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Description
October 29th, 2010

Matt had always had a thing for blondes.

So while he had been in Las Vegas for the last month or so, he had one particularly cute blonde sharing his rat hole of an apartment. He'd found her prowling around on the street close to his complex and felt it only right to take her in.

She wasn't much for conversation, but she at least kept the bed warm.

Matt figured he would've liked one of the cities that never slept in the United States. New York just didn't suit him. And while he'd managed to make a good financial start with the seed money that Wammy had donated to all the children's accounts (which they would have access to no sooner than once they turned eighteen, but naturally Matt had been able to find his access code), he had had his share of problems. He actually didn't like gambling; it was one of the many vices he remembered being rampant in his life before he was brought to the orphanage.

And it's not like he could have relied on his blonde pet to bring in anything. Not like it mattered, since he spent most of his money on cheap food (easy to find in Vegas) and cigarettes (equally as easy to find in Vegas). He'd managed to collect up enough games for both his DS and his old-school Gameboy Advance to keep him busy.

Nobody at Wammy's could believe that anyone could spend an entire day on video games.

But of course, Matt could. The only thing more gratifying than beating the high scores that were set in the game was beating his own high scores. All of his games had high score listings of the three letters M-A-T, in some variation of capitals and lower cases.

The only depressing thing was all his television consoles were collecting dust in their boxes, the setback being that, well...Matt didn't have a television.

He would fix that. Eventually. Like he would fix what he had set out to America for in the first place, just two years earlier. He had tried to be patient and wait, but eventually it had gotten to be too much.

He had to find Mello. Not to suggest that he knew what he'd do
once he did. Or if he would before the dumbass got himself shot up or blown up. Or -- Matt didn't dare to think about it more than for a second -- collapsed in the middle of the road from a sudden heart attack.

But he knew Mello was smart enough to keep himself out of the shadows, away from the eyes of the law, and KIRA. Wammy's always covered the children's tracks, leaving no past records of them to be traced. Those kids, the beaming little bright-eyed Ls of tomorrow had no idea of the danger they could be in, wanting to become just like L was.

"Dammit. Why'd I have to think of L?" he murmured to himself, reaching immediately into his pillowcase for his 'special occasion' smokes. His blonde was probably in the kitchen scrounging for food, so he could indulge himself. It was two days before L's birthday; or it would have been, if he hadn't been killed
.

Mello had told Matt the news back at the orphanage, when he stormed into their room with tears brimming in his eyes. He slammed the door shut violently and flung himself onto his bed, knees tucked into his chest and his arms folded over them. Matt knew that Roger had wanted to talk to Mello, since he came into their room to ask Matt where he was. Matt also knew that something was seriously wrong for the blonde to be crying, but before he could utter a word, Mello gave a muffled response to the silent question.

"Don't tell the other kids, Mail. L is dead. Roger wants me and Near to work together, but I'll never work with him. So I'm leaving."

Matt didn't remember much else of that incident. Only that he was horrified, convinced that Roger had made some kind of mistake. He and Mello had gotten into a pointless argument. A pretty violent shouting match, considering that Mello was trying to keep L's death a secret.

A silent apology and that was pretty much it.

They had made a pact on what cell phone numbers they would program, and the first places Matt should try to find him. In fact, he had made a list for Matt, writing it in his neat, jagged print with a blue ballpoint pen. The redhead idly played Super Mario 2 while Mello packed a few pairs of his token black shirt and pants, and the contents of his chocolate stash in the back of their closet.

And finally, before Mello snuck out the window into the night, Matt insisted that they swap rosaries. Mello agreed, and admitted he had always deserved that rosary anyway, because "his beads were a lame ass blue, and Matt's beads were blood-red and kickass." Matt had just nodded, but he remembered what he thought at that time.

"'They're not lame, Mihael. They match your eyes,'" he said aloud. He slid his right hand out of the thick black glove and held his wrist up above his head, the blue rosary wrapped around it intricately. The cross hanging off of it spun recklessly, and Matt could make out the small "M.K" etched onto the front, hardly noticeable compared to the large "MELLO" that ran across the back of the horizontal post.

But Matt noticed it. The crosses had been designed by a former student at Wammy's, an intricate metal artist. She had taken the time to precisely hide the children's real initials into the delicate pattern on each rosary. It seemed like a waste, though; most of the kids were asked to return the rosaries in order to "avoid any visible connection to Wammy House." They were still given plain crosses in return: simple silver ones that would ensure that nobody could connect one Wammy's kid to another Wammy's kid.

Which was why Mello and Matt still had theirs. They had gotten the hell out before someone could make them give up the rosaries.

They were the runaways, the rebels. And even though they could have been on opposite sides of the freaking planet for all Matt knew, it felt pretty damn good.

As if it were a sign from God, Matt's cell phone suddenly began to ring on his bedside table. If this were any other time, he would have hummed along with the Final Fantasy victory theme and taken his sweet time answering.

However, nobody ever called his cell. All his calls went to his crappy, rust-colored apartment phone. Nobody would make a call to his personal phone, except...

He slammed his hand into the bedside table and swept up the phone, snapping his goggles onto the top of his head and checking the display to see who it was.

The entire bedroom went cold as he read the single letter displayed underneath the incoming call message.

"M."

No fucking way...it can't be--!
Matt flipped his phone open and warily pressed his ear against the speaker.

There was no reply on the other line; only someone's calm, even breathing. And the crinkling of some kind of wrapper. After a few pregnant seconds of silence, Matt spoke.

"...Is it really you, Mello?"

There was a snap
on the other line that sounded vaguely like a square of chocolate being bitten off. And a small chuckle. "And here I was about to yell at you to say something."

Matt let out a sigh of relief. Finally, they'd made contact! "I see you kept your promise to program this number."

"I see you kept yours. Do you still have my rosary?"

"Wearing it now, as I have been for the last four years. Itches like a bitch, really," Matt replied with a laugh.

"Where are you now, Matt?"
Mello asked, taking another bite.

"Las Vegas, Nevada. Number 4 on the list of where to look for you."

"Are you seriously going down that whole fucking list?"

"Just hitting the U.S. first." Matt smirked and took a drag from his cigarette. "Why, are you here now?"

"America, yes. Nevada, no,"
Mello replied. Matt heard him sigh heavily and then there was (faintly) a creaking noise, like Mello was moving in whatever he was sitting on. "Matt, I'm in L.A. right now. Los Angeles, California."

"I know what L.A. stands for, Mello. I'm third in line," Matt grumbled. However, inside, he was incredibly grateful. Mello wasn't as far away from him as he had been worried about. Thank God. "So? What's the big deal about you being in L.A.? You sound a little frustrated."

"Because...it's bigger than that."
The blonde sighed again, and growled. "Look, Matt, I've joined the mafia."

"The WHAT?!" Matt stared in awe and anger at the phone, as if he could possibly send that reaction over the phone from Nevada to California. "Mello, how is joining the mafia supposed to get you any damn closer to KIRA?! Are you out of your fucking mind?!"

"Mail, shut the hell up! You don't know shit!"

"Then tell me!"

I was going to, but you're being a real bitch!"

"Look, you're--!" Suddenly, Matt stopped himself. No. This is the first time we've talked in four years. No point in fucking it up over the phone.
He sighed heavily and shook his head. "No, nevermind. I'm sorry. I know you have your way of doing things. So tell me what the situation here is."

Matt could practically hear Mello smirk at winning the argument. "Yeah."

So over the next few minutes, Mello told Matt everything that had happened during his mafia time up until now. Near and the SPK, kidnapping the director of the Japanese police, the Death Note, Shidoh the Shinigami, and anything in between.

Overall, none of this information fazed Matt (except maybe for the death god and the killer notebook; that sounded like something out of an RPG, but was still pretty shocking). He knew Mello was capable of dominating anyone he wanted to. His looks were incredibly deceiving (though he'd never say that to the blonde).

"So, now that you've answered any possible questions I might have about what you've been up to for the last few years, I have one more question."

"Shoot."

"...why the sudden call?" he asked.

For the first time in the conversation, Mello paused for a lack of an answer. That was new to Matt. Mello was never one to think of calm, collected answers, but he always had one. Still, this was better than "I don't know"; if that had happened, Matt would know this was an imposter and would have to hang up immediately.

"...I thought about two days from now, and I realized this call was long overdue."

Figures. Matt suspected that was part of it. "Overdue would be an understatement," the redhead quipped, mashing his little stub of a cigarette onto the table "Do you know how much I've been fucking worrying about you?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. So do you have any lungs left underneath all that tar, Matt?"

"Ha, ha, very funny." Matt sighed and let his head hit the wall with a slight thump, his face flushing slightly. "Seriously. I've been worried that we'd never speak again or something."

"Even I'm above giving the cold shoulder."
(Yeah right, Matt thought) "I've just been a little busy, you know, infiltrating the mafia and all. You should try it sometime, it's really kind of distracti--"

"Mihael, I missed you."

Matt blurted it out as fast as he could, staring up at the ceiling and counting the cracks in it to distract himself from the knowledge that he was saying something that intimate. He heard Mello sputter a little, and the other end fell silent again. Maybe not out of embarrassment, but out of being caught off-guard.

It was true, though. Matt wasn't sure if he would consider himself gay for Mello, but there was a distinct lack of completion that he had been feeling these past years. He was always tagging along behind the blonde at the orphanage, so having to be in front this whole time was so alien to him. It wasn't like he and Mello had a "Slave-Master" thing, but Mello was just so much more confident and headstrong, and Matt was always determined to follow him, whether it was due to lack of anything else to do or his own interest in what Mello did.

Not like Matt was a homophobe. If he was queer, big fucking deal. He still had interest in the fairer sex at times, though. So, bisexual didn't seem like a bad title for him. Or Mello-sexual.

Mello-sexual.
That kind of had a ring to it.

"Matt? Hey, Jeevas!"
Mello cried down the phone, jarring Matt from his thoughts.

"Sorry, Mel. Spaced out for a sec. You say something?"

"..."
Mello hesitated, growling a little out of frustration. "For fuck's sake. I said, 'same here,' you dumbass. Pay attention."
Before Matt could reply, the blonde continued. "Look, I also called because...well, since we have the Death Note here, I've pretty much figured out that eventually it's gonna hit the fan and...I might have to get out. And if that happens I'm gonna need your help. You want to catch the piece of shit that killed L, right?"

"'Course I do, Mello."

"Then can you get to L.A. in a few days? You'll call me once you get in and I'll send you an address for an apartment I've cleared."

Only a Wammy's kid wouldn't reveal where he was right away. Matt smirked. "I can get a ticket as soon as I hang up."

"Good. Keep in touch until we meet up."

"Will do," Matt said, taking the phone away slowly and ending the call.

He chuckled and lit up again. Funny what a little positive attitude can accomplish. I'd better pack, then.
Not like that would take long; all he had was one duffel bag of clothes and two suitcases worth of all his electronic needs.

But first he'd need to buy a couple suitcases.

Just as Matt got off the bed and slid his cell phone into his pocket, his blonde came padding into the room quietly, hopping onto the bed and eyeing him quizzically. She didn't even have to say anything; Matt sighed and said, "Look, Kitten, I got a call from this friend of mine. Says he needs my help in L.A. Gotta go, you know."

She tilted her head a little dumbly. Well, she wasn't very talkative. "He's a...really
good friend. Kind of," the redhead continued, face heating up slightly. "And I'm sorry but, Mihael just doesn't like competition. You and I never really had a 'thing,' anyway."

Matt tried hard not to succumb, but he never could resist the big amber eyes that his Kitten had. So he let out a heavy sigh and rolled his own hazel eyes. "All right, all right. You win. But you know I can't carry you on the plane, Kitten." He snapped his goggles back in place triumphantly and headed towards the door, pocketing a few $50s that were sitting in the ashtray near the door. He'd have to get his new blonde a proper mode of transportation, and cages cost money.

"I really hope Mello's not allergic to cats..."

Description
October 29th, 2010

Matt had always had a thing for blondes.

So while he had been in Las Vegas for the last month or so, he had one particularly cute blonde sharing his rat hole of an apartment. He'd found her prowling around on the street close to his complex and felt it only right to take her in.

She wasn't much for conversation, but she at least kept the bed warm.

Matt figured he would've liked one of the cities that never slept in the United States. New York just didn't suit him. And while he'd managed to make a good financial start with the seed money that Wammy had donated to all the children's accounts (which they would have access to no sooner than once they turned eighteen, but naturally Matt had been able to find his access code), he had had his share of problems. He actually didn't like gambling; it was one of the many vices he remembered being rampant in his life before he was brought to the orphanage.

And it's not like he could have relied on his blonde pet to bring in anything. Not like it mattered, since he spent most of his money on cheap food (easy to find in Vegas) and cigarettes (equally as easy to find in Vegas). He'd managed to collect up enough games for both his DS and his old-school Gameboy Advance to keep him busy.

Nobody at Wammy's could believe that anyone could spend an entire day on video games.

But of course, Matt could. The only thing more gratifying than beating the high scores that were set in the game was beating his own high scores. All of his games had high score listings of the three letters M-A-T, in some variation of capitals and lower cases.

The only depressing thing was all his television consoles were collecting dust in their boxes, the setback being that, well...Matt didn't have a television.

He would fix that. Eventually. Like he would fix what he had set out to America for in the first place, just two years earlier. He had tried to be patient and wait, but eventually it had gotten to be too much.

He had to find Mello. Not to suggest that he knew what he'd do
once he did. Or if he would before the dumbass got himself shot up or blown up. Or -- Matt didn't dare to think about it more than for a second -- collapsed in the middle of the road from a sudden heart attack.

But he knew Mello was smart enough to keep himself out of the shadows, away from the eyes of the law, and KIRA. Wammy's always covered the children's tracks, leaving no past records of them to be traced. Those kids, the beaming little bright-eyed Ls of tomorrow had no idea of the danger they could be in, wanting to become just like L was.

"Dammit. Why'd I have to think of L?" he murmured to himself, reaching immediately into his pillowcase for his 'special occasion' smokes. His blonde was probably in the kitchen scrounging for food, so he could indulge himself. It was two days before L's birthday; or it would have been, if he hadn't been killed
.

Mello had told Matt the news back at the orphanage, when he stormed into their room with tears brimming in his eyes. He slammed the door shut violently and flung himself onto his bed, knees tucked into his chest and his arms folded over them. Matt knew that Roger had wanted to talk to Mello, since he came into their room to ask Matt where he was. Matt also knew that something was seriously wrong for the blonde to be crying, but before he could utter a word, Mello gave a muffled response to the silent question.

"Don't tell the other kids, Mail. L is dead. Roger wants me and Near to work together, but I'll never work with him. So I'm leaving."

Matt didn't remember much else of that incident. Only that he was horrified, convinced that Roger had made some kind of mistake. He and Mello had gotten into a pointless argument. A pretty violent shouting match, considering that Mello was trying to keep L's death a secret.

A silent apology and that was pretty much it.

They had made a pact on what cell phone numbers they would program, and the first places Matt should try to find him. In fact, he had made a list for Matt, writing it in his neat, jagged print with a blue ballpoint pen. The redhead idly played Super Mario 2 while Mello packed a few pairs of his token black shirt and pants, and the contents of his chocolate stash in the back of their closet.

And finally, before Mello snuck out the window into the night, Matt insisted that they swap rosaries. Mello agreed, and admitted he had always deserved that rosary anyway, because "his beads were a lame ass blue, and Matt's beads were blood-red and kickass." Matt had just nodded, but he remembered what he thought at that time.

"'They're not lame, Mihael. They match your eyes,'" he said aloud. He slid his right hand out of the thick black glove and held his wrist up above his head, the blue rosary wrapped around it intricately. The cross hanging off of it spun recklessly, and Matt could make out the small "M.K" etched onto the front, hardly noticeable compared to the large "MELLO" that ran across the back of the horizontal post.

But Matt noticed it. The crosses had been designed by a former student at Wammy's, an intricate metal artist. She had taken the time to precisely hide the children's real initials into the delicate pattern on each rosary. It seemed like a waste, though; most of the kids were asked to return the rosaries in order to "avoid any visible connection to Wammy House." They were still given plain crosses in return: simple silver ones that would ensure that nobody could connect one Wammy's kid to another Wammy's kid.

Which was why Mello and Matt still had theirs. They had gotten the hell out before someone could make them give up the rosaries.

They were the runaways, the rebels. And even though they could have been on opposite sides of the freaking planet for all Matt knew, it felt pretty damn good.

As if it were a sign from God, Matt's cell phone suddenly began to ring on his bedside table. If this were any other time, he would have hummed along with the Final Fantasy victory theme and taken his sweet time answering.

However, nobody ever called his cell. All his calls went to his crappy, rust-colored apartment phone. Nobody would make a call to his personal phone, except...

He slammed his hand into the bedside table and swept up the phone, snapping his goggles onto the top of his head and checking the display to see who it was.

The entire bedroom went cold as he read the single letter displayed underneath the incoming call message.

"M."

No fucking way...it can't be--!
Matt flipped his phone open and warily pressed his ear against the speaker.

There was no reply on the other line; only someone's calm, even breathing. And the crinkling of some kind of wrapper. After a few pregnant seconds of silence, Matt spoke.

"...Is it really you, Mello?"

There was a snap
on the other line that sounded vaguely like a square of chocolate being bitten off. And a small chuckle. "And here I was about to yell at you to say something."

Matt let out a sigh of relief. Finally, they'd made contact! "I see you kept your promise to program this number."

"I see you kept yours. Do you still have my rosary?"

"Wearing it now, as I have been for the last four years. Itches like a bitch, really," Matt replied with a laugh.

"Where are you now, Matt?"
Mello asked, taking another bite.

"Las Vegas, Nevada. Number 4 on the list of where to look for you."

"Are you seriously going down that whole fucking list?"

"Just hitting the U.S. first." Matt smirked and took a drag from his cigarette. "Why, are you here now?"

"America, yes. Nevada, no,"
Mello replied. Matt heard him sigh heavily and then there was (faintly) a creaking noise, like Mello was moving in whatever he was sitting on. "Matt, I'm in L.A. right now. Los Angeles, California."

"I know what L.A. stands for, Mello. I'm third in line," Matt grumbled. However, inside, he was incredibly grateful. Mello wasn't as far away from him as he had been worried about. Thank God. "So? What's the big deal about you being in L.A.? You sound a little frustrated."

"Because...it's bigger than that."
The blonde sighed again, and growled. "Look, Matt, I've joined the mafia."

"The WHAT?!" Matt stared in awe and anger at the phone, as if he could possibly send that reaction over the phone from Nevada to California. "Mello, how is joining the mafia supposed to get you any damn closer to KIRA?! Are you out of your fucking mind?!"

"Mail, shut the hell up! You don't know shit!"

"Then tell me!"

I was going to, but you're being a real bitch!"

"Look, you're--!" Suddenly, Matt stopped himself. No. This is the first time we've talked in four years. No point in fucking it up over the phone.
He sighed heavily and shook his head. "No, nevermind. I'm sorry. I know you have your way of doing things. So tell me what the situation here is."

Matt could practically hear Mello smirk at winning the argument. "Yeah."

So over the next few minutes, Mello told Matt everything that had happened during his mafia time up until now. Near and the SPK, kidnapping the director of the Japanese police, the Death Note, Shidoh the Shinigami, and anything in between.

Overall, none of this information fazed Matt (except maybe for the death god and the killer notebook; that sounded like something out of an RPG, but was still pretty shocking). He knew Mello was capable of dominating anyone he wanted to. His looks were incredibly deceiving (though he'd never say that to the blonde).

"So, now that you've answered any possible questions I might have about what you've been up to for the last few years, I have one more question."

"Shoot."

"...why the sudden call?" he asked.

For the first time in the conversation, Mello paused for a lack of an answer. That was new to Matt. Mello was never one to think of calm, collected answers, but he always had one. Still, this was better than "I don't know"; if that had happened, Matt would know this was an imposter and would have to hang up immediately.

"...I thought about two days from now, and I realized this call was long overdue."

Figures. Matt suspected that was part of it. "Overdue would be an understatement," the redhead quipped, mashing his little stub of a cigarette onto the table "Do you know how much I've been fucking worrying about you?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. So do you have any lungs left underneath all that tar, Matt?"

"Ha, ha, very funny." Matt sighed and let his head hit the wall with a slight thump, his face flushing slightly. "Seriously. I've been worried that we'd never speak again or something."

"Even I'm above giving the cold shoulder."
(Yeah right, Matt thought) "I've just been a little busy, you know, infiltrating the mafia and all. You should try it sometime, it's really kind of distracti--"

"Mihael, I missed you."

Matt blurted it out as fast as he could, staring up at the ceiling and counting the cracks in it to distract himself from the knowledge that he was saying something that intimate. He heard Mello sputter a little, and the other end fell silent again. Maybe not out of embarrassment, but out of being caught off-guard.

It was true, though. Matt wasn't sure if he would consider himself gay for Mello, but there was a distinct lack of completion that he had been feeling these past years. He was always tagging along behind the blonde at the orphanage, so having to be in front this whole time was so alien to him. It wasn't like he and Mello had a "Slave-Master" thing, but Mello was just so much more confident and headstrong, and Matt was always determined to follow him, whether it was due to lack of anything else to do or his own interest in what Mello did.

Not like Matt was a homophobe. If he was queer, big fucking deal. He still had interest in the fairer sex at times, though. So, bisexual didn't seem like a bad title for him. Or Mello-sexual.

Mello-sexual.
That kind of had a ring to it.

"Matt? Hey, Jeevas!"
Mello cried down the phone, jarring Matt from his thoughts.

"Sorry, Mel. Spaced out for a sec. You say something?"

"..."
Mello hesitated, growling a little out of frustration. "For fuck's sake. I said, 'same here,' you dumbass. Pay attention."
Before Matt could reply, the blonde continued. "Look, I also called because...well, since we have the Death Note here, I've pretty much figured out that eventually it's gonna hit the fan and...I might have to get out. And if that happens I'm gonna need your help. You want to catch the piece of shit that killed L, right?"

"'Course I do, Mello."

"Then can you get to L.A. in a few days? You'll call me once you get in and I'll send you an address for an apartment I've cleared."

Only a Wammy's kid wouldn't reveal where he was right away. Matt smirked. "I can get a ticket as soon as I hang up."

"Good. Keep in touch until we meet up."

"Will do," Matt said, taking the phone away slowly and ending the call.

He chuckled and lit up again. Funny what a little positive attitude can accomplish. I'd better pack, then.
Not like that would take long; all he had was one duffel bag of clothes and two suitcases worth of all his electronic needs.

But first he'd need to buy a couple suitcases.

Just as Matt got off the bed and slid his cell phone into his pocket, his blonde came padding into the room quietly, hopping onto the bed and eyeing him quizzically. She didn't even have to say anything; Matt sighed and said, "Look, Kitten, I got a call from this friend of mine. Says he needs my help in L.A. Gotta go, you know."

She tilted her head a little dumbly. Well, she wasn't very talkative. "He's a...really
good friend. Kind of," the redhead continued, face heating up slightly. "And I'm sorry but, Mihael just doesn't like competition. You and I never really had a 'thing,' anyway."

Matt tried hard not to succumb, but he never could resist the big amber eyes that his Kitten had. So he let out a heavy sigh and rolled his own hazel eyes. "All right, all right. You win. But you know I can't carry you on the plane, Kitten." He snapped his goggles back in place triumphantly and headed towards the door, pocketing a few $50s that were sitting in the ashtray near the door. He'd have to get his new blonde a proper mode of transportation, and cages cost money.

"I really hope Mello's not allergic to cats..."