Mxm: We've Got a Big Mess...

"We've got a big mess on our hands tonight." The glow of a cigarette cast a dim shadow on the two mens' face. Cancerous smoke circles around the room, pushing its scent into every surface. The smoker listens and watches the man in front of him. He was familiar only in looks; shoulder-length blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, round face, and strong arms. The man's words were backed with a vicious tone that Matt didn't recognize, a tone he'd probably only heard once or twice. He pulsated with a terrible, passionate longing as always, but it was so strong now with revenge, determination, and hatred that Matt scarcely knew what to think. On top of that, he hadn't seen this man in four years, when he up and left Wammy's House, the orphanage where they lived.

Mello's chest was bare and his pants were torn. He stank of smoke, like Matt himself, but of the type that is only produced from explosives, probably napalm. But to Matt, none of this really mattered. What he was focused on was the injury, already scabbing over and healing in places; Mello's left side-from his face, down his neck and left shoulder, all the way to the left side of his chest-was the remnants of the thick top layer of skin. Pink muscle tissue was charred and enflamed. Flesh was peeling back around the wound's edges, coated in dried blood. Though the red-haired man had of course seen worse in video games, the raw flesh and blood and muscle was more grotesque than he thought that it could be. Anyone with a weak stomach would probably have run to the bathroom at the sight of him.

Matt took another drag, confused feelings rushing around in his brain. On one hand, he was infuriated. Mello didn't come around in four years and made absolutely no contact with Matt, yet now he comes to his door covered in blood and asking for help. On the other hand, he hadn't seen Mello in four years. They were best friends-more than best friends-when they attended Wammy's House together, so it did make him happy to see the other man.

Matt did a good job of holding all these feelings deep within the confines of his body, never letting them rush to the surface and show on his face. First and foremost wasn't how he felt about the whole situation, but it was what did Mello want?

Mello finally stopped talking; his labored breathing was the only noise in the room. Matt sighed and opened his eyes, pushing his cigarette into the ashtray until its eventual death. He looked at Mello, straining to see Mello's blue eyes in the darkness; if it weren't for the small window on the far wall, Matt figured he probably would have gone blind months ago. He propped his elbow on the table between them, resting his chin in his hand. "So, what do you want me to do about it?" The words sounded meaner than he would have liked, but Mello didn't seem to notice.

"I need your help, Matt."

Matt furrowed his eyebrows and leaned back in his chair, an annoyed breath escaping him. "You're in the mafia now, huh?"

"Yeah, so?" said Mello around the ragged breaths.

Matt looked back at him, his eyebrows raised. "You know, you should probably go to the hospital."

Mello ignored him. "Matt-"

"What, they'll ask too many questions?"

"Matt-!"

"No, I'm not doing it." Matt stood, crossing the room to the window. He pulled another cigarette from the red-clad soft pack in his pocket, pushing it into the corner of his mouth. "Get out, go to a hospital."

"It'll heal on its own." Mello said, followed by a contradictory wince.

Matt spun around, his voice strong. "You'll go to the damn hospital if I have to drag you there myself." His words sounded more concerned than he intended.

"You don't have to worry about me, Matt. If you want to help me, you can listen to me-"

Matt's frustration finally boiled up to the surface and spilled from his throat. "I came out of Wammy's to uphold the law, just like you should have! I don't know what the hell you've been doing these days, but whatever it is-"

"It's for the Kira case."

When Mello said this, his voice was exhausted and in pain, but incredibly impassioned. For a moment, Matt believed him. That even though he was using unorthodox means to get to justice, he was in search of justice nonetheless. No sooner had Matt thought this than he felt incredibly stupid and used. He furrowed his brow sharply, pure anger showing on his face. "It's for Near." Matt's head was bowed, his fist curled into angry fists. He looked through long bangs at Mello's darkened form. He saw exactly what he expected to see, shock and complete and utter anger. Before Mello had a chance, Matt continued in a voice dripping with fury. "It's always been for damned Near, hasn't it?"

"I-"

"'Hate Near', right?" Matt took a step forward, gritted his teeth. "God, you're obsessed! You have been ever since we were kids!" Matt felt a new emotion rising inside him, one he hadn't experienced since he was a child, and one he'd always been ashamed of. This jealousy was the worst thing he could feel, but now he blindly endorsed it, walking forward with heavy steps. Matt shoved a strong hand into the man's right shoulder, pushing him against the chair back. He ignored Mello's cry of pain and leaned forward, his face hovering just in front of Mello's. "Obsession is love, Mello." There were so many things Matt wanted to shout at the man before him; how much he loved him, how much he hated him, how much he wanted to kick his ass for leaving Wammy's. But instead of doing any of that, he closed the gap between them, pushing his lips hard into Mello's, digging his fingernails into the man's clavicle. Matt felt his own heart beat highten even more once their lips met, and even more so when Mello pressed back a moment later. Through closed eyes, Matt could feel those hardened blue eyes glaring at him.

Matt seperated their lips a moment later and spoken with absolute no thoughts of romance. "Get the hell out of here."

Mello made no move to leave. "You love me, Matt?"

Matt narrowed his eyes, but didn't waste any time. "You know I do."

"If you loved me, you would do this for me."

Matt closed his eyes, despising how his eyes must look to Mello, even in the impossibly dark room. "When it all comes crashing down-"

Mello interrupted him. "Don't think about it."

"Mello-"

"Matt."

Matt despised the look in Mello's eye even more. It was eerie, menacing, and Matt wished to a God he didn't believe in that he would never have to see that look again after he spoke the next words, no matter how much he didn't want to say them. Mello knew Matt's weaknesses, he was using them to wrap the red-headed man around his little finger. No matter to love or hate or jealousy. Matt was powerless to Mello's power. There is no use fighting the inevitable.

"What should I do?"