~Chocolate Chip Philosophy~

No matter how long he stared at the board, the numbers did not change. His vision would start to swim, certainly, and his eyes would begin to sting so badly that he would have to blink, but when his eyes would open again, the same four damning figures would be spitefully staring down at him.

Ninety-nine point five.

It just wasn't fair.

Turning on his heel, he trudged off down the hallway, not even giving the number above his a cursory glance.

Just like him, Near always got the same mark.

A pristine one-hundred percent and all the perks that went with it: Mello's coveted spot.

As Mello passed by an open door, he kicked it shut.

Even he didn't know anymore why he tortured himself like this. It had been bad enough this past week with the marking error which had placed him above Near (oh, the joy Mello had felt was a hundred times more potent than the feeling of biting into chocolate… only to have been ripped cruelly away), but the other children's laughter when the mistake was discovered earlier today had been worse. The humiliation in that moment, standing in front of the score board with his back turned to the crowd and his shoulders curling inward to protect himself, had brought him lower than he'd ever felt before. He hadn't given the other children the satisfaction of seeing his tears, however. They were stopped up; his stubborn pride was like a drain plug that prevented the flood of frustration to flow. Even back in his room, when it was just Matt and him, his face had been a stone mask.

Matt had been too busy playing his stupid game all day to have even noticed anything amiss.

As they sat there in their room before the call to come down to dinner, Mello brooded. It was clear to him then that this was the only way he would ever beat Near: an aberration, a momentary glory, and an inevitable return to the status quo. He would never be anything better than a cast-off, the one that was needed only when Near couldn't be bothered.

Still, something in him boiled in rage and refused to accept it – which is what had led him to get out of bed in the middle of night, walk down the dark corridor, and stare at the score board for a good fifteen minutes. It was the twice-realized defeat that nipped at his heels on the journey back.

And this time, with no-one watching him, there was nothing to stop the tears from falling.

Needless to say, Mello hated crying. Every time he succumbed to the urge, he was left feeling drained and disgusted with himself. The gruff voice of his father would echo in his ears – "For shame, Mihael. No son of mine will give into such weaknesses," – and he would recall the vision of his mother sitting by the window like a spectre, her mouth pressed into a tight line and her eyes surreptitiously peeking up at her husband when his back was turned.

He was thirteen now, and it had been six years since they had died and he had been dropped off at Wammy's, but this memory still plagued him.

"Control your emotions, Mihael. Master them. That is the only way to get the upper hand."

Always, the golden pedestal was above him, and always, his arm was only slightly too short to reach.

When at last he reached the door to the room he shared with Matt, he saw that it was ajar. Something was wrong; Mello always shut it if he snuck out, just in case Roger made his rounds. Wiping the evidence of his tears away with his sleeve and giving a sniff, he looked back and forth down the hall. Just as he was about to go inside the room, thinking that he simply must have forgotten to close the door, a hand slapped over his mouth and an arm wrapped around him from behind. Without giving it a thought, Mello dug his elbow into the stomach of his assailant and sunk his teeth into the hand.

Whoever it was gave a yelp and released him. "Ow, fuck!"

Mello groaned in exasperation. "Matt, what the hell are you doing?" Turning around, he saw that it was indeed his best friend, who was waving his hand around comically and hopping from foot to foot. Rolling his eyes, Mello told him, "Don't be such a pansy."

Matt abruptly stopped and gave him a glare. "'Am not. And I could ask you the same question! Why'dja sneak out without telling me? I've been looking everywhere for you."

It was a wonder that no-one had heard them by now… Mello shot another glance down the hallway before whispering back, "I didn't think I had to notify you. It's not like I need you following me around all the time." He was in a bad mood, and he shouldn't have said it, but it was out there now.

Matt didn't even blink. "Where were you?" Obviously, Matt was making good use of his famous selective hearing…

"I went down to the kitchen to nick some chocolate."

The word came out of Matt's mouth immediately after Mello had finished speaking, like a punctuation mark: "Liar."

Mello huffed. "I am not lying."

"Oh, yeah?" Matt grinned. "Then where's the chocolate?"

"'Stuffed it down my pants. I hope not even you would take this little interrogation skit so far as to search those."

"We're in a program that has the sole aim of turning us into world-class detectives, Mells," Matt answered with a very serious expression for someone who still wore pajamas with cartoon characters on them to bed. "Nothing is off the table when it comes to seeking out the truth."

Mello stared at him for a few long seconds. Finally, he said, "I'm going to bed. Unless you want 'ole Roger the Codger to find you out here, I suggest you do the same.

As he turned, Matt caught his hand. "Mells, wait…"

"… What?"

"Look, I know you're lying… But whatever. It doesn't matter." Matt bit his lip and looked down at the ground, causing his heavy bangs to come down over his eyes. Between the long periods of time that he wore his goggles and his indifference towards the length of his hair, it was rare that anyone ever actually saw Matt's eyes. "But since we're both up, do you want to go to the kitchen – for real?"

Mello was about to say no, when Matt peeked up at him and gave him a boyish grin. He sighed. "Fine…"

And just like that, Matt was already bounding off. Or rather, he would have been bounding off had it not been for Mello digging his heels into the carpet. Matt was yanked backwards and spun around. Just as the redhead opened his mouth to protest (Mello was beginning to think that Matt really didn't care if they were caught or not), Mello shot a pointed look at their clasped hands.

Immediately, Matt let go as if his hand was burned. "Sorry…"

"That's what I thought." Mello wore a self-satisfied smile as he stepped around his friend and started off towards the kitchen – in the leader's position, of course.

When they arrived at their destination, Matt pulled out one of the stools by the counter island and gestured for Mello to sit down, which Mello reluctantly did, shooting his friend a wary look. Unbothered, Matt proceeded to walk over to the fridge, grab a bobby pin that he had placed on top of it long ago, and start picking the lock on the cabinet that held the stash of chocolate. Mello rested his chin on his hand and peered about the room in a bored manner.

This room that they were in wasn't the primary kitchen. That kitchen was closed down at night, and the only way to enter it was through two locked doors: one in the cafeteria and one in the corner of this room. The freezer could also be entered through this room, but just like the main kitchen, only Roger and the Head Cook had the key to it. So, this room was more a kitchenette. Its main purpose was to provide twenty-four hour access to food for the children that had special dietary needs.

Mello was not counted among those children, but he believed that he should be.

At last, an audible click could be heard from the lock, after which Matt removed it and set it on the counter. Then, the door was swinging open, a glimpse of gold wrappers could be seen, Mello was getting up from his seat – only for Matt to slam the cupboard door in his face when he got there. Disorientation prevailed for only two seconds, before Mello came to himself and narrowed his eyes.

Matt crossed his arms. "Sit. We need to talk."

It was shock at Matt's uncharacteristic behaviour more than anything else that caused Mello to follow the directive.

Matt leaned against the counter, looking him straight in the eye. "Is this about the rankings again?"

"No," Mello replied immediately. He inwardly kicked himself for how much he sounded like a petulant child just then.

Matt went on as if he hadn't said anything at all: "Look, I get it. It sucks to really want something and work hard to achieve it, only to have someone snatch it away each time. That's just the way life is, though; there will always be people that are better than you, and people that are worse. But if you look at it from a different perspective with different criteria, the rankings change again. For instance, you blow Near out of the water when it comes to handling social situations."

"So? That's not counted in the ranking."

Matt frowned. "You're not listening."

"I am," Mello snapped. "You just don't understand."

"Well, explain it to me, then."

Mello glared at the countertop for a few long moments. When he finally did speak, it was measured and slow. "It's not being Number One; it's what other people will think of me if I'm Number One. The way it is now… You just don't notice; you're off in your own little world somewhere, ears full of video game themes and eyes blinded by those stupid goggles of yours. You don't hear the things people say, you don't notice the things that people do… I have to be this way, Matt. I have to be Number One. I can't be… weak."

He could hear his father's voice as if the man was in the room with him.

"There is no room in this world, Mihael, for anything other than perfection. Anything less will be chewed up and swallowed whole."

But Matt was louder.

"Fuck 'em."

Mello didn't know what to say.

However, Matt certainly did, and he said it with vehemence that Mello didn't know he possessed: "Fuck 'em, Mells. If they want to feed into the game, let them. Sure, if you don't follow along, they'll call you weak – but they're the ones that are truly weak, because they can't see the world in any other way than one. That's blindness. Eventually, it'll wear them down, and they'll be left feeling sad and tired, wondering why they have so much, but they never felt like they had enough. And I know you'll probably want to hit me for saying this, but here's the truth: there is one way that Near is leaps and bounds ahead of you, and you don't seem to be catching up to him at all."

Mello had his hands clenched into fists on his lap, but his voice was steady. "Which way?"

"Near doesn't give one tiny shit what those people think about him."

Before Mello could respond, Matt turned back to the cupboard and retrieved something from it. Matt set it down on the counter before him, and Mello saw that it was an airtight container full of chocolate chip cookies.

Out of the blue, Matt was back to his usual self, biting his lip and rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "Here. I made you these."

"You made these?" Mello's eyes widened slightly as he pulled the container towards himself and opened it. The sweet aroma hit him at once, and just like that, he was salivating. "How?"

As Mello tore his gaze away from the cookies and back to Matt, he saw that Matt's face had begun to turn red. "Well, um… You know that guy that works in the kitchen that I always bum cigarettes off of? This afternoon, after that whole incident at the ranking board, I asked him to help me make you these."

"You… Why?"

If at all possible, Matt's face grew redder, but this time it was out of indignation. "Because I'm your friend. I do pay attention, you know."

Despite the situation, Mello couldn't help but chuckle. "Fine. I'll give credit where it's due." He reached for a cookie, but he was once again thwarted by Matt pulling the container away.

The gamer put up his hands in a feeble attempt of warding off the menace of Mello's metal-melting glare. "Down, Mells, down… Just humour me for a sec'. I promise I'll let you have one soon."

"You have ten seconds to make your point." Mello settled back into his seat, but the intensity of his glare didn't lessen any.

"Okay. Speaking of the way a person reacts to a situation, take this cookie." Matt held one of the cookies up. "It looks really nice from the outside, right? Now, if you were to bite into it, and you tasted the chocolate, you would feel like your expectations were fulfilled. For the next bite, you would expect the same thing. However, if you were to bite into it again and taste, say, a raisin or something, the letdown would be even worse than if you had been disappointed the first time." Finally, Matt handed him the cookie. "That's what it's like to be in first place, Mells. You always want more."

Mello looked at the cookie in his hand and furrowed his eyebrows in thought. "I suppose I'll humour you further. What if you reacted in a different way?" he asked.

Matt smiled: a real genuine smile that reached his eyes and transformed his whole face. Mello felt his chest tighten in a strange way and he had to look away.

"That's simple," Matt said. "If you eat the cookie with only the expectation of having a cookie, come chocolate chip or come raisin, you'll never be disappointed."

Mello mulled this over for several moments before he gave one definitive nod. He still couldn't look at Matt. Instead, he took a large bite of the cookie. At first, his eyes fell shut in bliss as the taste of chocolate hit his taste buds, but then something else began to taint the flavour, and he stopped chewing entirely. With great effort, he forced himself to swallow.

He aimed a sour look at Matt. "I didn't think you actually put raisins in these."

Matt laughed, seeming quite pleased with himself. "Just pick them out, and I'll eat them."

With that, Mello pulled out the other stool for him, and Matt came to sit beside him. They sat huddled together, watching as Mello plucked the raisins out with his long fingers. Soon enough, a small pile had formed, and Matt began to eat them contentedly, which caused Mello to pull a face and Matt to stick his tongue out at him in return.

Mello bumped Matt's shoulder with his own.

"What was that for?" Matt raised an eyebrow.

The blond rolled his eyes. "Are you going to make me say it?"

"Yup!"

"… Thanks."

"You're welcome." Then, Matt tilted his nose up in an exaggerated imitation of Mello's own haughty look. "I told you I listen."

Mello punched him in the shoulder before slinging his arm around the boy's neck. "Yeah, yeah. Just eat your raisins." He let his arm stay where it was.

Matt smiled at him again, and this time, tentatively, Mello smiled back.