my hand wrapped around Mello's, squeezing it tightly for comfort.

And he punched in the numbers. It was an American number, but we knew not where exactly his father was. We could ask when he picked up.

We both listened in as the phone began to ring. It was no different than the rings around here, but yet…it was so foreboding.

There was a click.

"Hello, Keehl residence. This is Elaine, how may I take this call?"

We were silent. Mello swallowed hard, and nearly hung up.

"Hello? Is anyone there?" she asked.

"Y-yes." Mello choked. "Uh…M-may I speak to D-Donovan K-k-keehl?"

The woman pulled from the phone and started speaking Spanish to someone. At least, it sounded like Spanish. Something foreign. "May I ask who's calling?" she asked us.

We were silent again, and I almost felt the need to speak for Mello. However, my friend decided to be brave. "I-it might s-seem weird, ma'am…" Mello began, his hands shaking as he held the phone. "B-but…I'm h-his s-s-s-son."

"Senor Donovan tiene un hijo?!" The woman screamed. I knew by hearing this…it was something along the lines of them being entirely shocked.

"P-please." Mello said. "I-I'm not lying. I'm his son."

"What is your name?" the woman said into the phone.

"Mel—I mean, Mihael Keehl." Mello said softly, I squeezed his hand tightly, and smiled at him.

"It's not possible." The woman said to Mello, her tone mocking and rude. "Sr. Donovan had to get a vasectomy after he was wrongfully accused of raping a woman—"

"That's the point!" Mello said. "That woman that he supposedly raped, is my mother! Patricia Mitchellson!"

The woman pulled from the phone and began screaming in Spanish again. "Please?" Mello begged, almost pleadingly than he needed to be. "I just need to speak with him. To tell him I'm his son—"

"What year were you born? What is your birthday?" the woman Elaine said, speaking into the phone.

"Uh…December nineteenth, 1989." Mello said nervously. A man's voice became apparent.

"The age would be correct…" the man said. "Let me speak with him."

There was entire silence for a moment, then…then came the voice of a slightly gruff but dismal voice.

"Is this Mihael Keehl?" he said into the phone. Mello and I said nothing.

"Y-yes…" Mello choked. I saw the tears beginning to form.

"You claim you're the bastard son of the bitch who sued me?" he asked almost disappointingly.

Mello nodded but said nothing. "Unfortunately." Came his response after a few minutes.

The man was quiet as well. But then…then there was a loud, hearty laugh.

And Mello smiled.

"Where are you?" he asked. "Still with that vile woman--?"

"She abandoned me." Mello interrupted. "She brought me to this orphanage I'm in. She came a lot to see me…but…last year. She told me…she didn't want me. And…she left." Though Mello was finally smiling, he was crying.

"I'll get you out of there." Mello's father said suddenly. "She was horrible then, she's horrible now. If you are truly my son…" There was the sound of optimism in his voice. "Which I'm rather sure you most likely are…I will work to get you out of there.."

Mello's face lit up.

"Now…" he said to Mello. "Tell me, what's your life like?"

I didn't know this, but after this one time, Mello began to call his father on a regular basis. His personality changed slightly…

Until…

"Matt…" he said to me, late one night after one of his phone calls with his father. One I was aware about.

"Yeah?" I asked, putting my Gameboy down. I had received it as an early Christmas present from Linda, who I was dating somewhat at the time.

"H-he's gone…" Mello was looking at me directly in the eyes. The tears were flowing like the day his bitch of a mother left him here.

"Who?" I asked, sitting up right.

"M-my dad." Mello sniffed, rubbing his eyes with his sleeve. "Th-the adoption papers were about to be sent out too…"

"What happened?" I asked again, standing now to see what was wrong with Mello.

"H-he was shot." Mello said, looking at me with this sorrowful eyes. How I hated to see him cry. "Someone murdered him…H-his wife told me on the phone."

"Oh god, Mello…" I began to put my arms around him, prepared to hug him tightly, but for the first time, as a child, Mello pushed me away.

"No…" he sat on my bed, shaking his head, burying his face in his hands. "H-he was going to adopt you too…"

"Me?" I asked, sitting next to him. "Why?"

"Because he realized how close we are." Mello choked, sobbing. His body tilted to the side, his head resting on my shoulder.

We were fourteen now, an age where we desperately needed a parental figure in our life. But…it didn't help.

"I-I really am an orphan now." He sobbed, his tears dripping on to my shirt. I could have sworn it was puberty…but boys don't cry.

"M-mello…" I said, placing my hand on his head, stroking his hand gently to comfort him.

"I don't know where…" Mello sobbed. "Confused about how as well…" I wrapped my arms tightly around Mello, and held my friend close. He needed me now.

More than ever.

"Mello…" I whispered gently. "No matter what…Just know that things will never change for us at all. Even if we're orphans forever. I'll always be here."

And it's still like that.

Through everything, Mello.

I'm here.

The date is January twenty-fifth, 2010. Mello's lying on the floor, the furniture has all been pushed away, and he's outspread, like he's being crucified. In his lips, is a piece of paper, twisted up tightly and smoldering.

"Mello?" I asked, leaning over him and staring down at him. His eyes are glassy and his expression is blissful. "You high?"

My friend nods at me, smiling and pinches the joint between his fingers and holds it up to me. "If I lay here? If I just lay here? Would you lie with me--?"

"And just forget the world?" I ask, smiling at Mello, taking the joint from him, and press it between my lips, inhaling and taking in the aroma of the illegal substance. I smile at Mello, choking slightly as I exhale the smoke. "Of course I will."

I slide down on to the floor, and stare at the ceiling with Mello before passing him the joint again. "Let's remember the good times, Matt." He says, turning and smiling at me.

I turn and face him, taking in how beautiful he is now that he's spilled his heart to me. I could care less about that scar now. "And the bad times." I add.

"Fuck it." Mello laughs. He doesn't stop. His laughing continues and echoes through the apartment. It's either that he truly is happy, or the pot's doing this to him. "Let's just remember it all." His body shifts and his lips reach for mine. I reach out and place my fingers over them, snatching the joint away from him.

"Later." I say, taking a drag of the joint, inhaling it deep within my lungs. I can feel the cancer starting. "Let's just remember one thing, Mihael."

I'm getting light headed. "What's that, Mail?" Mello purrs.

"Let's remember…us." He smiles brightly at me, and pushes my fingers from my lips. His body gets closer to mine, and our hands overlap, our fingers laced tightly.

Mello takes the joint and takes another hit. "Sounds like a plan. Let's look back on our memories." He says, smiling at me. "And tomorrow…we can make even more."

If only we had that chance.

If only we had that chance…

We could have made some wonderful memories.

Thanks Mello.

You gave me something great…

An amazing life.