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Chapter Text

WELCOME BACK! I'M SO, SO EXCITED TO SHARE THIS WITH YOU!

To preheat this experience, I wanted to mention a few things:

• I am working with canonical events from the actual manga / anime, so there are restrictions put in place for me. I tried my best to stretch out my creative liberties without jeopardizing the story too much. HOWEVER, some events from the original story have been changed / reordered to fit into the tale I created. I hope you can forgive me for altering things here and there <3
  
  
• True to the original story, there will be mentions of violence, drug use, sex, alcohol, foul / derogatory language, and gore. I must reiterate that Part 2 is for mature audiences: "18+"! TW labels will be noted :)
  
  
• I wanted to try and challenge myself. I really like music, so I am placing Tedy songs throughout the book that I believe are applicable to each scene. It's a fun little trial for me and itches my author brain. Feel free to ignore them if you want, I know there's already a Spotify playlist that I can bore you with haha (https://open.spotify.com/playlist/41QLhMwyX00BXWw6u1yofU?si=5445f9f9be1646e8)
  
  
• This one is more of a personal thing, but I don't quite feel comfortable answering questions that will spoil the book. Please do not be alarmed if I don't respond to some, it's just that I don't feel secure doing so... I'm sorry ahead of time.

I think that's all. I'll stop blabbering on.

Enjoy the first chapter of "Deducing Me"! 

Chapter Text

October 8, 2009

The gauze was dampened in crimson. The red deepened with each passing moment, staining the white color.

A whimper escaped the teenager’s mouth as I applied more pressure.

“It’s alright, Bath,” I tried to comfort. “It’ll be over soon.”

I threw the soaked gauze into the trashcan, before grabbing the hydrogen peroxide. As I unscrewed the lid, Bath’s eyes narrowed hesitantly.

Anxiety radiated off her with such intensity I had to question whether or not it was my own.

“What’s that?” she inquired, pointing to the lid.

“It’s an antiseptic,” I informed her. “It’ll prevent infection.”

“Is it going to hurt?”

“It might sting a little, but it’ll be over quickly. I promise.”

The fourteen year old gave me an apprehensive stare, scooting a little bit further away from me.

“It’ll hurt more if it gets infected,” I bargained, pouring the hydrogen peroxide onto a fresh gauze. “It’s not as bad as you think.”

She still seemed unconvinced, so I held out my other palm.

“Why don't you squeeze my hand?”

This option permitted her to have some control over the sensory of this uncomfortable experience. Bath gripped onto my hand, already tightening her grasp preemptively.

I patted the peroxide onto her wounded knee. It released a metallic, chemical odor that made our eyes water. She hissed through her teeth, squeezing my hand hard.

Quickly, I discarded the gauze and reached out to the Band-Aid I had prepared for her.

Bath let go of my hand so I could place her plaster.

“There you are! All good now, Bath.”

She smiled at me wearily and slid off the counter.

“Thanks, Y/N!”

Bath bolted out of the room, slightly limping on that wounded leg. She brushed past Fifi who had been observing me from the door frame.

"That fall she had was nasty," Fifi commented. "It's a good thing she didn't break anything."

"The pavement always makes falls worse."

Fifi snorted and nodded in agreement. Her beady eyes trailed me while I finished wiping down the counter. The fan in the corner of the room pivoted towards her slowly, blowing its air at her. The hair that frizzed out of her clip fluttered with it. I couldn't help but notice the hair appeared more grey in the fluorescent light.

It was strange to see her aging. Of course, we all were aging... I wonder if she thought the same thing... that us growing older was strange.

“How are you holding up, dear?” Fifi wondered.

I discarded the gloves off my hand and smiled at her.

“Very well, thank you.”

Fifi's lips pursed together. She slowly nodded, inspecting the organized room.

“Do you need help with cleanup?”

“No worries! I can handle it.”

Fifi’s eyes crinkled with her small smirk. “Oh… okay.”

I could sense her disappointment.

Fifi was having a slightly difficult time adjusting to the new changes. I took her place as The Wammy House’s nurse this year. She hardly knew what to do with herself now that she actually had free hours.

As much as I liked giving her some more time to relax, I also felt slightly guilty. I could tell she missed these engagements.

Or perhaps it was simply the feeling of being needed in more aspects than one.

“Actually,” I conjured up on the spot. “I forgot. Could you please show me which cabinet has the extra hydrogen peroxide? This one is getting empty.”

It was a partial truth. I needed to refill the bottle, but I knew which cabinet the antiseptic's refill was stored in. However, watching Fifi’s face become more animated made this slight lie worth it.

Excited with being given a task, Fifi sprung up and darted over to a distant cabinet.

“Of course! It’s okay to forget, I know there are many things to remember. For your future reference, it will always be stored in this cabinet up here…”

I let her explain further, witnessing the way she lit up with joy. While she babbled, she retrieved the extra bottle of hydrogen peroxide and set it on the counter.

I scooted the large bottle closer to me and spotted the shipping label on it. This bottle came in last month. The one I had used on Bath was full then. I glanced at the cabinet that Fifi had open and inspected the abundance of medical supplies... we were receiving more each month than we were even using.

"It's funny..." I found myself muttering. "I don't recall us having this much antiseptic when I was a child."

"Hm?"

"Well, uhm... as gross as it sounds, I used to just spit on my knee whenever I scraped it. I don't really remember getting properly cleaned up and bandaged often."

Fifi snorted and shut the cabinet doors.

"Oh, Y/N. You were always so accident prone. If you came in to get plasters and wipes every time you were scraped up, we would have been running out of supplies constantly."

"How come we have so many now?"

Fifi shrugged. "Roger has been prioritizing medical supplies on his inventory list. I, personally, think we are ordering much more than we need. If that's what you are indicating, I am on your side. But he believes otherwise."

"Do you know why he is doing it?"

"They are his orders, I think."

Orders... my hands stopped moving.

The death of Quillish Wammy and L created monumental changes. Our establishment was gravely striked by it. Their passing left a vacancy in the institution's authoritative power. Without Wammy as our foreman, the machine of The Wammy's House decayed. Its production of creating new L's faltered. It completed its purpose when the successors took L's stead... or so we thought.

Roger's first order came within a year of their departure.

Near had stepped into his perceived duty of taking over L's responsibilities. Roger became his Watari, merging into the role as his chief assistant.

The institution still ran as both a charitable school for gifted children and as an orphanage. Yet, under Near's command, our objective was not curating another succession. Instead, Near's focus was on our capabilities and liabilities. Or rather how well we can serve him as we had L.

Roger spread Near's instructions to the orphans. Some orphans received individualized commands.

I only heard from Near once.

It was the same virtual message he gave to everyone in The Wammy's House.

Thinking about it still nauseates me.

If the day comes when you are asked about me and Mello, I give you permission to admit you briefly knew us. That is all. Deny anything else.

That was it. I didn't even get to hear his voice or see his face. No updates on where he was. No message of how he was doing.

Just a command that I should forget him.

"Are you alright?" Fifi wondered. "You disappeared for a moment there."

I blinked and peered up at her. She scrutinized my demeanor, her own face twisting in wonder.

"Oh, yes," I answered hastily. "Yes, I'm alright. Sorry."

I was scared. I was always scared.

A knock on the door briefly snagged us away from our conversation.

Roger leaned in the door frame with a worn expression, lessoning his intrusion by keeping his feet planted in the corridor.

"When you are both done, report to the lounge," he instructed. "I need an inventory list for the antiques we are donating."

Fifi gave him a verbal agreement for the both of us, while I finished refilling my bottle.

"And," Roger continued. "Linda will be donating some of her paintings for the philanthropy fundraiser tomorrow. I need the lounge cleared so she can store her extra ones."

At the sound of her name, I felt a dull ache in my chest.

"Oh! How sweet of her!" Fifi cheered. "Those will sell for a high price."

I finished my pour and screwed the cap back onto the bottle.

Roger murmured an agreement and a small sentiment, before dismissing himself.

The fan buzzed, sputtering occasionally.

It got slightly jammed as it pivoted to the left. The blades spun so fast, it looked like they were floating backwards. I wondered how that was possible. How something could push so hard to move forward, only to appear like it is sliding backwards.

I guess that's how I was.

Like a tree, I found myself sprouting. I was physically and mentally changing with each passing year. Yet, my mind always wandered back to my roots. Though the people I had connected with were all sprouting and growing in separate ways, their roots were eternally tangled with mine.

It's been almost five years... four years and ten months, to be exact... since I last saw them.

It's been two years since I had a real conversation with Linda.

But my roots are still interlocked with them, supporting them forever. I hope the memory of me can keep them uprooted during any storm they might encounter.

I hope that they know I still care.

Even if they don't remember me, I hope they remember the feeling of being cherished.

October 9, 2009

I fought back a yawn.

"It's six forty," I managed to say.

Heidi whimpered, reaching out to a drawer in her vanity. "Why didn't I wake up earlier?!"

She opened the drawer and pulled out a hair stick. The way she held it indicated to me that it must have a lot of value. Knowing Heidi, it made sense. Almost everything she wore was expensive.

Heidi twisted the delicate pin into her red hair. The cherry color glistened around the elegant item, competing with the soft lavender dangling pieces that swung from the end of it.

Once her hair was securely twisted and pinned, she meticulously pulled out sections of her silky hair. They curled and bounced as she released them, swinging in front of her perfect face.

"Could you hand me my lash curler, Y/N? It's next to my bed."

I did as she asked. Heidi curled her long lashes and then applied a thick coat of mascara to them.

The lashes shadowed over her face, which had thinned out into a more womanly structure the past few years. Her cheekbones were more prominent, as too was her sharp jawline.

"Time?" she hastily asked again, closing her mascara.

I glanced at her clock once more.

"Six forty- five."

She inhaled sharply and stood up from the vanity.

"Okay, okay... I should be done by seven..." she muttered.

We would have to be, otherwise Roger would drag us both out. The philanthropy event started at eight this morning. The orphanage was one of Winchester's main donors, so those representing it needed to arrive early to help with set up.

That was Roger, the head administrator; Fifi, the child care and development director; me, the matron; and Heidi, the community outreach coordinator.

Like me, Heidi was encouraged to stay inside the orphanage and work to keep it running. With her social skills and eye for detail, she excelled at her occupation. I wasn't too sure how she felt about this responsibility, given that other orphans were permitted to leave. Some, like Heidi, were assigned specific positions. They didn't really have much liberty in dictating where they ended up.

I was happy, though, that I had Heidi to keep me company here. We grew closer throughout the past few years. At least now we could get ready for events together without feeling awkward. In fact, I actually enjoyed dolling myself up with her.

That's girlhood for you.

Heidi eyed herself in her mirror, turning to catch all angles of the attire that hugged her body. The blouse she wore was a gorgeous lilac silk, it appeared almost like a metallic liquid. The design was fancy being high neck and sleeveless. The blouse was tucked into an ivory pencil skirt, which draped down to her knees. On her petite feet were purple d'orsay heels.

Heidi groaned, tracing her hands over her chest, then her bottom. "I'm twenty years old and I literally have the body of a twelve year old boy. Hideous."

Her eyes glanced at the clock unsurely and she sighed.

"But there's no time to change."

"You look beautiful."

Heidi shrugged. "If I looked more like you, I would be happy."

"Me?" I gaped.

I took a peak at the mirror. I didn't look terrible, I suppose, but I never would have categorized myself in the same level as Heidi. I wore a light outfit, that was classy in its own respect. It was nothing too remarkable. A beige cashmere turtleneck sweater, dark mocha colored dress trousers, white leather loafers, and golden jewelry to pair. I also wore an orange trench coat, since it was cold outside.

I didn't have much money to purchase high-end fashion, but I was able to accumulate more professional clothing in my wardrobe. It was necessary for events such as these.

I twiddled with my gold hoop earring, watching my reflection mirror me. My body was definitely more defined now that I was nineteen, nearing twenty. Though not bad, I didn't quite understand how Heidi could be envious of it. Perhaps it was because I was so used to it being mine, I never really perceived it to be anything special.

Heidi snatched her purse that dangled from the foot stand of her bed, before hustling to the door.

"Wait, your coat!" I yelped, retrieving it from the vanity.

It was too chilly to go out without one.

Heidi's eyes widened as she relieved me of it. "Ugh! I knew I would forget something! Thank you!"

She draped the white fur coat over her pale shoulders and we both dashed out of the room.

Golden rays softly trailed into the interior of Winchester Cathedral. They patterned the floor with beautiful leaks of sunlight, intercepted by some rainbow marks from the stain glass window tucked in the back.

Heidi yawned next to me. I watched as she tried to stifle it back by hovering her hand over her mouth.

In front of us, Fifi repositioned some of the antiquities we were about to auction off to the public. These artifacts used to be property of Quillish Wammy. Seeing as he was no longer here, they were repossessed as his orphanage's property. Now, they would be handed off to the highest bidder.

At least the money would be given to a good cause.

My eyes landed on an antique we were selling. It was a handcrafted wooden ship model, missing one of its sails. The object looked familiar to me... for some reason, I felt like I had seen it before. My chest... there was a pressure in my chest. It had a bittersweet feeling tied to it.

It came back to me slowly... a time in December long ago... it was cradled in the hands of a curious boy... one who was imploring about my mother...

Near.

I pried my eyes away, feeling the pressure augment in my chest.

Roger trailed back to us, carrying a small plate of free pastries the charity coordinator was giving out. He scrutinized the table Fifi was fixing up, before checking his watch.

"People should be piling in any minute now..." he mumbled, more to himself than not. "... hopefully soon, before I drop dead."

His sour disposition deepened when a rumble of tiny footsteps climbed up the stairs. A chorus of children were lining up in the choir stands. Some fumbled with their choir uniforms, yanking on the sleeves of their robes. They must be a part of the congregation here.

"Awe! How adorable," Heidi commented, clasping her hands over her heart. "I'm getting baby fever."

"Y/N," Roger beckoned. "Can you please give this to Linda? And tell her to return it back to my office, when she is able."

I grew nervous at the prospect.

He handed me a stack of deposit slips. On these papers, she would record her payments so that we could give them to the bank for her. My eyes grazed over a name that made my stomach lurch.

Tate's name was listed on the bottom. Near put him in charge of our finances. Granted, he excelled at maths, but I didn't know he also had a keen eye in finances and economics. As mean as he was, he did beyond well at keeping the orphanage financially stable.

I trailed off to the rows of paintings at the opposing side of the church. I couldn't help at marvel at their realism. They almost put the ancient engravings inside the Winchester Cathedral to shame. Linda's signature was in the right corner of all of them.

That signature was vital. She was a famous artist now. Everyone who studied art knew her work.

That's why I wasn't too surprised at the small crowd of people she was gathering. Outsiders were finally trickling into the event and beelining towards her stand.

I spotted Linda pulling down one of her canvases. She still wore eccentric attire, so the rainbow, bohemian shawl was undeniably her.

I waited until her exchange with a customer was finished before I moved in. After the time of payment, I watched her frantically glance around her table in search of what I possessed.

I placed the deposit slips down, which earned her attention. We made eye contact.

Linda's brunette hair was longer now. The crimped locks stopped just before her ribs, which broadly poked out from her triangular figure. She also no longer had bangs, which she once had as a child.

It made her face look more mature. The makeup on it, however, paid homage to her wonderous creativity. Her eyes, which were coated in glittery eyeshadow, did not seem all too different to me... they were still large, expressive, and doe- like.

They squinted with her grimace and forced smile.

"Oh... thanks," she said.

The awkwardness in her tone was not left unnoticed.

I couldn't blame her. We had not spoken in a while.

It was strange to see her now in front of me. We used to be so close... but we drifted apart the last two years of being at The Wammy's House together. So many things changed, it was inevitable that we would too.

Our differences became too prominent to go unnoticed. Linda, like most of the world, became more comfortable outwardly expressing her support for Kira. With Mello, Near, and Matt out in the wild with that serial killer, I couldn't bear to hear it.

She had been right.

Soon, that one moral difference would sever our once impenetrable bond.

But I still had a soft spot for her, despite the fractures in our history.

"Your paintings look lovely," I complimented.

Linda loosened up her stance at hearing my positive feedback. I knew it would break through the tension, giving us something more comfortable to discuss.

"Thank you. How's life treating you?"

"It's been good," I said.

It was a plain answer, but I did not have much to update her on. I was stuck in a never ending rotation of tasks that were the same day in and day out. I teetered each day from a sense of comfort and insanity.

"Good. That's good.... I-"

"Linda! How much is this one? It's absolutely clever!" a woman called out, admiring one of her paintings.

Linda pivoted to her. "Oh... it's uhm... well, actually that painting is in the wrong spot. Just one moment, please..." she glanced back at me apologetically. "I'm sorry, I should probably-"

"Right, no worries. Oh, before I go, Roger asked that you bring the slips back to his office."

Linda made an evident face of discontentment. Her dislike of Roger never went away with age.

"Right," she mumbled. "Tell him I will... I'll talk to you properly then?"

I nodded at her request, giving her a smile. "Sure."

Linda left me and walked over to the woman who had requested her assistance. I turned away from her booth and trailed back to where Fifi, Heidi, and Roger were stationed.

That's where I stayed, greeting people occasionally here and there. Fifi was mainly the one who assisted people who were inquisitive about Mr. Wammy's collections. Heidi socialized with the event programmers, trying to widen our public connections. Roger was... well, grumbling and staring at the clock.

The choir began to sing at some point, their voices rising sweetly above the small chatter from those gathered here at the event.

"O come, O come, Immanuel."

I spotted the priest. He strolled down the aisles, smiling warmly at the community. Clutched in his hand was a rosary. It swayed, catching the light ever so often from the windows. Its red beads caught my attention.

I felt a spur in my heart.

"And ransom captive Israel."

It looked like the necklace I gave to Mello.

"That mourns in lonely exile here... until the Son of God appear."

I made eye contact with the priest. His eyes were brown, not green like Mello's. In fact, I had yet to find the color of his eyes in anything. Nothing compared to it... not the leaves, not the olive wallpapers, not even the moss growing underneath the stones in The Wammy House's garden.

The priest's eyes twinkled and he lifted a hand to me in greeting. The rosary swayed with it. I gave my best attempt at a normal smile, waving back to him.

"Hey, Y/N," Heidi blurted. "Isn't that your friend over there?"

She pointed at the entrance and I followed her finger.

I saw a figure walk in. They slouched slightly, ducking between the crowd of people. Their hands were buried in their pockets, the scarf they wore wrapped around their face.

But I knew who it was the minute I saw the sporadic curls on top of their head.

I darted to her like a child.

"Marty!"

At the sound of my voice, she peered up from the seclusion of her scarf. She gave me a goofy grin and ran to meet me, colliding into a hug.

"Y/N! You alright?!"

I giggled and held onto her shoulders, overwhelmed with joy.

Marty cupped my face and groaned, "Ugh, you're looking more lovely each day! I miss seeing you."

"Same to you," I replied, feeling my face heat up from such a compliment.

"You should call more. I need more people to talk to day to day."

“Have you heard from Tibbett?” I wondered.

Marty nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, we spoke a few weeks ago. He’s doing great… just adjusting to the new lab.”

Disgust robbed her previous spirit as she added, “They are experimenting on rabbits. It’s really gross.”

“I can’t see Tibbett enjoying that.”

“He doesn’t. But luckily, he doesn’t have to participate in all that animal testing stuff. Really, though, he says it’s a nice job. With all the chemicals they have, it's like he’s stepping into a candy store. It just itches his geeky brain the right way.”

I was happy for him. Tibbett was prospering in the biochemistry field. Not that I expected anything less. He was so bright, both scholastically and spiritually.

“What have you been up to, Marty?”

“Same old stuff,” she sighed. “I got promoted as the head of our research department a few months ago, but the seniors I work with haven’t been taking it well… I’m getting hit with both sexism and ageism."

She was a nuclear engineer. Her occupation was so advanced that I could hardly even begin to explain all that she was responsible for.

Marty gazed off at the paintings in the back of the church. Her eyes glistened for a mere moment.

“Have you spoken to Linda yet?” I wondered, keeping my voice soft.

I knew it could be a sore subject for her.

Marty shrugged. “Not yet. I saw she’d be here, so I thought I would come... you know, to show my support.”

Their relationship with each other was like the change of seasons- it consistently altered from fiery passion to cold dislike. They were always on and off, never quite successful with each other yet never wanting to be without the other.

Looking back, I should have seen it coming. Marty always acted a particular way around her and Linda slowly wanted hang out with her more often. The two officially started dating around a year and a half after the successors left. They break up, get back together, break up again, get back together.

When they were on good terms, they paired perfectly. They both had similar humor and zealous passion for what they did. Marty was able to amplify Linda’s boundless creativity. Her bold nature also kept Linda grounded when needed.

I am assuming by the look in her eyes that they were not together again. Marty had issues with Linda’s loyalty to Kira. Linda had issues with Marty’s lack of thought about Kira. But beyond that, they were both incredibly stubborn individuals. You couldn’t reason with two bulls racing at each other. They never quite figured out how to manage conflict with each other, since they were too unyielding in their own ways.

"Perhaps I should say something," Marty concluded in an attempt to persuade herself. "I might as well since I made the trip here."

"I think you should.".

She ran her hand down the top of her hair to try to lessen its frizz. The pressure temporarily worked, until the curls bounced back up. After a nervous breath, she marched over to Linda's booth.

I wanted to keep watching, but I felt a tap on my shoulder.

I turned around and saw the priest standing near me. He smelled of frankincense, the citrusy and piney aroma overtaking my senses. A large smile was spread on his elderly face as he nodded his head in greeting.

"Hello," I stammered out, slightly perturbed to see him next to me.

"Good morning," he greeted back. "How are you?"

"I'm well..."

He tilted his head and gave a verbal sound of understanding, before he glanced up at the ceiling in wonder. "That's an interesting word."

As peculiar as our conversation should have been, I didn't feel any negative way. His demeanor was calming and gentle. I felt more curious than anything else.

The priest twiddled with the rosary in his hands. I witnessed the red beads drape over his fingers.

"I heard it's supposed to rain this evening," the priest continued, peering at the windows. "It's sunny out now, so it's hard to believe it. But things always change rather quickly, don't they?"

His eyes found mine as he dug, "Especially in your life."

I gulped. "How did you know that?"

He chuckled, "Well, everyone goes through changes in their lives. It's not just you, of course."

"Right," I muttered.

'Your life' was meant to be a more broad term, not just exclusive to me.

The priest cleared his throat before admitting, "I felt the need to come and talk with you. Call it an inkling from one of God's beloved to another. Or perhaps it's because you have a kind spirit. I can tell just by looking at you that your heart is pure."

His hand stopped moving his rosary. The cross on it oscillated back and forth, like the pendulum in Roger's clock.

"A verse popped into my head on my way over. If you are alright, would you be okay if I share it with you? For some reason, I feel like I must."

"I don't see why not. Sure."

"It is Proverbs Twenty- Seven, Verse Twelve. I'm not sure what it will mean to you... but it must be important..."

He left after that, leaving me to ponder on it. When there was a slight lull in the event's commotion, I walked over to one of the pews and grabbed a Bible. I flipped through the pages, until I found the verse.

A lump formed in my throat.

The prudent see danger and take refuge, but the simple keep going and pay the penalty.

We finished packing up the last of the unsold antiquities into Roger's car. Many of them had gone, including the ship, so it was a successful sell.

The priest had been correct. The sky was cloudier, slowly blocking the sunlight. The wind was picking up slightly too. The clouds didn't look dark, so the storm had yet to come through. But one could easily sense that it was coming.

Heidi helped me close the trunk of the vehicle and then wrapped herself tighter in her fur coat. A flash of rainbow appeared behind her.

Linda trailed past with a cart full of canvases. Marty followed close behind her, assisting Linda by carrying some of her paintings. It appeared like they were on better terms now. After all, they had spent the rest of the event together.

Linda met Heidi and I's gaze and waved her hand in the air. The car keys she carried jangled loudly, her vibrant keychains clinking together.

"I'll see you soon!" she called out.

"I won't!" Marty hollered. "But it's been great catching up! Call me if you need anything, okay?!"

"Safe travels, Marty!" I farewelled. "See you soon Linda!"

The two disappeared into the parking lot.

"She's going to beat us there," Heidi stated, leaning against the trunk. "Fifi's talking with the whole damn church in there."

Though that was an exaggeration, it wasn't too far from the truth. Fifi was practically barked out of Winchester Cathedral by a grumpy Roger. She had been talking for a solid quarter of an hour and he had been ready to leave since the event started. That's why it didn't surprise me that he practically floored it all the way back to The Wammy's House.

By the time we made it to the orphanage, Linda had already arrived.

Her yellow car was parked alongside the curb by the iron gates.

Roger slowed down the car. I saw his eyes narrow in the front view mirror.

"Who's that?" Fifi whispered.

There was a tone of fear in her voice.

"That's what I'm looking at..." he murmured more calmly.

A black rental car was parked on the side of the road, next to Linda's.

No one ever came to visit.

"There's no one inside it," Heidi observed. "Do you think they went inside?"

Chills erupted through my body.

All of us froze.

The children.

Roger whipped his car into his parking spot. We ran inside, not wasting a single second.

The front doors slammed behind us.

Linda stood in the front entryway, awaiting us eagerly. Her eyes darted over to the lounge and then back to us. There was a sense of urgency in them.

"Welcome back, Roger," she addressed, her tone sharp. There was a fake, sweet smile plastered on her face. "There are some people who would like to meet you."

We stepped into the lounge.

Linda's canvases were next to the Steinway piano, not yet stored away. From the looks of it, she never got to unpack. I wondered if she let them in... she must have.

The two men were sitting on the couch.

The older looking one had on a white suit, paired with a dark button up shirt. His large hands were cupped on his knees as he gazed at us. The younger man also wore a suit, but his jacket was draped over the arm chair. He was less stiff, leaning against the cushions comfortably. Unlike the older man, a cheerful smile was plastered on his face.

Their energies were definitely polarized.

"How can I help you?" Roger inquired to the two.

The older man was the first to act. He stood up, cutting the other off from speaking brashly.

"We are members of the NPA," he informed us.

"May I see some form of identification?" Roger probed, pushing down his glasses.

The two exchanged glances. They were nervous about that. Why?

"You must understand, of course. I need to verify if you really are members of the National Police Association. Impersonating an officer is a federal crime, after all," Roger continued cunningly.

The older one exhaled sharply, sweat appearing on his brow. He reached into his pocket and flashed his badge.

The younger one pulled his out as well, after witnessing the older one do it.

Their names were written on there, mixed in with some Japanese words.

The older one's name was Shuichi Aizawa. The younger one was Touta Matsuda.

"I see," Roger drawled. "What brings you all the way here?"

He came across undisturbed. He stood his ground well in matters such as this.

"This is where L grew up, right?" Matsuda inquired, practically jumping off the couch.

His accent was very thick, but we all understood the words he uttered.

His brazen question shocked us. Heidi and I glanced at each other in uncertainty.

Aizawa rolled his eyes, his wide nose flaring in sheer annoyance.

"I should clarify," he expounded for his counterpart. "We worked with Ryuzaki... or L."

They met L?!

Aizawa didn't seem to care admitting this to us, which made me wonder how much he already knew. "There have been... developments in the Kira case. We need to ask a few questions."

It was a vague response, but I understood why. The two cops had a large audience that they probably weren't expecting. They really only needed to speak with Roger, the head of the administration. Not to the three random women standing around them.

The sounds of footsteps running down the corridors above cut through the small silence. Matsuda peered up curiously, his eyes trying to follow where the sound was moving.

Roger cleared his throat and adjusted the cuffs on his sleeves. "Well, you wouldn't have travelled across the globe to us if it wasn't important. Maybe you would like to continue this conversation in private? Away from the potential listening ears of children?"

Aizawa nodded, and lightly tugged on Matsuda's sleeve. He pried his eyes away from the ceiling, coming back to the present conversation. The two then followed Roger, as he took them to his office.

"That was unexpected," Heidi commented, taking off her fur coat. "I wonder what they need."

She strolled into the lounge, running her hand underneath the table. She then turned to the lamp and circled her palm around its shade.

She was looking for any bugs they might have placed. When her hands came out clean, we knew that they had not placed any recorders.

"There will be no prying," Fifi warned. "The conversation is solely between the two authorities and Roger. He is the only one trained to handle such interrogations. You all are not to speak with them, do I make myself clear?!"

Linda's face paled and her eyes darted away. She appeared almost... guilty. I'm sure it was because she let them into the orphanage.

But I was glad she did.

Those two men had information on the Kira case. This might be the only time I get access to information about Near, Mello, and Matt's wellbeing.

I bit my lip.

This was a rare case in which I knew I would not be listening to Fifi.

Fifi lightly coughed into the sleeve of her wool cardigan, before she beckoned us. "Right now, there are things we need to do. I need someone to help me monitor lunch and someone to help Linda sort through her canvases and deposit slips."

"I'll help with lunch," I quickly volunteered.

Linda looked slightly hurt. I flushed, realizing how quickly I opted out of helping her. It wasn't meant to be that way.

Monitoring lunch gave me the duty of ensuring all the children were behaving and heading to eat. It granted me the liberty of moving through the corridors.

It gave me the chance to spy on Roger.

I didn't want to lose that opportunity.

"I'll help Linda," Heidi sighed. "I can go through the deposit slips? You can figure your art out?"

Linda nodded before murmuring, "Yeah, sounds good."

Her head was casted down. My response had definitely affected her in some way. I made a mental note to apologize to her before she left.

Fifi geared me towards the corridors and we headed our separate ways.

I held my breath as I neared Roger's office. My toes were light on the floorboards. I was terrified it might squeal and alert the officers I was here.

Roger's office was notoriously soundproof, so I needed to be up close.

I slid my body up to the side of the grandfather clock, and pressed my ear against the wall.

Their voices came through muffled, but I was fortunate to make some statements out.

Matsuda was the loudest, so his was easy.

"We are sorry for your loss," he condoled in his heavy accent. "L was a good man."

Roger uttered what I believed to be a thank you in response. There were other words I could not make out, but by his intonation I knew he was asking them a question.

Aizawa spoke next, his English more advanced than Matsuda's. "We are in the Japanese Task Force. L created it. It was kept private from the public. Once, we were the only police force going after Kira. Now, there is the SPK in the United States."

What's the SPK?

"With L gone, we are trying to connect some things that could help in our case," Aizawa admitted. "It's said that Quillish Wammy opened multiple orphanages with the fortune he built off patents. Is that true?"

Roger verified, "Yes."

"We need to know why he built them."

"I scarcely see how this would relate to your case," Roger motioned.

There was a silence after that. I wish I was in the room to see their faces.

Aizawa cleared his throat and disclosed, "The head of the Japanese National Police Agency, Kanichi Takimura, was recently kidnapped. We were given a lead of who might have him. Are you familiar with a Mello?"

My heart skipped a beat.

Mello...

I didn't know which one struck me worse. The fact that someone leaked his name to them or that Mello was being accused of holding someone hostage.

"Did he live here?" Matsuda added.

Roger sighed. For a moment, all I could hear was the ticking from the clock next to me. The quick paces matched my heartbeat, which was pounding against my chest violently.

"I guess it's okay to tell you about it, since both L and Watari are dead," Roger motioned.

No. What was he doing?!

"This is no ordinary orphanage, as you might have already presumed. It's more of an institution where highly intelligent children are raised to become the next L, more or less."

"What do you mean?" Aizawa prodded.

"That we are actively raising the successors of L's. You didn't really think that the world's eye wouldn't have a replacement, did you?" he pried condescendingly.

"Not really," Matsuda sheepishly admitted.

I heard him grunt and wondered if Aizawa nudged him.

"And Mello was one of them?" Aizawa then asked.

Say no. Protect him.

"Yes," Roger confirmed.

"What's his full name?" Aizawa immediately interrogated.

Roger sighed, "I can't tell you. No one knows it. Because we are raising the next generation of L's, everybody's names were kept secret- even to me. We only know their aliases... nicknames..." the way he added that implied to me that there might have been a language barrier there.

I felt a little more relieved at hearing him say that. Roger did know their names. But he pretended he didn't.

"Is what you do that secret?" Aizawa wondered curiously. There was a tone of disbelief in his voice.

"Well, on top of normal schooling, every child here is given extremely advanced work to do."

"What do you mean? Like the Gaokao Exam?" Matsuda wondered, half-jokingly.

"Precisely."

A stunned silence followed.

"Who is the main successor?" Aizawa asked in a more serious manner.

"A boy named Near scored the highest here," Roger continued, "and the one you are asking about, Mello, was second to him."

There was a comment made, but the wall swallowed it up.

"When I was informed of L's death," Roger continued. "I had wanted both Near and Mello to take L's place. Mello wasn't too fond of the idea and left on his own accord. Near left shortly after. That's about as much as I can tell you. I have no clue where they are now, as that was four years ago."

"Do you have any photographs of them?"

"No."

"But you would be able to identify them?"

"Yes, I suppose."

There was some shuffling noises and then an eerie silence.

I pressed my ear harder against the wall.

"Where...?" Roger muttered.

"The woman downstairs, Linda, sketched these portraits for us. She said the boys in these photos would be the ones going after Kira. Can you identify them?"

"That is Mello... and that is Near..."

"Are they accurate?"

In a strained voice, Roger answered, "They are perfect."

I felt the floor spin around me. I pushed myself off against the wall, having heard all I needed to hear. My ears rang from the sudden amount of emotions bubbling up within me. My eyes stung with burning tears. My hands shook in rage.

"Thank you for your compliance," Aizawa said.

I felt sick.

I darted towards the lounge, not caring about who saw me now.

Linda was alone now.

The canvases were packed up and ready to go. The deposit slips were gone, as was Heidi who was presumably on her way to the bank with them.

Linda met my stare, her eyes still melancholy. When she noticed my anger, her expression melted into one of hesitation and fear.

I now knew why she looked so guilty before.

She knew I knew.

"You betrayer," I seethed.

I had never been so heated at her in my life. She knew it too. Her disposition full of anxiety, Linda slowly rose her shaking hands up in a sign of peace. I almost wanted to bitterly laugh at it. How could she signify peace when she just threw Mello and Near's identities to a police force we didn't even know was on our side or not?!

She took some steps towards me, like I was a rabid dog she was wanting to tame.

"Y/N..." she attempted.

"Please, get away from me," I hissed, taking a step back.

Linda flinched and stood still, eyeing me cautiously.

"I should have seen it coming," I croaked. "But I can't... I can't believe you did that!"

Linda shook her head. "I can't believe you don't understand why I did."

She must have gotten more confidence, because she stood up straighter and lifted her chin proudly into the air.

"Anyone who goes against Kira needs to be caught," she declared.

"They are our friends!"

"Your friends."

"Ours!" I snapped. "Do not tell me they were never your friends! Do not rewrite history to ease your guilt!"

Linda's chin trembled slightly and she jerked her head from me. "Stop! You're making it up! I was never that close with them!"

"You liar! Do you not realize how worried Matt was when your hand stopped moving?! Do you know how highly Near spoke of you?! Do you not remember how Mello protected you again and again from people who sought to hurt you, like Jeremiah?!"

"That was when we were children," Linda scoffed. "Now, look at what they are doing! They are going after someone who will make the world a better place."

"They are going after a murderer," I growled.

I took a step forward to Linda, letting my anger pour out, "And if Kira hurts them now, know that you had a part to play in it."

It was a very harsh statement to say. I knew I should have been gentler. I was staring at this famous painter in front of me and only saw a traitor. I lost the plot that Linda and I used to be best friends. It made me be less kind.

Linda's eyes grew cold. She leaned in closer to me and snarled, "They chose their fate."

I bit my tongue, barricading an army of insults and words my anger desired to throw at her. Linda collected her things from the lounge, and brushed past me harshly. I staggered as her shoulder collided into mine.

I never turned around. Not even when I heard the door knob turn.

But Linda had one last thing to say.

"Don't get yourself involved," she cautioned. "You were probably thinking about it. Just stay safe."

I never replied.

She shut the door.

I don't know how long I stared at the lounge. But it was long enough for me to decide that I was not going to stand idly by and do nothing.

After a few moments, Roger returned with Aizawa and Matsuda.

He was leading them out to the front door. I gasped and hid behind one of the walls in the lounge, so they wouldn't see me.

Aizawa entered the space and set his bag down on the table. He strolled back to the door to put his shoes on.

The three men were giving each other simple remarks, nothing out of the ordinary. They thanked Roger again for his compliance, while he wished them safe journeys home.

I couldn't let them go back to Japan with the sketches.

I saw two white papers stuffed into one of the pockets of Aizawa's bag. Those must be it.

I crept over to it slowly, making no noise. While they were distracted, I yanked the photos out.

The sketches were very realistic. It was like looking at a real photo of Mello and Near... but back when we were kids. This was almost five years ago.

Did they look like this now?

I quickly turned to move back to the shelter of the wall. In my own horrendous, unlucky nature, I tripped over the carpet. My fall made a noise, announcing my presence.

"Hey!" Matsuda's voice alerted. "What are you doing?!"

I gasped and jumped up, having been caught.

Aizawa frowned and extended his hand. "Give those back. You are tampering with evidence."

"Composite sketches are not evidence," I shot back, clenching onto the photos harder. "Not with the heresay rule."

"We need those."

I stubbornly kept them close to me.

Roger frowned at my defiance. "Give them back to the authorities. Stop this nonsense."

Aizawa and Matsuda glanced at each other. They began to speak in Japanese. I don't think they realized I learned the language at this institution. I understood everything.

"She seems very defensive over those photographs. Do you think she knows them?" Matsuda inquired.

Aizawa grunted, "I think so. It may be worth it to bring her in for questioning. If she has an emotional attachment to them, perhaps she might be able to help us identify Mello."

It almost looked like Matsuda was remembering something tragic. His face drooped and terror briefly plagued his eyes.

"You don't mean questioning like L did with Misa Misa, right?!"

"No, don't be stupid."

"Should we ask Light what he thinks?"

"We don't need to go through him for everything."

Aizawa turned towards me and ordered. "You. I'm bringing you in for questioning."

I don't think this was legal. I think it breached not only local law, but also international law. However, everything happened too fast for me to argue my case.

"Wait a moment, don't you think you're being hasty?!" Roger stammered. "She's our nurse!"

He appeared floored as they seized me by my arms. Aizawa was so strong that he easily pinned my one side to him while draping his bag over his other arm.

I was dumbfounded.

There were exchanges of protests and pleads, but I could not remember them. My heart hammered so viciously that my rib cage rattled. That or it was the aggressive nature in which I was carried out of the orphanage.

"Where are we going?!" I cried out as I was escorted to their vehicle.

"Airport," Matsuda answered, ecstatically.

His energy was youthful and his aura kind. He could almost pass for being in his twenties, although I knew he was older. The information from his identification card told me that.

Aizawa opened the back seat for me and hoisted me in.

"We will tell you more later," he promised. "Don't be scared. We are the good guys."

"Good guys that kidnap people?" I retorted, completely flummoxed by this situation.

"Is Mello a good guy?" Aizawa wondered.

I paled, realizing he was referring to the hostage situation.

"We are not kidnapping you," he corrected. "We are just bringing you in for questioning."

I think it's the same thing...

The door slammed, closing me off from the safety of The Wammy's House.

People scurried around the airport in various directions. It was unlucky, since they were all preoccupied with their own objectives. No one seemed to notice how odd our presence was.

Our strange appearance should have caused some alarm… or at least a second glance. The men next to me wore formal suits, which made my business casual attire stick out like a sore thumb. Not only that, but I had no suitcase… nor any bags for that matter. I didn’t fit in at the airport.

In fact, I didn’t have any identification or passport.

I glimpsed at the two men who were leading me through the terminal.

They didn’t think things through enough to even check. Are these really police officers?

We traveled deeper into terminal three- the largest terminal in the airport. The men halted in front of the hanging monitors. They stared at the screens, communicating to each other in Japanese while pointing at flights going in and out.

Chicago… Los Angeles… New York…

They moved to the next board. Then to the next.

One of them glitched. It pixelated for a mere moment, a scattered rainbow streaming across the monitor, before the words became clear again.

Kirishima… Osaka… Narita…

Matsuda gasped and shouted, “Atchi mite! (Look there!)”

I inspected the city he was pointing at.

Tokyo.

My throat dried. That plane was due to leave in two hours.

Aizawa muttered something to Matsuda. He eyed me tentatively, before he walked towards the ticket counter to purchase tickets for the Tokyo flight.

The young police officer grabbed my hand and said in broken English, “Follow us please. We will buy for you to travel.”

His eager gaze stayed on me as he lightly guided me towards the booth. I followed him, transfixed.

His natural inclination to be caring almost made me forget that they were quite literally stealing me. Wanting to trust him was easy. But perhaps that was why he was like this. He played the good cop and made you forget the predicament you were in.

We met Aizawa in line.

He pulled out his wallet from his bag in preparation. The police badge on its cover flashed dauntingly. The sketches were secured in that bag. I had failed to retrieve them... not only that, but I was now being taken too. How twisted.

The long line in front of us moved agonizingly slow. I could tell the two men were running out of patience. Aizawa kept tapping his foot, while his eyes repeatedly scanned the airport. Matsuda would lift his wrist up to his face, glimpsing at the time ever so often. It was followed by a whistle or a quick throat clearing. Anything really that made noise.

I knew better than to think it was just impatience. I wasn’t oblivious to the fact that they were watching me. Any shift or twitch in my body caused them to glance over.

They were waiting for my attempt to flee.

Their suspicion was valid. I had been searching for an opportunity.

The busier sections of the terminal were past luggage check in and security clearances. There were no shops or bathrooms that I could hide in. However, since this space was busy, the crowd of people could be an advantage.

I thought of bolting out of the line and running to the doors. I could then jump into a taxi waiting outside the terminal and beg for a lift back to the orphanage…

But there were so many things that could go wrong. I could have trouble squeezing my way through their bodies… and if the policemen chase after me while waving their badges, I would look like an escaped suspect. I’m sure confused citizens would try to stop my escape to aid the officers.

No one would believe my ramblings about the abduction over the words of the authorities.

Frustration and anxiety dueled within me. I peered up at the ceiling, wondering perhaps if I could just climb up to the roof.

I spotted a surveillance camera. I squinted at it, trying to make sure I was seeing this right.

The light was off.

I found another one tucked by the door we entered.

No light on that one either.

The cameras were turned off. That’s strange… airports were normally on top of their security.

The line moved up. Aizawa tilted his chin, implying I needed to step forward first. He didn’t trust turning his back to me.

I did as he asked, since I did not yet have a solution to evade him.

The two followed close behind, before standing guard at my shoulders.

They spoke in Japanese to each other- which they normally did when it was just the two of them talking.

Matsuda yawned behind me and murmured, “I need coffee.”

Aizawa sighed, checking his watch yet again. “If we have time, you can grab one.” He grimaced and scanned over the shoulders of the people. “If this line doesn’t move quicker, we might miss the flight.”

Wishful thinking.

“Watch where you’re going!”

Disgruntled grunts and harsh whispers came from one of the lines next to us.

A man was cutting through frantically, wheeling his suitcase behind him. I couldn’t make out what his facial expression was, since the grey hood of his wooly covered it. However, by the way his body moved it seemed he was daunted. The blue "5k Marathon" label on the front of the fabric shook with his rapid movements.

He must be late.

He cut in front of us. He tripped. His suitcase popped open with his fall, littering the floor with clothes and other toiletries.

Aizawa and Matsuda took a step back to avoid getting hit.

"Ouch!" the man retorted, scrambling to his knees.

His voice sounded young.

"Are you okay?" Aizawa asked.

The tone in his voice indicated he was rather jarred at this occurrence.

"I... I don't know..." the stranger stammered.

Matsuda bent down, lending a helping hand. He gathered some of the clothes that sprawled out in front of his feet.

Peculiar... those clothes...

I squinted at the arrangement around me, then at the hooded man who Aizawa was hoisting off the ground.

His body appeared lanky and tiny next to Aizawa. The collared shirts dangling off Matsuda's arms were way too big for him.

The hooded stranger's bag of toiletries had landed near my heels.

I stared at its contents. A black comb... a travel sized toothbrush... toothpaste...

Denture cleaner.

I gulped. This suitcase did not belong to the hooded man. Did he steal it? Or maybe he saw someone forgot it? Is that why he was running?

But if it didn't belong to him... then who-?

Something pushed into my back.

My heart skipped a beat.

The pressure against my spine intensified, before I heard ominous clicking.

My blood ran cold at the sound.

That's a gun.

The hot breath from the man behind me burned at my ears.

"Make a scene and I'll kill you."

My breaths came out shaky. I froze, not knowing what else to do. Aizawa and Matsuda were preoccupied with the stranger in front of them. They didn't notice because of that messy fall.

The hooded man was causing a scene... no, he was causing a diversion. This was all a hoax to keep those two and others focused on him.

The voice ordered me again. "Follow me. Quickly."

His hand gripped roughly on my arm and pulled me away from the line.

I gasped as he sped walked with me.

There were flashes of colors all around from the various people we were navigating through.

The man holding me was larger set. His plump face was scarcely covered by the red baseball cap he wore. His forehead purged out in a frown, as his tiny eyes focused in front of him. Sweat poured down his reddened face, dripping off his unkempt stubble.

I didn't recognize him.

"Who are you?!" I asked, attempting to dig my heels into the ground.

He yanked me harder and I yelped.

"Are you crazy?" he growled, glancing quickly behind his shoulder. "Don't be fucking stupid. Keep moving."

He had an American accent. He was a foreigner too, just like the police officers.

After successfully moving far away from the Japanese police, the man secreted us behind a large sign.

He pointed his gun directly at my head, so that he could let go of my arm. I gulped, staring at the end of the weapon that could easily end my life. Using his free hand, he pulled out his cellphone and sent a quick text.

The phone made a swish sound, before he flipped the top down.

"That son of a bitch better hurry," he mumbled to himself, as he reached into his pocket again.

The next thing he took out was a bottle of Nexium. He popped open the cap, shook some pills into his mouth and crunched down on them.

I wanted to utter another protest or call for help, but a yell beat me to it. Panic surged through me at the voice.

"HEY!" Aizawa roared. "STOP!"

The man in front of me sharply swallowed, stuffing his pills back into his pocket. The sweat on him seeped through his shirt as his eyes glued to the entrance door ahead. He was waiting for something... but what?

I followed his gaze curiously.

A man walked in with a grey hoodie. It was the same one that the suitcase stranger wore. It had the same blue "5K Marathon" label on the front. Was that him?

I gasped as another person shoved their way next to us, behind the sign.

"Shit, shit, shit," they stammered.

The man holding the gun did not seem phased at his sudden appearance. "Hurry up, Greg. He's almost here."

The new person, Greg, took off the grey hooded sweatshirt, revealing his lanky form.

But if he was here... then who was...

I looked back at where the other man had walked in. Aizawa and Matsuda were rushing towards him.

"STOP!" Aizawa called out.

The man in the grey hoodie seemed confused. He peered behind his shoulders, as if to see who they were calling to.

Two seconds later, he was tackled to the ground.

He let out shouts of protest, kicking his feet and punching at Aizawa.

"What's the deal?! Hey! Let me go!"

"Stop resisting!"

"The girl isn't with him!" Matsuda wailed in Japanese, scanning the area around the poor man on the ground.

Aizawa grunted and released the struggling man, prioritizing my location more.

"Find her," Aizawa ordered to his counterpart. "Before the plane leaves."

I bit my lip, my eyes darting from one kidnapper to the other. I had no clue what I should do. How would I outrun them both?

There was a ding from Greg's pocket. I didn't know for sure though. I couldn't look at him because the gun was now pressed directly on my temple.

"I see it in your eyes, don't you dare run," the man warned brutishly.

I gulped.

"He's here," Greg announced.

Who is 'he'?!

The sweaty man glowered at me.

"Put it on," he demanded, tilting the weapon slightly.

"What?"

The grey hoodie was thrown at me.

I had no choice but to wear it, fearing that I would be fashioning my own blood if I didn't. The man shoved the hood up to cover my face.

The three of us walked back into the public view. Greg and the other man held my arms and lead me to the doors.

My heart hammered so hard I was worried I would faint. Where were they taking me? Who were these people? Was I safer with the police officers? Should I scream?

"Stop looking so fucking afraid," the sweaty man hoarsely whispered.

I tried my best to feign a neutral expression, but I was no actor. I could already tell by my light headedness and racing heart that I must appear sickly.

We stepped out of the airport.

A white Tesco delivery vehicle sped into the lot. The breaks screeched to a stop.

My two kidnappers rushed towards the back of the car. Greg unlatched the doors. They shoved me in.

My body slammed against the floor of the vehicle. It was cold and smelled vaguely like rotten food. Some boxes were stacked near the end, peaking just above the small partition that allowed you to see the driver's space in the front.

The men climbed in and shut the doors.

My body slid as the driver rushed out of the airport. I painfully crashed into the side of the car. I forced myself to sit up as the vehicle turned again, not wanting to slide into the men across from me.

The sweaty man groaned as we hit a bump, holding his stomach. "I hate driving with this guy."

"Did they see you?" a voice inquired from the front of the car.

That voice...

I tried to peer up at the driver, but I couldn't see him through the partition.

"Kinda, but they got that other runner like you said they would!" Greg answered. "So we are in the clear!"

He had an American accent too.

I took him in. Greg had curly brown hair that was almost blonde. It drooped in front of his tan, extremely sun kissed skin. It was Fall here in the United Kingdom, so I wondered where he was getting this type of sun exposure.

His blue eyes met mine and he gave me an apologetic smile. One of his front teeth were missing. It looked like it had been knocked out.

"They didn't see nothin'," the sweaty man affirmed. "They was dumb as rocks."

I eyed the gun that he set down next to him.

He was preoccupied in taking off his baseball cap. He fanned himself with it, especially over his black buzz cut which shimmered grossly.

He didn't even notice that the gun was in arms reach. It was rattling against the vehicle's floor, inching closer to me with the gravity of the car's momentum.

I wondered if that was my way out.

I wouldn't shoot it... but the threat alone could force them to open the door. Then I could make a run for it.

Without giving myself time to back out of this plan, I quickly snatched the weapon. I jolted up and pointed it directly at the man.

My hands shook as I put my finger on the cold trigger.

Greg gaped at me, but the man did not flinch. He continued fanning himself as if I didn't have a gun pointing at him.

"Let me out and you won't get hurt," I forced out, surprised I could make my voice so threateningly low.

His thick eyebrow arched.

"Skyer," Greg muttered.

The man, Skyer, grinned. The sinister smile took me aback. I didn't expect him to deride me given the circumstances.

"Pull the trigger," he instigated. "Go on. Do it."

My eyes widened in shock. My finger wouldn't move. Who was I kidding? I couldn't bring myself to shoot this gun, even if I wanted to.

Skyer laughed. The loud, boisterous sound slipped out of his yellow stained teeth.

"I knew you didn't have the guts!" he jeered. "But even if you did, nothing woulda happened. There ain't no bullets in there."

I lowered the gun down, completely dumbstruck.

He guffawed even harder at my surprise. Even Greg let out a few snickers.

"Aye!" Skyer shouted to the driver. "She just tried to shoot me back here!"

The car stopped. I lost my balance and fell onto my knees.

I gulped, regret beating me for my earlier actions. I should have put more thought behind this. I should have been more careful. There were no other avenues to get out of this situation. I was facing a dead end.

The voice in the driver's seat asked him to repeat what he said. His tone was full of disbelief.

My heart hammered. If the driver was angry, I had no choice but to believe they would punish me.

"The woman tried to shoot me!" Skyer reiterated.

The driver laughed.

My heart lurched.

That laugh...

That wheezing laugh.

There was a movement from the driver's seat. It made the vehicle rock. I peered at the front.

And met a pair of glimmering golden eyes.

They crinkled with pride.

"Threatening people with guns?" Matt snorted. "Not what I expected out of my Y/N."

Chapter Text

My voice came out as a whisper.

"Matt..."

At the sound of his name, his smile widened.

He pulled down his goggles, letting them hang limply around his neck.

"Wait, you two know each other?!" Greg gasped.

"We do," he replied softly.

His eyes never left mine. He stared at me with great intention, meticulously scanning every inch of my face. I was doing the same.

It was like I was rememorizing him. He looked the same... but yet different. His facial structure had transformed from the round, boyish face I was familiar with into an angular, diamond shape. His cheekbones tapered inward, chiseling him in a masculine way. Still, I could faintly make out the faded freckles that dusted over them. The small constellation scattered on his face was unmistakably my childhood friend's.

If that didn't give him away, his eyes surely did. Through the side-swept bangs that fell forward from his unkempt auburn hair, his bright hazel eyes gleamed.

They were playful, teetering on the edges of pure zest and mischief.

I would recognize him by that sight alone.

My enigma.

Skyer let out a guttural noise.

"The reunion can wait," he argued. "Rod won't like us away too long, so we need to haul ass over to Rashid."

Matt slipped his goggles back onto his face and affirmed, "Sadly Skyer's right, Y/N. You and I will have to wait just a little longer."

I caught him wink at me, before he tacked on, "After nearly five years, what's a few more hours right?"

'A few more hours' was an eternity. I had a million questions for him.

Matt twisted around and disappeared behind the partition.

Slight panic surged through me when I couldn't see him anymore. My brain couldn't process that he was sitting up there. That or I didn't trust myself enough to believe it. I might have made this up in a fit of psychosis.

The car purred and accelerated back onto the road.

Everything was so obscured. I had scarcely any clue on how they found me nor where they were taking me. I doubted I could even trust the two men travelling to the unknown destination with me.

Skyer's cold leer broke through the pinnacle of my thoughts.

For the first time, he was taking time to really watch me closely. His incredulous glare only intensified my discomfort. There was something so carnal about it. I felt like a rodent being preyed upon by a bloodthirsty falcon.

I pushed myself back against the wall of the car, finding comfort in creating distance between me and the men I had previously attempted to shoot. My hand still held the gun. The metal weapon was shaking, its barrenness creating a hollow rattling sound.

Or perhaps that was the clattering of my teeth.

"Matt?" I called out limply.

Fear overpowered my perception of reality. His name escaped my lips like a cry. The rationality that I hallucinated him seemed more probable than not, especially since my childhood memories with him and the others were my arbitrary. Anyone could be in the driver's seat. I might be losing my mind while held captive by these American strangers.

Matt's voice returned the air to my lungs.

"Still here."

My heart race accelerated. I'm not imagining it... he's really back.

"Do you think Rod's really going to be angry at us?" Greg vocalized to Skyer.

The young man's semblance leaked of anxiety. He rubbed his lean arm in an attempt to comfort himself.

That was the second time they referenced Rod. Why did these two men seem afraid of making this person mad?

"Probably," Skyer dissented, his eyes narrowing down on me. "I don't know if we even got the right woman."

"You're crazy! Matt would've said something if we took the wrong one," Greg rationalized.

"Or he lied to us about who we were getting."

"Why would he go through all this trouble picking up a random girl?"

Skyer's gaze hardened, despite his partner's protests.

"Come on, Skyer," Greg pled. "Matt didn't turn off the airport security system for nothing. I mean, he even messed with the street cameras. He put himself on the line for this."

"That doesn't mean shit. Matt would do all that just because he's bored."

"But Rod sent us on this mission-"

"No, Rod sent us to Japan. Then, he ordered us to come back to America with the others. Matt is the one who told us we needed to take a random pit stop in England."

"But Matt was told by Rod and then we were told by Matt who was told by Rod."

"Right, it's all a fucking game of telephone. He said, she said bullshit."

Skyer finally broke his contact with me, fixating instead on the partition.

"I don't think he was being honest," he muttered.

Greg seemed genuinely afflicted by this news. His brows furrowed tightly together as he tugged on his ear lobe.

"Why?" he wondered, his voice low.

Skyer's eyes found mine again. My throat dried up.

His orbs trailed slowly from mine, down to the gun in my hands.

"Call it a hunch," he commented.

This strange predicament left me reeling. They were talking about me as if I could not hear them. They didn't know who I was. I don't know who they think I am.

A weird feeling stirred in my gut.

The security cameras turning off... street cameras not working... the intentional distraction that lured Matsuda and Aizawa away from me...

It was too clean. How did Matt just happen to make it in time?

I squeezed the unloaded gun tighter.

Yet another question to be asked.

But I wasn't going to speak until Matt was here to fill in the gaps. He had me staged again in another one of his mysterious plays... from experience, I knew I needed to wait until he gave me cues. Even after not seeing him for years, that imp still found a way to make my head twirl.

The two barely spoke again after that. Skyer reclined his head back against the wall of the vehicle and closed his eyes. After some time, his breathing grew heavy and strangely infrequent. He was napping... though, not peacefully. Every so often, his breath would catch in his chest and he would gasp. Despite this, he never woke up.

Greg wasn't bothered by Skyer's sleep apnea. On the other hand, he distracted himself to keep busy. He removed one of his loose buttons from the undershirt he wore. He found entertainment by tossing it up to the roof of the car and catching it.

It went up. Click. Fell down. Clap. Up. Click. Down. Clap.

The motions were the only indicators of time I had.

The bottom of the car's floor vibrated underneath us. It tickled my tailbone. The sound of rubble rolling underneath car wheels would normally be unobtrusive, but I latched onto it since it was the only clue I had on where we possibly could be.

A lot maybe... or a driveway...

The car stopped.

Wherever we were, it was our final destination.

I had no clue how long we had been driving. It must have been for quite a while, because Skyer's knees made audible cracking noises when he hoisted himself up.

Greg followed his lead, practically leaping to his feet. His body, though thin, was incredibly lean. Defined muscles flexed as he stood. My anatomy knowledge made me notate that those muscles were the result of consistent cardiovascular fitness. He was either into aerobics or running.

I probably could have tried to run away from Skyer in the airport. He was strong, but I knew that as long as I didn't fall, I could outrun him. However, with Greg, the idea of fleeing was improbable. Even if I had known the gun was unloaded, running away would have been a dead mission.

That fact made me feel a little bit less harsh on myself.

And yet, knowing that Matt was here, I had to admit I was happy I didn't escape. But still, these two men gave me very bad gut feelings.

Skyer pushed open the doors of the vehicle, letting in the cold autumn breeze. Greg leapt out and landed on the small, arctic stones that littered the ground. He halted, extending his arms up to a stretch. His tan hands reached up to the sky, which was eerily dark.

The heavy aroma of rain hit my nose. That's right... there was a storm coming tonight.

Greg cleared his throat. The dryness in its sound came as no surprise, since his mouth had been open during his short rest. He swallowed, lubricating his throat.

"Step out," he ordered laconically.

I stood up hesitantly, keeping my eyes on him. "You're not worried I'll run away?"

Skyer balled up the red baseball hat in his fist and snorted.

I guess not.

I walked to the doors, keeping my body as close to the opposing wall as I could, before descending out of the Tesco delivery vehicle.

My feet hit the ground... and I pieced together why he wasn't afraid of me running. I had never been more confused. Everything around me was familiar but nothing made cohesive sense.

In the distance was green fields which swayed under the breeze of the impending storm. White rubble laid out the ends of our perimeter. Two metal hangars were stationed in the far right... and separating them was a Dixy Chicken?

The blue neon light on the sign blinked in and out. The red head of the chicken was dim too. The batteries needed to be replaced... but... as I scanned the area, I didn't see how this place would get any business at all- with or without new lights. This fast food place wasn't connected to any major roads.

We were in the middle of nowhere.

Skyer slid out of the back of the car and left the doors open. Between his legs, I could see the area where a license plate should have been. This vehicle didn't have one.

Checks out, I reckon.

He shut the door behind him and grumbled under his breath. His feet scuffed the ground as he complained about the next stage of travel.

"I just wanna go home... this is such bullshit..."

As he passed me, his eyes lowered to the gun in my hands. Without even asking, he ripped it from my grip and stuffed it into his belt. I struggled to swallow, realizing I was now without a means to defend myself...

Well, I guess it never really worked in the first place...

The clammer of another door shutting urged me.

I practically darted to the side of the car.

I stopped before I approached him. I had to do a double-take.

The man a few feet in front of me leaned against the driver's side door. His tall body hunched slightly as he brought a lighter up to his lips. A flick noise ensued. He kissed the flame to the end of the cigarette, which dangled between his thin lips. The red glow of the cherry highlighted his pale skin as he inhaled. He removed the cigarette and slowly exhaled. The smoke tangoed with the air, dissipating into the sky.

His tall body relaxed back against the car. He was well over six feet now. The frame of his body was novel to me. The vest he wore laid on his wide shoulders while his shirt fit tightly against his broad chest. Its red and black striped sleeves were rolled up past his forearms, bunching up underneath his large biceps. Dangling near his thin waist was a black backpack.

He noticed I was here. His eyes flickered over to me.

I could see them more distinctly, since his goggles were pushed up. They pulled back his thick hair.

My cheeks burned at the sight of him. I felt inhibited in his presence, partially because I haven't seen him in years... and I didn't expect him to look so... attractive. How was I even supposed to act right now?

Matt took out his cigarette and grinned at me. I noticed the cute gap in his tooth. It was the little things that reminded me who this man was.

He flicked the ash onto the ground. It cascaded to his black leather boots.

"You smoke," I lamely stated.

Out of all the things I could have said, that was what my mind wanted?!

"You see," Matt snickered, poking fun at my observance.

He still had a puerile attitude.

Matt placed the cigarette to his lips again, the smile still tugging them tight.

"Since when?" I wondered.

Matt gave me a half shrug, letting the smoke pour out of his mouth again.

"When I needed a new fix," he vaguely answered.

A drop of rain fell from the sky and landed on my nose. I flinched at the cold sensation. A dull rumble of thunder proceeded it.

"It's raining," Matt commented, holding out his hand.

Some more drops tapped against the ground.

"You see," I replicated back to him.

His golden eyes glistened at my retort, finding humor in what I said. They crinkled under the smile which never seemed to leave his face.

Then, his eyebrow ticked upwards. He stood up from the car and pivoted his body towards me. Matt's gaze oscillated between my eyes and my mouth as he took another draw of his cigarette. There was a strange flare in his expression... I've seen it cross his face before. It was that spark of a boy who took on a dare.

Stones rolled behind me. A gasp erupted from my throat and I curled inwards, planting my heels into the ground. My body naturally responded like I was about to get kidnapped again.

How foolish.

Greg slowed his run as he neared us. "Are we going in? It's starting to rain."

His blue eyes were stuck on Matt, awaiting his response. I quickly realized that my old friend carried authority over the two. They did what they were ordered to do. Whoever Rod was must have some control over Matt, which then trickled down to the others.

Matt dropped his cigarette onto the ground and stomped on it. He turned his boot, grinding the fiery bud to a pile of ash.

"Sure," he replied to the young man. "Let's go see our buddy."

We moved to the Dixy Chicken. I followed close to Matt. Honestly, I had yet to feel fully comfortable in our reunion, since it has been a long time. But in this menagerie of random settings and people, I discovered a sense of security by staying next to someone familiar.

He rocketed over me. Matt was always taller than me, but this was mad. I grew perhaps two more inches taller between thirteen and nineteen; this was the height I would remain until my old bonds grind me down.

Matt, on the other hand, seemed to grow a whole foot taller. The twenty year old still had a skinny waist, but he carried so much more muscle now. I used to tumble into a pair of skinny arms back at The Wammy's House. Peering at his muscular outline now was daunting. What had happened in the last five-ish years?

Matt caught me staring.

"Like what you see?" he teased.

My cheeks burned. I played with the loose sleeves of the grey hoodie I wore nervously.

"You look different," I commented.

"So do you."

I glanced up at him, but he already redirected his attention to Greg who was opening the door for us. I caught the tip of Matt's ear redden. Maybe it was just the lights from the interior of the fast food place we were stepping into.

The fluorescent lights bounced off the red painted walls and spotlighted us.

The air inside was this place was hot which made me feel sticky. We transitioned from a cold, humid climate into a musty, small room. The interior smelled of frying oil and roasted chicken. There were dusty round tables around us. The one nearest to me had an opened Mayonnaise packet sprawled out in its center.

I didn't know how old it was... but judging by the dirty state of the floor, I was sure it had been there for a while.

Roger would have an aneurism stepping inside this place.

Two people emerged from the kitchen. One was a woman who's age was difficult to decipher. She was frail and small. The way she carried herself seemed youthful, but there were wrinkles on her face. Her fake eyelashes fluttered as she gazed between us and the register she was opening. Her pencil lined lips smacked together as she angrily chomped on her gum, seemingly peeved that we were here.

Or, actually, she was jarred at the man behind her. The second person who came out from the kitchen eyed us suspiciously. The bags under his droopy eyes were an alarming shade of black. He was whispering something in her ear, to which she rolled her eyes. The older man then backed up from the register, pulling on his large nose. He disappeared into the kitchen.

"Welcome to Dixy Chicken, how can I help you?" she called out to us in a bored tone.

Skyer answered for us.

"We want to pay our compliments to the chef," he said, crossing his arms. "He blew us away."

The chef?

The girl froze, her eyes taking us in. It was like she was truly seeing us for the first time.

"The chef would like you to order something first," she said slowly.

Skyer tilted his head. "The number thirty- one."

"The Cali?" the cashier inquired.

Skyer nodded. "Yeah."

I glanced up curiously, investigating the board above that showcased the food. That wasn't on the menu.

What were they talking about?

She typed something into her register, which then popped out a receipt. Her acrylic nails shimmered as she tore the paper out of the register.

She escaped into the back with it.

Matt stuffed his hands into his jean pockets and casually strolled forward, peering up at the menu.

"You lot hungry?" he wondered.

"A little," Greg answered.

Skyer shrugged. "I can go for a bite."

Matt glanced behind his shoulder at me, awaiting an answer. I shook my head no.

With everything that has happened so far, I doubt I could stomach anything. My mind was too overwhelmed with unanswered questions to even consider eating.

"You sure?" Matt pushed. "We won't get another opportunity to eat for a while."

I nodded, trying to gulp down the lump in my throat his statement just gave me. Why was that? Where were we going?

Matt's lips pressed together and he casted me a pitiful expression. I evaded his eyes and fiddled with the strings of the hoodie I was still wearing. I wouldn't be talked into it... not when there were so many other things I wanted to ask other than what sounded good on the menu.

The woman came back.

"Chef Rashid said it'll be a moment," she stated, perching herself at the register.

Rashid. Skyer mentioned that name in the car.

"Cheers," Matt said, giving her a small grin.

The woman's mouth fell slightly as her eyes scanned up and down his body. Matt didn't seem to notice this as he scrutinized the menu.

"While we wait, I want to put in an order... as long as that's okay with you?" he asked, finally peering down at her.

She smiled, gazing up at him through her lashes. Her hand reached up to twirl the end of her dyed pink hair.

"That's fine with me," she replied. "Whatever you want."

"I'll take the chicken strips," Matt ordered, leaning against the counter.

His closer proximity made her giggle while she punched his order in.

"What dip?" she wondered.

"Surprise me."

Her smile deepened. "You seem like a sweet and sour man."

He hummed, before pivoting over to Greg.

"What do you want?"

Greg pulled on his bottom lip as he squinted at the menu. "Uhm... chicken bites... are those like nuggets?"

"Yes."

"I'll have those."

"Skyer?"

The man scratched the scruff on his chin. "They got burgers?"

Matt glanced at the lady behind the counter.

"We got a chicken burger," she answered, tapping her nails on the register impatiently.

The American stammered, "A chicken bur-?! Whatever, it'll do. Just get me that. A chicken sandwich."

As she typed in the other orders, Matt glanced my way again to give me another chance. I didn't say anything and turned my sight to the floor below me.

I heard him add, "And a large waffle fry."

As she brought our order to the back, we waited in the room.

I glanced outside and saw the rain hitting against the window. It was coming down a little heavier now.

Skyer and Greg journeyed to a table. Matt moved the opposite way and my body tensed. He was walking away from us towards a door.

I reached out in desperation and gripped onto his sleeve tightly. My heart hammered in my chest, still reacting to the idea of being abandoned by him.

He halted and glanced down at me.

"Don't go," I demanded my voice laced with fear.

"I have to pee," he informed me, releasing a giggle.

I glanced behind me at Greg and Skyer, who were now sitting at a table together. The light above them buzzed, casting an eerie light down. It darkened their faces with shadowy hues.

"Are you going to come back?" I asked him. "You're not going to leave me here, right?"

As those words left my lips, I came to a daunting realization. The reason it was difficult for my mind to process that Matt was truly here and why I still felt so uneasy is because I didn't trust his stability. He left me years ago.

That kind of separation created a lukewarm faith in him. As hard as it was to admit, I wasn't fully healed by their earlier abandonment. I knew it was selfish. They had to go... but I wish they would have at least reached out to me. Just a simple message saying they were still alive would have sufficed.

"Y/N..."

His hand connected with mine, plying my grasp off of his sleeve. I would have panicked, but he slipped his own hand in place of the fabric, giving me a comforting squeeze. He felt warm. His fingers enraptured my full hand, brushing near my wrist.

I'm sure he could feel the heavy pulse of my heart beat.

"Look at me."

I did.

His eyes flickered between mine rapidly, perusing my expression. His smile had faded into a serious demeanor.

“I’m not going anywhere without you. Not this time,” he promised. "Okay?"

My breathing had yet to slow down. I wanted to believe the conviction of his words... so I nodded.

Matt loosened his grip.

"Okay..." the light returned back to his eyes as he reminded, "I, uhm, still have to pee. I mean, you can come with if you want but…”

I bit my lip in contemplation. Obviously, I wanted to give him privacy. I'd be rude and immature to follow him into the loo. But I also didn't want to be left alone with the two strangers. Skyer, especially... we didn't have a nice first impression. Even though the gun wasn't loaded, the imagery of him pressing the weapon against my spine and temple still chilled me to the bone.

"I'll wait for you to come out," I opted softly, casting my eyes to the ground.

He did something that I almost forgot the sensation of.

He patted my head and ruffled my hair, like he used to do when we were kids.

“Just stay close to Greg,” he muttered.

Matt walked off to the bathroom and I stood still.

Eventually, the cashier put three empty cups on the counter. Greg ran to retrieve them.

"Get me a Coke!" Skyer ordered to him, reclining deeper against his chair.

He was watching the tele that was screwed against the wall. The weather channel was on, showing the trajectory of the storm. The red color on the screen gyrated towards the northern sectors of England, before filtering off towards Ireland.

Greg approached where I stood to use the soda fountain. He observed the carbonated drink options before filling one of the cups with Coke for Skyer. He grabbed another and filled that one with some sort of orange fizz. At the last cup, he turned to me.

"So, uh... you know Matt?" he began.

I recalled that Matt already told him we knew each other, so it seemed safe to affirm this.

"Yes," I replied.

Greg gave me a sheepish grin as he rose the empty cup up. "You got an idea of what drink he might like?"

I hesitantly neared him. Matt said that I should stay close to him... so maybe that meant he was safe? Greg didn't make any menacing body movements, so I guess he wasn't as threatening as I assumed.

I scanned the drinks displayed on the fountain and frowned. I barely knew any of them.

"I'm sorry," I answered. "I don't..."

Greg let out a sound of disappointment. "I'll just play it safe and give him the sweet tea. You British people like tea."

That was a strange stereotype.

Greg poured the tea into the cup and then grabbed the other two. He held the three cups awkwardly. The liquid within them swayed, threatening to spill out.

"I can help," I quickly offered, taking one from him.

He smiled warmly at me. "Rad. Thanks!"

As we walked back to the table, Greg admitted, "People don't normally give me a helping hand... especially people who we kidnapped."

"Do you kidnap people often?"

Greg paled. His mouth clamped shut like he was trapping back a horrendous secret.

He didn't have to tell me. I already knew they did. The way I was snatched was way too strategized.

We set the drinks on the table. Skyer snatched his and took a few gulps. Greg plopped down and licked his thumb, which had a few droplets of orange soda on it.

I wondered why they kidnapped people... why they kidnapped me...

"Do you work for the government?" I asked.

Aizawa told Roger that the SPK was a special task force in America. They were going after Kira. The two men in front of me were American... and Matt was sent off with Mello to look for Kira... so I thought that this was a rational question.

Skyer let out a loud, boisterous laugh, nearly choking on his drink. "Do we what?! Does it look like we would work for those rats?!"

"She meant that as a joke... right?" Greg adjoined, a look of clear confusion etched across his face.

His stare was skeptical. I got the inkling that I was treading away from who Matt told them I was. I needed to speak more carefully.

"You can never be too cautious," I cleared, curling up within myself.

That answer seemed to satisfy Greg who gave me a half shrug. "Yeah, I guess you never really know who's a mole."

So, if they didn't work for the SPK... who were these people?

"Order's ready!" the cashier declared.

She set trays of food out onto the counter. As she backed away, the door to the bathroom opened up.

Matt stepped out, shaking his hands.

"Just in time!" Greg exclaimed. "Grub's here!"

They retrieved their food and set it on the table. Matt had ordered that large waffle fry for me. I suppose it was in case I changed my mind... the food sat in front of me growing colder each second. I had no desire to eat it.

Greg spilled his waffle fries on the way over. They littered the floor and parts of the table. He ate the ones that fell on the table, despite it appearing like the table had not been cleaned for a long time. Thankfully, he had the rationale to not salvage the ones off the floor.

Greg and Skyer ate loudly and quickly. Matt was the only one that displayed vestiges of table manners. Though he still plucked through his food in a childishly picky way, he at least chewed with his mouth closed and used the napkin given to him. The chefs at The Wammy's House were very harsh about instilling table rules on us. I'm glad to see he never lost that etiquette.

Matt crumbled up his napkin and tossed it on his tray.

Greg gasped, "Wait! Matt, you- ugh, no!"

Matt arched his eyebrow at him.

Greg pointed at his discarded napkin and lamented, "She wrote her number on that for you."

They were referring to the lady at the counter. Matt wasn't effected by this news. On the contrary, he appeared trivial.

"Whoops," Matt retorted. "Here." He picked it up and tossed it over to him. "You can have it if it's still legible."

Greg's nose curled in disgust as he picked up the used napkin with his fingertips.

Skyer crumbled his own greasy napkin and tossed it onto the floor. It landed next to Greg’s wasted fries.

“That was gross,” he reviewed, casting his disapproving gaze onto the trash. “The British have horrible food.”

Matt chuckled. “Your fat ass still ate it.”

"Well excuse the fuck out of me," Skyer snapped.

The doors to the kitchen swung open and two men trailed out.

My breath hitched as they stormed over to us. One was the older man from before with the dark bags under his eyes. The other was a middle- aged man. He had a small black beard which was just as peppered as his hair. His dark, bushy eyebrows were sloped into a frown as he scowled at us.

When his apron moved, I slapped my hand over my mouth.

Two guns were strapped to his leg.

"Who asked for the chef?" the middle- aged man declared.

The corner of Matt's lip ticked upward as he reclined in his chair. He lazily dipped his head back, peering at the two men.

"Took you long enough," he greeted. "We need to go."

The middle- aged man's eyes widened. He was either alarmed at seeing Matt or by what Matt said. I couldn't tell.

"Go?!" he parroted through gritted teeth.

Matt tapped his wrist, revealing his watch to the man. "Yeah. Let's be up in five minutes, k?"

The older man's face reddened in fury. The flush even extended up to the bald spot on the tip of his head.

"You order thirty- one!" he reiterated to Matt, his accent thick. "We leave two weeks!"

"Huh?" Greg guffawed, picking at his teeth.

"Baba," the other man mumbled, clearly embarrassed by the man. "Why don't you go to the back? I can handle this."

The old man... or Baba... sputtered, glancing back and forth between his- what I now believed to be- son and us.

He ended up staring at his son and ordered, "Two weeks." His glare transitioned to the floor littered with waffle fries. "And clean mess."

His Baba stomped off, angrily storming into the kitchen.

"You cannot just come in here as you please," the man scolded. "You need to make an appointment-"

"You're wasting time, Rashid," Skyer interrupted angrily. "Look, we gotta get going tonight."

So this is Rashid.

"I cannot leave tonight," Rashid rejected, putting his hand up. "If you can't wait two weeks, I can try to fly you out in three days. That is my compromise."

"No deal," Matt sighed, lifting his head back up. "It has to be now."

"It's a thirteen hour flight. My cousin Afrah's wedding is tomorrow."

"So? Who cares about a wedding?"

"I do! It's vital I attend."

"You'll just have to miss it. Tell her you'll be there for her next one."

Rashid glowered. "It doesn't work like that in my culture."

"It also doesn't work disobeying Rod," Matt shot back.

Rashid's face dropped. His body went rigid. The name seemed to scare him, just as it did to the others.

"Choose who you want to piss off," Matt ordered. "Your cousin or Rod."

A drop of sweat rolled on Rashid's brow as he leaned himself against a chair.

"Rod needs you back tomorrow?" he wondered, his voice hushed. "Not a day later?"

I caught a glimpse of hope in his voice. His wishful thinking was that perhaps he could have at least one day to see his cousin.

"Even tomorrow is pushing it," Matt admitted. "We were technically supposed to be back today."

Greg and Skyer exchanged looks. They appeared anxious. This was news to them too.

"The conditions of tonight are not too good for flying," Rashid informed us. "It'll be dangerous."

"You're a good pilot," Matt complimented. "I trust you. That's why we came to you."

A rumble of thunder hushed their voices. The threat of the storm’s existence strengthened the urgency of Matt’s case.

Rashid’s nostrils flared as he glanced up at the ceiling. The rain fell harder now, knocking on the roof for entrance.

I’m sure this was a pilot’s nightmare.

“If we must go, then we must go now,” he finalized begrudgingly. “Before it gets worse.”

Matt grinned. "Thanks, Rashid. I knew you'd come around."

He didn't appear as happy about the situation as the other men. I felt bad for him... he seemed miserable at the idea of missing his cousin's wedding.

"Here, have a chicken tender," Matt extended, pushing the last two on his tray over to him. "It'll make you feel better."

"I'm a vegetarian," Rashid growled. "You know that!"

"Oh... well, you can just eat the breading right?"

Rashid's sorrowful demeanor seemed to vanquish as annoyance began to set in. Matt's pestering seemed to bring that out of people.

"No. I cannot just eat the breading."

Matt pulled the tray back towards him. "What a drag."

We were led out to one of the hangers. It was metallic with rustic blue paint peeling off its sides.

It took both Skyer and Rashid to open the heavy doors.

The rain pounded against the hood of my grey hoodie as I watched them pull the handles.

I crinkled my nose and escaped deeper into it, not wishing to get wet. Last time I was stuck outside in the rain, I got a bad cold…

But so did he.

I peeked up at Matt and was alarmed to see he was already looking at me.

He was scanning me intently. His eyes bore into mine. I could have swore I felt a tingle of electricity rush through my body at its vigor. His eyebrows twitched slightly as he bit the inside of his cheek.

He was disconcerted.

That made two of us.

The rain was washing him, turning his auburn hair into a deep brunette color. The water droplets ran down his pale face, dripping especially near his upturned nose. It was already turning a slight pink.

"You're going to get sick," I told him intuitively.

My nurse instincts kicked in and I immediately began to lift the hem of my hoodie.

"Here, wear this-"

His hand stopped mine and pushed it back down, preventing me from taking it off.

"You're driving me crazy here, Y/N."

I blinked and glanced up at him. His brows pinched together as he casted me a perturbed expression.

"Hm?"

"You haven't smiled once since I've seen you."

It was now my turn to be disquieted. I clenched my fists.

"There isn't much to smile about."

Matt was struck by my words. He visibly flinched at them.

I felt my heart lurch and was about to correct my statement. I was happy to see him. Our reunion was a reason to smile... but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. Not when I haven't been given any answers. Not when I was just kidnapped twice. And most importantly...

The main reason for my severe discontentment...

Not when those two sketches of Near and Mello were in the hands of the Japanese Task Force.

I failed to retrieve the photos... I failed them.

I felt my lip quiver. I let Aizawa and Matsuda get away with the identifications.

I was useless.

Matt shifted his weight and breathed, "Y/N, I..."

He never got to finish what he wanted to say. The doors to the hanger were officially open now and the men were beckoning us in.

We stepped into the hanger, escaping the pour.

I felt my jaw go agape at the sight in front of me.

A private jet was parked inside, awaiting travel.

Greg and Skyer didn't seem phased at all by this. Nor did Matt.

It made me beckon the question again... who were these people? Rashid, Skyer, and Greg did not look like people who could afford their own private jet. Even Matt didn't give off that appearance... if I didn't know he was a trust fund baby, I'd be shocked to see him standing next to it too.

Rashid ordered us to wait near the door. He grabbed onto a headset that was dangling against the hanger wall and put it on.

After adjusting his headset, Rashid disappeared into the cockpit.

A moment later, we heard the sound of a gear turning and the door to the jet opened. Another roll of thunder clamored through the hanger.

We climbed in.

I bit my lip, tightening the seatbelt again. I wasn't satisfied until I felt it tightly constrain my thighs.

Matt, who was occupying the seat next to me, was witnessing my pull.

There were plenty of empty seats around us. I nearly yanked Matt into the seat with me, forcing him to stay by me. It was due to the fact that I needed to make sure he was at my side during the whole trip... and also because I've never been in the air before.

"You nervous?" Matt asked.

"No."

"You're lying," he laughed. "Look at your hands."

I glanced down. The excess strap of the belt was wrapped around each of my fingers. My hands had been messing with it, trying to do something with the extra energy my adrenaline was pumping through me.

"Relax," he snorted. "You don't even need to wear it the whole time."

"I'm not going to take it off until we land in California," I stubbornly declared.

"You know where we're going?" Matt commented, clearly amused.

"No one is telling me anything. I'm just picking up clues."

It was hard not to feel grumpy when you had no idea what was happening. No clue where you were going. No information to help fill in the empty spaces.

I knew Matt would tell me too, had we been privileged with privacy.

Skyer and Greg occupied their own seats a few rows apart from us. They weren't too far because the cabin was narrow, but it still gave them plenty of individual space. They could eavesdrop if they wanted to.

"I'll fill you in soon," Matt promised. "... as long as the jet doesn't crash."

That comment made me feel sick. He giggled as I blew air into my cheeks.

"I'm just kidding, come on! Okay, wait, here... I got something for you..."

Matt reached into his black bag and pulled out an object.

It wasn't just any old item... it was a red GameBoy with familiar scratches alongside the edges of the case.

"I remember..." I gasped in a hushed voice. "Your game! Roger gave it back to you?"

"I took it back before I left... I couldn't-," he froze and cleared his throat. "Uhm."

He couldn't leave without it... but he could leave without me.

I didn't want to say that out loud. Judging by his choked reaction, I could already presume he was thinking the same thing.

Matt flipped open the top and turned the device on. It buzzed to life, filling the air with faint nostalgic music. He handed me the device.

"Play it. It'll distract you."

My eyes narrowed as I dug, "Why do I need to be distracted?"

Matt grinned. "Rashid's takeoffs are rough."

His warning had been valid.

I never expected this sort of takeoff.

Mario jumping on pipes could not distract me from the pressure of the jet speeding through the hills. I almost vomited feeling my stomach drop from the rapid ascension of the jet into the sky.

The whole interior shook, while the rain coated our windows. The light of the cabin flickered, or perhaps it was the lightning darting across the early evening sky.

At any minute, the atomic zig-zag of heat could strike the jet. The probability of us plummeting to our death was too high for my liking.

I gripped onto Matt's arm and squeezed my eyes shut.

The scent of amber and tobacco intensified, so I knew he was leaning closer to me.

Eventually everything became smooth again.

The jet coasted across the sky. My grip on Matt relaxed and I felt safe to open my eyes again.

We survived.

My eyes slowly descended to the device in my lap.

Mario laid on the ground with X's over his eyes. The words "Game Over" hovered over him in bold.

Well... not all of us survived.

Skyer reached up and held down the call button, which sent his voice over to the cockpit.

"Damnit, Rashid! The hell was that?!" he griped.

After a moment, I heard his voice come out of the speaker. It crackled, barely coming out audibly over the roar of the engine.

"Why don't you try flying this thing?! Shut up and sit down!"

Skyer grumbled and relaxed back into his seat. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his bottle of pills. They were the same ones from the airport.

He unscrewed the top, poured the pills into his mouth, and crunched down.

I think he was overdoing it...

"Damn," he muttered, wiping some sweat off his brow. "I feel like shit..."

He glanced over to Matt. "Probably because of your country's food."

"Dixy Chicken is hardly British cuisine," Matt corrected smugly.

"Yeah, you eat fish and chips and unseasoned curry and... fucking... damnit, what the hell do you even eat?"

"You eat that English breakfast!" Greg piped in excitingly.

He pivoted around in his seat to face us. The missing tooth made his wide grin appear almost like a cute Jack O' Lantern.

Matt rolled his eyes. "Why are you both so interested in our food? That's all stereotypical."

"Like the stereotype that you all eat PJB's," I contributed.

Matt peered at me, surprised that I spoke. i was surprised too, honestly.

Skyer stared at me like I had three heads, blinking slowly. "P...J... what?"

He got passionate, jabbing his finger on the plane seat in front of him. "First off, it's PBJ, not PJB. P. B. J. Peanut. Butter. And. Jelly. It's a classic."

Matt's mouth twisted into a tight- lipped smile. I immediately knew he was holding in a laugh. Something Skyer said or did must have been funny to him.

"We also have a PBM sandwich," Greg ecstatically added. "That used to be my go-to as a kid."

"PBM. What's that?" I asked.

"A Fluffernutter."

Matt guffawed next to me, "A fucking what?!"

Skyer whipped his head towards Greg.

"Ew! You ate that shit?" Skyer criticized, casting the young man a judgmental stare. "That's nasty."

"I don't trust taste opinions from a man who likes Spam," Greg shot back.

Matt laughed, folding his long legs, "Hold on, hold on. Greg, tell us more about the other one. The Fluff-fuck-nut?"

Skyer snorted. Greg rolled his eyes at the both of them.

"It's a Fluffernutter..." he grumbled. "And-"

"Pfft."

"Matt, are you going to let me finish?"

"That's what she said."

Greg threw his hands up in defeat.

"I'll explain," Skyer volunteered. "Basically, what you do is, you grab two slices of bread and you put peanut butter and marshmallow fluff in it."

"Ah!" Matt dramatically gagged. "I'm going to be sick! Do you actually do that?"

"Don't diss it until you've tried it," Greg defended.

"Don't dish it until I've died," Matt corrected, shaking his head.

Skyer laughed hard, letting his body fling him back into the plane seat. Greg's face reddened. He curled up within himself and turned away from the aisle.

"I'm not talking to you guys anymore," he pouted.

"Ah, come on, don't be like that," Skyer pled, wiping humorous tears from his eyes.

Greg didn't answer him. It appeared he checked out, his feelings hurt.

"You're soft," Skyer continued to castigate. "Grow some fucking balls, will ya?!"

He started to seem actually angry at the fact that Greg was upset. I didn't understand why he would continue to jab at him. Greg was very evidently trying to disappear, and I think it was the best option at this moment to let him.

The plane returned to being silent after that. I gave Matt his GameBoy back and let him play on it. I was more content watching him, anyways.

"You look tired," Matt analyzed in a hushed voice, gazing at my sleepy expression. "You should get some sleep."

I shook my head, both with the purpose of denying his request and to keep myself up. I fought against my heavy eyelids. Desperately, I forced my body to remain alert.

We had been on the plane for hours. Skyer and Greg were already sleeping themselves.

Greg was sprawled out on his seat. One of his arms hung limply, his long fingers brushing the floor. Skyer was snoring. His breath would catch here and there. Each time, I was spooked into thinking he was waking up. But I slowly assimilated to the fact that it was just his apnea.

"Try," Matt urged.

"There are too many things on my mind."

He suspired, his shoulders deflating. Matt's eyes scanned the cabin, as if to double check his mates were sleeping. He then turned to me.

"Tell me what happened," he requested lowly.

"What?"

His eyes darkened.

"When those men took you. I want to know what happened."

For a minute, the only sound was the lull from the jet's blades and Skyer's occasional snores.

My voice refused to come. I quivered, feeling the shame of my failure shackle me in the silence.

My lack of response was only riling Matt. His gaze lingered in desperation, boring into me for any type of answer.

"How did you know they had me?" I ended up croaking. "Can we start there?"

Matt exhaled sharply, It was his turn to struggle. He pulled out his pack of cigarettes and flipped open the lid. He lifted one of the cigarettes and twiddled with it. After a moment, he shoved it back into the box and closed its lid.

"I, uh... wanted to wait to tell you about it," he replied tightly. "But I guess it doesn't matter when I say it, since you're going to find out either way."

"What's that?"

"How we managed to piss off Kira..."

"You're still going after Kira... are you in the SPK?" I inquired, wanting to verify this with Matt.

His eyes widened. "You... you know about the SPK?"

"Not really," I admitted. "I overheard the Japanese policemen talking about it with Roger."

He hummed, crossing his arms. There were thoughts behind his eyes, but he wasn't sharing them. Instead, he opted to answer my question.

"No, I'm not in the SPK," he answered.

"Okay."

Matt rubbed his neck and noted, "So, Near didn't reach out to you either?"

I frowned.

"What does Near have to do with..." my voice trailed off.

I answered my own question instantly. It all checked out. Near told me before he left he was going to connect with some powerful actors. Ties with the U.S. Government granted Near a lot of military funding and security benefits. It was so smart, I felt dumb to not have connected that before.

"No," I finished, feeling even more defeated. "I didn't hear from any of you. You could have all been dead and I wouldn't have known."

"Did you ever think that?"

"Sometimes... but I couldn't let myself believe it. I would have gone even more insane."

Matt's lips thinned and he clenched his jaw.

"I told Mello one-way contact wasn't fair, but he was convinced you'd be okay."

I stared at Matt in surprise.

"What?" he snorted softly. "You didn't think he'd leave you unsupervised, did you?"

I stammered. "Wha-? Who-?"

"Heidi agreed," Matt informed me.

"Heidi... how did she talk with you both and never say anything?"

"No, no. I said one-way contact, remember? Mello gave her a burner phone with a number to our burner phone. She sent us a smiley face the first day of every month if things were well."

"And... if they weren't?"

"We would get a frowny face."

"Top notch communication, Matt."

He snickered and explained, "We have to be discrete. Even if it is a burner, you never know who might be looking."

"So... about today...?"

Matt reached into his backpack and pulled out an old, Samsung flip phone.

He flipped it open and pressed down on the messages, displaying the screen to me.

10/09: :(

"Our first frowny face," Matt announced.

"But... you were already in England before this was sent," I deciphered. "She sent this after I was taken."

"Right," Matt confirmed. "I had a hunch that you would be in danger. This just told me when to get you."

"How did you know I'd be in trouble?"

"Yeah, so this is the rough part... you see... Mello, uhm..."

"Kidnapped the NPA director Kanichi Takimura."

Matt's jaw dropped.

"How did you-?!"

"The policemen were looking for him... they said someone tipped them off that he did it."

Matt didn't seem as surprised by this fact as I had been. In fact, it looked like he already suspected it.

"They said all this to you?" he wondered.

My face heated up and I shook my head. "I sort of... spied on Roger."

"That's dangerous. You could get into some real trouble hearing things you're not supposed to," he chastised.

It was hard to take him seriously since I knew he was fighting back a smile.

"Anyways," he continued, "I thought it was only a matter of time before Kira or the Japanese police force found out about The Wammy's House. I mean, this is Mello's first big move against them both. It's only logical they would start sniffing out a trail on him."

Matt nudged my shoulder. "I also know you. I suspected you would do something hasty. I'm glad I was right and got you out of a worse case scenario."

"Why is Mello going after the police too?" I wondered.

"He thinks Kira is influencing them."

My stomach dropped. If that was the case... then those photos truly were going into the hands of a killer...

"I... I didn't help," I admitted to him.

"What do you mean?"

"Linda betrayed us. She sketched photos of Mello and Near. Roger told the policemen they were perfect. I saw them too... and they were. I tried to steal them back. I didn't want them leaving with them... but I tripped over the carpet and fell. They caught me and said that I could be an asset to them too. They took me and the photos to the airport... but I failed to take the photos with me on the way out."

Matt was silent.

I thought I would be berated over this. I thought maybe he would panic at knowing the police have Mello and Near's identifications. Instead, he smiled.

"I'm pretty sure I told you to stop being so clumsy," he sighed. "Like that was the only thing I asked of you."

"Are you mad at me?"

“I can't be mad at you. You could punch me in the face right now and I’d still like you.”

"But the sketches-"

"Y/N. Genuine question. Do I look identical to fifteen year old me?"

I stared at his handsome face again and shook my head.

"Exactly. There's nothing to worry about, okay?"

"Okay."

Matt's face flattened for a mere second, while he glanced at the seat in front us.

"So... Linda gave them away?" he caught.

"Yeah."

"No offense, Y/N... but your best friend is a bitch."

I didn't have much to say about that. Talking about her hurt... the wound of her betrayal still stung my lungs.

Still, there were other conversations that were equally important to have. One of which had been bothering me for a while.

As I glanced at the two sleeping men a few feet in front of us, the question circulated in my head. It took me a while to finally get the courage to ask it.

"Matt...?"

"Hm?"

"Who's Rod?"

He became motionless, as if I had just paralyzed him. He turned to me, his eyes cold.

"No one you'll ever meet," he stated, sternly.

His rigidness and quick cut answer revealed that he didn't want to speak more on it. But my curious nature beckoned me to squeeze out more.

"But who-"

"I said no one," Matt gnashed.

I jumped, never hearing him use that tone before. His humor was evaded by a grave austereness.

"I don't want you anywhere near him, got it?"

I slowly nodded, feeling my throat constrict in fear.

I didn't need to know who Rod was to know he was a diabolical individual.

Because I have never seen Matt this tense about someone before.

Not even of Kira.

Chapter Text

"Let me tell you this: it's a warning.
Ain't no love here, only darkness.
So don't get close, you're not needed.
I'll only bring pain so stay away..."

“Wakey, wakey…”

His melodic voice beckoned me out of my dreamless slumber.

My eyes slowly adjusted back to the real world. Or whatever sort of anomalous reality I was currently living in. My lungs inhaled deeply as I scrutinized the interior of the jet around me. I was still on the plane…

The sudden scent of amber and tobacco was fervid. I scarcely had time to register it.

Fur tickled my nose, robbing me of the chance.

I shot up, sneezing.

Matt grinned at me. His vest displayed the small imprint of my face, where I had been sleeping.

“Have a good rest?” he asked teasingly.

I sniffed, ghost tickles still fluttering the tip of my nose.

“I don’t remember falling asleep…” I mumbled, rubbing my nose lightly on my sleeve. “I’m sorry.”

Matt practically purred, clearly amused at my statement.

"You never got rid of that, huh?" he gathered.

"Got rid of what?"

"Saying sorry when you don't need to."

Oh...

Matt's eyes wandered over my shoulders at the window of the jet.

"Have a look," he urged, jutting his chin.

My brows drew together and I followed his gaze.

Outside the window was a constellation of artificial stars. They desperately ascended up, trying to touch the tips of their light to the heavens. These tiny orbs of fire spread over blackened hills. They seemed to be growing larger.

It was then that I felt the jet dip.

We were slowly descending towards that area.

"What is that?" I asked, pointing to the lights.

I could hear his smile through his voice as he answered, "L.A."

"Are we landing there?"

"Kind of."

His vague answer was added to my long list of tonight's obscurities.

Our descent caused Greg to stir awake. He grunted as he stretched his body. I caught glimpses of his sneakers in the aisle.

From across the way, Skyer glared at him. He gripped harshly onto the arm rests of his seat. His knuckles whitened as the jet dipped again.

"Ah, fuck," he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. "Get me off this damn thing."

"You scared?" Matt taunted.

The corners of his mouth quirked up playfully.

"I just don't like the landing, what's so wrong about that?" Skyer griped back.

"Landing?!" Matt gasped. "Wait, we're not supposed to be landing yet!"

He dramatically gripped onto the seat, as if the private jet was malfunctioning. This caused the color to drain from Skyer's face.

"Matt, you son of a bitch! Don't joke around like that!"

He laughed at Skyer's irritation, finding humor in his fear. It was almost sadistic, if you didn't know that Matt found humor in practically everything. It was a trait people either loved or hated.

The jet dipped again. The turbulence from the clouds caused it to vibrate slightly. I heard Skyer gag.

Greg's head shot up and glanced around. His blue eyes found mine and crinkled.

"You haven't, like, been scared once with this turbulence. You're pretty brave, huh?"

I fought back a rejection. In reality, I was quite wimpish. Lots of things terrified me... even more pathetic, most of my fears weren't even real- like ghosts and monsters.

Matt retorted, “Of course she’s brave.”

He stated that as if it were true. Part of me wondered if he actually thought so...

The jet roughly landed just moments after our short conversation. I found myself nearly tumbling out of my seat with the rockiness of the fall. Skyer was properly peeved at the ruckus of the jet. He gave Rashid a mouth full once we piled out of the aircraft.

"I did you a favor!" Rashid brusquely hurled. "I could've said 'no'!"

Skyer bitterly laughed at him, as our pilot ripped off his headset.

"You would've been six feet under if you did, don't kid yourself," he spat.

The jet was parked at this makeshift landing in the desert. In the far distance there was a hanger. On one side of the hanger was a withering cactus... on the other, a large factory. In the dark, it appeared incredibly barren and menacing. There were no lights nor any smoke coming out of the shoots. It must be abandoned.

I turned and saw other buildings in the distance. One appeared to be an apartment complex, then some outlet areas like a pharmaceutical store. Beyond that were the outlines of the city we saw from the sky.

Matt grabbed my shoulders lightly and leaned down to my ear.

"Stay right here," he softly ordered.

He let go and trailed over to Rashid. I kept my feet planted on the ground below me.

Matt spoke to Rashid, but I couldn't hear him from the distance. I only saw his back, so lip reading was off the table too. I turned away and glanced back at the city of Los Angeles. A breeze ruffled my hair, kicking up some sand.

Is this where they had been all this time?

Is this where Near was?

"Yeah, yeah," Skyer's voice projected. "I know, alright?! Get off my back."

"Are you sure you don't want me to come with?" Greg asked wearily.

"Skyer will be fine alone. Get some rest," Matt directed.

Rashid entered back into the cockpit, while Skyer and Greg congregated around Matt. I witnessed Skyer trail in the direction of the factory. Greg glanced between him and Matt, before slumping. He turned and ran in the opposing direction.

My eyelids were too heavy to squint. I lost their outlines as they motioned deeper into the night.

Matt came back to me.

"Where are they going?" I wondered.

He smiled at me. "Don't worry about it."

He patted my head. "Come on. Let's get you settled in."

"But... I have more questions for you first.."

"You've been awake for over twenty- four hours and only got three hours of sleep on that jet. Can you wait until we are at least out of the desert?"

I nodded.

He ended up taking me into that apartment complex I spotted earlier. We climbed up to the third floor. I think I yawned at every floor we reached...

We eventually stopped outside of the apartment complex 405E.

Matt unzipped a section of his black bag and pulled out a ring of keys. He quickly grabbed the gold one, as if it were muscle memory, and unlocked the beige door.

It swung open and he beckoned me in. He followed me as I entered. The light flicked on and Matt locked it behind us immediately.

“Welcome to the crib,” he announced, while tossing his keys onto the counter.

The apartment around me was barren. It was a turnkey- the furniture around the place was definitely given to whoever rented it.

I could tell by the wear… or lack of, in some aspects. The armchair in the corner still had plastic wrap around it and the decades old caramel loveseat had stains on the fabric that appeared quite aged.

I turned my gaze to the right and investigated the apartment’s tiny kitchen. It had some pots and pans, which were hanging on the handles of the cabinets. On the counter was a Chinese take-out bag. A Styrofoam container was left on top of it. It emitted a rancid smell. There were other things littered about. An ashtray, some empty bottles of fizzy drinks, an old plastic container that once held batteries...

“How long have you lived here?” I wondered.

Matt shrugged, “One month, give or take.”

I felt a slight relief hearing that. It would have been rather jarring if he lived in this state for three years. Yet, it did beckon the question…

“Where did you live before?”

“In other places around America… some good, some bad. But Mello and I always made it work. This is actually the first time I’ve had my own place, so it’s pretty cool.”

“Where is Mello?” I immediately asked.

Matt adjusted the strap of his bag on his shoulder. He peered over my shoulder.

“He’s here,” he answered, quickly.

My heart skipped. I whipped my head around, only to see empty space.

Matt chuckled. "Not here, silly. In this building complex."

“Can I see him?”

“Nope. Sorry Y/N, he’s really busy.”

I sought to protest. My desire to find him was so immense I felt like I would burst. I waited years and years to see him again. Now that I knew he was here, I wanted to run to him. I wanted to make sure he was still in one piece.

I wanted to see that he was safe.

Matt watched my mouth move and must have predicted my next words. He raised his hands and interjected, “Just trust that now’s not the right time. He’ll come to you when he can, okay?”

A grin spread on his face as he added, “You’ll even have your own apartment then.”

I blinked. “My own… apartment?”

“Well, yeah. I’m not going to keep you in this dump. You deserve your own space.”

“Wait, so you’re not taking me back to The Wammy’s House?!”

Matt frowned. “Nope. It’s way too dangerous now. Kira’s probably got eyes all over it.”

It never dawned on me that I wouldn’t be going back. However, it was rational. The Japanese Task Force knew my face now. I couldn’t go back to somewhere they could patrol.

Not returning to the orphanage didn’t bother me as much as I might have thought. I spent majority of my life there, but most of the good memories I had were tarnished. Some days, it hurt to pass a room and recollect the past. The isolation from silently reliving joyful moments you could never return to is hard to bear. For instance, it took two years after Mello, Matt, and Near disappeared for me to even step foot into the library again.

It never felt the same.

Maybe it’s the right thing for me to leave that place behind. Change is healthy.

Contradicting, not knowing what I was propelling into was frightening. Matt dropped too many disconcerting hints about his and Mello’s lives. I couldn’t live peacefully knowing that they might be in trouble.

And after seeing Matt, I knew that I would not be able to rip away from him again. I am staying, no matter what to help wherever I can.

“Apartments,” I said aloud.

Matt’s brows furrowed and he tilted his head. “Huh?”

“I will not live in just one apartment,” I corrected. “You said you and Mello move around a lot. So, like you, I will have other apartments because I am going where you go.”

Matt crossed his arms. “No, you are going where you are safe.”

“And that’s with you two.”

I couldn’t quite read his reaction. Behind his frayed bangs, his thin eyebrow arched in scrutiny while his mouth thinned. Yet, his golden eyes glistened. The corner of his lip curved up slightly.

“Since when did you get so stubborn?” he mused.

“Since being compliant left me alone.”

Matt's smile relaxed, his demeanor appearing more doleful. I took away his sparkle, so I regretted saying that immediately.

I couldn’t take the look of woe on his face, so I peered at the floorboards. Without meaning to, a yawn escaped my body.

This initiated Matt to redirect the conversation.

“We’ll revisit this conversation later,” he bargained. “You probably want to shower and you definitely need to sleep more. I'll show you where to do both. Consider it a grand tour.”

He walked past me and trailed over to one of the two doors in the back.

He opened up one of the doors and flicked on the light. There was a toilet and a sink an inch or two next to it. Within just a few feet was a shower with a lone gray curtain.

“Here’s the bathroom… and uhm…” he pivoted over to the other door and opened it. “This is my room…”

I walked with him into the bedroom.

This was the only space that really felt like his.

Matt’s bed was positioned against the wall the door frame was on.

The Queen- sized bed had two pillows leaned up on the slightly peeling wallpaper. Its blankets had been left undone. A nightstand stood next to the bed. A single lamp sat on it, its shade hovering over an alarm clock.

I stared at the time.

11:13 P.M.

I calculated it in my head… England is eight hours ahead of Los Angeles. It was morning in Winchester. Technically, it was still the tenth of October here… this was the longest, most puzzling day of my life.

A desk was propped up by the foot of the bed. It supported three blank monitors. Red wires twirled down from the devices, connecting to the outlets on two laptops. The window on the opposing wall concealed the world from us. Dark, heavy curtains covered the outside from looking in. A full size mirror leaned near the curtains, facing the door. Next to it was a wooden dresser that held up a game counsel and television. An empty bottle of Mountain Dew and candy wrappers were left near the controller.

Upon looking at the meticulous layout, I felt stunned.

The bed hiding in the corner. The pillows facing the door frame. The lampshade marginally concealing the headboard. The mirror reflecting anyone walking in or out of the room. The curtains shut.

Matt was scared of someone breaking in.

But who? Kira?

“There’s a clean towel in the bathroom,” Matt informed me, leaning up against the door frame. “Hot water comes and goes here, so I’ll let you shower first.”

He pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and tapped the lid. “While you rinse, I’m going to step out for a quick smoke. You cool with that?”

I clenched onto my sleeves and bit my lip. A soft smile spread across his face.

“You’re going to have to trust that I’m coming back,” he addressed.

I felt guilty for still being fearful that he might abandon me, but I wasn’t yet convinced it wasn’t a possibility. Fully putting my faith in him proved to be more difficult than not.

Nonetheless, I needed to at least try.

Slowly, I nodded. “Okay…”

The smile on his face widened as he winked.

“'Attagirl,” he praised. “Take what you need. I’ll be back shortly.”

He turned to walk away but then paused and quickly adjoined, “I’m locking the door behind me. Don’t answer the door for anyone, k? I have keys, so I wouldn't be knocking.”

That request felt ominous. He departed from the room before I could even investigate it.

The warm water cascaded off my back, washing the rain and sweat off my skin. It felt replenishing.

I grabbed Matt’s bar of soap. It was the only one he had… that’s okay though. It’s a germ killer. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

I trailed it along my neck… my chest… my stomach…

My heart swelled as I became aware of its scent. I ran the soap along my body, with the knowledge that as I was washing away the strange places I had been today, I was replacing them with the familiar aroma of amber.

I watched the soapy, iridescent water bubble at my feet. It popped and raced down the drain.

The rest of my shower quickened. The water started getting cold, just as Matt said it would, which made me eager to get out. Once I was satisfied with my bathing, I turned the water off and stepped onto his bathroom tiles.

I grabbed hold of the fresh towel Matt prepared for me and dried off.

My damp feet patting against the floor of his apartment was the only sound I could really make out. The complex was rather quiet. Since the building was located in the outskirts of Los Angeles, I couldn't really hear any traffic outside. Plus, the walls were really soundproof... that, or I had adapted to hearing footsteps of children running down the halls.

I clenched the towel tighter around my body, as I navigated into the bedroom.

Matt wasn't back yet. I didn't know how long he'd be gone for. I just had to keep consoling myself that he would be returning.

I glanced at the outfit I wore to the philanthropy event. I temporarily stored the folded apparel on his nightstand before I showered. The hoodie Greg handed me hung on the foot of the bedstand. I figured he might want that back...

Water skimmed down my hair and dripped onto the towel as I stared at the outfit. I didn't really want to wear it again since I just cleaned myself off... and, to be frank, it wasn't the most comfortable.

My eyes were drawn to Matt's dresser. He did say to take what I needed...

My feet moved before my anxiousness could talk me out of it. I rummaged through his drawers and selected an outfit to sleep in.

The black shirt I borrowed had the title of a band printed on it. In the mirror, the white letters reflected backwards. I could make them out to be "Oasis". The shirt's hem stopped at the middle of my thighs and the sleeves cascaded down just slightly underneath my elbows.

Matt was taller in stature, so it felt a little goofy wearing a shirt so lengthy. I almost wanted to laugh.

Underneath the shirt, were what I assumed to be gym shorts. The army green fabric peeked out whenever I rose my arms up. This fit me better than the shirt. I guess that checked out, since Matt had smaller hips.

I couldn't find a comb or brush, so I ran my fingers down my hair, manually untangling knots that the faucet gave me.

As I did so, the main door to the apartment suddenly unlocked. I heard the door being pushed open, the sweep dragging against the floor. Then the sound dissipated as it was pushed shut. The click of its latch ricocheted through the skeletal area.

Someone entered.

I tried to listen for a voice, but the intruder didn't say anything.

The deadbolt snapped.

I felt chills climb up my spine. They locked themselves in.

I stared at the door through the mirror, frozen in slight fear. Footsteps approached the room.

"Matt?" I called out.

"I'm here."

My shoulders fell and I sighed in relief. The handle to his room turned.

It stopped. "Uhm... is it okay to come in... or...?"

I turned around and directed my voice to the door. "Yes. I'm covered."

"Pity," he joked.

The door swung open and Matt entered. He pulled his glasses back onto his face, while kicking off his shoes.

"That was a quick shower," he commented, using the tip of his foot to push his shoes under the nightstand. "I thought for sure you would-"

His eyes finally met mine and his sentence crashed into jumbled mush.

He stared at me, his lips parting in shock.

"I borrowed your clothes..." I informed him, pinching the hem of his shirt. "I hope you don't mind... I don't have any of mine, so I just thought..."

"Are you kidding?" he murmured.

He didn't appear angry, just floored

"You look surprised," I noted, releasing the fabric.

“I just can’t believe you’re wearing my clothes...”

Matt scanned me up and down again. He whistled, shaking his head.

"You look comfy. Keep it."

"But it's yours," I objected.

"You don't have any extra clothes right now," he reminded me. "I don't mind you wearing mine."

Matt extended his arms up over his head and straightened his back out. He gave me another smile.

"My turn," he stated, his voice sounding husky from his stretch. "I hope you left some warm water for me."

Matt's shower didn't take long either. I sat on the edge of his bed for what only seemed like five minutes.

He eventually strolled back in, rubbing the towel over his auburn hair. His brawny back dripped with water, which ran down to the waist band of his grey pajama pants.

I felt like I shouldn't be looking at him without his shirt on, so I averted my eyes to give him privacy. I heard a drawer open, then some rustling noises. After the drawer clicked shut, I peeked over to him. He straightened out a Led Zeppelin shirt and met my gaze.

"Thought I'd try to match," he gleamed, gesturing between our shirts.

He seemed so proud and excited over the idea. Pure joy encapsulated his smile. The way that his face lit up was so boyish... my heart tugged. I felt like I was just transported back into the past. Like it was the two of us, sick in the room together again, enjoying each others' company.

My lips pulled.

And soon I was smiling too.

Matt's smile faltered for a moment, before his grin grew.

"There it is," he whispered. "I've been waiting for that."

My smile...

We held gazes for a moment, until another one of my yawns intercepted.

"You need to go to bed," he tusked.

Matt hung his damp towel on the other foot stand of his bed to dry.

I nodded and grabbed one of his pillows. I scooted off his bed and got onto my knees, propping the pillow onto the wooden floorboards.

"Woah, what are you doing?" Matt scoffed, shuffling past me.

He plopped down onto the bed, causing the mattress to squeak. I glanced down at the pillow.

"I'm making a bed..." I answered. "I wanted to stay in the same room as you."

As needy as this sounded, I didn't want to be separated from him. I was frightened to be in an unfamiliar place and the idea of passing out on that loveseat was terrifying. It was too quiet in this complex and it was dark and there were so many scary innuendos being dropped and-

"I'm not letting you sleep on the floor," he objected. "Get up here."

Matt patted the mattress next to him.

I frowned.

"But you shouldn't have to sleep on the floor," I demurred.

It was his room, after all. It wasn't fair.

Matt gave me a lopsided grin and snorted, "Who said I would be sleeping on the floor? I reckon this bed is big enough for the both of us."

My eyes bulged out of my head. He wanted me to sleep in the same bed?!

Matt laughed at my surprise. "It's not like we haven't slept in the same room before."

"But we've never slept in the same bed!"

His golden eyes blazed with amusement as he tilted his head. "It's only weird if you make it weird, Y/N."

My indecisiveness tangoed with his patience. Matt let out an exaggerated sigh and crossed his fingers.

"I won't make it weird either. It'll be like I'm not even here."

That wasn't my concern. I just didn't want to inconvenience him... but I guess that's what I was doing now.

I chewed on my lip in a moment of uncertainty, my tired eyes glancing between the floor and mattress. My exhaustion won the battle over my insecurity. I grabbed his pillow and stood up, slowly moving over to him. I maintained my eye contact, searching for a small change in his expression. I was giving him another chance to reject me.

Matt's dimpled smile never left. Instead, he pulled back the blanket and made way for me to climb over to the section of the bed by the wall. That is where he wanted me to go, I suppose.

I did so, feeling safe wedged between the wall and Matt's body.

My childhood friend tucked himself under the covers, pulling up the blanket so it covered me too. I took notice that he was optimizing the space between us, keeping his body on the edge of the bed.

I set the pillow down and reclined back. After I did this, Matt reached over and tugged on the lamp, turning the light off.

Pitch darkness blinded me.

I gasped, squeezing the blanket.

"What? What's wrong?" Matt's hushed voice sought.

I felt the mattress bounce and I could only assume he was observing my area of the bed.

"I'm sorry... the dark just surprised me, that's all..."

It was silent for a moment, which gave me time to feel embarrassed. I was nearly twenty years old. I shouldn't be scared of the dark still...

"Hold on," Matt silently said.

I felt the bed dip and then release back up. Footsteps scurried across the floorboards, followed by some sounds of objects moving.

The television spurred to life.

From the dim pixelated light, I saw Matt's outline. He moved the cursor around on his controller and the screen changed to a calming, purple city.

He glanced over to me. "Is this better?"

The darkness in the room was now brightened by a lowly lit purple hue.

I nodded, feeling way more comfortable. Matt seemed proud by my validation and set the controller back onto the dresser.

He returned to the bed, re-tucking himself in.

The quiet was loud for me. I could be using this time to ask him questions... but my body was shutting down. I heard his faint breaths. The bed felt so soft underneath my body. The smell of amber circulated off the two of us... and his clothes felt so comfortable...

Before I knew it, I fell asleep.

October 11, 2009

"He needs me there? Did he tell you that?"

I inhaled and stretched, lulling my body conscious. My eyes leisurely fluttered open. Soft light extended out of the dark curtains, creating a warm ambience in Matt's room.

Matt turned and spotted me. He casted me an apologetic look, moving his phone closer to his face.

"Okay, whatever... yeah, tell him I'll get there when I can. He can survive a few more minutes."

Matt hung up the phone, blowing air out of his nose harshly.

"What a drag..." he groaned, kicking his legs off the mattress.

I shot up as he hurled himself out of bed. He grabbed onto his goggles from the nightstand and put them on.

"What's going on?" I asked.

"I, uh, have to step out for a little," Matt informed me, trying to keep his voice casual.

He opened the drawers and pulled out a black and white striped shirt and grey denims.

"Why?" I investigated.

"Because."

Matt rummaged through another drawer and grabbed some undergarments, before exiting the room.

I heard the bathroom door open and shut.

I glanced at the alarm clock. It was three in the afternoon. All weariness vacated my body instantly at the realization of how many hours we slept. I never sleep in this late. Jet lag was no joke.

After a few minutes, Matt returned fully dressed. He retrieved his boots from underneath the nightstand and slipped them onto his feet. I took notice that he was wearing black gloves. That was a strange fashion statement...

"Should I get dressed too?" I asked, taking the blanket off me.

"If you want," he shrugged, tying his boots.

"Are we going outside?"

"I am. You aren't," he shot down, casting me a stern glance.

"But why?"

Matt sighed, leaving the room again. He swung his black backpack around his shoulder on the way out.

I started to feel slightly irritated at the lack of answers he was giving me. I pushed myself off of the bed and followed him out. He entered the kitchen, preoccupying himself by opening up one of his cabinets. I perched myself at his island impatiently waiting for some sort of clarification.

Instead of answering me, he pulled out a metallic wrapper and set it in front of me. He even grabbed one himself and stuffed it into his bag.

"Here, have a PopTart," he gestured, closing the cabinet.

I frowned at the square wrapper, before gawking up at him.

"I don't want a Poppa-Tart, I want answers."

Matt grinned at me. "A what?!"

I frowned and repeated what he said: "A Poppa-Tart."

"PopTart," he corrected, crinkling his nose.

"Matt," I groaned. "Please be serious."

He chuckled and opened up his refrigerator. After inspecting it, Matt pulled out a plastic bottle of water and put it on the counter next to the wrapped food.

"I am being serious," he replied. "Eat."

"Will you answer my question if I do?" I mumbled, pulling the PopTart towards me.

"Sure."

I opened the wrapper and pulled out a hard pastry. It was covered in a white frosting with pink sprinkles along the top. I took a bite.

It was chemically sweet and tasted similar to strawberry jam. It didn't taste like the pastries the chefs prepared at The Wammy's House, but my stomach didn't care about familiarity. I haven't eaten anything since yesterday morning.

My stomach growled from the stimulus of my tastebuds. I swallowed and chomped down again, the hunger finally catching up to me.

Matt watched me with a satisfied smugness.

"I'm going to meet up with Skyer," he revealed. "You, on the other hand, are waiting here. That's all I'm sharing. That's all you need to know."

Debatable. After being shipped across the sea to another country by someone you haven't seen in five years in a very unorthodox and semi-illegal way, I felt like there is a lot more that can be shared...

I stopped mid chew and forced myself to swallow. "But-"

"Y/N," he strictly cut off.

I jumped. Matt ran his hands through his hair, tugging on it slightly with his stress. He stared at me with austereness, his disposition kind but unyielding. Guilt almost silenced me from seeing the desperation in his eyes, but the need to understand formed a barricade around me. I couldn't tell if this drive to collect the facts was from natural born curiosity or if it was drilled into me by Wammy's institution.

Whatever it was, my curiosity was beating every other feeling within me.

“... please stay," Matt begged.

I didn't protest him again, so he took that as a sign of my agreeance. Matt grabbed his keys from off the counter and walked over to the door.

"I think I'll be back before midnight," he guessed. "I'm locking the door behind me so you don't have to worry about it. You can, uhm, play games or watch the tele while I'm out."

As he opened the door, he glanced over his shoulder. "And don't let anyone in, okay?"

"Okay."

His lips thinned. His eyes narrowed in fret.

"Promise me?"

"I promise I won't let anyone in."

His demeanor eased.

"Thank you Y/N."

Matt shut the door.

I waited until I heard the lock, before I sprang up and ran to his room. I quickly changed into my outfit from yesterday.

I promised I wouldn't let anyone in, but I never said anything about letting people out.

I whispered apologies Matt would never hear as I slipped on my shoes. I had a strange feeling about where he was off to... I needed answers and I had an inkling this was the only way I would get them.

I locked the door from the inside and tested the handle. When I knew it was locked, I fled the complex. It wasn't too difficult to spot Matt in the crowd of people outside. His auburn hair beamed in the late afternoon sun like autumn leaves.

I silently tailed him, keeping a few feet behind. He glanced over his shoulders a few times, either feeling a primal instinct that he was being followed or as a precaution. Each time, I hid in a corner or alley opening to avoid his sight.

He never noticed my presence, which honestly made me feel quite relieved. I never would have considered myself a sneaky person, especially with my clumsy streak. Therefore, I was very proud of the fact that I was able to follow him all the way to the factory without being spotted.

Walking to the factory was especially complex, since there were more open spaces. Luckily, he didn't really glance back much during this time. Someone had called him again, which preoccupied his attention. The wind too ended up being in my favor. It aggressively hit the cusps of our ears, filtering out the sounds of my feet drumming against the dry dirt.

When we approached the factory, I had to force myself to keep moving. I wanted so desperately to just stand in awe. The steel structure was eerily large and abandoned. It had been abused by the elements; it was rusted over and dusted with desert sand. There was a black chained fence surrounding it. The broken gate was swung open, unnaturally. A "KEEP OUT" sign clattered against it with each gust of wind.

Matt whistled, ducking underneath that sign as if he couldn't read.

I did the same.

We journeyed closer to the door. I gasped and lurched myself behind an old shipping container close by.

A man stood in front of the factory entrance. His silver dreadlocks blended in with the steel chains behind him. He flared his funneled nose as Matt stepped into focus.

"Whatchu doin' here so late?" he chastised, crossing his large arms.

His melanin- rich skin glimmered in the sunlight, as he took a few steps out of the shaded section of the factory.

Matt shrugged. I could hear in his voice that he was smiling. "I wasn't even planning on coming, Roy."

The man, Roy, appeared agitated by that response. He scratched the Nike sweatband across his forehead and flickered his eyes to the door.

"You can't be too honest like that, dawg," he advised. "Ain't nobody actually wanna come to these things, but you can't say that shit out loud."

"Why are you outside?"

"I'm the watch."

Matt chuckled and retorted, “Rod has you on guard dog duty?”

“Don’t call him that,” Roy cautioned. “He don’t like that no more.”

At that correction, Matt shot him a quizzical look.

“Why?” he asked.

Roy exhaled and shook his head. “I ain’t supposed to repeat it. All I’m supposed to say is that we gotta call him ‘Ross’ now.”

“Tell me,” Matt lured. “You know I’m not going to snitch.”

“Nah! Curiosity killed the damn cat. I ain’t gonna be the one!”

“Roy…” Matt sang, arching his eyebrow. A smile spread across his face as he watched Roy struggle to keep it in.

Roy licked his lower lip, his eyes darting hesitantly at the door. It was as if he were afraid someone would burst in at any moment.

“Alrigh’, alrigh’,” he hushed. “I’ll tell ya cause I know your ass won’t leave me alone. But don’t be goin’ around sayin’ I said somethin’.”

“You have my word.”

“That don’t mean shit with you,” Roy mumbled, side eyeing him incredulously. “But here’s the scoop…”

He became animated, his hands moving around with his words. I normally would have been captivated by this passionate display…

Had his words not been full of horror.

“Ross was with new streetwalkers. They were gettin’ into it, right? One of the girls got sly. I don’ know if she thought he was into some derogatory stuff or somethin’.”

Roy shifted his stance in obvious discomfort.

“When she saw him, she said, ‘I know why they call you Rod now. Your wood’s skinny as a fishing rod.’ Emasculating.”

I expected Matt to laugh or snort. It was inappropriate humor, but he has reacted to less. Therefore, it was alarming to see how eerily still he suddenly became.

Roy’s hushed voice was strained as he told, “You know how Ross is. You don’t play around with his ego. He beat her within’ an inch of her life. Jose had to step in… he stopped him from cuttin’ out her damn tongue. Him and Jack had to clean up all the blood and teeth and shit.”

Matt’s hand twitched at his side, his shoulders rising.

Roy pulled on one of his dreadlocks as he emphasized, “The other girl was too scared to do anythin’. We had to go find Ross new ones and pay ‘em extra under the table to… you know, make him feel special and shit. Needed to pop a few happions after that. Man, it stressed me out.”

I felt sick to my stomach.

"Bloody hell," Matt muttered, running his hand through his hair. "'Ross' it is, then."

"You should probably get inside," Roy reckoned, stepping out of his way. "He's a couple shots in by now, so you got lucky."

Matt saluted him playfully and marched on into the factory. He disappeared in the black interior. I bit my lip as I lost him. My curiosity was eating me alive... I needed to see what was in there. I wanted to know what Matt and Mello have been up to. Who Skyer and Greg were. Who Rod... or Ross was...

The answers were behind the door that Roy was pacing in front of.

He wouldn't let me through if his orders were to guard the door. I spotted a gun inside the pocket of his trousers. I don't think he would even give me the time to explain myself if he saw me sneaking in...

I glanced around me desperately, until I found something I could use to distract him.

I picked up a stone near the container and hoped this would work. I didn't have good aim but luckily I just had to make noise.

I whipped the rock over at the edge of the factory. It struck a section of the steel and made a loud reverberating clash. Roy perked up at the sound and gripped onto his gun.

I smiled in victory as he slowly moved over to that area. He took the bait.

As he paced over to the noise, I ran on the tips of my feet into the factory.

The outside light made the interior of the factory visible. The sunlight poured in from the small windows at the top of the building. Beams and pillars reached up to the ceiling and abridged the metallic walls. There were ladders leading up to different shelving units and steel stairs that allowed visitors to trespass from the ground to the second story.

Some more containers were left tucked near the walls. Peculiarly, they appeared well mended as opposed to the ones sitting outside. I wondered what was in them.

I slowly moved along the concrete floor, observing each unit of my path. I made out the faint sounds of music from the opposing side of the factory. I followed the beats and soon heard faded sounds of people.

That's when signs of life emerged.

A staircase led down to a room where discussions were audibly occurring. Chains dangled near the staircase and cascaded down to the floor. I couldn't see what was at the end of the staircase and worried that if I descended, I would walk into someone's view.

I couldn't rely on hiding in shadowy places. There was more lighting here. I could tell it was artificial. A chandelier hung from a pillar and I saw the curved shadows against the steel walls, indicating there were lamps downstairs.

There was a wrap-around walkway next to me, so I felt that was a safer bet. I crouched down and hesitantly crawled along the walkway. The rigid iron below me pressed painfully into my palms and knees.

A massive pipe extended out of the wall and warped through the walkway. I pulled my body behind the pipe and peered beyond it to make out the scene a few feet below.

I recognized the people below me instantly. Matt was igniting a cigarette, while Skyer and Greg grouped next to him. Some other people, who were unfamiliar faces, were scattered around them.

In the far corner, I made out some monitors. Two men were sitting on rolling chairs; their bodies were pivoted towards the center of the room, but ever so often, they would glance casually over at the monitors.

I scrutinized the screens. Those were security monitors... I didn't recognize the building they were watching. Only two of them showed the factory we were in. They obviously weren't paying much attention to it, since I hadn't been caught yet.

... or there might be a time delay. Goosebumps pricked my arms at that possibility.

The bass in the music dropped. It rattled the ice bucket sitting on the glass table. The table was positioned in the center of the room. Strong liquors stood on the table, but only one man seemed to be partaking in them. It appeared like no one wanted to touch any of the items near him. Even the large two bowls of crisps remained uneaten.

I shuttered at the sight of the bald man. His beastly frame took up almost half of the animal printed sofa he was perched on. His muscles ripped at his skin, while he extended his strong arm out to pour himself another shot. A gold, heavy chain wrapped around his thick neck, appearing almost like a massive leash. There were human scratches on his bare back.

I think that was Ross... I recalled Roy's story and felt my throat burn with stomach acid.

A woman sat cross legged next to him. Her arms were crossed over her chest. She appeared angry, her thin face resting with a prominent pout. Her red stained lips blew a strand of her black bob out of her face.

A man sprawled on the zebra print couch across from her made a comment. He polished his gun, ticking his tattooed neck. She waved her hand at him, dismissing whatever he said.

There were other people in the room... but they all disappeared instantly when my eyes landed on the figure perched on top of the couch.

My heart skipped a beat.

It was unmistakably him.

Mello.

I had often tried to envision what he would look like now, so that if I were ever to meet him again I would know him immediately. My delusions of what he might have looked like were all wrong.

They would never have done him justice.

I gaped at his beauty. His fair, aureate hair fell gently upon his face. His features were much stronger now, yet still they appeared beautifully seraphic. He was unfairly symmetrical and unblemished. His face got firmer with age, especially around his angular jaw line. Still, there was a paradisiacal softness to it which was difficult to explain.

Mello stretched out his arm, propping his sinewy body against the lean. Under his broad shoulders, his slender muscles flexed with his motions. His pale olive skin appeared radiant, as if he had recently basked in the Californian sun.

His arrowed nose crinkled slightly in reaction to some occurrence in the room. I wouldn't have known from what... I couldn't pull my eyes from him.

Michelangelo was rolling in his grave for dying before he could immortalize him into art.

The sound of feet racing down the cement made me jump. A man darted down the stairs, too occupied on getting where he needed to be to notice me on the walkway.

He burst into the room below vigorously. His breathing was rapid and uneven, causing his next words to come out harsh and stuttered.

“B-Boss?!” he called out in a panic.

Someone turned off the music. The room silenced. The intense panting of the man and the creaks of the couch seemed minimal compared to the pounding of my heart beat. I hoped no one else could hear it too.

I leaned forward slightly to capture a better look at the new intruder. His burly body was covered in formal attire that tightly fit his form. His white suit wrinkled up with his panicked posture, which in turn disarrayed the purple button up shirt he wore underneath.

His forehead glistened with cold sweat that dripped down his blanched dark skin. He didn’t wipe it off. He didn’t even move the black dreadlock that curled underneath the fabric of his collar.

All the attention he had was pinned solely on the Herculean man lounged in front of him.

It was the bald man with the chain and scratches... he was referred to as 'boss'...

I gulped. My suspicion of his identity was confirmed.

Ross tilted his head, the vein in his neck pulsed.

“What?” he sighed. “Keep your voice down.”

Ross held his shot up, waiting to take a sip. It was as though the man’s next words would alter that choice.

He would be sinister if he couldn’t swallow that drink.

His nonchalant mannerisms were striking in comparison to the man’s discomposure. His cool disposition was like frail ice… one wrong step and he would crack. From scanning the worried faces in the room, it seemed everyone was aware that they were standing on that ice. They anxiously awaited their chilling fate.

“What’s gotten into Kollet?” Skyer lowly muttered to Matt. "Probably took too many pills..."

Matt didn’t respond to this. Smoke climbed up from where he was standing, clawing its way through the cracks in the ceiling. I backed away slightly, feeling it singe my nose.

Kollet gulped and he casted his head down.

“Please forgive us,” he pleaded. “Me and Eddie were talking and… Takimura hung himself with his necktie...”

The room went cold.

My throat dried. The head of the Japanese National Police Agency… killed himself?

Ross perched forward and set his shot down. The glass left his hand and the atmosphere around him thickened.

The muscles in his body bulged and enlarged unnaturally, while he gritted his teeth. The grinding of his canines and the menacing stance of his body was predatorial. Matched with the animal print around him, he looked like a dangerous beast.

“God damnit,” he gnashed angrily. “What good is a dead hostage?!”

I flinched as I saw his hand reach for his holster. He was going to kill him.

“No,” an authoritative tone intervened.

Chills ran up and down my spine at its orotund sound. His voice changed...

“This is fine,” Mello spoke again.

Fine? Someone just died. What was he saying?

Kollet glanced at my old friend in both unsure relief and intense perplexity. When I saw Mello’s face, I immediately understood why.

Everyone else in the room appeared grave or shocked by the news of Takimura’s passing.

Mello was grinning.

He raised the chocolate bar to his teeth and bit off a piece. The room was so quiet that we all could hear its snap clearly.

Everyone attentively watched the cocoa melt, awaiting his next words. Even Ross.

Mello got off the couch and stood up. He had gotten tall. His height was equal to Matt's. What were these two eating?!

Mello paced to the center of the room and halted. His black clothes hugged his body tightly. One of his gloved hands looped into his belt.

He ordered to everyone listening: “Kidnap Soichiro Yagami's daughter next.”

My head became light. I knew Mello kidnapped before, but for some reason a part of me imagined it played out differently. I thought that maybe he did so out of sheer necessity and that it was well orchestrated and moral... I knew that chasing Kira would require some sacrifices, but I didn't expect Mello to be as inhumane as this.

Not only did he have no negative reaction to Takimura's tragic fatality... but he was already happily planning on stealing someone else.

A girl.

There was no shame. There was no hesitation. There was no guilt.

I squinted my eyes at Mello, as if I could see through him. As if I could make out a small difference and reaffirm to myself that this wasn't my old tutor. The reality was incongruent.

“Hey Mello,” a man called out.

He towered high in structure and had an old charm to him. His umber skin was aged but not too wrinkled, making him seem like he might be in his late thirties or forties. His obsidian hair was swept back like an ocean wave.

The man stared at Mello in pure interest. There didn’t seem to be any malice in his eyes, just a want to understand.

Mello tilted his head idly over to the man, a sign that the man briefly had his attention.

“You brought in the head of a mafia boss even Kira couldn’t kill when you joined us,” he stated. “Why are you so obsessed with this notebook?”

The other men around him made motions of agreement. Some leaned in closer with interest, others who were more daring nodded.

Notebook?

Mello grinned, his eyes widening with fervor.

“It’s more than just wanting a notebook. I want Kira’s head… and I’ll kill anyone who gets in my way,” he declared. “I’ll be number one.”

The cruelty of his threat left me in distress… but the other statement made me want to vomit. Did that man imply Mello already murdered someone?

Impossible.

“Yeah, Mello’s right,” Ross’s voice shouted from the couch.

He redirected everyone’s attention back to him, attempting to reestablish his authority.

“Kira is in our way,” he rephrased, folding his hands in front of him. “No matter how powerful our gang is, we’ll always be number two as long as Kira is around.”

Gang. It all makes sense now… no wonder Greg and Skyer reacted to my government question with animosity. They were working against the establishment.

“To kill Kira, we must know him…” Ross continued. “If another one of Kira’s killing tools exists, then we’ll start by getting that. We just have to do as Mello tells us. Has he ever said something wrong in the year and a half he’s been with us?”

Too many things fluttered through my mind. One, who was “the mafia boss even Kira couldn’t kill”? Two, Kira's killing weapon is a “notebook”? Three, and this one especially confused me, how did Mello and Matt even end up here?

They hated gangs. Too many deaths were associated with them… Natalie, Mello’s parents, my own mother… what made them join? It didn’t make any logical sense.

Even more conflicting was Ross's speech. Why did a sinister man like Ross respect Mello so much? What did Mello do to earn that?

The walkway vibrated.

Someone was up here.

I threw my body behind the massive pipe, clinging onto my knees to shrink myself as much as possible.

It didn't matter.

I saw their shadows growing on the wall like black phantoms. Two men were turning the corner and walking straight my way.

I could not run. The only thing I could do was turn invisible... which was impossible. I still attempted.

I held my breath and froze, hoping that by not moving or breathing, my body would just fade into the pipe.

A pair of brown hiking boots emerged from my peripheral vision, followed by the marches of black, shiny loafers. I peered up and made out the two men more clearly. The one with the hiking boots had no hair. His face was sunken in and thin. His lips curved inwards, an effect I knew medically implied he lost teeth and oral bone structure. This could be the result of poor hygiene, but given other physical clues like his sallow, orangish skin, I could tell it was the result of hard drugs.

He spotted me first. His long nose struck the air as he jolted in alarm. I watched his brown eyes flicker over to his partner, who had also recognized my intrusion. The man with the shiny black loafers was dressed more business- like. His long, oval face was sharp and unmoving. His blonde, straight dropped to his shoulders. It appeared a similar color to Mello's, but it was less taken care of. It was stiff and dry, frizzing out on the sides like wheat.

His small eyes narrowed on me.

"Hello..." he greeted tauntingly. "Are you lost?"

I backed up into the pipe, my chest heaving with fear. But there was no where I could go.

They glanced at each other, before diving in and gripping my arms. I was yanked up to my feet and practically carried towards the staircase.

As we walked down the steps, I felt like I was travelling to Hell. My fear was so strong, I could barely even stomach it.

The bald man interrupted the meeting, shouting out, "Look at the loot we found!"

I felt the stares of everyone in the room. My jaw hurt from how hard my teeth were grinding and I swore I was having a heart attack.

I made eye contact with Matt, who was standing at my right.

I don't think his eyes could open any wider. The cigarette he was smoking fell out of his agape mouth and clattered to the floor. His skin paled.

We were both thinking the same thing right now... I shouldn't be here.

I should have listened to him.

"Let me see," Ross commanded.

The blonde man gripped my arm tighter and I gasped. They turned me so that Ross could inspect me better.

I was facing the center of the room.

That's when Mello saw me for the first time.

The color I had been missing in this world finally returned to my pallet: that deep green shade that metamorphosed with his fervors like nature did with the sun.

The emerald hue in his eyes was rigidly sharp and opaque.

His pupils shrank and I read his emotions like a book.

Disbelief. Vexation. Fear.

A destructive triad.

Mello blinked and when his eyelids fluttered open again, the emotions were turned off. They were replaced by complete insouciance.

The gaze he casted me was cold and dismissive, like he didn’t know nor care who I was.

Mello flickered his eyes over to Ross and impulsively bit a piece off his chocolate bar.

His hand was shaking.

I followed his eyes over to Ross.

The man leaned forward, rubbing his burly hand down his black goatee. His large lips pulled down with his palm, allowing me to catch a small tattoo in the inside of his bottom lip.

His head tilted while he scrutinized me, jingling the gold hoops that were pierced onto his ears.

I glanced back at Mello, but he was no longer looking at me. It was as if I was no longer in the room.

The chimes of Ross's jewelry stole my attention. I watched him lean over to Mello.

"She seems to know you," he asserted.

Mello lazily turned to me.

"I don't know who that is," he denied, peering at me with bitter indifference.

It honestly hurt to hear those words come out of his mouth. He said them so guilelessly, I almost believed he had forgotten me.

But the necklace he wore around his neck testified against him: I spent hours placing the very cross and beads that were laying on his heart.

"Does anyone know who this bitch is?" Ross wondered aloud.

"I do!" a familiar voice declared.

Greg raised his arm over his head, capturing Ross and the rest of the group's attention.

Skyer fanned his shirt next to him, sweat already drenching the fabric. He appeared very uncomfortable with all the surveillance. Matt's lips were pressed in a thin line stoically. His eyes were closed as he exhaled sharply.

I caught his fist balling up at his side.

Ross laughed at the young man.

"Go on, Greg. Enlighten us," he encouraged.

Some of the other men smiled. Everyone's fascination with Greg teetered with ridicule. It was heartbreaking to see... it reminded me of The Wammy's House.

"It's the woman you wanted us to get from England," Greg declared proudly. "Matt, Skyer, and I got her last night."

He boasted out his chest, expecting some sort of praise. Instead, he was met with complete bewilderment.

Ross blinked, his eyebrows furrowing together. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Greg shrank back in confusion while he whimpered out, "It's... it's Y/N."

"Y/N?" Ross repeated.

Mello's eye twitched.

Skyer wiped the sweat off his brow and growled, "Son of a bitch. I knew it. We were played."

Matt stepped forward, stomping on that cigarette he dropped earlier.

"Come now, it was supposed to be a surprise," he drawled, a feline- like smile stretching across his face. "We had time to make a detour, Ross. I thought I would help you out."

Ross reclined back, his eyebrows relaxing. It seemed he had some level of respect and trust in Matt, since his mannerisms were different towards him than towards Greg. Still, he posed an air of questioning. It appeared Matt was not on the same authoritative level as Mello. Ross didn't question Mello, it seemed. But he was wanting an elaboration from Matt.

"I hacked into Angelo's system last week. Turns out they broke our agreement and bought more stock from the Feeney boys. They had a shipment being ported at Manchester. I guess they thought that international trade would be more under the radar."

Ross turned red with fury, flinging forward. "WHAT?!"

Matt shrugged, "I blackmailed the captain of that stock ship. The containers never reached Manchester, it's waiting at a port in Wales for you to pick up. Consider it an early birthday gift. Angelo, on the other hand, received his containers. I filled them with Tesco groceries... much of it is produce, so it's going to be such a drag for them to clean up."

Ross grinned, the earlier anger flushing away at Matt's reveal.

"On the other hand," Matt continued, tilting his head in my direction. "One of Angelo's mafiosi happened to be at the airport. Wrong time, wrong place. Poor thing. She's only a worker at his restaurant chain, after all. I've seen her before during one of our dinners there... you know, when our gangs were on good terms. She delivered the payment to the Feeney boys' transport team. She didn't know what she was being sent to do..."

I... was what?

"Where's the money?" Ross asked me.

I stammered. Matt swooped into my rescue, continuing on his elaborate story.

"Sorry, Ross. That's the one thing I couldn't control. She had to pay for the men to take in the fake containers."

"Why bring her here?" Ross wondered.

"I felt bad for her," Matt shrugged. "They were going to kill her after the job was done. I thought we could use her instead."

Ross made a guttural noise. His intrusive eyes slithered up and down my body. I quivered uncomfortably, feeling the phantom touches of his stare trace over my dips and curves. They lingered on places they shouldn’t.

“Angelo should have cared more about you,” he guessed, before clicking his tongue. “A beauty like that shouldn't be wasted.”

Ross reclined back into the couch, his eyes glowing perniciously.

“Tell me… how good did Angelo treat you, hm? I’m sure we can do much better.”

Some of the men snickered. It wasn’t in reaction to a humor I recognized. I felt my gut wretch and desired nothing more than to shield myself away.

“What do you say Mello?” Ross suddenly directed.

All eyes fell on the man. Mello’s jaw clenched. He kept his eyes away from me.

“She’s not my type,” he stated simply. “I see no use for her. Let her go.”

Ross hummed and redirected his attention. "That's not fair. She already knows too much... do we still have that maid outfit, Jose?”

Jose. Roy mentioned him in his story...

The man who asked about the notebook earlier perked up. His face reddened. I couldn’t tell if it was out of embarrassment or anger.

“I don’t know,” he answered.

“I think she would look better with less modest clothes,” Ross opinioned. “And Marge could use an extra hand.”

The woman next to him stiffened. Her brown eyes bulged as she glimpsed at me. They narrowed into a leer, filled with hatred.

I, personally, think Marge was just fine without me.

I wanted to cover myself instinctively, but the men holding my arms were gripping too tight.

Ross reached forward and grabbed his shot glass, before raising it up to me.

"Congrats. You've been promoted to our cleaning lady," he proclaimed.

He took a swing of his shot and exhaled out of his mouth. My knees became weak, as if he had just drank the courage out of me. The men let go of me, seeing as Ross just affiliated me.

"Meeting is adjourned," Ross dismissed. "Let's have fun!"

The two men left my side and strolled towards the monitors. Immediately, however, my arm was gripped again.

Matt practically dragged me out of the room as the men grew rowdy.

Matt did not speak, despite me uttering his name. He did not yield in his relentless speed.

He led me to an exit door in the factory, one that I had not yet seen.

The area around it did not have cameras around; at least, from what I could tell after analyzing the monitors earlier. It seemed this crammed area was one of their blind spots.

I wondered how Matt knew this. To be fair, it wouldn’t surprise me if he was the one who installed the security system in the first place.

Matt shoved open the door. I squinted, my eyes burning slightly from the sand that kicked in.

He stepped out with me, vacating the premises.

The sun was setting now, casting a maroon color across the wispy clouds. Not that I could observe it more closely… Matt was practically carrying me out.

We made it across the dirt and back towards the urban area.

As my feet stumbled from underneath me, I finally retaliated. I dug my heels into the ground and let him drag me with.

Feeling the new resistance, Matt finally stopped.

He whipped around, his golden eyes blazing like fire. The heat of his glare was so intense that I felt my cheeks singe.

“What were you thinking?!” he snapped. “I told you to stay inside!”

“And then what?” I argued.

“And then you wait until I take you to a safe apartment!”

“So you could just leave me there?! You weren’t going to give me answers!”

“No, I wasn’t!” he confirmed angrily, slashing his hand through the air. “Did you ever stop to consider that I didn’t want you to know?!”

“You can’t just come back after five years, take me away from our home country, and leave me in some random apartment in a city I don’t even know, Matt!” I explained. “I know everything else, so why is this any different?!”

“It just is!”

Matt ripped off his goggles fervidly and huffed, pacing away from me. His body was tense, his fingers shaking.

“I was already involved,” I reminded him. “Skyer and Greg knew about me.”

Matt shook his head. “But Ross didn’t.”

He kicked the curb and muttered curses under his breath.

“Was that story you told Ross true?” I asked.

“Some of it,” he grumbled.

Matt whipped out his cigarette pack and pulled one out. I let him light it in peace, knowing that he needed to cool down. He ignited it and took a drag. After he puffed on it a few times, I got the courage to implore more.

“What parts of it were true?”

He glanced at me wearily, smoke pooling out of his lips. The fire in his eyes had dimmed, so I knew he was calmer.

“All but you,” he answered.

“Why did you lie to him?” I asked. “Why did you tell him that I was a mafia member for Alfonso?”

“Angelo,” Matt corrected sternly. “Please remember that.”

Noted. I guess it was important that I remember his lie.

He took another hit of his cigarette, before saying, “If I told him anything else he would have killed you… I’m not too convinced he isn’t still thinking about it.”

My body shivered.

Matt threw his cigarette onto the ground and squashed it under his booth.

“What’s done is done,” he muttered. “I brought you into this mess, I’ll figure out how to get you out.”

"I'm sorry."

He stared at me with hurt.

"You should be," he returned.

I flickered my eyes away from his, feeling ashamed.

I was defeated. My mother always warned me that my curious nature would get me into trouble. Still, I couldn’t stand not having any answers.

What would have been better: not knowing the truth and being obedient or disobedient and finding out the truth?

I followed him down the road, not quite knowing what else to say at this moment. Maybe it was due to my brain fog… I felt so exhausted both physically and mentally. My head was spinning and my emotions were flaring up.

Tears were spilling out of my eyes. I had many reasons to cry… but I couldn’t tell you why it was occurring.

We made it to the apartment complex and headed up the stairs quietly, climbing back to his room.

Matt exhaled sharply and grabbed the apartment keys from his pocket. He twisted it into the lock and pushed open the door.

I stepped into the doorframe, following Matt.

He turned on the light.

We both froze. The air was practically knocked out of my lungs.

Mello sat cross legged on the plastic covered armchair.

Matt shut the door slowly, his body rigid with tension.

Mello’s imperiling glare had that effect on people.

Mello heaved himself up off of the chair and walked over to Matt. His hand reclined back, before he smacked him across the face.

I gasped and clamped my hands over my mouth. Matt didn’t flinch or retaliate. He took it, as if he deserved it.

“How long were you going to wait to tell me about this?!” Mello growled.

Matt gritted his teeth before declaring, "I had it under control."

Mello's nostrils flared. I watched his face redden with fury.

"Under control?! You call what just happened under control, Matt?! I can’t fucking believe you!”

“I told her to stay inside the apartment,” Matt defended. “It’s not like I wanted this to happen!”

“She shouldn’t even be here!” Mello shouted.

I realized then that this argument was about me.

“And what do you mean stay inside?! What, you were just going to lock her in here with some food and water?! She isn’t a fucking dog, Matt!”

“It was obviously temporary, Mello! I have an apartment lined up, so I was going to relocate her there.”

He snorted bitterly, running a hand through his fair hair.

"And the Feeney raid... God. Anything else you’re hiding from me?” he asked seethingly.

“No,” Matt answered.

Mello nodded, his frown deepening.

“Take her back,” he ordered. “Now.”

“He can’t,” I jumped in.

Mello stared at me, his breath hitching. Now, instead of just anger, I could finally see the worry in his expression.

“Matt saved me,” I filled him in. “I would have been in Japan if he hadn’t gotten me in time.”

Mello’s eyes widened and he glanced over to Matt.

The auburn haired male slowly nodded.

Mello’s jaw clenched, before he barked, “Son of a-!”

He kicked the chair over at the island, letting it clatter to the floor.

“I can’t return to the orphanage,” I confirmed. “But I wouldn’t want to go back anyways. I want to stay with you!”

“No,” Mello immediately turned down.

"That's not fair!"

"What isn't fair is keeping you here!"

He glanced at my hands and his nose curled.

“Damnit, Matt. You didn’t even fucking glove her.”

“Rashid cleaned the jet and the Tesco car,” Matt cleared. “Other than that, she left no fingerprints.”

“I’m staying here,” I declared again.

Mello glanced at me.

Matt gave him a half shrug. “Yeah, she’s more stubborn now.”

“You’re not,” Mello denied. “We will provide you with a safe place and that’s it. I swear that you’ll never have to see us again.”

“I don’t want that.”

Mello’s jaw ticked. "I burned our bridges. You should too."

I didn't think that was the case. There was no way he separated himself... not when he had Heidi looking out for me. Not when I saw that brief moment where his eyes recognized me. And not when he was freaking out this much about my peril.

"I don't believe you," I averred.

Mello flinched. I felt victorious watching his detached facade steadily shatter. I saw through him and he knew it.

Yet, despite this, he remained as stubborn as he was when we were kids.

"You're not needed here," he attempted again.

"Your lies aren't going to convince me to go away," I shot back.

Mello gritted his teeth. "I don't want you here. That's the truth."

"But you want me in your life."

Mello’s pupils dilated and his eyes quickly left mine. I watched his chest heave up and down, his fists clenching at his side.

My mind flashed to that cold December, when he left me at the gates.

He couldn’t look me in the eye then, either. He was afraid of this truth… he was afraid of admitting it.

In this moment of vulnerability, I softly begged him, "I went under for five years after you left... I can't bear it again. Please, Mello... don't push me away."

Mello faltered for a moment. In a split moment, I thought I might have convinced him. He squeezed his eyes shut and distanced himself physically. When his eyes opened again, I realized he traveled further than just a step away from me.

I peered into his frozen gaze and knew I mentally lost him.

"You're not going to win this fight," Mello snarled. "I'm setting you free, Y/N. Before you fall too deep into this."

He shoved past us and grabbed the knob.

“Get her new place ready, Matt. I’ll work out how to disaffiliate her safely.”

He opened the door and slammed it behind him.

Chapter Text

October 12, 2009

I didn’t sleep too well.

Waking up was even worse.

My stomach scorched my insides. It begged for food… I guess I have been neglecting that need. Not that it was entirely my fault… the circumstances I’ve been crammed into haven’t really been optimal to properly consume a meal.

I headed out of Matt’s room, holding onto my grumbling stomach.

He was sitting on the loveseat, staring at the screen of his laptop. The monitor hummed lowly, evidently overheated. He chewed on his thumbnail, reading whatever was in front of him. The pixelated light highlighted the bags that were beginning to appear underneath his eyes.

I wondered if he slept at all.

He didn’t stay in his room last night, opting instead to give me space to myself. Our emotions were still intense after everything that went down. We needed time to cool down and process all of the new changes.

I hoped he had forgiven me for acting so recklessly.

As I got closer to him, the colors on the screen merged into recognizable images. He was looking at an apartment.

My heel creaked the floorboards, causing Matt to glance up.

He gave me a small grin.

“Mornin’.”

A weight I didn’t even know I was carrying lifted off my chest. He didn’t appear angry like he did yesterday.

“Good morning,” I replied, giving him a soft smile in return.

Matt removed the laptop off his lap and set it on the floor. He pivoted his body towards me, giving me his full attention.

I noticed he was still wearing the clothes he wore yesterday.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked.

“I slept.”

I didn’t want to lie, but I also didn’t want to complain.

“How about you?” I wondered.

Matt stretched his arms up over his head and grunted.

“Eh…” he replied through the stretch.

The answer was no. I figured as much.

He released his arms and used them to heave himself up. Matt’s knees cracked slightly as he stood straight.

He rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze landing on me… then to the corner of the room… then to the floor…

“I, uhm… I wanted to apologize,” he said.

My eyebrows pinched together and I shook my head.

“You don’t have to apologize, Matt. I was the one who made everything worse.”

Matt’s eyes locked into mine, “No. You just did what anyone else would do. I reacted poorly. I was mad at the situation… and I was afraid… I should have just been honest with you. I had time to think about it more last night and I… I was just nervous about how you’d react to the changes. It was unfair of me to put you in a situation where you felt like you were alone.”

I didn’t know what to say. I felt my lip quiver at his sentiment. I never really associated any sort of explanation to the overpowering emotions I underwent, but hearing him summarize it to me made sense. I was so scared and confused and irritated… because I did feel alone.

“I know it seems like I left you alone,” Matt continued. “But I want to make it clear that I will never put you in a place where I cannot find you or in a position that I cannot help you. Especially now.”

My eyes flickered over to the laptop. “But how would that work? Aren’t you putting me in an apartment somewhere? Like Mello said?”

Matt shook his head. “No.”

I was confused. He was on an apartment site just a moment ago.

“But… I thought I saw…”

“You saw me cancel your lease.”

My eyes widened. “You… but Mello said-”

“- I’ll face him later,” Matt interjected. “I thought about it last night… and I think it’s safer for you to stay with one of us. For now, at least.”

Words couldn't express how relieved I was at hearing this.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

Matt flushed and nodded, scratching his nose. “Yeah. Besides, signing into a contract is all a drag. So, it’s a win-win.”

I smiled, feeling elated at the prospect of not being separated.

Matt walked over to the kitchen.

“You hungry?” he called over his shoulder.

“Very.”

Matt journeyed to the cabinets and opened the door. He rummaged through them.

“I don’t have much…," he disclosed, "but maybe you can go grocery shopping with Greg later...”

Why would I go grocery shopping with Greg? That didn't make much sense...

“I’ve got PopTarts… I have Frosties cereal… I have bread. No, scratch that, it’s green so that’s got to fucking go.”

A loaf of bread flew out of the cabinet and landed onto the floor. Its impact made a loud thud. I grimaced, hearing how stale it had become.

“I also have some macaroni and cheese. But I don’t have milk right now, so it might be a little gnarly.”

Matt snorted at himself, before concluding, “With a menu this gourmet, I should open a restaurant.”

I giggled at him, before admitting, "I liked the pastry you gave me.”

“The Poppa-Tart?” he mocked.

“Yes. The Poppa-Tart.”

I heard him chuckle as he retrieved the box.

“As you wish, Y/N.”

We sat together, consuming PopTarts and drinking the bottles of water Matt got from the fridge. For the first time, my stomach digested the food and drink without feeling the sickening flutters of anxiety. Now that Matt affirmed to me that I would be staying with him, I felt more stabilized in my environment.

He waited until we were done with our breakfast, before letting me in on the plans for today.

"I have another meeting," he informed me.

I played with the wrapper on my plastic bottle. "Oh... I can stay here..."

"As much as I would like you to, you're going to have to come with," Matt addressed. "You're the new cleaning lady, remember?"

I felt the blood drain from my head. That's right. I was affiliated now.

I nearly gasped, recalling Ross's words.

"Does that mean I need to wear that maid outfit?"

Matt reclined his head and let out a loud laugh. "HAHA! Hell no!"

"But Ross said-"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. You would have worn it too, but Marge lit that shit on fire a long time ago. Don't worry about it."

"Marge?" I repeated.

It came back to me. Marge was the only other woman in that meeting last night. She had that prominent red lipstick and tight black cocktail dress... I remembered her hostile gaze and shivered.

"Yeah," Matt uttered, glancing at the clock on the wall. "Speaking of which, we need to head out. You're supposed to meet her in an hour."

"I am?!"

"Mello set it up."

A pang hit my heart at his name.

Our reunion was not what I thought it would be. It hurt to think back on it...

"Mello wants me to meet Marge?" I wondered.

I couldn't hide the bitter feeling within me. He told me he was going to disaffiliate me. He went as far as to ask that I pretend they never existed. He very evidently was not happy I was here... so why was he making me meet another gang member? What was the purpose of that?

Matt must have caught the change in my energy. He reached over and patted my head.

"No need to look so gloomy," he said. "You can trust Marge."

That wasn't originally where my mind had wandered off to, but now that he mentioned it I was worried about that too.

I glanced down at the wrapper, feeling my stomach burn.

"Say it again."

"My name is Y/N," I repeated for the fifteenth time. "I'm an ex- member of Angelo's mafia. I am now affiliated with Ross."

"Again."

"Matt," I groaned.

He snickered, "Alright, alright. I'll stop. I just want to make sure you have it down."

Having me repeat that phrase over and over again the whole way here definitely solidified it for me.

Matt led me to the side door of the factory. It was the same one we left through last night.

I stepped through the door and onto the cement floor below. I had on another one of Matt's shirts and shorts. They fit loosely on me, which made my movements slightly more awkward. The gloves on my hands felt strange too... Matt made me put them on when we left the apartment. I think Mello made a strong impression when he yelled at him for not gloving me sooner.

Matt directed us up the stairs and onto the upper level- a place I had yet to explore.

"You're going to be in the kitchen today," he informed me. "Ross is most likely going to keep us working overnight, so you'll help Marge prep some meals for us."

Overnight... that seemed excessive.

"Is Mello going to be here?" I wondered.

"Yes," Matt answered.

"Can I see him?"

"No. He told me to keep you away from him."

My steps slowed.

Matt noticed that I was no longer keeping up with his long stride and stopped. He turned around, a look of confusion spreading across his face.

"He hates me now... doesn't he?"

"He doesn't hate you," Matt quickly dejected. "He just... hates that you're here."

"How do I fix that?"

Matt's eyebrows pinched together. He exhaled sharply and took a step closer to me.

"Not all things are fixable, Y/N. You just got to accept it as it is..."

I didn't understand. I observed his disposition and my bewilderment deepened. Why did he appear so sad?

There was a bang from one of the pipes next to us. I jumped and covered my ears, scrutinizing it in fear. I worried that it was one of the men from yesterday coming up to snatch me again.

No one was there. In a unit of time, the ventilation system kicked on and filtered cold air through the building.

I lowered my arms and sighed. My arms still shook at my sides.

Matt averted his eyes and turned around.

"Come on," he said, rather tensely. "Let's hurry up."

I obeyed, following him deeper into the abandoned industrial building.

We entered the factory's kitchen. In the past, it was cooked in with the purpose of making meals for workers. It was now repurposed to feed the gang members when they had larger meetings.

Steel equipment was scattered around the walls of the room. Metallic countertops wrapped around the center of the room like islands. Atop of one of them were brown paper bags.

The tiles underneath our feet were clean and grey, deflecting the fluorescent light panels above. Pipes ascended up to the ceiling and drooped, making it appear incredibly industrial. There was a large pantry in the corner, but I couldn't see what was beyond that door.

The lady from last night was igniting the stove. I gulped, the reality that I would be working with her setting in. I hope she doesn't feel burdened.

“Hello, Mamma Marge!” Matt greeted with high spirit.

The woman eyed him dully.

She had on more casual attire than the last time I saw her. The denim, low cut jeans and black crop top made it look like she just stepped out of a 90s magazine. Standing closer to her, I could now make out her frame. She had a slender, toned body, making her appear more youthful. The light wrinkles under her eyes and her mature mannerisms indicated to me that she was middle aged.

Marge pursed her lips, which were now coated in a burgundy matte, and returned her gaze to the stove. She placed butter onto a skillet, which was positioned next to the dutch oven. Both of these items waited on top of two burners.

When the butter touched the pan, it sizzled and hissed, melting under the heat.

“I brought you your new helper,” Matt announced. “I’m leaving her under your wing. Take care of her for me, will you?”

She shook her head and her shiny carob hair waved. I could tell that she wasn’t pleased I was here…

Matt rocked on his feet, clapping his hands together. “Well, uh, now you’ve met Marge... don’t stare too long at her or she’ll steal your soul.”

Marge scoffed, rolling her eyes at him.

She walked over to the counter that held the brown paper bags. She dumped out one of them. Onions, potatoes, and turnips rolled out onto the counter top.

She quickly peaked into the other two bags, getting more distraught with each one.

“Naaaan,” she whined, picking up one of the turnips. “C'est quoi ces conneries?!”

I recognized those vowels... Heidi uttered beautiful sounds just like that. It was her favorite language: French.

In a fit of anger, Marge gripped onto the empty bag and viciously crumbled it up. My eyes widened at her exhibited fury. I glanced hesitantly at Matt.

This was the person he trusted me with?

Matt placed a hand on my shoulder and gave me a half grin. “Good luck.”

He scurried out of the kitchen, leaving me alone with the fiery woman.

I didn’t quite know what to do. I waited in the middle of the room, too afraid to make a decision.

Marge dug into one of the bags and pulled out a large container of ground beef. She grumbled underneath her breath, while tearing through the plastic.

She moved it over to the stove and flipped the raw meat into the skillet. I listened to the screeches of the meat as it scorched. Through the sound, her voice came out sharp.

“Statues collect bird shit,” she stated.

I stammered, “I’m... I'm sorry?"

Marge quickly pulled out a drawer to the left of the stove and retrieved a wooden spoon. She stabbed the ground meat with it, chopping it up.

“What I mean is that you're not being helpful just standing there.”

"Oh... right, I'm so sorry! How can I help you?"

Marge peered over her shoulder, ceasing her chopping. “You need my help more than I need yours.”

“What-?"

“You can help yourself by actually telling the truth.”

I blinked. She fully faced me, waving the spoon in my direction.

“I’ll get straight to it. I don’t like liars, so let’s cut the bullshit. Who are you really?”

I froze.

Marge arched her eyebrow, impatiently awaiting the response that I was too choked up to give.

Finally, I poured out the line Matt taught me: "I'm Y/N. An ex- member of Angelo's mafia."

“Tu mais fais chier,” she snarled, slamming down the wooden spoon.

I gulped at her outburst. Marge moved closer to me by leaning over the counter, steadying herself on the palms of her hands.

“Let’s just be honest, yeah? We are the only two women in a sea of immature boys. I know why I am here, but you? Nan. When Ross brought you in, I thought c’est mort! I wanted them to throw you out!”

“Is it because you don’t like me?” I asked tentatively.

Marge narrowed her eyes and coldly replied, “Tu plaisantes? How do I know if I like you? We don’t even know each other. What a stupid question.”

She fixed her posture, now leering down at me with her tiny nose in the air.

“It's because you'll wish you were dead after a few weeks here,” Marge explained. “I’m giving you a chance to have your truth in the air… I know you aren’t in Angelo’s mafia. It’s only a matter of time before the others find out too.”

My throat dried up.

“How… how would you know that?” I inquired.

“You’re British.”

My face must have betrayed my confusion because immediately Marge rolled her eyes.

“J'en ai marre,” she grumbled. “It’s like I have to feed you everything.”

The beef cooking on the stove began to screech louder, followed by the simmer’s loud popping noises. Splashes of butter catapulted into the air.

Marge retrieved the wooden spoon again and retreated to the stove. She smashed the meat down and mixed it within the hot skillet. The raw meat now faced down, while the cooked black edges cooled on the top.

She turned the heat down on the stove and set her spoon down again.

“The men here have goals,” Marge continued, ripping a paper towel off the counter. “They do whatever they want to achieve them…”

She slowly wiped up the drops of escaped butter that marinated the counter.

“They are so narrow. They think only of their tasks. But we... the women who are dragged along… we see the whole thing. Our brains are just different, no? Matt is smart… but he doesn’t think so much.”

She turned around and faced me. “If Matt had come to me first, I would have said to him that Angelo and his boys hate the British. I listened to their drunk rambles about Matt and Mello at last year’s gala. Those Italian bastards wanted to rip them apart. He would have thought of a more convincing lie for you.”

My stomach lurched hearing that. I didn’t like the idea of either of them getting hurt or being put in harms way.

“But… Italians and the British get along just fine,” I reasoned, recalling my international relations lesson at The Wammy’s House.

Marge scoffed, “American Italians are a different breed. They would never put a British member in their mafia. They are too loyal to American and Italian bloodlines.”

She tossed the paper towel she was holding into the waste bin.

“But if that reason alone doesn’t convince you…” she drawled, walking around the counter.

My breath caught in my throat as the woman neared me. She halted in front of me, keeping us at eye level. I could smell her rose perfume intensely now.

“Take off your shirt,” she ordered.

“I… I beg your pardon?!”

“Take. Off. Your. Shirt.”

I hesitated. My hands shook as I reached for the hem of Matt’s t-shirt. I glanced behind me at the kitchen door, as if to double check it was just me and this woman in here.

Knowing it was private, I obeyed and lifted it off.

The kitchen air felt frigid against my skin. Goosebumps erupted across my body and the hair on my arms prickled up painfully. I quivered and hugged the t-shirt against my stomach for warmth.

Marge didn’t waste any time. She grabbed my shoulders and forced my body to twirl. I felt the band of my bra get brutally tugged down.

I gasped, “Wait-!”

She released it and let it snap against my back. I fought back a hiss, biting my lip at the sting.

“Just what I thought,” she murmured.

I faced her then, feeling both violated and bewildered.

“Why did you do that?”

“To check if you had it,” she answered. “We women like to talk to each other. We share things that we don’t to the men… and Angelo’s women all told me the same thing.”

Marge tilted her chin down and gestured to my back. “Angelo tattoos the letter ‘A’ on all of his girls. Right in the middle of their back.”

My mouth gaped in horror. “Why?”

“It stands as a warning. Touch his property, watch your back. He’s possessive. All of the bosses are. That's why Ross is so intrigued by you. He loves to play with fire… and now that Angelo is back on his shit list, I’m afraid you’re on Ross’s agenda."

I tried to peer at my back, cranking my neck over my shoulder. "But... how would anyone ever see that?"

Marge's face fell. An expression of seriousness drooped over her demeaner while pity flashed in her eyes.

"You're too innocent," she commented. "That'll go away..."

I paled.

“You just keep proving my point. Like I said, Matt doesn’t think. It’s easy to see you’re a fake. The others are going to find out he lied in no time.”

“I’m leaving soon,” I admitted to her. “I’ll be gone before that happens.”

Mello made that very clear last night...

Marge laughed with derision.

“How naive. You think that’s possible? Ross doesn’t let people go. If he did, why the fuck would I still be here? The only thing you can do is learn how to defend yourself."

"Why are you telling me all this?"

"Because we women have it rough in this world. You're too young. You need someone to stick to that understands what you will go through... and so I trust you won't stab me in my back."

"Why?"

She gave me a sanguine smirk. "Because I'll stab your gut if you do."

I paled, knowing full well she was serious.

"You already know how to use a gun, yes?” Marge asked.

“Uhm… you pull the trigger?” I guessed.

Marge blinked at me, the smile from her face fading.

“Tu plaisantes?” she hushed. “Well, what else? How do you load it?”

“I don’t know…”

The reaction she had was similar to Skyer’s. He appeared equally as taken aback by my lack of gun knowledge too. It made sense now that I knew the context of everything. Matt told them I was in a mafia… but what member of a mafia couldn’t tell that a gun was empty?

“You’re in deep shit," Marge scorned.

The door to the kitchen opened, the hinges slamming against the wall.

Greg stormed in furiously, yanking off his bandana.

“Seems I’m working with you again, Mamma Marge!” he complained. “A kitchen boy is all I’m good for, so just boss me around and-!”

His eyes fell on mine and his next words dissipated. His face turned crimson and he whipped around.

“I’m sorry!” he bellowed, clamping his hands over his eyes. “I didn’t mean to look!”

I gasped and ducked behind the counter, putting back on Matt’s t-shirt.

“What do you mean you’re working with me?” Marge grumbled, as if he had not just seen me in my bra.

I heard his response over the counter.

“I got kicked out of the meeting. I was told to make myself useful and help you out.”

She rolled her eyes and sighed, “What did they actually say Gregory?”

I stood back up, covered once more. Greg’s gaze was sent downward. He picked at a scab on his elbow anxiously.

“They uhm… they said that I was acting like a pussy… so I needed to go to the kitchen where pussies belonged."

My heart broke at hearing that.

Marge tsked and lectured, “I told you to stop letting them say those things. Mettre les couilles sur la table, yes?”

"Yeah, but it was Ross.”

Marge stiffened, her face contouring into a deep scowl.

“Now, that is very different. You know better than to argue with Ross.”

Greg shuffled awkwardly and rationed, “I mean, he just laughed at me… it's like what I said didn’t matter.”

“That’s because you’re eighteen. He still sees you as a child, so he doesn’t take what you say seriously. You won’t get this pass much longer, so learn to be careful.”

Greg waved his arms in the air and debated, “Mello’s only three years older than me! How come he gets respected?!”

“Mello is different,” Marge corrected sternly. “And he isn't respected, he is used.”

I wondered what she meant by that…

Greg grumbled something under his breath about unfair treatment. Marge journeyed around the table and headed to the cabinets. She got up onto her tip toes and opened the door, grabbing hold of the cutting board. After setting it down on the counter, she retrieved one of the cutting knives from the utensil drawer.

“Here,” she stated, scooting both over to Greg. “Cut up these horrible vegetables you got me.”

“Horrible? I got you what you asked.”

Marge snorted and picked up one of the onions. “I asked for green onions and you gave me yellow. I asked for radishes and you gave me turnips. I asked for baby potatoes and you gave me russet.”

She waved her arm over to the skillet and declared, “I asked for chuck beef and you gave me ground beef.”

“You weren’t that specific,” Greg defended, putting his hands up. “You just said onions, potatoes, beef, and…”

He eyed the turnips and questioned, “... wait, those aren’t radishes?”

“Petit con,” she muttered with the ghost of a smile on her face. “They are not.”

Greg sighed despairingly, “I’m sorry Mamma Marge… as a runner boy, it’s hard to remember everything. Everyone’s orders are so complicated. I mean, Mello orders so many fancy chocolates I can’t even get it straight.”

“It’s fine. Less talking, more chopping,” Marge waved off.

She grabbed her wooden spoon and mixed the beef again. After that stir, she removed the skillet from the heat and set it aside. She reached out to one of the other knobs and ignited the stove under the Dutch oven.

Greg grabbed one of the onions and started to peel it. His nose wrinkled from the putrid scent.

I felt awkward just standing here. I wanted to aid in some way…

I walked over to him.

“Can I help you?” I asked, picking up one of the onions.

Greg gaped at me, but didn’t reject it. The outer rims of his blue eyes watered, the whites appearing pink. I think he was sensitive to the onion’s volatile gasses.

I peeled the vegetable for him, tossing the papery outer skin onto the counter. The onion didn’t bother me too much.

“I can cut it for you too,” I offered.

Greg slowly nodded, before picking up a turnip and chopping it on the board. For a moment, we were silent. All of us kept preoccupied with our own work. I heard bubbling from the dutch oven behind me and the clatter of a ladle. Greg’s knife hit the wooden cutting board with dull thuds. The skin of the onions crinkled underneath my fingers.

“The way you treat people is beautiful.”

His comment surprised me. I glanced over at him and caught his toothy smile.

Greg’s energy was disparate from the other gang members. He was kind and open hearted. When I first met him, he wasn’t menacing. He never actually threatened me or said anything cruel. Matt even advised me to stay close to him.

I couldn’t understand why Greg would be in trouble.

“Why are they angry at you?” I asked him.

Greg sniffed and gave me a loose shrug. “Uhm… I didn’t quite agree with their plan. I don’t think it’s right. They are kidnapping this girl. She isn’t even in the police force. She’s just the child of this Japanese deputy director or something. It’s just cruel.”

“The people you normally kidnap… are they always policemen?” I investigated, recalling Greg mentioning they have kidnapped people in the past.

He grimaced. “I mean… kind of… to be honest, we never really, like, kidnapped people this much before. It’s really picking up now because we are going after this notebook.”

Marge grunted, setting her ladle down. “M'enfin! If I hear one more thing about that stupid notebook.”

“What’s so special about a notebook?” I wondered.

“Mello says it’s the weapon Kira is using,” Greg informed me. “It’s rumored that the Japanese Police Force has one hidden. I don’t know. I think it has, like, code names on it or something… I mean, it’s not like Kira’s going around killing people with papercuts.”

I started to piece it together slowly. If this is the weapon that Kira is using, then Mello could figure out how to turn it against the killer. It could be incriminating evidence… yet, it didn’t make sense why the Japanese Task Force had one. Matt mentioned that Mello believed they were working with Kira. Perhaps, this is why?

“I don’t know, it’s all been crazy ever since we took down that one guy,” Greg brushed off.

“Is that what Jose was talking about?” I asked aloud.

Marge had a visceral reaction to my question, flinching when I mentioned Jose.

“Have you met Jose?” Greg asked.

“No,” I answered. “I just heard him when-.”

“-you were spying on us,” Marge finished, flashing me a glare. “Listening in on a meeting you weren’t invited to.”

I gulped and nodded, feeling my cheeks burn.

“Hm…” Greg murmured to himself, drumming his finger on the cutting board. “... what did he say during that meeting?”

“He said that Mello brought in the head of a mafia boss even Kira couldn’t kill.”

Greg snapped his fingers, “Right! Yes. That’s the guy.”

I forced myself to ask him the question that has been bothering me. I didn't know if I wanted to hear the truth... but I felt like it needed to be out there.

“So… he had a severed head?”

Greg laughed, as if I just made a joke. “What?! No. That’s just an expression, you know? It’s like saying ‘it’s raining cats and dogs’.”

Two very different calibers, but okay.

“Mello didn’t actually bring in his head. But he did kill him.”

My legs grew weak.

He said that sentence so carelessly like it was supposed to be expected. I couldn’t fathom it.

I felt the air escape my lungs, as the pain of reality beat me.

He killed someone.

Time stopped. It was as if I were the only one alive, the only one experiencing the affliction of breathing air that put a splinting pressure in my heart. The only one who could feel the sudden sickening heat in the room, which caused me to suffocate.

It was impossible. The boy I knew would never have done that… he was thoughtful, moral, logical. He was protective and driven… I glanced down at my palm.

My eyes trailed over my faded scar.

This wasn’t right. It’s not the same person.

I felt a cold hand touch my shoulder, and time began to move once again.

“I'm returning this,” Marge said, nudging me out of the way.

She placed a waste bin next to my feet and trailed back towards the stove.

I felt stomach acid creep up to my throat. It was nauseating.

“Who was it?” I asked. “Who did Mello kill?”

Greg grinned. “The Viper.”

I grasped the counter, my legs quaking from under me.

“Woah, Y/N. Are you okay?!” Greg yelped, reaching out to steady me.

My heart slammed against my chest. The Viper.

I struggled to breathe, my mind projecting images of that harrowing article:

July Fourth Murders

Police are still investigating the shooting that occurred at the Abbey Gardens last night at approximately 11:48 P.M.

Local authorities have confirmed five victims: a male aged 36, male aged 24, male aged 19, and a female aged 7.

Local authorities have apt reason to suspect these murders were gang- related. Evidence from the scene supports this as the work of the Viper, an internationally wanted serial killer who targets gang members.

"Do you need to sit down?" I heard Greg interject.

I recalled the last warm day of November... the old oak tree Matt and Mello were playing soccer by... the root that the newspaper hid under...

"Drop it," Mello had warned me.

He was thinking of it then. They both were. This was premeditated... 

My stomach burned.

Near and I's last conversation made more sense now...

“I don’t get it. You’re supposed to work together, right?”

“If you don’t understand why Mello didn’t want to work with me, then you don’t understand him. Besides, he doesn’t seem too invested in avenging L. There’s a high probability he will be focusing on another objective than Kira for the first year.”

He was after Natalie's killer this whole time. Mello and Matt avenged her. An eye for an eye... a life for a life.

My body lurched forward. I vomited into the bin.

“Is she sick?! Should we be getting her medicine or something like that?!”

“She’s fine, Gregory. Arrête d’en faire tout un fromage.”

I sat on the counter, holding the waste bin in front of me.

I still felt wheezy, but I had nothing left to vomit out. There wasn’t much in my system.

Marge grabbed a cup from the cabinet and ran it under the sink’s faucet. After filling it to the brim, she handed it off to me..

“Here. Take it.”

I obeyed and grabbed the cup.

“Drink,” she ordered.

I did. I felt the cool liquid run down my aching throat. The headache that I was experiencing sustained slightly, but I could still feel its pounding in my ears.

Stress. Dehydration. Hunger. So many variables blended into this migraine; I didn’t know which one needed to be tackled first.

“So hearing about murder was too much for you, eh?” Marge commented, raising her eyebrow skeptically.

Not at all. I heard about murder all the time at The Wammy’s House. It was the surprise of learning that the person we believed would stop murderers became one himself.

Or, perhaps, it was much deeper than that… it was the shock that the boy I felt the most safe around became someone so dangerous.

I wasn’t going to tell Marge that.

“I haven’t eaten for a while,” I admitted earnestly. “I think my body just became too overwhelmed.”

Greg instantly believed me. The eighteen year old perked up upon hearing this and darted over to the storage pantry.

“Shit, hold on!” he exclaimed. “Lemme see if we got a snack or somethin’.”

Marge tilted her head, but didn’t pick apart my statement. I couldn’t tell if she could sense it wasn’t the full truth or not, which left me unsettled. I took another sip of water, flickering my eyes away from her scrutinizing gaze.

“Murder comes along with the group,” Marge stated. “You should get used to it.”

I struggled to swallow.

That was easier said than done.

“So… is this all that your gang does?” I whispered, gripping onto the cup tighter.

“No. There is no gang that just murders,” Marge hissed. “That is stupid.”

She crossed her arms. “We-”

“Y/N, DO YOU LIKE GOLDFISH CRACKERS?!” Greg shouted.

The bottom of Marge’s eye twitched.

I turned around in the direction of his voice. He was buried deep into the pantry.

I never heard of that.

“Uhm… I think so?” I answered tentatively, not wishing to be more difficult than I already was.

“OKAY! I’LL GRAB THEM AND THEN I’LL BRING THEM OVER!”

“You don’t have to announce everything you do!” Marge scolded him. “Just grab the damn fish!”

A few moments later, I heard Greg’s feet dart across the tile floor. He reemerged with a white and orange bag.

I reached out and let him hand it over to me.

“It’s the snack that smiles back,” he said, giving me a proud grin.

I smirked, “That’s kind of cheesy.”

Greg started to laugh, “Ha! Good pun!”

“Pun?”

His laughter slowed, “Yeah… because they are cheese crackers… and you… never mind.”

I giggled at this.

“Eat,” Marge urged, snapping her fingers. “I don’t want you puking again in my kitchen.”

My stomach was at war with my emotions. My physical body begged for nutrition and energy, while my mental state tortured me with ailing sensations.

Marge’s peeved expression nullified my indisposed feelings. I immediately opened the bag of goldfish crackers and began to eat, not wishing to get on her bad side.

So far, she has been revealing things to me… and, from what I gathered, it seemed she was trying to help me. I wanted to learn more from her and thought her companionship might be very valuable.

“So, Y/N…” Greg drawled as I swallowed my crackers. “Are you going to, like, snitch on us to Angelo?”

“She is with us now,” Marge quickly cut off. “Angelo no longer has affiliation with her.”

Not that he ever did… but Marge wasn’t telling him that. It made me feel slightly better knowing that she wasn’t going to rat me out.

“Right, I'm hip. But you know I had to ask… they betrayed us, so what if she is, you know, a spy?”

“If she was a spy, why would she tell you she is a spy?”

Greg shrugged. Marge pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Sometimes I think I am the only one here with a brain,” she muttered.

I set the bag of goldfish down. “Can I ask something?”

Greg and Marge turned to me, letting me know I had their attention.

“How did Angelo betray you? Uhm… he, uh, didn’t really tell me much…”

“It’s probably because you’re a girl,” Greg reasoned, picking at his ear. “He probably gave you less important stuff.”

I forced a smile and nodded. “Yeah, that’s probably it…”

Greg grinned, satisfied that I agreed with him. This enabled him to feel more confident in his explanation.

“No worries, Y/N. I’ll let you in because I know it feels shitty to be kept out of these things. Basically, last summer Angelo and Ross formed a peace pact. They said they were going to keep their business between each other. You know, so they can expand their drug empire. But Angelo betrayed Ross by buying from the Feeney boys to increase his profit under the table.”

Drugs… so that’s what this group did.

This went deeper than I thought…

That means the containers that Matt sent to Wales were carrying illegal substances.

Angelo’s men are going to be livid when they discover Tesco produce instead of drugs… oh my word, if Matt had got caught, who knows what they would have done with him?! What was he thinking?!

And why are they here in the first place?! There’s no way Mello and Matt did drugs… yet again, Matt did smoke a cigarette… no, that’s totally different, right?

“It’s not betrayal, it’s just a business move made from being scared,” Marge corrected. “No one actually trusts each other.”

“A business move with the Feeney boys, though?!” Greg guffawed. “On dead dogs, that was intentional!”

“The Feeney boys are dirt underneath his boot. Now that Viper is dead, Ross stands as number one. It’s only natural for other gangs to want to team up against him.”

“What is Ross number one in?” I wondered.

“He is the world’s most powerful drug lord. Duh,” Greg answered. “Like everyone knows him.”

“If you’re from the underground,” Marge corrected. “He has contacts everywhere. Every gang leader wants a connection with him.”

“He’s like the Godfather. You know, if he wasn’t old and without the cotton balls,” Greg ecstatically commented.

I pretended like I knew what he was referring to and gaped.

“Those connections helped him build his drug empire,” Marge continued. “But that alone isn’t what makes him so powerful.”

Greg nodded in agreement. “Yeah, he’s pretty notorious.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Think of a bull,” Marge said. “Imagine the whole world is red. All the bull does is charge forward, no? It rips the world apart. It doesn’t care who or what it destroys, only that it has the power to do it. Anger fuels him. Destruction feeds him. Power satisfies him. Ross is that bull.”

“He’s brutal,” Greg added. “I mean, I’ve seen him kill a man with his bare hands… I think we all have.”

Marge flickered her eyes to the floor, which affirmed to me that she had too.

I understood now… Mello and Matt were being methodological.

They leached onto Ross- not because of drugs- but because of his connections. He had the power to internationally influence almost every single criminal organization. And what better way to lure Kira in then to set traps underneath Kira’s very own feet? Kira worked within the law, catching criminals acting out on the surface. Mello and Matt, in their own nature, pushed against his current. They were finding his patterns by puppeteering Kira’s prey underground. They worked in his blind spots, settling in places Kira thought himself too mighty to peer into.

However, Mello and Matt were always a little reckless. To gain Ross’s attention, they needed to do something drastic… which was killing the Viper: the serial killer who had been terrorizing all of the gangs. They dethroned him and handed Ross the crown. Then, they slowly tied strings around him so that they could manipulate him into disposing criminal pawns for them to use against Kira.

I doubted they realized then just how dangerous of a puppet Ross was to use. They were matadors waving red flags in front of a raging bull. One wrong misstep and they would be pierced through by his thorns.

No wonder they both were so tense.

I literally came tumbling into their arena.

The grim conversations died down. We finished up preparing the meal and were now cleaning the kitchen.

As morbid as the previous conversations were, I felt relieved to have finally been given some answers. I felt more grounded. At least, I felt like I could visualize the path around me. It made navigating my future steps seem more feasible.

Marge slid past me, picking up a root from one of the turnips that Greg had missed. Like a mother, she scolded him for not paying more attention. He mumbled some quick apologies to her, handing her the waste bin.

The door to the kitchen opened.

Ross's men filed in. To my relief, Matt was one of them. He was the last one through the door, tailing behind the crowd of men.

I recognized all but one in the group.

Kollet- the man who barged into the meeting last night with the bad news about Takimura- trailed in alongside Skyer. Roy, the man who I snuck past last night to get into the factory, walked next to them. Leading them was Jose and a man I did not know.

That man's appearance gave me deja vu. He looked strikingly similar to Aizawa.

Matt was the last one through the door. No one else came in... where were the rest of the members?

Matt's hazel eyes met mine. They crinkled under his smile.

You alright? he mouthed over to me.

That question...

I felt something strange within me. The truth altered my perception. Matt appeared shattered, split into two people. One half of him was the Matt I remembered years ago... the other half was a man who murdered and exploited criminals.

Matt's smile faded. His eyebrows furrowed together as his eyes scanned my new expression.

I turned away from him.

Marge ran through the kitchen into Jose's outstretched arms.

"Cariño mío," Jose sweetly uttered.

He gave her a charming smile, before leaning down and kissing her.

No one in the room seemed alarmed by their public display of affection, which let me know that these two had a public romantic relationship.

"How was the meeting?" Marge asked him, running her hand through his hair.

He leaned into her touch and sighed.

"Long," he griped. "They are heading out tonight."

Marge arched her eyebrow. "So quickly?"

"Mello wanted it done."

They were doing the kidnapping... tonight...

"How come he didn't take you and Eddie?"

She gestured to the man I didn't recognize, which implied that he was Eddie.

Jose chuckled, rubbing circles on her back. "Did you want us to go with?"

"Pas du tout. But it is odd."

"He is still upset with Kollet and me," Eddie denied. "We aren't allowed to watch over this one. They assigned other people to watch her."

That's right... Kollet confessed that him and Eddie were distracted in conversation when Takimura died.

"I'm surprised you're both still alive," Marge admitted.

"Mello talked Ross out of it," Jose told her. "He said that Kira killed him, so Eddie and Kollet weren't at fault."

That didn't make sense... all of the reports we were exposed to at The Wammy's House said Kira's victims all died of a heart attack.

"Good," Marge sighed. "You two need to be more careful. You shouldn't have been talking on duty like that."

Roy laughed, "You think them two was talkin'?!"

Kollet's face blanched at his outburst.

Eddie frowned and shook his head. "My mistake was leaving Kollet in charge. I had to step out and take a call from Jack. Kollet took zombie pills and fell asleep."

"You got downies?!" Greg suddenly interjected. "Can I cop some?!"

Kollet's color returned and he frowned at him. "Hell nah."

Marge shouted at the two of them, throwing out a mixture of French and English scoldings. It was a terrifying sight.

"Damn, I don't know what's scarier. Marge or the goddamn bunker," Skyer mumbled.

Roy and Skyer glanced at each other, before both affirming: "Marge."

"You," Marge suddenly snapped, turning her attention over to Matt. "I know why these idiots are not going-" she waved her hand, clumping together Roy, Kollet, Skyer, and Greg- "but why didn't Ross take you, eh?"

"I'm tapping out of this one," Matt answered with a shrug. "Besides, Ross gave me and Jose a different mission. We get to play with the Feeney boys."

Marge's eyes bulged.

Jose groaned, "Matt, why did you tell her?"

"Why didn't you tell me?!" she shot back.

"It's not a big deal-"

"You keeping things from me is a big deal!"

"Aye, por favor, listen-"

"Tais-toi."

He laughed, "Come on now, I'm sorry. I'll tell you all about it at dinner."

"Thank you," she seethed.

I disassociated at that point, feeling ill. I didn't even register that everyone was grabbing plates to eat.

Everyone, that is, but Matt.

He placed a hand on my shoulder. I jolted, not even realizing he had walked over to me.

His eyes glazed with concern. "Hey... you alright?"

I shook my head, intentionally looking away from his eyes.

"I want to leave."

He didn't argue with me. "Okay."

We didn't speak again until we were outside of the factory.

"What's wrong?" he directed.

We stopped at the side of the building. In the far distance, a palm tree fluttered with the twilight's breeze. It brought me enough calmness to address this to him.

My palms clenched at my sides.

"I know."

Matt's eyebrow twitched. His demeanor faltered.

"Know what?" he asked stiffly.

"All of it."

I watched the color drain from his face.

"The drugs... the murder... the exploiting of criminals..."

Matt didn't say anything. He didn't object or deny my statement. A shadow fell across his eyes as he reached for the pack of cigarettes in his pocket. He pulled it out and then grabbed his lighter.

The small spark of hope that maybe Marge lied to me died immediately. It was all true.

“It feels like I don’t even know you anymore, Matt…”

Matt huffed, placing a cigarette in between his lips.

“Get in line,” he said.

The match flicked, blazing the end of his cigarette. The flames devoured it slowly, turning it to ash.

"Can you tell me why?" I asked.

"Getting close to criminals helps us-"

"I understand how the gang helps with the Kira case... but... I'm talking about the life you took Matt. The Viper's."

Matt blew out some smoke and peered off into the distance. He appeared far gone, like he was peering into a different, more grim realm.

"It wasn't the plan, at first..." he said in a low voice. "We only wanted to catch him... it was thrilling going after someone no one else could find. Mello and I were high over that empowerment. The problem was that we didn't know what to do once we caught him. We didn't know it was a kill or be killed situation."

"You did it out of self- defense..."

Matt shrugged, "Yeah... and to put an end to his violence. I thought it might make us feel good to have finally closed that book, you know?"

"Because of Natalie?"

"Nabila," he reminded me.

That's right... that's her real name.

"That's exactly it," he sighed. "The Viper wasn't actually the one who killed her. Mello and I found out later that the one who did died from a random heart attack. Fucked up."

Kira.

Matt flicked some ash off his cigarette, before adding, "That's when we found out the world isn't black and white. This whole justice stuff that Wammy preached is bullshit. L was actually onto something: it really is just monster versus monster out here. And one thing is for sure... I hate Kira even more now."

He glanced at me.

"We're taking him down. You need to be prepared for that."

I know what he meant.

They wanted to kill him.

I stared at Matt and saw him shattered once more.

"I see you... and then a stranger..." I whispered.

"You missed five years of my life, Y/N. I'm not who I was back then... I am who I am now. It's confusing, I know... you just have to get to know me again. It'll get better after that."

"Will it, though?"

He gave me a sad smile. "God, I hope so. Because if you can't find me in the man I am now, Y/N, then I know I'm truly lost forever..."

Chapter Text

"You take me for a fool, but I'm in control.
Got you wrapped around my fingers, round in circles babe.
Hold your knees and you don't know if this is just a game."

October 13, 2009

"I don't know if that's right... are you sure it's not a mistake?" Greg asked, keeping his pace with Marge briskly.

"I do not make mistakes, Gregory. I only date them."

She glared at Jose, who slowed his pace in disbelief.

"Cariño mío," he grunted, holding back a grin. "Please, you are being too dramatic."

She halted in her steps and whipped around to face him.

"C’est à moi que tu parles?" she snapped while clutching her chest. "Dramatic??!"

Jose snorted and rubbed the back of his neck. "Perhaps I spoke too fast."

"Perhaps," she mocked, crinkling up her nose. "Jose, I cannot believe you lied! You never do that!"

"He didn't lie, he just didn't tell you the whole truth," Greg defended.

Marge jabbed her finger towards him and scolded, "That's lying! I don't like liars."

She paused for a moment, sinking in his words, before disciplining, "And you're spending way too much time with Skyer. Only he would teach you to say something as fucking dumb as that. We should have left him in Chicago where we found him."

Jose wrapped his hand around her wrist and spun her towards him.

"Hey," he softly cooed. "I didn't mean to keep you in the dark. I was only trying to protect your sanity."

"It's too late for that," she argued, pulling her wrist out of his grasp. "My sanity has been cracked since living with all of you."

"If you knew she was already in the bunker, you would have never slept last night."

He was referring to the girl that the mafia kidnapped. I just found out her name this morning: Sayu Yagami. The meeting yesterday was not about Sayu Yagami's kidnapping. Rather, they were all planning the logistics of her release in exchange for this "notebook".

Marge was currently upset that Jose left out the crucial detail that they already captured her... but he revealed the rest to her and Greg at dinner last night. I wasn't aware of what was said, because Matt and I left before that conversation occurred.

Marge gave him a face of anguish. "Do you think she slept in that bunker alone?"

I caught the poisonous intonation in her tone when she referred to the bunker. If I recalled correctly, Roy and Skyer referred to this place last night too... they also had a negative take on it.

"This is wrong," Marge finished.

"I don't like it either. But we do as we are told. You know this."

She didn't argue against that. Marge slumped into a pout. I could tell she wasn't pleased by the scenario... but she moved closer to Jose as we all continued our journey down the factory, intertwining her arm with his. Her temper towards him subsided.

Jose leaned down and gave her a small kiss on the top of her head.

There was a mandatory meeting this morning. All hands were to be on deck, which included me...

Matt was in a sour mood next to me. He did not want me going to this meeting. He made it very clear this morning, asking me to stay behind. I refused. It would be suspicious if I suddenly didn't show up.

I wasn't too sure what I would be walking into... but I had a premonition it wasn't going to be a normal occurrence.

We walked down the steps that led to the room I had first met the gang at.

The animal print couches had been turned to face the monitors. The bowls of crisps and bottles of alcohol that had previously littered the table were replaced with technology. I recognized one of the boxes lateral to the laptop: a voice scrambler.

The microphone it was connected to craned its speaker towards the mouth of a beautiful man.

I knew I shouldn’t look at him, but I couldn’t pull my eyes away.

It was like he was this huge beacon of light. Nothing else in the world seemed brighter. My attention was pulled to him and I couldn’t resist it.

Despite him having this effect on me, I doubted it was reciprocal.

Mello never acknowledged my presence in the room. His eyes skimmed right over me, as if I were invisible. He might as well have had a blade attached to his eyes. When they swiped over me, I felt as though my chest was slashed.

Greg whistled, "Ah, Matt. Your tech looks so cool."

Matt briefly glimpsed over at the technological set up in the room and shrugged.

"It's okay, I guess..." he sighed. "It was such a drag to set up."

I observed the technology that was hooked up in the room, having a greater appreciation towards it knowing that Matt was involved with it.

My eyes landed on a bald man standing near one of the monitors and I shivered. That was Miller... one of the men who caught me earlier. I shielded myself behind Matt, remembering the way he tightly gripped my arm. I quickly scanned the rest of the room. I couldn't find the other one... the one with the wheat-like hair.

Greg and I followed Matt towards a corner. Marge and Jose split ways, opting for another section of the room near Eddie and Kollet. Skyer and Roy were standing over there, chattering amongst themselves.

"No, you're crazy," I overheard Skyer object. "Rodman was better. He averaged thirteen rebounds a damn game."

"Shut your damn mouth. Pippen was the man," Roy rejected. "Him and Jordan were tight."

"Mornin'," Matt greeted them.

Skyer snorted, "Ah, there's the asshole! Late as always."

"Only by five minutes," Matt corrected. "I'd say that's a win for me."

Roy grinned and his eyes landed on me.

"Oh, you're bad Matt," he snickered. "You didn't get no sleep last night."

I blushed, feeling shy at his impenetrating stare.

Roy broke his eye contact with me and jabbed his thumb over to Matt, "He hit."

Matt's face turned red. "No, I didn't."

"Ooo," Skyer cooed, his eyebrows shooting up.

Him and Roy made eye contact.

Skyer continued, "So when you said you knew her earlier, you meant-"

"Oh, our boy knows her?" Roy snickered.

"Shut up," Matt interjected. "Talk about something else, you dogs."

"Nah, you're the damn dog!" Roy laughed. "Woof! Woof!"

He made a lewd innuendo that made me feel incredibly embarrassed. I turned my gaze away.

"Wait, I don't get it," Greg butted in. "What are we talking about?"

"Nothing, Greg," Matt snarled.

Greg furrowed his eyebrows and replayed the conversation in his head.

"Wait... I think I might have connected the dots..."

Roy shook his head. "You didn't connect shit, Greg."

"Okay, seriously shut the hell up," Matt shot. "It's starting."

Their laughter died down and we refocused our gaze to the center of the room.

A blonde man joined the couch where Mello sat, holding up a phone.

"Jack looks like one of the founding fathers," Skyer commented, staring at the skinny man.

"You're foul," Roy snickered.

Matt shushed them.

The man, Jack, handed the phone to Mello. He pulled another one out of his pocket.

The voice from Mello's phone came out on speaker, allowing everyone in the room to hear the conversation: “M0 VIS236 C6 here. If we run right now we will be able to make flight SE333. Yagami was probably thinking about getting on the next flight, but I only have tickets for SE333 and the last flight.”

I shivered. I knew that voice. That was the man who was with Miller. The other one who grabbed me.

Mello hung the phone by his mouth and declared, “Perfect, get on flight SE333 right before it departs.”

For a few minutes it was silent. Everyone remained attentive, their bodies frozen awaiting some sort of sign.

There was a ding on Jack’s phone.

“The earbud has been transferred to Yagami,” Jack declared quickly. “He can hear you now.”

Earbud… so Mello is speaking directly to him.

Skyer commented in a hushed voice to Roy, “I expected Yagami to put up more of a fight…”

Roy snorted, “Ain’t no way Mello’s gonna make that easy on him. I'd be scared of him if I was that dude.”

“Yagami, only you can hear my voice. Not even the man next to you can hear me… so listen closely,” Mello declared, lifting the voice scrambler closer to his lips. “I’m the man behind your daughter’s kidnapping. I have no interest in the lives of you or your daughter. At this moment, all I want is the notebook. As long as you do as I say, I won’t lay a finger on either of you. I’ve even thought up an exchange that you will feel safe and satisfied with…,” he grinned sinisterly, “So no tricks.”

I shrunk back at hearing those evil words slip past his mouth. Was he serious?

“Listen up, Yagami. Before the plane reaches L.A., it’s going to make a pit stop. That’s where your daughter will be. The plane is going to drop you off, and then we’ll exchange your daughter for the notebook. As long as you don’t try to do anything funny, I assure you that both of you will not be killed. The rest of the passengers on that plane are only going to be late getting to L.A., and nothing will happen to them, either.”

Cold chills erupted up my back.

The gang controlled the pilot… I remembered the private jet that a man named Rashid flew to get Matt, Skyer, Greg, and I here. But that was something that the gang owned.

This was a public flight. They hijacked a plane. The gang was threatening to kill the unsuspecting passengers too if Yagami disobeyed. There was no way Mello would ever murder these people…

Matt told me last night that they killed the Viper out of self- defense. They weren’t cold blooded killers. This was all a bluff.

Mello took a bite out of his chocolate bar, letting the snap fill the audio.

“Look, there are two reasons as to why I promise to keep you and your daughter alive,” he expanded. “First, I don’t want Kira’s eyes on us. I used Takimura’s death, but we didn’t kill him. Kira probably did it. But if we kill you or your daughter, there’s a chance that we’ll be Kira’s next target.”

The men in the room glanced at each other. I saw some wring their hands together in a fit of nerves. Ross was the only one who didn’t react to this cautionary prediction.

He smiled… almost like he was daring for it to happen.

It unsettled me.

“And secondly, I don’t want to get into any more trouble with the Japanese Police. As a result of this deal, Takimura has died. But there’s no reason for us to kill you two and get the police even more enraged. No matter of how incompetent the Japanese Police are… I don’t underestimate revenge as a motive.”

I’ve heard him say that before… my mind transported me back years ago…

”You never cheated. We can prove it,” Linda comforted with youthful optimism.

"You shouldn't have to prove anything… It's all my fault. Maybe if I had been nicer to Tate... or maybe if I just moved my seat-"

"Stop," little Matt quipped. "Seriously, don't blame yourself. That's dumb."

"I just don't get why else he would. I must have done something."

"Not you. We did something," Matt countered, motioning between him and Mello. "Tate just wanted to get back at us for royally kicking his ass."

"What?” Linda squealed. “So you think this is just about revenge?"

Mello’s eyes burned with determination as he justified, "I don't underestimate revenge as a motive.”

Juxtaposing the two events made me feel queasy. The trouble that occurred from a bully accusing me of cheating on an academic test seemed so grand back then.

My friends played lawful roles, desperately attempting to create a case to help defend me. They pulled from past experiences to find evidence that could prove my innocence.

Now, hearing Mello say it again… the context was so different. He uttered this to a police officer that was being manipulated to hand over a serial killer’s weapon. Mello tipped the justice scale, obscuring the man’s sense of law and morality.

And the technology he was using to do it came from the hands of Matt...

Instead of two boys pissing my bully off, these men were provoking the entire Japanese Police force.

What happened to us…?

“For our own safety, you’re better off alive,” Mello continued. “Now, wasn’t that more believable than some lame excuse?”

I heard Roy and Skyer snicker at this. Matt and I remained silent.

His next phrase came out demanding, “Yagami… I want you to contact L.”

Matt and I exchanged a glance, both of us in equal understanding. L was dead…

Who was pretending to be him?

The way Mello said L had a ring of contradiction to it. I felt disturbed that some stranger would take upon the detective’s alias… but I could only imagine how Mello felt.

He was one of L’s successors. Whoever this imposter was did not have the authority to take the title that Near and Mello worked so hard for.

Mello tilted his head and exposed, “You should be in a position to contact L. I don’t care if you contact him directly or through one of your men. I want you to get L to stop every media report on flight SE333. If the media reports that you got off the plane alone, there’s a chance that Kira will try to kill you. After I confirm that L has stopped the media, I’ll send you a picture of how your daughter’s doing right now.”

Jack jolted, appearing quite shocked.

He quickly announced, “Mello, he says they’ve stopped the media from making any announcements right after the initial news report on the flight…”

“That was quick,” Matt murmured softly.

“Yeah, I figured it was hard to believe that Yagami was acting totally on his own,” Mello commented. “Yagami, as I promised, I’m sending you images of your daughter to the PDA we gave you.”

He glanced over at Jack and the man nodded. He pressed some keys on the phone and a swooshing sound resounded. The photos were sent.

“If there’s anything you want to ask your daughter, type it into the unit and we’ll read it out to your daughter for you,” Mello communicated. “That should tell you for certain that your daughter is safe and sound.”

The gang members turned to watch a large monitor.

Curiously, I followed their gaze.

The sight was heinous.

A woman was entrapped in a revolving glass container. It appeared to be underground in a dark tunnel. She was wearing street clothes, so it appeared as though she were captured while walking outside somewhere.

The monitor was clear enough for me to make out most of her features. She appeared to be my age. Her complexion was pale, though that could have been from her fear. Her anxious demeanor did not go unnoticed by me.

Sayu’s brown eyes were wide, enlarged in sheer panic as she glanced up at the camera we were watching her now on. I am sure it lit up or moved, indicating to her that we could now see her.

Mello reached out and clicked a key on his box, before leaning into the microphone.

Jack flipped the phone over to him and he scanned the text on it from her father.

“Sayu Yagami… I’ve got a message from your father,” he said into the microphone.

The gang members in the room glanced at each other in confusion. I don’t know who else understood him… he was speaking Japanese to her.

The language she knew.

“‘I’m on my way,’” he recited in a calming tone, “‘so don’t worry. I promise to rescue you. You seem to have your watch with you. Can you tell me what time it is?’”

Sayu recoiled back, her breath heaving up and down.

“We allowed him to ask you this question,” Mello explained. “You’re free to answer it.”

At his permission, she became more animated. Tears escaped her eyes as she wailed out, “I-I’m sorry dad… this is all my fault!”

The raw tone in her voice hurt to hear. I wanted to run to her. To get her out of that cage and take her home. To shield her from the dangers of this gang. To apologize profusely for Mello’s erratic behavior.

A movement in the corner of my eye drew my attention from the monitor. Marge had stepped forward, her lips thinning in agony. It seemed she was having the same mental dilemma.

Marge probably did not know Japanese, but it didn’t matter. A woman’s cry was universal.

“I’ve had this watch since I was in Japan…” Sayu answered, lifting up her frail wrist. “So, the time is 2:42 A.M. in Japan.”

That was an intelligent question on the police officer’s behalf. He was making sure nothing was pre-recorded and that she was truly still here.

The security cameras from somewhere I did not recognize picked up a large plane landing in the middle of the desert.

Its blades kicked up the sand, whirling the ocher grains like a sandstorm around the massive white wings.

After a few moments, a man was escorted off. This must be Sayu’s father.

He seemed more collected than I probably would have been. He clenched onto a black suitcase, which I could only assume held the notebook Mello wanted.

Sand brushed past his weary face, dusting the mustache under his hooked nose. His slicked back hair slowly came undone with the blade’s velocity. His glasses slipped down the bridge of his nose, but he made no movement to push them back up.

Instead, he fixed his eyes on the desert in front of him, walking away from the plane.

As he trailed off, the plane ascended back into the sky.

“Yagami, you can now use your own cell phone,” Mello declared. “I want you to order a helicopter with one pilot to pick up you and your daughter. And make sure to tell your friends that if anything other than a helicopter comes within two miles of where you stand, both you and your daughter will be killed.”

Yagami touched the earbud on his ear, gesturing that he heard Mello’s demand.

A few rings were suddenly heard through the speakers. The man jumped.

“What’s that sound?” Mello asked.

By his weary tone, I could tell it was rhetorically asked. He already knew the answer before Jack gave it to him.

“It’s Yagami’s cell phone.”

“Answer it,” Mello ordered to Yagami, “but I want you to use the ear with the ear phone in it so we can hear the conversation too.”

The man reached into his pocket and took out his phone. He flipped it open, pressed a button, and lifted it slowly to his ear.

“Yagami here.”

His voice ricocheted through the room.

It was followed by an artificial one, misconstrued by a voice scrambler.

“It’s L.”

I felt my eye tick.

“Your daughter and your life are top priority. I don’t mind if the notebook gets into their hands. I’ve sent a helicopter controlled by FBI agent John McEnroe, just as the kidnappers requested.”

Whoever this was seemed very compliant. I don’t think that our L would be this accepting… he was speaking English too. He knew we were listening.

“Is it me or did L’s British accent disappear?” Matt whispered in my ear.

He seemed to find some amusement in this imposture. We knew this wasn’t him, of course, but it was interesting to hear the differences.

After all, we heard L with a voice scrambler before. This fake L miscalculated the fact that some of us knew the real L more intimately.

Mello shared a similar fascination. He tilted his head, his eyes blazing with some sort of revelation.

I wondered what he was thinking.

Mello glanced over to Jack and ordered, “Open the hatch.”

“Y462, open the hatch,” he relayed through his phone.

A metallic door that was buried underneath the sand opened up, revealing a tunnel that dipped into the ground below.

“That’s the entrance, Yagami. Go in.”

We watched him move between two screens. He descended down the steps of the tunnel and disappeared into its abyss. Soon enough, he re-emerged again on the monitors surrounding Sayu’s entrapment.

I felt my gut wrench when they reunited. Sayu ran to the glass in desperation. She banged on the glass with her palms and called out to him.

The father began to run to her, but ceased his steps when a man stepped out from the other side of the glass.

“Y462, start the exchange,” Mello commanded.

The man peered up at the camera and gave an affirmative nod. I could not tell who this person was. I did not know enough of the members yet to know who was missing in the room.

He wore a gas mask, which concealed his whole face. The attire he wore also covered each crevice of his body. He had on black gloves and a tuxedo that altered the frame of his body. It made his shoulders look broader and his waist larger. One couldn’t identify the size of whoever was in the fabric.

The man explained to Yagami how the container operated. It was more sinister than I thought. It was bulletproof, so Yagami could not penetrate through it. There was a small hole in between the glass panel that separated Sayu and the gang member.

He currently had a gun pointed through it, aimed directly at the captive girl.

If Yagami did not comply, he would shoot his daughter in front of him. If he obeyed, the man would press a trigger that sparked a rotation. Sayu’s container would open and release her to him safely.

Yagami took out the notebook from his suitcase, comprehending the rules.

The air was sucked out of the room.

The notebook in his palms was an onyx color, with white writing scribed onto the top. The man held it away from his body, as if he were afraid of it.

Mello’s eyes widened at the sight. I recognized that zest… he was excited.

“First, I’ll test the notebook,” the man in the bunker announced. “Place it through the glass panel on your left.”

Yagami jerked back and stammered, “Test it…?! You are going to kill somebody? I can’t let you…”

Kill somebody?

My eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. Greg glanced my way, his disposition equally as confused.

Greg said it had codes in it or something… was this book actually a weapon?

“Come on, I can’t just go on without making sure the notebook is real,” the man coerced, impatience plaguing his voice. “Don’t worry, the guy who is going to die is the type Kira would kill anyway.”

Yagami hesitated, his eyes moving between the book and the man. I felt horrible for this man… he was stuck in a twisted trap. His duty to the law and his responsibility as a father were in an awful battle with each other.

“Hey! Do you want your daughter to die?! After all these preparations, you still don’t trust us?!” the man shouted.

Sayu trembled at his loud voice, covering her ears.

Yagami’s voice came out broken, “That's not it… even if it’s a criminal…”

Mello lacked patience.

“You’re leaving us no choice but to kill the girl…” he warned.

I felt my fists clench. I don’t care how precious that notebook is… give her father some time.

Yagami’s chest heaved. Even through the pixelated screen, I could sense the sheer panic in his eyes.

“We don’t have time to play around,” Mello snapped. “Kill the gir-”

The man placed his finger on the trigger of the gun. Sayu screamed. It was drowned out by the even louder bellow of a broken man.

“O-OKAY! DON’T KILL HER!” Yagami cried.

Mello smirked.

Yagami shook and slid the notebook into the glass panel. The man grabbed it and took out a pen from his coat pocket.

He scribbled something on one of the pages.

“What is he doing?” I whispered to Matt.

Matt’s jaw clenched.

Mello froze, his eyes narrowing in on the screen. He was searching for something… but for what?

I looked at the screen, trying to see if something unusual might be happening.

Yagami ran his hand through his hair roughly. The gang member held the pen at his side, taking a step back from the book. Sayu shifted her feet, soft cries shaking her shoulders.

No one was dying.

I wondered if perhaps-

“ACK!”

I jolted.

A strangled out cry echoed through the room.

Concerned phrases filtered out from various members, while Miller crashed onto his knees.

"Miller?!"

"Are you alright?!"

His tongue stuck out, his face contorting in pain. His skin reddened and then paled quickly, like a wave of blood rushed through it and dissipated. The man grabbed the chest of his tunic frantically, clawing at the fabric, before falling face down onto the ground with a sickening thud.

I gasped and clasped my hands over my mouth, realizing what had occurred.

He had a heart attack.

I just witnessed a death.

A laugh slowly erupted, adding to the uneasy tension in the room.

Ross reclined into the couch, a large smile spread across his face.

“This is what'll happen to you if you sell our drugs behind my back,” he cautioned. “He was always an incompetent guy. This is the first time he’s proven himself to be useful.”

He laughed again at his commentary. Others forced themselves to laugh with him, despite the terror lurking in the room.

“Y462, the target has died,” Jack declared into the microphone.

The man closed the notebook and tucked it away. The container began to turn.

“DADDY!” Sayu shrieked.

He gritted his teeth and voiced her name in complete relief, “Sayu.”

They embraced each other and Yagami led her out the tunnel in the direction the gang member pointed him to.

Mello ordered everyone to let them go. He was keeping to his word. Even Ross didn’t object.

Jack clicked on the keyboard and the monitors switched settings. We could see a helicopter in one frame that Yagami and Sayu were climbing into. The imposter L had given this to them.

On the other screen was another helicopter. We saw inside this helicopter from a camera near the pilot’s head.

The pilot took off the gas mask he wore, revealing a head of honeyed hair. So this was the man from the bunker... I didn't recognize him, really. On the side of his neck was a tattoo. I might have seen him before... I couldn't be too sure.

“Matt, why do we have a helicopter?” I whispered in alarm. “They said they would let them go.”

“It’s a diversion,” he answered, leaning in to explain. “We don’t trust them not to follow us.”

“What do you mean?”

“We have the notebook. They are going to try to intercept the helicopter and retrieve it. Or they will follow it to our base.”

I squinted at the screen. “But… I don’t see the notebook.”

“That’s because it’s not there. It’s on a missile.”

“I beg your biggest pardon?”

Matt smirked and expanded, “I bought a missile that can’t be tracked by radar or satellite. They won’t be able to trace that bad boy. The notebook is in there.”

“You… bought a missile?”

“Did you forget I’m almost a billionaire?”

The helicopter took off. Sure enough, L’s pilot tailed it. They took the bait.

“The missile has been launched!” I heard a man holler out. “It’s set to arrive in t- minus fifteen minutes.”

“Jose, Eddie, and Kollet. I want you to go grab it,” Ross barked.

“Boss!” the pilot in the helicopter called out. “I’m sure you’re watching, but I’ve done everything I was told to do!”

Ross leaned forward, cupping his hands in front of him. Jack pressed a button on the microphone and scooted it towards Ross.

“Yeah, good work,” he praised into the speaker.

The energy seemed off. I could feel a lump forming in my throat as Ross glanced over at Jack. The blond man lifted up his keyboard.

“You promised to erase all my past failures,” the pilot reminded him hopefully.

Ross gave a creepy grin. It caused the hair on my arms to spike.

“Sure. I’ll erase them.”

He motioned to Jack. “Do it.”

Jack reached over and typed on the keyboard. Matt instantly grabbed me and buried my head into his chest.

I heard the sound of an explosion from the screen and bit back a scream. His grip on me grew tighter. I could feel the acceleration of his heartbeat. It didn’t beat as fast as mine.

My heart threatened to leap out of my ribcage.

Ross just killed that man.

He blew him up.

There were sounds of commotion behind us, while people prepared for the notebook’s arrival.

My breath came out in shudders, my ears still ringing.

I could feel Matt’s hands soften their grip.

“You… you knew…?” I shuttered.

His timing had been too good.

“No,” he admitted in a whisper. “But I had a feeling.”

He released me.

I had a hard time grounding myself to the present. I was afraid to.

I couldn’t get them out of my head. Miller falling onto his knees in agony… the man’s wishful last words… the bang of the explosion… the eerie sound of Ross laughing…

If I turned around, would I see Miller’s lifeless corpse there? Was he still sprawled on the ground? Was the monitor displaying the interior of the helicopter? Was the camera recording the flames devouring the man?

“I feel so sick…” I gasped, holding onto my gut.

My head twirled. I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling the ground rock beneath me.

“Matt, I don’t want to be here…”

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“I’m going to vomit.”

“Shit, okay, uhm… bloody hell, I don’t know where-”

“Matt, do you have that list?” I heard Marge call out.

I slowly opened my eyes. Her black top came into my blurry focus as she walked towards us.

Then, her brown eyes found mine.

“Oh, not again,” she grumbled. “Get yourself together.”

“Again?” Matt caught, arching his eyebrow.

“Sit,” Marge demanded to me.

I lowered myself to the floor, my whole body shaking.

“Stay still. Breathe in through your nose. Count to three. Breathe out. Count to three. Got it?”

I nodded, her stern voice distracting my thoughts. I did exactly as she asked and slowly felt my nausea vanish.

“I have the list,” Matt answered Marge. “Does he need it now?”

Marge nodded and retorted, “Yeah. He did not ask nicely.”

A smile spread across Matt’s face and his eyes glittered. “Yeah, Mello never does.”

He reached into the front pocket of his trousers and pulled out a folded up piece of paper.

Marge reached for it, but Matt pulled it away from her.

“I’ll bring it to him,” he offered. “You stay here with the sick girl.”

Marge grumbled under her breath while he vacated my side. I realized I didn’t feel as panicked to have him leave…

I started to feel a little more comfortable around some of the members- Marge and Greg, specifically. Skyer and Roy didn’t seem too bad either the more I became assimilated with them. At least, in comparison to the other members here…

“There it is!” I heard Ross declare happily. “Bring it in boys!”

Eddie, Jose, and Kollet descended down the steps. Eddie’s large, gloved hands cupped the infamous notebook delicately.

I could not describe the feeling it brought me.

It felt almost… supernatural. The black spine of it beckoned my gaze and evoked a strange primitive sense of curiosity within me. I felt almost called to reach out and grasp the cover. My fingertips tingled when it passed by my gaze.

I’ve never felt something like that before with any book… and I had always been surrounded by them.

I didn’t feel comfortable. In fact, I experienced an incredible trepidation. That notebook just oozed out evil energy… I wondered whether or not I would have felt this way had I not known it was Kira’s.

Eddie tilted the book and the cover was finally eligible. I could now clearly read the inscribed white print I spotted on the cameras.

D E A t H N O t E

I didn’t like that at all.

The men followed Eddie to the table, where he gently set it down.

Mello peered down at it in awe. Jack and Ross were at his sides, observing it too.

Matt leaned over Mello’s shoulder inquisitively, arching his eyebrow at the book. He then stood back up and stuffed his hands in his pockets. A bored expression stultified his demeanor.

“Test it,” Ross commanded, waving his hand over to Jack.

Jack paled, pushing up his glasses.

Mello handed him the folded up piece of paper from his gloved hand. That’s the one Matt gave him…

Jack tentatively retrieved it and unfolded the paper.

“Write those names,” Mello ordered. “Exactly as they are. And then M0 VIS236 C6's.”

The other man who grabbed me... Miller and him were executed...

Jack set the paper down on the table. I squinted from afar, trying to make out what was on the page. It looked like photo copied identification cards…

Jack grabbed a pen from the table. His hand shook violently as he set the point onto the page. He began to write.

Miller’s body had been removed from the ground at this point, but I could have swore he was still sprawled out there. At each scratch of the pen, I envisioned Miller grasping his chest desperately.

“Breathe,” I heard Marge whisper from next to me.

“Who are these men again?” Ross asked aloud, cracking his large knuckles.

Mello crumpled up his empty chocolate wrapper.

“Members of the SPK,” he declared.

He tossed the wrapper onto the ground. My stomach dropped with it.

My heart thudded so fast in my chest, I thought I was the one having a heart attack.

He was killing people… he was killing the SPK… Near…. Near! He might be killing Near!

My mouth dried up, the scream I wanted to rip out burning my throat.

My body filled with adrenaline and forced itself off the ground. It ordered me to do something hasty, like irrationally rushing forward and ripping the pen out of Jack’s hands.

“Calm down,” Marge hissed under her breath. “You’re going to draw attention to yourself, dumbass.”

I heard her and I understood.

Mello glanced my way for the first time, before he flickered his eyes back to the book. That one look was all it took for me to remember.

He was in control.

I had no power to change things right now.

I breathed again, my anxiety and grief making it uneven.

I felt so hopeless in this moment. More than I have ever felt before. Near could be in trouble... and I had no way of saving him. I wouldn't wish this type of distress on my worst enemy. I kept counting my breaths.

If I stopped, I knew I would have fainted.

The book closed.

The deed was done.

My ears rang in and out. I captured some conversation about where they were going to securely store it. Threats about cutting off hands if anyone touched it... cutting out tongues and eyeballs if anyone spoke about what they saw...

I was in such a state of raw shock from everything I just endured that I didn't even have the capabilities of letting those warnings sink in.

People began to clear out of the room.

Matt had made his way towards me, cupping his hand on my shoulder.

"Hey, we-"

"Take me to Mello," I cut him off.

Matt's eyes widened. "Y/N, you know I can't-"

"Take. Me. To. Him. Now."

I shocked myself with how violently those words came out. Matt flinched and his hand left my shoulder.

I felt guilty, so I added in: "Please... please, Matt."

I tried to hide the tears brimming my eyes, but I was sure he saw them.

Matt exhaled sharply.

"I can't," he said again. "I don't go back on my word. The answer is no."

"Then I'll go myself," I ordered him. "Don't stop me."

"Y/N-"

"If you care about me too, then please don't stop me."

Matt's mouth closed. His eyes gave me a pleading expression, but he made no move to intercept. I walked past him, securing my eyes on the blonde man walking up the stairs.

I followed him out, keeping distance so that no one caught on to me trailing him.

Mello took a sudden sharp turn to the right. I peered behind my shoulders, ensuring no one was watching me, and I turned with him.

It led me into an empty space. There was a door in front of me that was slowly closing. I quickly darted through it, slipping past the crack before the hinges clamped shut.

The room I was in now was secluded and dimly lit. Containers were stacked up on the sides of the walls, their colors appearing rustic and worn. It smelled revolting in here... I couldn't identify what it was.

I scanned the area. I couldn't make out any sign of life in here. I took a few steps forward before his voice caused me to freeze.

"You're following me."

I spun around and saw Mello leaning up against the wall by the door.

He peered at me, his disposition a mixture of heed and irritation. His arms were crossed in front of his chest while his nose curled upward.

This was the first time I had been alone with him in almost five years. The saddest part was, I wasn't too sure of whether or not that was Mello. It was like a stranger was wearing his face. In some stances, I could see my childhood best friend. But, after what I had just witnessed and overheard the past two days, I questioned who was standing in front of me now.

"Have you come to beg me to get you out of here?" he asked.

"No," I told him. "I came for answers."

He hoisted himself off the wall and tilted his head. "Then you're going to be disappointed."

"I already am," I declared.

Mello's face stiffened, before a frown unfroze it.

"I told you to stay away, but you didn't listen. Whatever questions you have are useless. Everything you saw was necessary," he stated.

My palms tingled. My sudden urge to hit something surprised me. I was not a violent person, but everything was just boiling up too much for me. I clenched my palms and bit my lips to keep myself from doing something irrational.

He made a move to open the door but I bolted over to it. I blocked the exit with my body. He took a step back, his eye flinching.

"How dare you?" I cried out.

Mello's face revealed a sliver of his momentary confusion, before an understanding flashed in his eyes.

"I did what I had to do," he declared coldly. "Step out of my way."

"No."

"Goddamnit, stop being so stubborn."

"You killed them. You killed innocent people!" I bellowed, my voice straining with heavy emotion.

Mello appeared struck. He glanced over my shoulder, clearly annoyed at how loud my voice was getting. He grabbed my shoulders and relocated us farther from the door.

I felt my body begin to hyperventilate as I let that truth sink in. I peered into the green eyes in front of me and wrestled with the fact that he ordered people to die.

He gritted, "Quiet down. I didn't-"

"You might have killed Near!" I revealed, letting my hurt pour out. "You could have hurt him!"

"You're not hearing me-"

"You used Kira's weapon against him! Why would you do something so sinister?!"

"Would you just listen?!" he shouted. "Those SPK members were spies! They spied for this mafia!"

My nails dug into my palms as I clenched my fists harder.

"So you killed them because you had no more use for them? Is that it?!" I bit harshly. "You got your notebook and now their lives mean nothing?! Or maybe it's because you knew Near was smart enough to interrogate them and find you! You are afraid he will take that notebook for himself!"

Mello's livid expression let me know that I crossed a line. His glare scared most of my hostility away.

"You think so low of me," he seethed. "Do you think I'm a fool?!"

I gulped as he took a step closer to me, his anger seeping through the atmosphere.

"Near never even knew I infiltrated the SPK until the spies dropped dead. He has had forty-seven months to find Kira. What's your little hero done? I'll tell you: he's hid inside the SPK and played with his toys. I entered the case only thirteen months ago and now I possess Kira's weapon."

Mello's glare deepened as he snarled, "But please. Enlighten me once again about why I should be afraid of Near's intelligence. If Near wants this notebook, he can try to take it. But I have the upper hand."

"I didn't mean it like that," I told him, my voice more hushed. "I know you are both intelligent. I just don't understand why you would kill people that are helping him. You have a gang... you have Matt... and now Near's by himself. That upper hand isn't fair."

"All is fair in the game of war."

"This isn't war, Mello."

He slashed his hand through the air and returned, "What the hell would you call this then?!"

I had no answer. Kira was killing criminals left and right, calling it a war on evil. The law enforcement battled both Kira and the criminals he was uprooting... meanwhile, Mello and Near were fighting each other to get to Kira first... and Japan and the United States were butting heads in an international political battle over this case... and Ross and the other gangs are wrestling with each other to reign supreme, using Kira's weapon as a way to do it...

Mello had a point.

Their current feud extended beyond the petty rivalry that I used to witness at The Wammy's House. It was more than just a competitive game. Lives were on the line.

This was a war.

"And to make it clear for you, Near still has his babysitters," he growled. "The SPK is currently functional. I only killed the men working in collusion with this gang."

"What?"

"Yeah," Mello coldly confirmed. "Near is too egotistic to realize that not everyone has his best interest at heart. Some SPK members were going against Near for profit or out of cowardice. I could toss them a thousand dollars and they would pluck a hair from his head and hand it to me. Imagine what would happen if Kira's supporters got to them. I did him a service."

My jaw went slack, my heart beat slowing down.

"You... protected Near."

Mello's eyes narrowed, his eyebrows pinching together.

"I protected the case," he corrected. "That's all."

"I want you to promise me that you'll protect Near..."

Mello's expression faltered. He grimaced.

"What?" he bit.

"Mello... please... please, don't let anyone hurt him."

For a moment, I saw him.

His eyes melted and he was there. The boy from the orphanage. The one with the high sense of justice. The one who defended the weak. The boy who stomped with full force in front of authorities, bringing nothing with him but an unmatched courage.

Then, his eyes went cold again.

"I don't do anything without something in return," he shot back.

"What would you want?" I asked. "I'll do anything."

"I want you to promise that you'll leave."

My heart pinched.

"Do we have a deal?" he inquired.

It was so difficult for me to even fathom separating from him... and yet he kept pushing for it like it was so easy.

Mello was struggling. This persona he was putting on... this evil villain he was portraying... it wasn't truly him. But he was assimilating deeper and deeper into this dooming role, killing himself slowly. If I left, I knew I would never see him again.

Both mentally and physically.

That crushed me.

"I hate that if I walk away, you'd let me go," I admitted to him, my heart breaking. "Why is it so easy for you?"

His frown deepened and his jaw clenched.

"I don't want you anywhere near me," he growled. "Do you understand? I have no use for you."

"I can't leave," I said through my shattered breath, "because I know that a piece of you is still in there somewhere... which means that I'm going to keep caring about you, Mello. Maybe you should consider this before you keep breaking my heart."

"Let it break. You are not my priority. I don't care about anything but capturing Kira."

Silent tears rolled down my cheeks. I had no energy to fight it.

I did as he asked.

I let myself begin to break.

"Then fine... I promise..."

Those words leaving my lips felt like a horrendous curse.

The deal was done. Mello would keep Near safe... and I would not return after he sends me off...

Mello said nothing more. He turned around and left me.

I don't know who I grieved more for.

Me or him...

Chapter Text

October 14, 2009

I didn't want to get up.

My body curled inwards, hugging itself on the mattress. I gazed dully at the wall.

I don't want you anywhere near me. Do you understand? I have no use for you...

Let it break. You are not my priority. I don't care about anything but capturing Kira...

I inhaled shakily, my whole body aching. My face felt sticky, and my eyes were screaming, having been strained for tears they no longer could produce.

There was a knock on the door.

"Y/N..." Matt's voice came. "Can I come in?"

"Okay," I croaked.

My voice sounded harsh and grated. I licked my lips. They burned, leaving behind a salty taste from the tears that ceased to fall last night.

The door opened and the floorboards creaked. I felt the bed dip and slowly rolled my body towards him.

Matt sat, peering down at me with a pained expression.

"Can you tell me what happened?" he asked again with quiet empathy.

He posed this question last night too... but I was too emotional to tell him. Thinking about it again was ripping me apart.

I felt my lip quiver.

"I... I made Mello upset... I promised that I would go..." I admitted to him.

Matt's eyebrows pinched together and he averted his gaze to the window.

"I reckon that's for the best," he murmured.

My heart sank, but I couldn't deny it.

It was inevitable. I had this epiphany back at The Wammy's House... I knew I wasn't smart enough to keep up with them. But it appeared I wasn't strong enough, either. I couldn't stomach what they were doing. I had an inkling it would only get worse.

This hostage exchange last night was just the initial fire... I doubted I could handle the explosion.

"Don't look so gloomy," Matt commented, poking my forehead playfully. "We can tackle the whole new relocation stuff tomorrow. I've got some fun plans for us today."

"Plans?" I repeated.

"Yeah," he affirmed, grinning. "Look, as much as I love seeing you in my clothes... which I do really love, please never stop... I know you deserve your own."

He stood up from the bed and ripped the blankets off.

I let out a whimper and curled up deeper into myself, the frigid temperature waking me up.

"I'm taking you shopping. So go take a shower and get ready."

"But... I don't have access to The Wammy House's funds anymore."

"Y/N, you don't need that old geezer's leftover money. I'm buying."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. Anything you want, I'll get it."

"That's... really sweet of you..." my breath hitched and I shook my head, feeling the denial. "I don't deserve that."

Matt let out a soft scoff. "That is one of the most ridiculous statements you've ever said. And you've said a lot of dumb things growing up."

I fidgeted with the sheets.

Matt's eyebrows arched inward into a pout, as he attempted to convince me again. "You deserve so much. Please let me do this?"

I bit my lip, contemplating it. I was already putting them through so much trouble. As tempting as clothes of my own sounded, I also felt that perhaps the timing wasn't the most appropriate. There were other things I should be focusing on. There were still grievances I needed to process and I-

"Matt!" I gasped.

He lifted me up off of the bed. I clung onto his shirt as he tossed me over his shoulder, fireman style.

The floor spun underneath me as he pivoted around towards the door.

"You were too slow," he chuckled. "Take a shower, will ya?!"

I giggled as he bounced in the air, spinning us towards the bathroom.

He set me down onto the bathroom tiles. He winked and then shut the door.

My hair created damp spots on his grey tank top. There were only two shorts that fit me, so I had been wearing them on rotation. Today, I fashioned the black ones.

I stepped out of his room and found him waiting for me. He was reclining against the back of the stained couch, playing on his Game Boy.

Coins rattled from the speakers, followed by a cheerful voice.

"VICTORY! COLLECT YOUR TREASURE!"

"Is that your Zelda game?" I asked aloud.

Matt peeked up from the screen and smiled.

I returned the grin. "I recognized the sound. You used to play it a lot..."

"Then I taught you well," Mello stated proudly, closing the top of his device. "Are you ready?"

"Yes."

"Brilliant. Oh, and I got you out some water. It's on the table."

I peered over my shoulder and saw a fresh new water bottle waiting for me.

"Thank you, Matt."

"Don't need to thank me."

Oh right... according to Matt, thank you's imply there was an inconvenience.

He got up and walked over to the door, whistling to himself. I moved over to the water and unscrewed the cap. I drank it, letting the water cure my aching throat.

As Matt kicked his feet into his tied shoes, I got the courage to ask him something I thought of in the shower...

"Matt... could we pick up some candles too?"

His whistling died down and he glanced in my direction with puzzlement.

"Candles?" he parroted, plucking the bent counter of his shoes over his heel. "Sure... but why?"

"I wanted to light them tonight... so we can give a proper goodbye to those who died yesterday."

Matt froze and blinked at me.

"You... want to have a ceremony...?"

I nodded, feeling tears brim my eyes again.

"For Miller and the other man, for the helicopter pilot, and for the SPK members..."

"But they were bad people," Matt protested.

"No they weren't," I rejected softly. "They were just people."

He glanced at the ground, before nodding his head.

"Yeah... okay..." he agreed.

I smiled at him. "I appreciate you."

His golden eyes softened and crinkled with a smile of his own. "Ditto. I said I'd get you anything you wanted, remember?"

I trailed over to where I kicked off my shoes last night. I sat down on the ground and slipped one onto my foot, before grabbing the laces and tying them.

As I reached out for the other one, Matt's phone began to ring.

He appeared perplexed. He reached into his pocket and answered it, taking a step away from the door frame.

"What?" he greeted harshly.

I slowly put on my other shoe, watching him pace the room. I wondered who he was talking to.

"What?!" he vocalized in alarm. "You better not be lying or I'll-... I want to know exactly what he said. Word for word..."

Matt ran his hand through his auburn hair, pulling on the ends. Whatever the person on the other line was saying clearly agitated him.

"Right now?! You're taking the piss out of me... no, I know it's not you, I get it... fuck, alright... bye."

He hung up the phone and clenched it hard.

"Son of a bitch," he growled, brutally shoving the device back into his pocket.

"Matt...," I called out tentatively, "is everything okay...?"

He took a deep inhale. I watched his shoulders rise, then fall in shuttered waves.

He took another breath, regulating himself, before turning back to face me.

"I... uhm... I'm not too sure," he answered earnestly, plastering a fake smile on his face. "We're putting a raincheck on our shopping trip."

"Why? What happened?"

His smile faded, his facade unable to bear the weight of his next sentence.

"Ross wants to see you."

Matt was just as confused as I was.

Eddie didn't tell him why Ross demanded my presence, only that he did. Ross never gave a reason and Eddie, much to Matt's frustration, didn't wish to pry for one. I don't blame him. Ross didn't seem like the type of man who was open to being questioned.

Yet, without an answer, this whole request was daunting.

We made our way into the hideout, moving across the cement floor of the factory ploddingly. We were stretching the time, trying to prolong my deliverance.

"I'm really scared, Matt," I admitted.

"It'll be okay," he rendered tensely.

I knew he wasn't fully convinced that was the truth. His hands drummed against his pocket, while his lips thinned.

"I think... I think I might know why he wants to see me."

I had been pondering on it since we vacated the apartment... the only reason that came to mind stemmed from a conversation I had with Marge.

Matt gave me his full attention, his gaze beseeching mine.

"Why?" he asked.

"Ross might suspect me of not being in Angelo's mafia. Marge says that each of Angelo's girl members have a tattoo of the letter 'A' on their back. What if he checks mine and sees I don't have one?"

"He wouldn't look at your back to check for a tattoo, he would be-"

Matt's lips shut. His face twisted with torment while his skin paled. He shook his head, as if to shake his thoughts away.

"He's not going to touch your back," he declared with finality. "Alright?"

"Alright..."

We made it to the staircase that led to the gang's meeting room. Voices lowly rumbled throughout the space below. It appeared it wasn't just Ross down there...

"Matt?" I whispered, my anxiety racing through my body.

"I'm right here."

He slowly emerged in my peripheral vision.

"I'll go first," he declared. "You can follow behind."

The tall man stepped in front of me and descended down the steps. I followed him down, keeping my eyes fixed on his beige vest.

My ears picked up his voice among any other sound. It was like nothing else but his voice mattered.

"The Japanese Police are as useless as we thought," Mello reported. "Yagami informed me that all they know is that the notebook needs a name and face to kill. Which means they either are incompetent or they are afraid of letting us in on more details."

Matt and I stepped onto the last of the stairs.

The room wasn't as full as it normally was. I saw Mello and Ross, of course, next to the couches. Jose, Eddie, and Kollet were also familiar faces in the crowd. There were five huge men around them, who I did not recognize. All of them looked like they could crush my skull with one hand.

Everyone in the room appeared to be the largest men. I wondered if they were the hitmen or something...

"That's fine," Ross declared. "We will do it in person then. I have a list of names from gangs around here that have accumulated some bad debt. Some have photos... but for the others, we can always write down names while we infiltrate. We are bound to drop a few..."

There was a movement from the monitors. I saw Jack spin in his chair and face us.

He was the first one to notice Matt and I's presence. Presumably, he had been spying on us through the security footage.

"Boss," he alerted, as if he were a human siren.

I kept close to Matt, finding safety in staying within his amber scent.

Ross's eyes found mine. They were unreadable, which made him all the more spine- chilling. I was normally good at reading emotions.

Ross grinned and rolled his shoulders back. His chest puffed out menacingly and I heard the twisted sound of his large back cracking.

"Welcome in," he greeted. "Y/N, was it?"

I could feel the eyes of people in this room... even Mello's. He normally made it a point to not look at me. I didn't know what to do. I could look up and acknowledge him... but if I did, I would cry.

I couldn't pull my eyes away from Ross's, however. It was like I was staring into the eyes of a beast. I had a feeling that if I looked away for even a second, he would pounce at me.

"Yes," I answered honestly, afraid of what would happen if I lied.

His eyes trailed down my body, giving me a sickening feeling of deja-vu.

"Appears I was right," he chuckled. "You do look better in less modest clothing."

Instinctively, I curled up within myself. I should have put on one of Matt's baggy t-shirts before we left... his game council said it was over eighty degrees outside, so I put on a tank top... had I known I would be standing in front of Ross...

"You're shy, huh?" Ross noted, tilting his head. "That's cute."

He reached out in front of him and grabbed a shot glass, which was filled to the brim with some sort of heady alcohol.

He lifted it up to me with a smirk, before downing it.

He didn't even flinch from the swig, despite the burn I was sure he felt. Ross set the empty glass down and then reclined back into the couch.

"What do you think of the notebook?" he implored, twiddling with his gold earring. "Impressive, hm?"

I didn't say anything. That irritated him.

"Speak," he barked loudly.

I jumped.

"The notebook is deadly," I replied. "... scary, really."

"Deadly and scary..." Ross repeated, a smile tugging his lips further. "Music to my ears. Do you want to know why, Y/N?"

Not wishing to anger him again with my silence, I entertained the question.

"Why?" I wondered.

"Because it brings power. Deadly... scary... no one wants to mess with that. Whoever has the notebook, therefore, has power. Luckily, I already have power. I earned it by being deadly and scary. This notebook just makes me... more."

His eyes grew with a wicked fervor.

"Tell me, how would Angelo feel knowing that I had this weapon?"

I blanched. I didn't know who Angelo was. I didn't know his character... the only thing I could do was try to utilize as many context clues as I received. Marge mentioned he was possessive, untrusting, and cruel. Greg thought of him as a backstabber and a coward.

"He would be envious," I told him.

Ross's smile grew. "He would be. Would he be afraid?"

"He is already afraid of you."

A laugh rumbled out of him, filling the space like thunder.

"Good answer," he complimented.

Ross leaned forward, cupping his massive hands in front of his knees. His head tilted slightly as his threatening eyes explored mine.

"Are you afraid of me, Y/N?"

I shivered.

"I'm afraid of your actions..." I revealed. "... but not of you."

His eye twitched. Matt stiffened.

Ross hummed, tapping his fingers together. "I don't think I follow..."

I couldn't tell whether or not I was entrapping myself. I clenched the fabric of the tank top and breathed. My mother always told me to give people chances... to see the good in everything... and to be kind.

"You're a human being," I told him. "What makes us human is our ability to feel deeply. Our hearts keep us alive to experience the feelings of the world. We all have a desire to be happy. Even you. That isn't scary to me."

Ross chuckled. It oscillated between humor and ridicule.

"You want me to be happy?" he picked up on.

"I want everyone to be happy."

"I'm sure you do," he claimed.

Some of the men in the room smiled and I got a feeling I was falling into dangerous territory. I made eye contact with Jose. He was shaking his head at me, his lips stuck in a straight line.

What was he trying to tell me?

"I want to be really happy," Ross practically purred. "But let me see if you can actually help me. Answer this for me... if I were to bring you to Angelo's restaurant, would you be able to identify his gang members?"

I felt the blood drain from my face.

"... I wasn't that involved."

Ross pursed his lips and slowly nodded. He reached out to grab one of the photos that were scattered onto the table, next to a few burner phones. He lifted it up and showed me a man I did not know.

His tan skin was scarred and rough. There were black sideburns that trailed down his sharp, wide jaw. His tired brown eyes were shadowed by his wavy hair, which appeared peppered. It was evidently jelled back, appearing stiff and unnaturally shiny in the photograph.

"Could you tell me who this is?" he wondered.

I blinked and slowly shook my head.

"I... I don't remember..."

Ross's jaw ticked. "Interesting... I'm going to disagree with you, Y/N. You were involved. I'll let you in on a secret: gang leaders send two types of people out to do their dirty work. They either send their most trusted comrades or they send out someone they want to dispose of."

He turned the photo around and I felt my heart skip a beat.

A name was scribbled on the back of it.

Angelo Cesario.

Ross's voice lowered and rattled precariously.

"I take it you were not close with him." He tossed the photo onto the table. "I don't tend to forget things. He wanted to finish you off after your job was done. Yet, here you are... alive. I thought maybe you could be useful. Yet, it appears you know less than I do. How disappointing."

His eyes scanned me again. "To be honest, I could buy sexier whores if I wanted to. Even that is not satisfactory. Now brings the question of what to do with you... how can you make me happy? The answer is... you can't. Unfortunately for you, you have seen too much. You know about the notebook. You know about the base. You know my members."

Ross shrugged and then declared, "You leave me no choice but to kill you."

He snapped his fingers and three men I didn't know rushed towards us.

"NO!" Matt shouted.

Two men held him back, ignoring his desperate struggles. They kicked the back of his knees brutally, letting him crash onto the hard ground. Matt's arms were painfully twisted upwards behind his back. He let out a hiss as his shoulder blades immobilized him.

A scream tore out of my throat as I was suddenly put into a choke hold. I clawed at the burly arm that agonizingly constricted my neck. My lungs clenched in panic and began to burn, not getting necessary air.

Ross reached into his holster and grabbed his metallic weapon. I was looking right at my reaper.

He gave me an apathetic expression. I was going to die staring at his face...

A gun clicked and the room went still.

Everyone's eyes watched in disbelief.

Mello had moved like lightning, stationing himself across from Ross.

He held a gun straight at his head.

I have never seen his eyes so full of venomous rage. They were crazed and murderously unhinged, piercing directly at the mafia king himself. A low snarl ripped from his chest.

"You will not touch a single hair on her head," he threatened through gritted teeth.

Ross's face momentarily quavered. He was just as surprised as the rest of us, and judging by his insecure disposition, I could tell he was not familiar with the feeling.

"Order your men to release her or I'll kill you," Mello pressurized. "I swear to God, I'll fucking kill you."

My vision began to fade. I fearfully watched a grey vignette grow around my sight. My lungs were on fire now... I felt so dizzy...

A grin slowly lifted the corners of Ross's large lips. He lifted up his hand and snapped again. The pressure around my neck vanished. I gasped for air and coughed, my body struggling to fill my aching lungs back up with oxygen.

The man behind me remained. I felt the uncomfortable heat of his body behind me. I knew he was keeping watch so that I would not run.

Ross's eyes glistened playfully. His smile widened in pure delight as he stared back at Mello. The intensity of his stare was unsettling. He appeared... exhilarated.

"I guessed it," he announced. "That bitch is your Achilles Heel, huh?"

Mello's eyes wavered, but his gun remained steady.

"If you shoot me, they will kill you," Ross wagered.

Mello glared and spat, "I know."

Ross laughed. It was a jolly, yet menacing sound that sent chills up my very spine.

"Would everyone just look at that?! I found a way to control what has always been annoyingly uncontrollable. You want to shoot me, boy? Go on... shoot me... fucking do it. You can't. Because you know that if I die, she dies. A bullet in my skull is two in hers."

He waved his large hand around the room and I heard some men let out verbal sounds of agreement. He made a pact with them over my life.

Mello let out a shaky breath and lowered the gun.

He was torpefied.

Ross had him cornered.

"I now know where your loyalties are, Mello. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't upset. If it were anyone else, I would have killed her in front of them before putting a bullet down their throat. But you. I'm afraid you're quite valuable to me..." he licked his lips, his demeanor enlivening. "I have a collar around you, boy. I finally have a way to get you back in line."

Ross flickered his eyes to my direction and he chuckled, "I retract my earlier statement. It seems you can make me happy."

Mello growled, "Don't miscalculate. It's a two way leash. If she dies, you won't live to see another day. Mark my fucking words, Ross."

Ross crooned, "As of now, I will decide to keep her alive. That alone will have to be enough for you."

Alive was a loose definition. Physically alive did not include mentally alive, physically healthy, or untouched.

Mello's lips tightened into a fierce line. He stared into my eyes, and I stared back.

They looked tortured.

"I don't want to lose my new gage," Ross continued. "I want Y/N to remain here for my use."

Ross's eyes bore into mine, intercepting my connection with Mello.

"If I find out you left, Y/N... I will shoot Mello and your little pal Matt. It's best you behave and not make me angry."

I heard Matt bellow in pain and gasped. The men pulled his arms higher up, straining his shoulder blades in a torturous position. His freckled nose scrunched up while his eyes squeezed shut in complete agony.

There was a crunch noise and he cried out.

I panicked, witnessing him in distress. My hands shook near my face, unconsciously trying to cover my eyes and ears.

"Stop it! Please, stop it! Don't hurt him!"

Ross gave a pretense sound of pity.

"Awe," he murmured. "Let's be nice boys... let him go..."

They dropped his arms, letting Matt fall flat on his face.

I tried to run towards him, but the man behind me grabbed onto my hair harshly and yanked me back.

Ross smugly arched his eyebrows, as he witnessed his confirmation that I had an emotional attachment to Matt as well.

I glanced at him in horror, realizing the gravity of Matt and Mello's peril. If I stayed, my life would be used as a chess piece against them. If I disappeared, they would both be killed. There was no winning.

"I think this all turned out well," Ross acknowledged. "No one had to die after all... isn't that great?"

Invisible chains were wrapped around my wrists shackling me down. I swore I saw strings reattaching themselves to Mello and Matt. Instead of them puppeteering Ross, he was now puppeteering them. We had always been controlled under someone else's influence during our time in The Wammy's House. But this felt different.

We moved with his pulls until he closed the curtains... or we would die.

Matt and I were escorted out. Ross had no more use for us and was confident we would not escape or do anything further to infuriate him.

We couldn't.

Matt and I journeyed down the cement floor. His right arm dangled unnaturally at his side. His face was paler than normal and his breathing more rigid. A bruise was extending across the bridge of his nose from where he had fallen. The goggles had dug into the crook, causing its discoloration. I could tell he was in immense pain.

"Matt... your shoulder..."

"Wait until we are at the apartment," he ordered in a strained voice.

His eyes flickered up at one of the cameras attached to the factory wall.

I did as he asked. We fled the hideout. Once we got into the apartment, Matt handed me the keys. He reached into his black bag.

"Stay by the door," he urged.

I stepped back, pressing my body against the door panels.

Matt pulled out a gun from his black bag. Goosebumps broke out on my body as he lifted the weapon up and posed.

Matt quickly swept through his apartment, checking every corner and under every surface. He kicked open the bathroom door and opened up the shower curtains. I then watched him disappear into his bedroom.

After a few seconds, he reemerged and tucked the gun into his belt.

"Lock the door," he commanded.

I did as he asked, locking the knob with his keys. I twisted his deadbolt and slid the latch for triple security.

Matt tried to conceal a groan, but I heard the sound slip from his lips.

I set the keys down onto the table and ran to him.

"Come on, let's sit you down," I said.

Matt didn't protest and allowed me to lead him to his room. He plopped down onto the mattress. I scurried to his dresser and pulled out one of his belts from the top drawer.

"Here," I directed, darting back to him with it. "Take it."

"W-Why?" he stammered, retrieving it from my hands.

"Because you need to bite down on it."

Matt's eyes widened, "I need to what?!"

"It's going to help. Trust me."

"Do you know what you're doing?"

"Yes. I don't think I mentioned this, but I'm a nurse now."

"Oh... how convenient," he tried to joke through his distress.

I grabbed onto his arm, where his shoulder had been dislocated. Matt made a slight whimper from the sudden pressure of my hands. I flinched, feeling terrible that it was going to hurt.

Matt instantly shoved the belt in between his teeth and clenched down.

I gave him a countdown so he could prepare: "One... two... three!"

I lifted up his arm and pushed hard, reconnecting the shoulder into the socket. He grunted loudly. The crack of his shoulder mixed with the crunch of the belt.

"Okay... okay, it's over," I reassured, petting back his hair in an effort to comfort him.

I felt it was necessary. I know that I was fixing his shoulder, but I hated being the reason behind more pain. I thought, in a weird sense, that a different calming sensation could rectify that discomfort.

Matt spit out the belt.

"Son of a bitch," he moaned. "That hurt."

"I'm so sorry... I'm so sorry..." I repeated, falling to my knees in front of him. "I know it hurts... it's my fault..."

"Hey, hey," Matt whispered, cupping my face. "Stop. You have no reason to be sorry, alright? I would let them dislocate every joint in my body if it meant keeping you alive."

At that last sentence his face twisted in agony.

"Shit... shit, I was so fucking scared. I thought he was going to shoot you... I wouldn't have been able to shield you. I am the one who needs to apologize. I got you into this mess... and I couldn't even stop them."

The gamer's eyes welled up and he uttered, "I'm so fucking useless."

"Matt! Don't say that!" I cried. "Please, don't say that."

There was a pounding on the door.

I froze in fear. Matt's eyes bulged and his hands left my cheeks.

The pound came again, this time more desperate than before.

Matt stood up and reached into his belt, pulling out his gun.

I moved, but he extended his palm to halt me.

"Stay."

Matt left the room and closed the door behind him, keeping me out of sight.

I slowly stood up, feeling my knees wobble from under me. I backed up towards the center of the room, keeping my gaze transfixed on the bedroom door.

I heard the apartment door open.

"You scared the fuck out of me."

"Are you alright?"

"Never better."

"Jesus Christ, Matt. Your face."

"I'll live."

The door shut. The locks clicked.

"Where is she?!""

Their steps grew louder as they approached the bedroom.

The door swung open.

I saw a glint of gold.

And then I inhaled the scent of cocoa.

Mello practically crumbled into me, his arms wrapping around my body tightly.

I gasped, my heartbeat rushing. My stomach fluttered and I quickly clenched onto him in return.

"Forgive me," he pled.

His voice sounded so broken.

I squeezed him tighter, more afraid he would let me go than anything else.

"Mello, you never have to ask me that. Whatever you do, know that I already forgave you."

One thing my mother taught me a while ago was that forgiveness does not excuse another person's behavior. However, it prevents it from destroying your heart. Mello's actions really hurt me. It left cracks... but I refused to let myself completely shatter. I was not someone who easily gave up... not when it came to the people I cared about.

And I still cared about him. Deeply.

Mello released his grip but stayed close. He reached out and traced one of his hands near my throat. His jade eyes winced.

I could tell he was replaying it... my strangulation.

I lifted up my hand and softly grabbed his, pulling it away from my throat. He evaded his gaze from my neck and peered into my eyes again.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N... I tried... I thought..." his voice cracked. "I didn't want them to use you against me... this is exactly what I was afraid of."

"I'm sorry too," I revealed. "I knew I would get in your way. I know Kira's your priority and you didn't want me in your life and now I'm screwing it up and Ross is going to use you and-"

"Stop, don't get ahead of it," Mello coaxed, his eyebrows pinching together. "You got it wrong... I thought that if I pushed you away, you wouldn't get caught up in this. I didn't want you involved because..."

"Because what?"

He averted his gaze and muttered, "Because I care about you too."

I felt my heart leap into my throat. My cheeks burned and my head spun.

"You... but you told me to let my heart break. You said you didn't want me to care. Why would you say that if you cared about me still too?"

"I thought it would be easier to have you hate me. I wanted you to leave willingly," Mello admitted. "I still don't want you here... but I don't yet know how I'm going to free you."

"There are so many more things to worry about," I shuttered. "You just made a move against Kira, Ross, the SPK, and the Japanese Police force... you have so many people upset at you. You can't let his threat on me distract you."

Mello needed to concentrate more than ever. He was dead smack in the center of everyone's radar. Each enemy he rattled was most likely plotting a retaliation against him. For his safety, he had to stay vigilant. I couldn't let my possible chance of death stumble him. It could be fatal.

The corner of Mello's lip slightly lifted.

"You think low of me again," he said. "I've spent every damn day for the past six years worrying about you, riff raff."

My nickname... I haven't heard that in years...

"Doesn't that constant worry scare you?"

Mello shook his head.

"Remember that promise I made?"

The cross necklace caught some of the light from the window behind us. It shimmered in my peripheral vision, catching my eye.

"Which one?" I inquired, watching the red gleam.

"The one about bravery."

"When you are around, you'll be brave enough for the both of us," I recalled.

"I won't be scared. Which means you don't have to force yourself to be brave," Mello emphasized. "Please remember that... do not force bravery. Do not stick out your neck. I don't want you jumping in and doing something reckless... not in this place. Not for me or Matt."

Mello peered behind his shoulders and glanced at Matt. He gave a slight nod in agreeance to what was said.

Mello's eyes returned to mine. I got lost in their earthy tone, feeling like a sturdy forest was fortifying me.

"We'll look after you," he affirmed. "The best thing you can do is stay as invisible as you can."

"So, I don't distract you two."

"No, so you don't draw more attention to them," Matt commented from the back. "The more we attend to you, the more they will weaponize you."

"You were never a distraction for us, Y/N," Mello established. "You were always a motivation."

Chapter Text

"Who else would you call when there's no one to blame?
Be at ease, be at ease, blame it on me.
Don't be shy, don't you cry.
Blame it all on me.
Always cold, always far from reality."

October 15, 2009

I tied the bin bag. My nose crinkled at the acrid scent of the rubbish within it.

Marge served a fish dish last night. The scraps of the creature had been resting in the bin, marinating with the week's compost.

I turned my face away in an active attempt to stay clear of its odor.

I caught the sweeps of Marge's broom, which was moving near the kitchen's corner.

The French woman slowly travelled towards the center of the room, navigating some of the dirt the gang had brought in yesterday towards a growing pile.

She paused for a moment, staring blankly at the floor. She wiped her hand across her brow and deflated with a heavy exhale.

"Marge... aren't you going to rest too?"

She appeared weary. I prompted this in belief that it would be in her best interest.

Marge gripped the broom tighter and a frown settled on her face. "No. I don't sleep before things like this..."

As if to prove a point, she began to sweep even more ardently.

"How come?" I wondered.

"Because I cannot," she stated simply.

Her tone was harsher with that answer. I could sense she did not want to divulge more on the topic.

Everyone else was sleeping. Or, at least, they were attempting to. Ross's gang would be up all night tonight, infiltrating some other mafias in the area. Therefore, they were all getting some rest so they would have an easier time with their nocturnal activity. That's all I knew from picking up context clues. No one really let me in on all of the details.

Marge seemed ill at ease about it.

"You're nervous, aren't you?" I commented.

Marge's eyebrow twitched.

"And you aren't?" she shot back.

"Should I be?"

The broom crashed onto the ground. She stared at me... no, it was a glare. Cold, relentless, slightly resentful.

"Do you know what they are doing?" she questioned.

I shook my head slowly.

"They are going out for a hunt," she hissed. "Ross is sending the men out to kill. They are doing it with that stupid notebook. Normally, Mello would pull Ross back. He talked sense into him. But now you're here and he has no more power. No one can stop Ross from overreacting now. Fuck, this is all wrong!"

Guilt rushed through my veins like poison. She was very evidently worried about them... and she put that blame on me.

"Marge-"

"Je ne veux pas te parler!"

She slashed her hand in the air to silence me. She then picked up her fallen broom.

We remained in the uncomfortable quiet. I felt on edge knowing she did not want to speak to me anymore. Her face twisted as she processed her negative emotions. She took it out on the broom. Her brushes became more sporadic and rough.

It made me feel incredibly anxious... whenever Roger got like this, he did not want to see my face again. I needed to disappear from her so that she could be okay again.

I picked up the waste bin I tied and exited the kitchen to toss it out.

I walked down the iron walkway, nearing the staircase. The bag was heavy in my arms. I struggled to keep it off the ground. I hoped that it was just because the content within the bag was weighty... I really hope I wasn't this weak.

I descended down the steps slowly.

Even though the building was silent, I had a weird sinking feeling in my gut. My eyes flickered to each corner, my senses on hyperdrive. I worried someone would come out and grab me... that Ross could be lurking in some shadow...

What if he changes his mind?

The bag in my hand shook... no, my arm was trembling.

I took a deep breath, but still my body continued to traumatically react. This was all my fault... I was to blame for all of it... I needed to find a way to reconcile this problem. I couldn't let Ross antagonize Mello and Matt... I couldn't let him hurt them.

The bag dipped and I hoisted it back up.

But how could I protect them? I could barely carry this stinky bag.

Marge's words continued their valid streak... I just keep digging myself deeper into the trenches.

I continued my journey down the main sector of the building. One of the lightbulbs flickered above. It didn't matter, though... the late afternoon sky was still bright enough to pour visible light into the room.

It was enough, at least, for me to spot a lone plastic bottle next to a large container. I moved towards it, figuring I would just add it to the waste I was on my way to dispose. I reached down and grabbed it. However, when I stood up, my grip failed me.

The bottle slid out of my fingers and hit the concrete. It rolled down the hall.

A boot tapped it, ceasing its roll.

I swallowed back a shriek. No one was supposed to be here yet.

A tan hand bent down and picked up the bottle. I followed it up to see the face of its owner.

Jose scrutinized the bottle, his caramel eyes flickering between the plastic and me.

They crinkled slightly in a soft smile, before he walked over to me with it.

"You dropped something," he stated, outstretching his hand to me.

I analyzed his expression.

I was worried he might have a complaint about the mission and feel some sort of animosity towards me too. Maybe he would pull a Tate and rip the bottle from me at the last second, to watch me falter.

Yet, his demeanor appeared honest... as it often did.

I retrieved the bottle hesitantly. I was genuinely surprised that he handed it to me with no issues... and that he was still smiling.

"Thank you, Jose."

"Don't mention it."

It was peculiar to discern the bipolarity between him and Marge. He was incredibly calm, like a lulling river stream. His charming aura was relaxing... you could daze off with him in complete serenity.

It hit me suddenly that I shouldn't be looking at him.

"Aren't you supposed to be sleeping?" I wondered, failing to mask my concern.

He chuckled and retorted, "I slept enough."

The dark shadows underneath his eyes pled otherwise. Although Jose had longer lashes, I could tell the discoloration was from restlessness. His eyes squinted and bushy eyebrows pulled together.

As his smile faded slightly, he asked, "How did you sleep?"

"Me?"

"Yeah... you had a tough go yesterday."

"I slept alright," I told him.

He smacked his lips and grinned again, before commenting, "That's good. I was worried about you."

"You were?"

I was surprised to hear this. Jose had been giving me signals during Ross's confrontation, but I couldn't figure out what he was attempting to express to me. To know that he had been concerned was almost staggering, especially since we had never really spoke to one another.

"I got a soft spot for you kids," he admitted.

"They ain't kids!" a voice rejected.

I jumped, startled at the abrupt holler. Jose didn't flinch, seemingly unphased by the intrusion.

I peeked behind Jose's bicep. Skyer was trailing on in, rubbing his chest through his wrinkled, black button down shirt. He sniffed and exhaled out of his mouth, before letting his hand drop to his side.

"They are kids to me," Jose attested. "Greg is eighteen. Those boys are twenty-one. That's still young... and you are probably around that age too, right Y/N?"

I nodded. At the conclusion of this year, I would be twenty. Near would be too.

Skyer tusked and scratched his earlobe. "Young and kid ain't the same."

Jose shrugged.

"Where are those two anyway?" Skyer directed, staring over to me.

Mello and Matt.

"They are sleeping," I answered.

Last night, Mello and Matt were riled up about the events that occurred. They couldn't have slept even if they wanted to. Ross's threats put a wrench in their plans, which made them radiate with intense anxiousness.

Mello never left Matt's apartment. The two stayed up together, remaining in the living area. I was sent to bed and told to rest. I protested that they should sleep too, which is when I learned that they were going to be sleeping during the day time today instead.

I also got a stern talking to, in which they forbade me from joining them. Whatever the mission was, it was solely to be completed by the mafia members. And, after the train wreck of events leading up to the present, I did not dare to argue.

I would do as they ordered, since they had my best interest at heart. I didn't want to screw anything up again.

They were still up this morning when I awoke. Matt's eyes were dully glued to three monitors, so I didn't really get to converse with him. Mello gave me a hasty greeting, before he called Marge to meet me at the apartment. She chauffeured me down to the factory for them and gave me busy work to do while the others slept.

"I didn't know you were close to Mello," Skyer addressed. "I knew you knew Matt, obviously... but I don't know, I didn't really get the vibe that Mello liked any women."

Jose arched his eyebrow. "What do you mean by that?"

"I don't know. He doesn't talk about women or sex or anything. I mean, he doesn't even seem interested in the women Ross brings in. Not even the ones with big tits! It makes a guy wonder..."

Jose seemed amused and replied, "I thought you were going to make a comment about his clothes."

"What? No. All Europeans dress gay." Skyer grimaced and quickly added, "No offense, Jose. You don't dress like other Spaniards."

"Men in Spain do not dress gay."

Skyer deadpanned him. "You're seriously going to look me dead in the fucking eyes and tell me that you don't dress fruity? That those flamingo outfits and pointy hats and colorful gilets don't scream homo?"

Jose rolled his eyes. "Okay. Let's not be homophobic."

"Homopho-?! Who are you talkin' to?!" Skyer sputtered, peering over his shoulder dramatically. "I don't got a problem with gays! I used to live near Boystown, for Christ's sake!"

"Why are we even talking about this?"

"Because I didn't think Mello would know Y/N. I heard he put a gun to Ross over her and that Ross pissed his pants. Is that true?"

"No," Jose shot down. "Ross didn't piss his pants."

Skyer whistled. "But Mello put a gun to him? Ballsy."

"You two must be close," Jose put forth, returning his eyes to mine. "I've never seen Mello lose control like that."

I licked my bottom lip nervously and fiddled with the handles of the bag I still carried.

"You don't have to answer that if it's too personal," Jose reassured. "I can already tell, anyways. I noticed both of you would stare at each other… he would look when you weren’t and you would look when he wasn’t.”

Mello was looking at me?

Skyer nodded and quickly agreed, “Yeah, yeah I seen that too the first time they were together. But I couldn’t tell if it was sexual tension or murderous rage.”

Jose casted him a disapproving look. “You not knowing the difference really checks out.”

“The hell’s that supposed to mean, eh?! Man, you're pissing me off today.”

"You sound like Marge," Jose chuckled.

Now that was a nice segway into a conversation I felt more comfortable with.

"How long have you and Marge been together?" I wondered.

"Oh, here we go," Skyer groaned. "You got him started. I can't listen to this again, I'm going to get ready."

Skyer vacated the spot we congregated at and trailed down towards the downstairs room.

"Ten years," he answered, a large grin spread on his face. "Took me two years to even get her to go out with me."

"Are you married?"

"In spirit... with what we do, marriage and family is tricky..."

"Have you thought of leaving?" I asked. "To start a family?"

He gave a melancholy smile, before he peered off in the kitchen's direction.

“Is Marge up?” he redirected.

“Yes, she’s been cleaning with me all day. She hasn’t slept.”

Jose cracked a smile. “Yeah… sounds like her.”

He glanced my way, peering between me and the bag.

“I’m assuming you are hiding from her?”

My eyes widened, “Well, no, I just…”

He crossed his muscular arms and I caved.

“She’s mad at me,” I confessed to him.

A laugh rumbled from his chest.

"Why?" Jose pried.

"I got Mello and Matt in trouble," I said, my voice breaking. "They won't be able to stop Ross from making rash decisions now, which puts all of you at risk."

I wrapped the handle around my gloved hand three times, giving my shaking hands something to do.

"I upset her, because I put everyone in danger..." I concluded.

His voice came out reposeful, “She’s just worried… don’t take all she said to heart. Marge is sharp. Sometimes, she doesn’t realize that her tongue is too.”

He sighed, but his eyes grew softer.

“I’ll talk with her,” he stated. “I was on my way to do that.”

Jose and I gave each other farewells. Although his sympathetic sentiments were kind, they didn't quite brush off the weight of responsibility I felt for Ross's new power.

As he trailed off towards the kitchen, I carried the heavy bag out of the building and towards the dumpster that sat outside of the factory. I tossed the bag inside, using all of my strength to heave it up. The thump of it landing was satisfying, but the black singe marks on the side of the bin left me inquisitive.

I lifted myself up onto my tiptoes and peaked inside. The bottom of the rancid container had onyx powder... ashes. The black marks licked up the sides of the bin, like it was routinely set on fire. In fact, through the jarring odor of rotting waste, I could distinctly make out an old smokey scent.

Peculiar...

I abandoned my post at the bin and journeyed back towards the building. The sky above was half sunny, half grey. I wondered whether or not it was supposed to rain again. I didn't quite have a good grasp of Los Angeles weather.

In Winchester, it was supposed to be cold. I would see the tones of autumn on the trees and listen to the fall breeze tamper with the glass of the orphanage's windows. Rain came and went routinely, as it normally did in England. I remember how I loved to see October's moon cast its silvery rays down on puddles that gathered on the city's cobblestone paths.

Here, it was mainly sand. It was hot some days, then warm others... there were palm trees that did not change colors and cactuses that remained dauntingly stationary. Animals didn't really seem to hibernate. I have seen plenty of birds from outside Matt's window. Perhaps the good weather is why people gravitated towards California?

I got lost in these thoughts all the way to the kitchen.

Therefore, I was shaken to walk in and hear such a clutter.

"Arrêt, ça suffit!" Marge exclaimed, gripping onto Greg's face.

The young man wiggled his head, desperately trying to worm out of her hand.

"You have jam on your face!" she sneered, lifting up a napkin.

"I can get it myself!" he protested.

I took in the scene. There was a half eaten piece of bread with strawberry jam dripping onto the paper plate underneath it. Around it were abandoned crusts from previous toasts.

"Just let her get it," Jose reconciled.

The whiskey in the unopened bottle he held twirled, as he waved his hand at Greg.

Greg let out an annoyed grunt but his flailing ceased. Marge scraped the napkin along the corner of his lips and gave him a smug smile.

"There," she declared, crumpling the napkin. "Fini."

Greg huffed and wiped the back of his hand over his lips.

"I could've done it myself," he grumbled. "I'm not a baby."

Marge ignored his response, tossing the napkin into the waste bin. I noticed that she added an extra bin bag, which was on my list of things to do.

Jose set the bottle of whiskey down onto the table and gave Greg a wink.

"You made her happy," he declared.

Greg muttered denials under his breath and grabbed a cup that sat on the table. He took a swing. I realized it was chocolate milk after he set it down, since it left behind a frothy brown streak over his upper lip.

He licked it off, ruining the mirage of him having facial hair.

Taking this scene in, they looked almost like a nuclear family. Greg took the role of a teenager, Jose and Marge the parents.

Me? I was a gloved intruder stalking them.

I flushed realizing I needed to let my presence be known. I knocked on the door as I fully stepped into the kitchen, alerting the three of them.

Their eyes landed on me.

Greg was the most animated, his gapped smile growing huge like a jack-o'-lantern.

"Good morning!" he cheered.

"It's four thirty," Marge corrected. "It's not morning."

Greg flinched. "Oh... right... I guess it's not to you girls."

"Glad to see you up Greg," I returned. "I hope you slept alright."

"Like a rock," he returned. "I had some weird dreams, though. You were in it."

"I was?"

"Yeah, but you were like a badass with a gun and you owned a lion," he said. "Speaking of which, I was wondering if-"

"Don't finish that," Jose cut off sternly.

"What?!" Greg drawled. "You don't even know what I was going to ask!"

"I do know. You can't use her."

"I wasn't going to use her. I just wanted to know if she could ask Mello something for me!"

Marge's jaw ticked and she disciplined, "That's using her."

"What would you want me to ask him?" I wondered.

"If he could stop sending me out to get his chocolate bars," Greg proclaimed. "Or if he could settle for like Hershey or something easy."

"Why not ask him yourself?" I giggled.

"Because he'd say no," Greg replied, as if it were obvious. "But I heard through the grape vine that you can control him."

I felt the blood drain from my face.

"That's enough," Marge seethed. "Does no one have any decency?! Leave the girl and him alone. One Ross is enough, stop behaving like him."

Greg sulked, "Sorry Mamma Marge."

The air was tense after that. I began to realize just how dire this was. Not only did we have Ross's threat looming over us, but Mello's reputation was dented by this dilemma. Just like Ross had mentioned, I was being seen like a collar.

I didn't like that at all. Mello had his own autonomy.

"Greg, call Matt and see if he's up," Marge suddenly put forth. "You know how he loses track of time."

Greg reached into his pocket and pulled out a flip phone.

"Skyer is here," Jose mentioned. "Jack and Kollet are too, I heard them earlier. Eddie messaged me a minute ago. Him and Roy are on their way."

Marge hummed and washed her hands.

"They are on time. It's good to celebrate the bare minimum."

Jose laughed and trailed over to her. He wrapped his arms tenderly around her waist. She turned off the faucet and practically melted into his embrace.

"Aye, cariño mío," he uttered. "You are so tense."

"I'm nervous," she admitted to him. "I don't like that we are separated tonight."

He placed a kiss on the top of her head, before reassuring, "All will be well. You are in safe company."

"I worry about you, not me."

"I have Eddie."

"You are with Ross."

Jose cracked a weak smile and repeated, "And with Eddie."

She huffed.

I understood now why she was so heated earlier. She believed Ross was uncontrolled because Mello couldn't reign him in... but truly, what scared her was the fact that Jose would be at the murderous man's side all night.

"Miras," he whispered, twirling her body gently so that she faced the counter. "I brought out your favorite whiskey."

Marge's eyes landed on the whiskey Jose had brought out. She hid a smile as her thin eyebrow arched.

"You think getting me drunk will make me not worry?" she tested.

"No," Jose denied, squeezing her tighter. "I think that promising to have a drink with you when the mission is done will make you not worry."

"You are making a promise to have whiskey?"

"Have I ever broken a promise to you, mi amor?"

"Jamais de ta vie."

He pecked her rose dusted cheek, which spread across her now blissful face.

I felt my stomach turn bittersweetly. I loved their display, but the words made me feel forlorn.

The earnest nature reminded me of Near, who never lied or broke a promise to me.

I missed him desperately.

Greg's voice penetrated my thoughts, "Hey Matt, are you- huh?! You can't yell at me for calling three times if you didn't answer the first time! Well, how was I supposed to know you were in the bathroom?!"

Jose chuckled, "Looks like Matt is up."

"And late," Marge criticized, scrunching up her nose.

Greg peered over at them and gave them a sheepish expression.

"He heard that," he mumbled.

There was a pause before Greg added, "He wants you to know he's leaving the apartment and is not late."

"Bien, then let's get going," Marge declared.

Being in the room again made my throat tighten. It felt like I was in the jungle. Not just because of the animal print furniture, but also because of its unrestricted and unpredictable atmosphere. It kept me on edge.

Ross wasn't here, but others were. I saw some men I still had no names for, but I recognized their faces from last night. They were all dressed in darker attire. Now that I really looked, everyone here was dressed in darker attire except for me.

I wasn't going to go out, so it made sense I guess.

I hovered near a corner remaining vigilant. I didn't fully relax until I saw a familiar face practically leap down the stairs.

Matt arrived, wearing attire I had never seen him in before.

The black pants he wore was tied by a sheer belt. A loose, charcoal top was tucked into it. I squinted and saw the hem was inverted. I believed it might be one of his band shirts... he was wearing it inside out.

An inky nylon jacket covered the tag up so I couldn't confirm my theory.

His auburn hair was disheveled, either from the wind outside or from bed head... and an unlit cigarette dangled from his mouth...

He got onto one knee and tied up the laces of his boot.

The dark attire made him appear more mysterious... I blushed.

Matt was an attractive man.

His golden eyes scanned the room. When they landed on me, I saw his shoulders relax. He grinned and stood up, before walking over to me.

"You alright?" he asked in a hushed voice.

He took the unlit cigarette out of his mouth and temporarily set in in his jacket's pocket.

"I am now," I answered, relieved he was back.

Matt's hand twitched at his side, as if he were about to pat my head. He stopped and his jaw twitched. I saw him glance behind him nervously.

I followed his gaze. Some men were watching him.

I recalled what Matt had said before:

"The more we attend to you, the more they will weaponize you...

Upon seeing their prying eyes, I knew better than to let Matt give them more fuel.

"It's okay," I softly said. "I can stay over here... please, join the others."

His lip pulled tightly. I could tell he was angry. But I also knew it wasn't at me. He was furious about the the situation.

"Stay by Greg," he directed, for the second time.

"I will," I promised.

My complacency put him at ease. Matt sighed and strolled over to Jose, who was waiting patiently for him at one of the monitors. I felt my heart jerk as he left.

I did as I was told and moved closer to Greg. He was replacing some batteries in flashlights, reclining against a large pipe. I offered my aid and joined him in the activity. These were going to be dispersed to the members later.

I felt strange doing this... it was weird knowing that I was helping them with a mission that was so vile. I despised what they were doing... but then again, I wanted them to be safe. I didn't want harm to befall on Matt and Mello.

And now, I also wanted to protect Greg, Marge, Jose, and even Skyer...

I felt sick. How do I even grapple with this sort of thing?

"Thanks for always helping me out," Greg said.

"Thank you for letting me," I replied.

As I popped out some batteries, Greg groaned. He slapped his hand against his forehead.

"Damn, I totally forgot my phone in the kitchen," he declared.

"Do you have time to go get it?" I wondered. "Or I can get it for you, if you want?"

He thought about it for a second, before shaking his head. "No, it's fine. I'm just a runner tonight anyways."

"A runner? What does that mean?"

"I'm the fastest one in the group," Greg boasted proudly. "I'm on the diversion squad. I am the one they send out to chase away someone. So, like, if a bad guy or a cop comes along, I run and make them run after me!"

"Like you did at the airport," I recalled.

"Yeah."

"You said you're on a diversion squad. What's that?"

Greg crossed his arms and expanded, "Well, there's all sorts of scenarios where we might need a diversion. We have to play our cards right, ya know? Like, Marge is on the squad because she's a French woman. She can pretend to be a damsel in distress or a seductress or a mother... whatever the situation calls for. Me and Marge are the regulars. Roy sometimes joins the squad too, because he's native to L.A. He has connections and stuff, so depending on what we are doing, he can talk our way out of things. He won't be with us tonight, though... I think he's with Eddie and Jose?"

Greg grabbed a battery and plugged it into the flashlight, before admitting, "But Mello is joining us tonight, instead."

"He is?"

At the mention of his name, my interest peaked.

"Yeah," Greg affirmed. "He said something about wanting to look for any activity going on outside the purge. Something about Kira and a task force... I don't know, he thinks that someone might come for the notebook or whatever. He isn't normally on the diversion squad, but he will be tonight. That means Matt will be with us too- or at least close. Those two never separate."

They made a promise at The Wammy's House that they would never separate. I wasn't going to tell Greg that, though.

Knowing where Matt and Mello were going to be brought me a sense of comfort. Even though I wasn't with them, at least I had a general idea of what they were going to be doing.

"Speak of the devil," Greg snorted.

As he said that, I saw Matt peer over. He popped the cigarette back into his mouth and begin to move.

I turned to the staircase, where he was looking.

Mello walked in and my heart leapt.

Have mercy.

The black, leather shirt he wore hugged tightly around his frame, stopping right above his torso. It left his midsection exposed, revealing a perfect v-line.

His low rise dark pants tucked into solid, weighed boots. Despite their heavy appearance, his footsteps created soft sounds. It was strange… at The Wammy’s House, I remember he was loud with his steps. He stomped from place to place with confidence and urgency.

I wondered what occurred to make him more stealthy.

Mello’s toned arm held a black fur coat, making his skin appear more fine.

Mello had always preferred darker tones in his attire. The dichotomy of his fashion intrigued me… his features were divine and angelic. The garbs he selected could scarcely compete with his empyrean lure.

But maybe any color he wore would appear dull against his natural beauty… it would be like comparing stars to the sun. He burned brighter than anything.

Mello put the coat that dangled over his arm on.

Matt journeyed over to him and handed him an extra gun.

Mello grabbed it boredly, his delicate lips parting with a sigh I could not hear.

Matt’s cigarette dipped down while he popped the top of this weapon open. Mello followed suit. The two of them peered into their weapons. Matt twisted it around, while Mello mouthed numbers to himself.

I think they were counting the bullets.

Both of them seemed satisfied and shut the tops. They held the guns out, before stuffing them securely into their belts.

Mello said something to Matt, but I couldn’t read his lips.

Matt tilted his head over in my direction. I almost gasped when Mello’s eyes flickered over to me.

The corner of his lip twitched and he turned away. His eyes, instead, landed on Greg. He beckoned him over.

Greg stood up immediately and jogged to the men, leaving me isolated in the corner. Mello bent down and whispered something to him.

It was a long statement, so I gave up trying to pick words that he could potentially be saying.

The runner nodded enthusiastically when Mello finished. He moved to run back, but Mello stopped him.

I read his lips this time, since he said it with such authority.

Repeat it to me first.

Greg moved his hands slightly, so I could tell he was talking. Mello’s eyes watched him intently, ensuring his message was clear. He nodded, giving Greg the alright to return back.

The young man slowed his steps down and then collapsed back onto the floor next to me.

Mello and Matt travelled to Jose, so I put together that they weren’t going to be talking with me.

It made me a little sad…

“Mello has a message for you,” Greg whispered, glancing around the room as if it were secretive. “Ross doesn’t trust you. He said that Ross is stationing two men to watch you and the hideout tonight. Ralphie and Pete.”

He pointed over to two men in the corner. They were both taller and burly in frame. One was pale and had a blonde buzzcut. A pink scar disfigured his face. It started at the top of his head and trailed down his cheekbone to the top of his puffy lip. The other man was slightly shorter. He had longer dark hair and a goatee. His face wasn’t disfigured, but he was easily identifiable by the tattoos that were imprinted on it. I couldn’t see what they were from this distance.

“They have been with Ross for over a decade,” Greg continued, “so they are loyal to him. Mello was able to convince Ross to let another person be here with you too. Ross didn’t let him choose but gave him Kollet. He said to keep a low profile and stay away from them until we get back. We can’t talk with you or anything like that, by the way. Ross ordered us to stay focused on the mission... and it's dangerous if we get distracted. I guess, if you need anything, you’ll probably have to talk with Kollet. I’m assuming that’s why Mello put him here.”

“So, he wants me to do busy work,” I guessed, keeping my eyes on the intimidating men. “And stay clear of them.”

“Yeah,” Greg said. “… Oh, and he told me something else. He said to tell you to be realistic and don’t force bravery. Whatever that means.”

I didn’t really have time to live in a fantasy. Especially since my reality already seemed fictitious. Being realistic, therefore, was challenging in its own regard.

Forcing bravery was another beast entirely. I couldn’t even find an ounce of bravery in my body. When I watched the mafia depart the building, I felt like my courage went with them.

I was afraid of everything.

Every shadow. Every creak. Every drip. Every corner.

I was terrified of every possibility.

Would they get caught? Would they get injured? Would the men try to kill Mello and Matt? Would they torture them again?

I had no way of contacting them. I had no cameras to peer at them through.

I didn’t know where they were going. I didn’t know who they were seeing.

I was left with nothing.

It was like I was back at The Wammy’s House again… only this time, it was affirmed that they were in hazardous situations.

My hands shook as I wiped the dust off the table. My busy work consisted of finding random things to clean. I had lasted a few hours so far, which was good. It gave me something physical to do… but it didn’t distract my overthinking mind.

Kollet told me to grab him if I needed anything. Last I saw him, he was stationed on the main floor by the containers.

The other men were with him, patrolling the area.

“Here she is,” a deep voice rumbled.

My body tensed.

Were with him.

I whipped my head around. The stout men stood at the bottom of the staircase, leering at me.

There was something barbarous about them. It left a wayward feeling within me… perhaps it was because I knew they were loyal to Ross, who was an immoral individual. But maybe it was the way they stared at me… animalistically.

Mello warned me to stay clear of them. Do I just ignore them?

I grabbed the cleaner bottle and moved away from the table, heading towards the monitor area.

“You should clean the pipes,” the brunette man suggested. “Wouldn’t you like to see her rub them down, Pete?”

The blonde laughed and his eyes glistened lewdly.

An ill feeling hit me.

“I don’t know if Mello would like that,” the blonde tempted. “What do you think, Ralphie?”

A bitter taste filled my mouth at hearing this man say his name.

Ralphie’s eyes landed on me. The tattoos on his face were clear now… I wish they weren’t.

His forehead had a tattoo of the word “FERAL” in rough calligraphy. There were tear drops near his eye and lightning streaks tattooed up his neck.

“Makes me want to see it even more,” Ralphie commented. “Mello is protective of you, huh?”

I didn’t answer him. I froze, the ambience in the room growing precarious. The way he addressed that question was not out of curiosity.

It was sinister.

Ralphie frowned and tilted his head.

“Cat got your tongue?” he pressed, whipping out a pocket knife. “Speak or I’ll cut it out.”

“Y-Yes,” I stammered, backing up.

Ralphie’s eyebrows shot up at my confession.

“Ah, so he’d be really upset if something were to happen to you then.”

“So would Ross,” I objected, using their loyalty against them.

Pete laughed.

“We don’t give a fuck about Ross,” Ralphie commented. “Pete and I are tired of not getting what we deserve. We helped Ross get to the top, but never got a single dime from it. We only got hungrier. The Feeney Boys reached out to us… they offered us a nice compensation. One million. Each. What did we need to do? Relay information to them… we told them about Angelo and Ross’s exchange. They offered Angelo something better and swayed his loyalty. That bastard Matt really pissed them off when he interfered with the cargo. If Ross didn’t have Mello and Matt around, he would have been buried already. The solution? We get rid of them.”

“Why are you telling me this?” I breathed, feeling terrified.

“Because you’re directly involved in it,” Ralphie explained.

Pete snorted, “And you’ll be dead soon.”

The world spun from under me.

“See, you came at such an opportune time,” Ralphie continued. “You are such an amazing helper. We will kill you and leave before the others return. We will plant a note, telling Ross we completed his order. Mello will think that Ross told us to kill you, breaking their code. Ross will get shot, hopefully, and Mello and Matt will be executed swiftly. Without them around, the notebook will be easier to grab too. No one here has the brains to hide it the way Mello and Matt do. Imagine the reward the Feeney Boys will give Pete and I. Not only did we kill their main enemies, but we also gave them Kira’s weapon.”

I was in a state of shock.

“Grab her, Pete,” Ralphie ordered.

Pete lurched forward. I yelped and squeezed the cleaner’s trigger. The chemicals sprayed out and hit Pete in the eyes. He screamed and rubbed his palms over them. Using this to my advantage, I darted past him and up the stairs.

I could hear Ralphie laughing as I ascended.

“Run all you want, we have hours to play,” he dauntingly warned.

My lungs screamed at me, panic disorienting my gaze. I dropped the cleaner and the towel on the floor as I darted around the main floor, searching for Kollet.

Greg told me to go to him if I needed something.

Where was he?!

I ran between the containers, both searching for him and trying to hide myself.

That’s when I found him.

Kollet's head slumped against the wall. His mouth slacked open, huffing out slow and elongated breaths.

I tapped his shoulder tentatively. He didn't move... he made no reaction to my touch. I tapped faster... then harder... his body moved only slightly. There was a brief flutter behind his heavy eyelids, but they never peered open.

He wasn't responding.

Fear overcame me as I began to desperately shake his shoulder.

"Kollet... Kollet, please wake up! Please."

His body lost its balance and leaned the way I had been shaking him, before collapsing on the cement limply.

A clear, unmarked container rolled out of his denim jacket. Two white pills clattered within the plastic.

Eddie's statement haunted my thoughts...

"My mistake was leaving Kollet in charge. I had to step out and take a call from Jack. Kollet took zombie pills and fell asleep."

Those pills... were sleeping pills.

Much to my paranoia, I realized that he wasn't going to wake up any time soon. I knew enough about medication to see that he took too many.

I was alone.

"Oh my God..." I breathed.

Footsteps abrasively resounded down the hall. I clapped my hand to my mouth and frightenedly crawled around Kollet's body. I hurled myself behind the container.

My breathing was rapid and painful. Sweat fell from my brow and collided with my tears. I couldn't get my body to stop shaking.

It was a sound that would make anyone's skin crawl. The high- pitched screeching of a sharp object scratching against the metallic containers. It was like nails clawing down a chalkboard. It sent uncomfortable chills up my spine. I covered my ears and gritted my teeth, but still the sound penetrated into my head.

It was nearing me, growing louder each second.

"Where did you go?" Ralphie sang laggardly.

My throat dried up. I locked eyes on the staircase over to my right. If I could run up there... if I could beat them...

It might be my only chance.

Reflexively, I lifted myself up onto my feet, my calves aching to sprint.

The screeches grew unbearable.

And then, they stopped.

The cavernous yell that proceeded it could have shattered my bones.

"FOUND YOU!"

I took off, my legs moving faster than they ever have before. I bolted to the stairs and ascended up. I tripped over the last step. I hissed as my shin hit the rail. The pain came and went quickly. My adrenaline numbed the pain long enough for me to continue towards the kitchen.

The men's footsteps grew louder as I reached the room. I shut the doors behind me quickly and locked them.

Everything was blurry. I spun around, desperately searching for anything that I could use to barricade the door. With no avail, I found nothing substantial.

The metallic doors shook with the violent pounding of the men's knuckles. I screamed and jumped, darting myself backwards.

"Open the door! Come on, open up! Open up!"

"No! Please, go away!" I wailed.

I slipped over my heels and fell. My hand tried to grip onto the counter but hit the whisky Jose left behind instead. The bottle crashed onto the table. The loose cork popped, spilling out the hard liquor over the edge. I gasped as it poured over my head and onto my clothes.

The smell burned.

I peeked my eyes open and witnessed the bottle rolling towards the edge. I immediately scurried backwards, creating just enough distance to shield myself from the glass's explosion. The bottle collided onto the floor, breaking the glass into a multitude of pieces.

I stared at it in disbelief.

Marge was going to be so upset.

Loud bangs erupted. Small dents appeared on the door, molding around the bullets that were being sent through. The bullet molds descended down towards the handle.

They were going to shoot their way in.

Terror picked me up and beckoned my feet to run.

I scanned the kitchen, trying to find a place to conceal myself. I could potentially twist my body into one of the cabinets… or maybe I can crawl underneath the counter. No, I wouldn’t be able to escape if they found me.

The pantry. I glanced over to the large, walk-in pantry and felt a deep despair. It had no door. I couldn’t lock myself in. It would be like running into a dead end.

The door screeched while more bullets brutally penetrated it.

I screamed again and ducked, covering my head. I tasted blood in my mouth from the rapid way my heart was pounding.

As I cowered, my eyes landed on my only possible chance of survival…

A black flip phone had been left behind on the center island.

I scurried over and grabbed it. The second my palms secured the device, the handle to the door blew. A bullet successfully damaged the lock and broke the knob.

I gasped and took off towards the back of the room.

I heard the door slam against the wall, then the sounds of them running.

The only destination I found was a giant freezer. It was dangerous, but I had no other choice.

I flung myself towards the heavy doors and pushed the freezer open with all my might.

The door cracked open. I whipped my head over my shoulder.

Pete and Ralphie were two feet from me and gaining speed. I wrenched my body into the crack of the freezer and slammed the door behind me.

One of them plunged into the door, hitting the metal. The frame convulsed and bucked, but refused to let him in. I clenched onto the knob hard. It spasmed from the impaling ram. I fidgeted with the lock. There was only one lock on the inside, I remembered Marge showing me this. It was for emergencies, in case someone accidentally got stuck and needed to get out. In my case, it was vital to keep myself in.

I released the knob after I securely locked the door and fell back.

They pounded on the door. I heard them shout angry profanities as they realized I was locked in.

I screamed as more bullets were fired, nicking the metal exterior.

I flipped open the device in my hands. The screen lightly glowed, revealing a photo of a thunderstorm and a few applications.

This phone most likely belonged to Greg... he should have a contact I recognized.

There was no point in dialing for the U.S. police... they couldn't come to this base. Therefore, my only hope would be someone I knew.

I scrolled through the phone contact list.

The contact names were in codes... SY5679, EG6322, JE9987.

Luckily, all I ever knew were alias and code names. It didn't take me long to spot that each of the letters proceeding the numbers were initials.

SY... Skyer, EG... Eddie, JE... Jose or maybe Jack, PK... Kollet?, SH... unknown, BW... unknown, SS... unknown, RA... maybe Roy? I can't click it, what if it's Ross?!

My eyes trailed down and I saw a clump of coded contacts.

MA7785, MA4206... those could be Matt or Marge... I didn't know which one was which.

But I found one underneath them and my heart was set.

ME2101

I immediately pressed on the button.

Gun shots were ringing in one ear, this phone in the other. I was warned not to interrupt them. My mind grew conflicted.

I'm a horrible person.

After a few rings, my stomach dropped. Doubt evaded my mind, whispering discomforts to me.

No one is going to answer... they are on a mission... no one can save you... you are going to die a torturous death...

I was on the brick of hanging up, when suddenly the ringing stopped.

"Hello?"

Chapter Text

I held the phone closer to my ear.

"Mello?" I whimpered.

"Huh?" the voice uttered agitated. "Y/N?"

I recognized the voice now... it was Marge.

"He's driving," Marge scolded. "You cannot call him right now, are you insane?!"

"I..."

"Did you steal Greg's phone?!" there was a movement behind the speaker and Marge's voice seemed more distant. "Are you shitting me? You left your phone behind?! Do you know how dangerous that is?!"

I could scarcely make out Greg arguing with her, but I didn't have much time.

"Please-" I urged.

She cut me off, returning to the phone, "Go to Kollet. Do not call us again, they will pick up the phone signal. We-"

The guns fired. The bullets created a clamorous sound, preceding an explosion. It was a loud snap and fizzle, like they hit some sort of electronic box. A scream ripped from my throat as the lights to the freezer shut off, leaving me in pitch black. The phone dropped from my hands as I covered my ears.

It hit the ground harshly.

I heard a shatter, before Marge's voice was ripped away.

I tried to feel around for the device. My hands trailed along the icy floor below me. My palms and fingertips grew numb in my desperate search, like the cold was ripping my flesh.

I let out a shaky breath and crawled forward. Finally, I felt something prick me. I hissed and jolted back.

I think I was bleeding. I held my sore hand in front of my face, but my eyes could not see it... I saw nothing.

I hesitantly reached back out, blindly hoping not to hurt myself again. I gently touched the parts of a destroyed device: feeling the bumps of a keyboard, small glass, and some large plastic.

I broke it... I broke Greg's phone.

My heart sank. I didn't tell them what was happening.

"You shot the control," I heard Ralphie criticize.

"Fuck," Pete groaned. "The damn wire shocked me!"

"Shut up... look, the temp is dropping. We can wait out here. She's either going to freeze to death or come crawling out and kiss our gun. Either way works for us."

My heart accelerated in a panic. It was just like he said. Every second, the freezer grew alarmingly colder. I curled up within my body, feeling my lungs tighten as I hyperventilated.

The whiskey that I was soaked with seemed to freeze on me. I held onto my knees, trying to emit some warmth. It was like I was trapped in a tight coffin underneath the arctic terrain.

The tears that streamed down my cheeks froze. My body shivered, vibrating harshly. Breathing began to be excruciating.

I didn't hear the men again, but I knew they were outside waiting. I didn't know which way was worse... freezing to death or letting them kill me. I worried what they would do to me out there... how they would display my corpse to anger Mello and Matt...

This was torturous.

I couldn't cry out for help.

I couldn't contact anyone to let them know where I was...

I had to settle with the fact that I was going to die.

I blinked, blindly staring into a black abyss. Then, I closed my eyes.

My body began to feel hot...

I knew what was happening to me. Vasodilation. My blood vessels were dilating in its last, desperate attempt to warm my freezing body.

It was trying to be helpful... but in reality, I was losing more heat this way.

I wanted to laugh, but my mouth wouldn't move.

Slow breaths came out of my aching lungs... and then, I heard birds chirping...

My eyesight slowly came back.

I blinked, relishing in the refined light of the sun. It heated against my skin and made me feel so warm.

Delicate white clouds flew softly across the pastel blue sky above.

"Y/N!"

I pivoted towards the sound.

Linda waved at me from the sidewalk, a bright smile spread on her face.

Stray brunette hairs danced in the breeze, departing from her braids.

"Over here!" she called. "Come play chalk with me!"

She reached her hand into the bucket of chalk, which sat next to her paint stained denim dress. She pulled out a purple piece and extended it to me.

My eyebrows knit together and I peered behind me in confusion.

The Wammy's House stood tall. Healthy ivy bloomed up its brick walls, sprouting some flowers. The pavement below me had familiar cracks, leading up the stone staircase towards the heavy oak doors.

I was back. How did I get here?

The doors opened and a woman stepped out.

Fifi emerged from the shadows, her rosy cheeks brightening in the enchanting sunlight. She held up a tray of water and slowly descended the steps. She looked so youthful... I could've sworn she had grey hairs and wrinkles the last time I saw her...

"Fifi?!"

Her beady eyes landed on mine and widened.

"Oh, Y/N, dear! Would you like some water?"

"I need help!" I cried out to her. "I'm soaked and cold."

Fifi arched her eyebrow, her brown eyes trailing me up and down in confliction.

"Soaked? Whatever do you mean?" she contended.

I peered down at myself. I wasn't wearing Matt's clothes... and I wasn't drenched in whiskey...

I wore a pink summer dress... and my old, favorite pair of flats...

I reached up and felt a silky fabric draped on my head... a headband... I used to wear those in honor of my mother.

"What...?" my voice trailed.

"I'm not sure if you're playing a silly game with me or not," Fifi addressed, walking past me. "If you don't want water, then I must continue on. Oh, and be sure to remind everyone not to pull out the flowers from the garden again! Dr. Clover did such a lovely job designing the garden, it would be a shame to see it ruined."

She abandoned my side. I watched her go and felt my heart slow.

The front yard was full of familiar faces.

Durab and Jeremiah were playing tip. Heidi and Maeve were watching them contently. Marty was hanging upside down by her legs on a tree branch, while Tibbett nervously stood under her. He outstretched his arms in case she fell, his fingers slightly brushing the ends of her curly, apricot colored hair.

"Look! No hands!" I heard Marty exclaim.

"B-Be careful!" Tibbett stuttered.

A red ball flew in front of my eyes.

I gasped as it collided against the pavement. It bounced, slowing its momentum.

"UGH!" Linda groaned.

She frowned at the ground, where the kickball had damaged her chalk drawing.

"Mello," we both said at the same time.

As if beckoned, a sight of gold drew my attention.

Mello ran past, his tongue stuck out in determination. Matt tried to keep up with him, giggling as he jogged.

"You kicked out of bounds!" Matt laughed.

"No I didn't, stupid!" Mello protested. "The fence is out of bounds!"

"You made that up! You said it was the bushes two minutes ago!"

"No, I didn't!"

"Liar! Yes, you did! This game is rigged!"

"Wait!" I called out, rushing after them.

The two slowed their steps and turned around.

"You alright, Y/N?" Matt asked through his panting breath. "You look scared."

Mello tilted his head and arched his eyebrow.

"Tate didn't say anything, did he?" he asked. "I told him to stop."

"No..." I denied. "I... I am scared... where's Ross?"

Matt and Mello exchanged a look, sharing a look of deep disconcertment.

"Who?" Mello wondered.

They observed me again... their youthful eyes sharing the same disorientation as me. This wasn't right... this wasn't real.

"Y/N?" Matt vocalized, confused.

I took steps back, my breathing becoming quick with dread.

"I'm losing my mind..."

"There's not much to lose," Matt joked with a snort.

Mello glared at him, before jabbing his elbow into his side.

"Ow!"

My back hit something and I gasped.

I twirled around and met a pair of pale blue eyes.

Near stood in shock, assessing the situation. When he discerned I bumped into him, his gaze relaxed and softened.

"You should watch where you walk," he scorned, twirling a lock of hair around his finger. "You can really hurt someone."

"Near..." I breathed.

He blinked, perplexed. "Yes?"

Tears fell as I took him in. He watched me timidly, his eye twitching slightly at my display of sudden emotions.

"You're crying," he stated, lowering his hand. "Why are you crying?"

"I shouldn't be here...," I wept, "... but I want to be here."

"Then stay," he simply said.

"If I stay, I might never wake up."

Near pressed his thumb against the corner of his lip, his eyes peering deeply into mine.

"Is that such a bad thing?" he wondered.

I shuttered.

The bells from Winchester's cathedral rang through the air.

I shook my head.

"I can't... I can't stay. They are in trouble..."

"Who is?" Near inquired, tilting his head.

Perturbation flashed in his silvery gaze.

I turned around.

"They are. They..."

My voice died down.

Mello and Matt were no longer there.

The bells tolled again.

"I need to wake up, Near. I need to go back."

"Then wake up," he governed. "I'll see you again..."

I glanced back at the fair headed successor. I could only hope to find him again.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

Come on, Y/N... wake up... go back... Y/N... where are you... where are you...

"Y/N?!"

My eyes shot open and I was once again developed in darkness.

My whole body screamed at me. I didn't feel cold or warm... I just felt pain.

"Y/N?! Damnit, where are you?!"

I couldn't speak.

I couldn't answer his calls.

Mello...

I'm in here... please, I'm in here...

"What a mess!" I heard Marge declare. "What happened in here?!"

"Holy shit, look at all those bullets over there!" Greg yelped.

There was a clatter and then a stampede of running feet.

The knob to the freezer moved. I could hear its clicking. It was locked... I needed to unlock it from the inside... but my body refused to give.

Someone hit their body into the door. The door thrusted and shook, echoing the hinge's roar through the freezer.

It happened again. Then again, even harder than the last.

"Stop it," Marge growled. "There's a key around here somewhere that can move the lock inside."

"Find it! Hurry!"

"I'm hurrying, don't pester me!"

After a moment or so, the jingling of keys could be heard. The latch popped.

The freezer door swung open, letting in a lurid light. My eyes squeezed shut, spasming from the sudden luminosity.

"Y/N..." Mello's voice breathed.

His tone was a mixture of relief and alarm.

"Oh my God..." he choked.

His footsteps darted in. I felt two arms quickly wrap around my body. One moved across my back, the other underneath my knees. The next thing I knew, I was being hoisted up into the air.

I felt his heartbeat racing in his chest. It hammered against my frigid ear. His body heat melted me slowly, but it still wasn't enough.

I could feel a slight difference in temperature and discerned that I was now out of the freezer.

Matt's voice was unmistakable. "Fuck... Mello... Mello, tell me she's not-"

"No." Mello hurriedly shot down. "I feel her breathing."

Buttons beeped, followed by the clang of something opening.

"Set her near here," Marge commanded.

Mello walked with me and bent down. I felt a growing heat start to wave against me.

Slowly, my eyes began to open. They blurred, leading my sight astray. I found it hard to focus on one thing in particular. I saw an open oven next to me, emitting out heat. I spotted Marge peering down at me... and Greg next to her, collecting loose bullets from the ground...

Matt stood adjacent to him. He pushed his goggles up onto his head. His eyes scrutinized me, while his chest rose and fell heavily.

I glanced up and met Mello's green eyes. They were so worried... it was like looking in a mirror.

Terror ripped through me. It was as if the dethawing of my body released the built up apprehension I felt.

"Where are they?!" I cried out, my lungs gasping for air. "They want to kill you! They work for the Feeney Boys! Don't let them hurt you!"

Mello held me tighter, his face clenching.

"Don't let them get you... don't let them hurt you or Matt...!"

"No one is here," he informed me.

I sobbed into his chest. I don't know from what... relief, fear, anxiety, guilt... My body trembled so violently, it was overwhelming.

“She’s frantic. Should I slap her?” Marge suggested, arching her eyebrow.

Mello snapped his teeth together. I felt a snarl brew from his chest.

That option was off the table.

"Matt," Mello called out. "Check the security footage. Locate where they went."

Matt hesitated briefly, staring at me once more, before obeying Mello's command. He vacated the room, heading off towards the monitor room.

"Marge, call Eddie," Mello quickly commanded. "Explain why we are M.I.A."

"Why not Jose?" she tested. "He'll answer faster."

"Because he will ask too many questions. Keep calling until Eddie picks up. Tell him that Ralphie and Pete betrayed Ross and that we are taking care of it."

"Ross won't believe it."

"Stop arguing with me," he growled authoritatively. "Do it before Ross notices we're gone."

Marge didn't protest again. She took out her phone and flipped it open, dialing Eddie's number.

"What about me?" Greg inquired. "How can I help?"

Mello stood up, lifting me with him as if I were the lightest thing in the world. I whimpered, feeling the warmth of the oven disappear.

"Clean up," Mello ordered. "The glass especially."

Greg deflated, displeased with his mundane chore. Nonetheless, he did not dare to dispute Mello. He journeyed off to collect the broom.

Mello moved out of the room and down the steps.

I felt my body begin to shut down again, since parts of the journey were lost to me. I don't remember how we got outside.

"Keep fighting it, riff raff... stay alert..." Mello would tell me.

I did my best. I knew that if I let my brain rest, my body faced the liability of passing out again... or worse...

I counted to one hundred... and sang familiar songs in my head like 'Happy Birthday' and 'Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star'... anything easy to activate my brain.

Mello brought me into a building.

From the glimpses I caught of the architecture’s interior, I knew it was the same apartment complex Matt resided in. I recognized the staircase, rustic carpet, and white painted walls.

But I was carried up higher than I normally went. We weren’t going to Matt’s room.

The air conditioning in the building was tormenting. It pricked my skin, causing my teeth to chatter once again.

“W-Where are we g-going?” I vocalized, pushing past my jaw’s lack of control.

“My place,” he replied.

Mello entered a corridor and moved towards its end.

He set me down onto the ground, reclining my body up against the wall.

I sat there shivering, while he grabbed his keys from an inside zipper of his coat pocket. He unlocked the door hastily, before scooping me back into his arms.

We entered his room and he tossed his keys aside. Mello kicked the door shut, and then, using the same leg, hooked his heel around the seat of a chair and dragged it in front of the handle.

“Y-You aren’t g-going t-to lock-k it?” I questioned as he darted through his living area.

“No need,” he replied quickly.

“B-But if they c-come in-“

“Then they signed their fucking death wish.”

Mello kicked open the door to a room and led us in. I was set down on a counter. He flicked on the light switch, illuminating his bathroom.

It was then that I saw his raw expression. His eyes sternly focused on his objectives, but I could see his fury. The green was dark and sharp, moving like seething flames. The busy work kept him calm.

In this state, Mello might lack the will to show mercy to those men. They must know this too. I doubt they would be brave enough to enter his space and face him.

He untied my shoes and slipped them off, setting them down on the floor. He then pulled off my socks, before pivoting around and yanking his shower curtain open. Mello turned on the faucet to the bathtub. Water poured out and began to fill the tub.

My body felt incredibly tight, closing in on itself. The counter under me was cold. Oh, everything was cold. I vibrated against the tile.

Mello put his hand into the water to check the temperature. He then shook it off and moved over to me.

“Can you lift your arms up?” he asked.

I was confused. I practically tore my tense arms away from my sides and lifted them into the air. They stopped around half way. It was then I noticed how strangely red I appeared, like I had been frost bitten.

Heat I didn't even know I still had singed my cheeks as his hands grabbed the hem of my shirt. Before I could even process it, Mello lifted the soaked top off me and threw it aside.

I gasped, feeling overwhelmed. The air smacked my skin harsher than before. The goosebumps on my arm were like cactus needles stabbing my skin. Not only this, but I faced Mello now in just a bra.

"I'm sorry to do this," he muttered. "You need to get warm. These wet clothes have to go."

My embarrassment only deepened when his warm hands scooted my body towards the edge of the counter.

His hands grabbed the elastic waist of Matt's shorts, which were drenched in ice from the freezer floor and whiskey.

"M-Mello!"

He slid them off my legs and threw them into the pile. It left me in my undergarments.

He did not dare to take those off, honoring my comfortability.

I had never been this exposed to anybody before. At least it was him… someone who has already seen many of my flaws.

I let out a shaky breath. Mello gulped, averting his eyes from my body as much as he could out of respect. I appreciated him for this, especially since I felt so vulnerable in this moment.

He scooped me back up into his arms. I wrapped my arms languidly around his shoulders and burrowed myself into him, relishing in his heat now more than ever. I noticed how the tips of his ears reddened, while I buried my face into the crook of his neck.

He inhaled sharply through his teeth.

"You're so cold,” he said.

"Y-You've said this to me b-before... but m-more mean."

He released a breathy laugh, so soft I wouldn't have known unless I was pressed against his chest.

"We had a fireplace before," he murmured. “I didn’t have to worry that much.”

He dipped me into the water. The shock from going from chilly air to a steamy bath made my heart momentarily pause. My breath was stolen from me. I could only gape as my body landed in the new temperature.

Mello shook off his coat and let it fall onto the ground below him. His arms now uncovered, he reached deep into the water and splashed it up towards my shoulders, encompassing my body with warmth.

His eyes trailed me as he did so. They paused on my leg.

“How’d you get that?” he asked me in a hushed voice.

I flickered my eyes down where my legs peeked above the water. The running faucet moved the water line higher to my knees and light steam dusted the top. Therefore, I had a difficult time discerning what he was referring to.

“My scar?” I wondered.

“No,” Mello answered. “Your scar is here…”

He placed his hand on my upper thigh instantly.

His hand almost swallowed up my whole thigh. I felt a strange feeling brew in the pit of my stomach at his touch. It was like flutters… butterflies maybe.

My heart rate accelerated.

His green eyes found mine and he stated, “I remember how you got the scar. I’m talking about the bruise on your shin.”

His hand released my thigh and my heart rate slowly went back to normal.

I tried to think back to where I might have been bruised…

“I t-tripped on the stairs and hit my leg… when I w-was running from them I- I didn’t pay too much attention… it must have been from that…” I recalled.

The events replayed in my mind and I shivered. Mello noticed this.

His eyebrows pinched together.

Mello stood up and extended his arms to a railing, grabbing hold of a body wash and fresh towel. He set them on the floor, then grabbed a shampoo bottle and conditioner.

He remained silent for a moment, while he uncapped the shampoo.

“You smell like whiskey,” he commented.

“I tumbled and knocked the whiskey b-bottle down… I need t-to apologize to Marge and Jose.”

Mello sighed, “You fall too much, riff raff.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me,” he reprimanded, squeezing out some shampoo into his palm. “Apologize to your body.”

The next thing I knew, Mello was massaging my scalp, lathering the shampoo in my hair. The aroma of sea salt and cedar penetrated the air, slowly eradicating the overpowering scent of whiskey. I glanced at him. His lips were drawn together in concentration, while his eyes remained glued to my hair…

They looked so… distant.

“Mello, I can do this,” I protested. “You don’t have to.”

“Let me.”

I lowered the hand that I had begun to raise.

He halted his movements, a look of uncertainty flashing across his demeanor. “Am I hurting you?”

“No,” I answered earnestly. “It feels really good, actually.”

He seemed to be able to breathe again after I told him this. He continued to massage my head and my eyes slowly fluttered shut.

My body felt much warmer now and less numb. I could now wiggle my fingers and toes, the anatomy coming back to me.

I heard the faucet click and then the swirl of the drain. I peaked my eyes open to see the water around me slowly fall.

Mello got up and grabbed the shower head, lowering it from the wall. He faced it away from me and turned back on the water. As the liquid spurted out, he tested the temperature on his arm, before coming back to me.

Mello rested his wrist over my forehead, cupping his hand like a visor. It protected my eyes as he washed off the soap from my hair.

The soap fell onto the bottom of the tub. I watched the iridescent bubbles race towards the drain, passing my legs. It was then that I noticed what Mello had been so alerted by.

A nasty violet bruise was blooming on my shin. The longer I stared at it, the more I could feel its dull aching.

“Your lips are turning pink again…” Mello suddenly told me.

I glanced up at him, to see his eyes gazing at my lips.

For some reason, I curiously peered down at his. They still looked so delicate… and soft… especially from this proximity. My body naturally wanted to lean in. I wondered if they were just as warm as him. Just as comforting.

I glanced back up and met his eyes. He had been watching me. I blushed.

“I didn’t know they changed colors,” I admitted.

His gaze hardened. “They did.”

He didn’t say much after that. Instead, he refocused his attention back to washing my shampoo out. But I kept my eyes on him. With each flinch of his eyes, I could sense what was occurring.

I was going to put an end to it now.

“Don’t,” I snapped.

“Don’t what?”

“You are acting like you did this.”

He gritted his teeth.

“I wasn’t there.”

I knew it.

I moved away from the water, capturing his full attention. I didn’t want him plummeting further into his thoughts. I wanted him engaged with reality.

“Mello-“

He reached over and turned the faucet off. He then faced me, his face reflecting his anguish.

“I promised I would be there for you,” he declared. “Ross said that you would be safe but I knew… I knew…”

Mello collapsed onto the heels of his feet. He frowned and curled his nose.

“Marge had the phone on speaker… I heard your voice. You were terrified. The way your voice-” he pressed his lips together and exhaled, shaking his head. He couldn’t get those next words out. “I’m not going to forget it.”

I reached out and held onto his hand. His eyes widened for a moment, before beseeching mine.

“You came,” I reminded him.

His gaze was impenetrable, like all he could see was me. It was so intense that I almost believed it was just the two of us.

“Why wouldn’t I come?” he responded.

I had no answer to that. I was reminded once again of how he was… how I thought of him as a child. How I idolized him as a knight in shining armor. As a protector.

The remaining water below us glistened slightly as it slowly descended down the drain, creating a rippling reflection across his diaphanous hair.

He was angelic…

Like a guardian angel.

Mello reached back down and gathered the conditioner bottle. He squeezed it into his palm and then ran it through my hair.

I felt tears fill the rim of my eyes while he tended to me.

“You’re going to have to tell me what kind of tears those are,” Mello stated, releasing my hair. “I can never tell with you.”

“Bittersweet,” I answered. “I appreciate what you are doing so much… but I can’t help but wonder if anyone has done this for you?”

“What, bathe me?” he snorted, grabbing the shower head. He turned the water back on and began to rinse the conditioner out of my hair. “No. The only person I had near me these past few years is Matt… and I would kick his ass if he ever jumped in the shower with me.”

“No, I mean… has anyone cared for you this much…”

Mello hummed. The hot water rushed down my back and patted onto the tub floor.

“I… I think maybe you did,” he revealed.

The revelation warmed my heart, but also left me feeling hollow. I wanted to care for him equivalently, the way he cared for me… no, even more. I wished to overfill him with tenderness and happiness and gentleness… like I could reverse all the damage the world inflicted upon him by wrapping him with unyielding peace and grace.

But I was too weak. Too naïve. I have been tearing his plans up, making life more and more difficult for him.

“Mello, those men-“

“It’s alright… they won’t be hurting you again.”

“But they might hurt you. I didn’t put a stop to them or do anything helpful. I just ruined your mission and-“

“Your safety is more important than that mission,” he stated.

“But your safety is important too! What I’m trying to say is that I just keep putting you in danger. I don’t help you at all…”

“You- what are you even saying?” Mello tilted my chin up, forcing me to gaze at him. “Do I make you think otherwise? You help me more than you even know.”

My voice came out hollow. “How?”

His eyebrows pinched together, his lips shaking as he attempted to pull out the words. “I… I can’t kill a spider.”

I gave him a puzzled look.

“I have killed a man. I have watched people die without even flinching. I witnessed torture… I have seen hellish things that would make men lose their sanity… but yet I cannot bring myself to kill a spider that crawls in front of me. Because of you."

"Me?"

"Do you remember when you saved that spider? Back when we were kids?”

The memory resurfaced… the spider in the fire place… the one Marty and Linda wanted to kill… I scared it when I grabbed a log.

“Yes,” I whispered. “It was terrified and ran under the couch.”

“I will never forget that,” he told me. “The way you begged us to spare its life. And… I can’t forget you stupidly risking your life that day on the roof to save a bee from the spider’s web.” A smile spread on his face for the first time tonight, sending my heart spurring. “And how you placed a flower in it to apologize for destroying its home.”

Tears streamed down my face as I let out a small laugh.

“I guess it sounds silly,” I said.

“Maybe,” he agreed. “But that silliness saved me. You saved me. Those were the memories I clung to when I felt that I was losing myself… no matter what nightmarish shit I endured, I knew that there was still something merciful in this world. Something almost heavenly… you. I always think of you, Y/N. It helps me stay sane… helps me remember my own humanity. That’s why I never kill a spider… it's like if I can just save a spider... do the thing that you would want me to do... then maybe I still have some good in me.”

He let out a long breath, "... at least, I hope."

Mello got up and reconnected the shower head to the wall.

"Are you warm now?" he asked, quickly changing the subject.

"I... yes, I am."

"Good."

Mello bent down and retrieved the rag and body soap. He set it onto the ledge of the tub.

"I'll give you privacy to rinse yourself down." He paused for a moment, before inquiring, "Do you want me to go grab some of your clothes?"

Upon hearing this, I suddenly became conscious again of how much body I was showing. I curled up and grabbed the shower curtain, pulling it towards myself shyly.

"I only have one outfit... I've just been borrowing Matt's," I confessed.

Mello arched his eyebrow and scoffed, "You won't have to subject yourself to that much longer. I'll have Marge get you some clothes tomorrow. For tonight, I'll let you wear some of mine. I'll lay them out in my room..."

"Your room? Where is that?" I wondered.

Mello bent down and picked up the clothes from the floor. "This is a similar layout to Matt's apartment. It'll be the room next to this one."

I scrubbed the whiskey and freezer gunk off of my body. It felt refreshing to finally be clean. It was even more nice to finally be able to move my body normally again.

I didn't smell like amber. Instead, I was enveloped in a new scent. It was more earthy, like eucalyptus and citrus. I didn't really smell this on Mello... he normally had a scent of cocoa on him. Perhaps, now that I am aware of the scent, I might have an easier time picking it up on him in the future.

I stepped out of the shower and noticed that Mello left a folded towel on the counter for me.

When I touched it, I was surprised at its warmth... it was like he had just heated it up in the dryer.

When did he do that?

I happily grabbed it and wrapped it around my body. It felt amazing.

I glanced in the mirror and peered at my skin. It was flushed; however, this time I could tell it was from the heat of the water instead of iciness. My hands no longer looked eerily purplish. My lips were a normal shade of pink, like Mello proclaimed. The natural color of my skin appeared unchanged too, with the exception of the slight red hues from the steam.

I wonder what I looked like before... judging by everyone's reactions, it probably wasn't healthy.

I left the bathroom and journeyed into Mello's room.

I shut the door behind me and gaped.

It was dynamic, yet simple. The room was cleaner than Matt's, but a little more full. The bed faced directly at the door. The black blankets were nicely folded and tucked in. Clothes were left folded at the foot of the bed, just like Mello said they would be.

There was a hanging rack nearby that hung some extra eccentric coats. A nightstand pressed next to the bed, holding a thin black desk lamp. Underneath it was a gun, an empty chocolate wrapper, and a book. Hanging on the wall was a cross.

It was almost a grown-up version of his old room, in a strange way. It was undeniably Mello's, even if some aspects of it were foreign.

I walked over to the bed and took notice of the outfits.

I smiled.

He gave me options.

It was like choosing highlighter colors... I'm glad he remembered this small aspect about me. I like to pick and choose.

I slid on low-rise black pants and a grey, tight top. I had no bra, so I felt it was probably best that I wore some sort of jacket. I put on one of his black leather ones. It draped heavily over me like a blanket.

There was a knock on the door.

"Are you dressed yet?" Mello asked.

"Yes."

He opened the door and stepped in.

His green eyes scanned me, clear amusement twirling in his gaze. His gaze lingered on me for a moment longer, before he trailed over to the foot of his bed.

Mello unwrapped a chocolate bar he had in his hand, filling the silence with its crinkling.

"Matt called... I told him you were okay," Mello told me. "He's heading back to his apartment now to let you in."

"Is he alright?" I wondered. "He was panicked."

"We all were," Mello shrugged. "But yeah. He found the footage. We are going to review it together."

My stomach twisted.

"You're not going to kill them, are you?" I whispered.

Mello peered up from his candy bar and met my gaze.

"No," he confirmed.

My shoulders dropped in relief. He lowered the chocolate bar, his eyes drooping.

"... why did you ask me that?"

His question came out silent, but there was still an edge of confliction in it. Like he was hurt.

"There's been a lot of deaths," I said. "The last men who grabbed me both died... Miller and the other man... it scared me."

Mello arched his eyebrow and contended, "Do you think I had something to do with that?"

"Did you?"

His eyebrows lowered. "No... that was just a lucky coincidence. They had been pissing off Ross by selling excess containers under the table. Same with the helicopter pilot."

Mello shook his head and continued, "Ross picks and chooses victims. Not me."

"But you picked the kidnapping victims, right?" I asked, trying to understand.

I felt bad for throwing a grim topic out there, but it needed to be brought to the surface. I needed to understand Mello in the now, equally as much as I remembered him from the past. These were conversations I wanted to have with him. We currently had privacy, so it seemed like an ideal time.

I wanted to catch up and be on the same page.

"I did," Mello agreed. "For the Kira case. I didn't kill them though."

Kira... with all that has been going on, I almost forgot about the serial killer. Trying to remember all that Mello was working with- both within the mafia and out- gave me a migraine... it's a wonder he managed to keep a few steps ahead.

"No. You didn't..." my brows furrowed together, as I suddenly remembered something important. “Jose said that you actually helped Roy and Eddie… that you told Ross it was Kira who killed the head of the Japanese National Police Agency, Kanichi Takimura.”

“It was,” Mello affirmed.

My eyes widened. I felt a strange vexation swivel in my chest. The serial killer’s malefic notebook was only one facet of Kira’s presence in our lives. The scythe had already swung within the mafia.

Scarily, I might have even met Kira already without knowing it…

“Is Kira in the Japanese Task Force?” I blurted.

Mello’s eyebrow arched and he reclined back against the footboard of his bed.

“Why ask?” he probed curiously.

“They had the book…”

“L found it.”

“But were they the only ones who knew about the kidnapping of Takimura?”

Mello shrugged and corrected, “They were the first we alerted. They told the SPK. I wouldn’t doubt that other Japanese officials knew. It became public knowledge when he died.”

“Kira killed him before it became public knowledge, though,” I objected, beginning to piece things together. “And you had eyes in the SPK… if Kira was there you or Near would have seen it.”

“Correct.”

I deflated. “That still leaves a lot of people… Kira could be anyone in the police or someone who has police records. Or maybe Kira is an eavesdropper…”

My voice trailed off, hand in hand with my confidence.

“Try again,” Mello intercepted.

“Hm?”

He peeled back his chocolate wrapper, his eyes glancing over to me.

“I said, try again.”

He used his tutor voice on me.

I was missing something…

He bit off a piece of his candy bar.

What was it…?!

Wait.

“Sayu’s kidnapping” I gasped. “Only the Japanese Task Force and the SPK knew about that!”

I saw Mello’s eyes reflect a grin that his lips concealed.

This brilliant man… he went right for the Japanese Task Force, limiting the options between that group and the other officials.

“But Kira didn’t kill Yagami’s daughter…” I whispered.

Mello nodded, his gaze growing more and more fervent. He seemed to relish in my epiphanies.

It made me confident to release the conclusions my brain was accumulating.

“Greg complained that you were kidnapping her because she was just a girl… her kidnapping wouldn’t cause the same urgency as the head of the Japanese National Police Agency. But you chose to exchange her for Kira’s murder weapon. Takimura was killed just for simply knowing that the notebook was in the Japanese Task Force’s possession. Yet, Kira let the notebook fall into the hands of criminals to save Yagami and his daughter…”

My brows furrowed together and my heart rate picked up.

The only ones who knew about this exchange were the Japanese Task Force and the SPK… it wasn’t televised… but Kira wouldn’t leave that notebook unwatched… even if it wasn’t released to the media, Kira would know that the murder weapon- vital incriminating evidence- was in motion…

There was no way Kira would rely on the media or others. The killer would want to have personal surveillance on it.

Mello’s interest spiked as he witnessed the gears in my head turning.

“Go on,” he motivated, his lip ticking up.

“Kira is in the Japanese Task Force… and he has some sort of emotional attachment to the Yagami’s…”

Mello snapped off a piece of his chocolate and handed it to me.

I grabbed it in shock.

“Now you’re thinking like a successor, riff raff,” he complimented.

I smiled.

I wasn't even close to being on par with the successors, but it was a really nice compliment coming from my old tutor.

I took a bite out of the chocolate happily. Mello watched me and grinned, before biting on a piece himself.

After he chewed, he asked. "Do you feel better now?"

"Yes... talking with you made me feel better."

I swallowed and frowned, glancing over at the gun on the stand. I recalled the bullets that threatened to plunge through me... the way the metal screeched and bent, taking the damage that was meant for me. I was hopeless in that moment...

"Mello... what do I do if this happens again?" I asked disquieted.

“It won’t," he shut down.

“But if it did, then-”

“Then you call me.”

“But what if you are on duty or-”

“Nothing else would matter.” His eyes found me, the emerald green making his gaze seem inviolable. “I will answer. For you, I will always answer. Okay?”

I nodded. “Okay.”

His lips thinned and he addressed, "I had thought about it. But I'll only teach you when you're ready. Are you ready?"

I shook.

Mello's eye twitched and he immediately shook his head. "You're not. Save it for another day."

He took another bite of his chocolate bar.

I exhaled shakily, my eyes glancing back at the weapon.

Another day... maybe one day I could learn to shoot it... but I'm not strong enough today.

Although, I doubt it was strength alone that could make you shoot a gun. I wondered what else would need to happen in order for that switch to go off. Another tremble ran through my spine.

I wasn't sure I wanted to find out...

Chapter Text

Mello led me out of the apartment, notifying me that Matt was back and awaiting our arrival.

I played with the long sleeves of his jacket as we walked. My mind jumbled through a million thoughts. I pondered on Kira’s involvement with the Japanese Task Force L created… I wondered if Kira was there when L was still alive… if so, did L know who Kira was? Did he knowingly allow the criminal to be apart of the investigation? If he did… why? And just how involved did L let Kira be?

The two of us took a turn down the staircase. Mello hurried ahead of me, his green eyes quickly darting around the corner, before leading us to the next floor. He was overtly vigilant and alert.

Perhaps I should be too… Pete and Ralphie were still unaccounted for. Mello had been attentive enough for the both of us.

We entered the corridor Matt resided in with no issue. Although we were almost to our destination, he did not relax. His movements were feline-like, each muscle pulsed. Even his gaze remained sharp. There didn’t seem to be much to observe… but maybe I was too naive.

All that was around us were plain walls and closed doors.

Mello’s jaw clenched and his hands stayed near his belt. I knew that’s where his weapon was. I glanced down and watched his long fingers tick.

My steps slowed… Mello said that he didn’t choose people to die, but those words did not imply he never killed anyone. Besides the Viper, has Mello taken other lives?

I began to analyze his words more closely… he said Ross selected victims in the gang to die… but he distinctly separated Ross’s mafia from the Kira case.

He had authority over matters regarding the serial killer… and I explicitly recall him ordering the execution of the SPK members. I don’t think that was Ross… the way he defended it during our confrontation was too passionate… like he wanted me to believe it was the right thing to do… like he wanted to convince himself it was the right thing to do.

Although, in all technicalities, he wasn’t the one who wrote their names down. Did that eradicate his blame?

Where was the grey line… did he hold himself responsible? Or maybe he is trying to distance himself from it…

And did I hold him responsible? In perspective, are the judges that order death row equally as evil as Kira? Are the people typing criminal names into a website for Kira to blame for those criminals’ deaths?

Putting myself into Mello’s shoes was difficult too. If Near was in peril… if those spies were going to turn him over to Kira… would I do the same? Because he is special to me, do I value his life over someone else’s? Would I go as far as to kill someone in order to save him?

Oh my word, but if I had the capability of saving Near's life by killing and didn’t, would that make me somewhat responsible for his death?

Is that sort of killing valiant or is that monstrous? What makes a murder heroic… and what makes a murder evil…?

The Wammy’s House gave us basic knowledge of the law. It didn’t teach us morality. Luckily, I had my mother to guide me. She ordered me to see the good in all people. I wasn’t going to snip someone’s life because I thought they were a weed before they had a chance to bloom into a flower.

And yet… that scared me.

Because I was beginning to see a pattern... lives are being pinned against other lives. Though I had the will to help someone see the good in themselves, they might not have the patience or ears to listen.

I was giving myself so much anxiety thinking this hard.

“Stop.”

I gasped at his sudden command. My feet obeyed, halting their movement. I glanced up to see empty space.

I turned around and saw Mello standing outside door 405E.

He arched his eyebrow at me skeptically.

He didn't need to tell me. His face alone showed it. I walked past Matt's room.

"I wasn't paying too much attention," I murmured, hurrying back.

"You were lost in your head," Mello agreed.

He paused for a moment, his facial muscles tightening.

"What were you thinking about?" he finally asked.

I saw a switch in him. The rigidness from before had draped away and was replaced by a boyish wonder. Uncertainty and curiosity afflicted him.

"I was... thinking about before," I told him.

Half- truths were better than a lie. Mello had a good eye for liars. But I couldn't tell him the full truth... I wasn't quite sure how to explain to him everything my mind was processing.

'I was having a moral dilemma on the theoretical situation of having to murder someone' was not the type of response I wanted to give. Him being the reason it all started was also a large pill to swallow.

Mello took a small step closer.

"Are you going to be alright?" he softly wondered.

I nodded.

Mello's eyes flickered between mine unsurely. His lips thinned while he contemplated my answer.

I found myself stupidly drawn to them again.

My chest swayed forward, as if to prepare to lean in. My body was reacting, heating up as new thoughts penetrated my mind. I began to think about how they would feel brushed against my own.

What has gotten into me?

I peered back to his eyes, only to find he was no longer looking into mine.

He was looking at my lips too.

At least, for a moment. Mello flickered his sight over to the door and cleared his throat.

"Good," he rasped.

He reached his hand up towards the door and collided his knuckles into it, giving three solid knocks. Matt answered the door fast, as if he had been standing by the frame waiting.

He found me immediately and his chest fell heavily. The sigh was long, like he had been holding his breath for a while.

Though his eyes were plagued with heavy emotions, Matt did not fail to grant me playful grin.

"I'm glad to see you've changed," he commented cheekily. "Let me guess... it's not a phase, right?"

I noticed that as he said the joke, the anguish in his eyes faded slightly. It was his sort of defense. Normally in serious situations, Mello would always crack down Matt's humorous walls and force him to face a problem head-on. However, in this case, Mello decided to nurture that forge.

"Shut the hell up, Matt," Mello scoffed.

Matt shrugged. "She looks cute in both of our clothes, arguably."

"Arguably, my outfits look better than the shit you made her wear before."

"Oh, right. My mistake. Your fashion is so vibrant! I'm sure it takes hours for you to find the right shades of black for your wardrobe... it screams 'I'm dangerous and cool' to the women."

"Your clothes just scream in general." Mello cupped a hand over his ear and frowned. "I can hear them yelling now. They say,'Put me out of my fucking misery, Matt.'"

"Dangerous?" I caught on, glancing down at Mello's clothes I wore. "Do I look dangerous?"

"You?" he snorted, giving me a once over. His goofy smile widened. "For sure... you look like you could fight a Care Bear and actually have a chance."

I laughed.

The two men stared and smiled, their bodies now less stiff than before.

Matt took a step out of the door frame, opening it up for me to step inside. He gestured in.

"Come into the crib," he directed. "I made you tea... thought you might want some."

I sighed, my cheeks burning with joy. That was perfect... after what my body just went through, a hot tea was exactly what I craved.

"That sounds lovely!" I cheered happily. "Thank you so much!"

I spun on my heel glancing up at Mello. His hand lowered to his side. He stood, swayed on one hip. His eyes casted down on me, awaiting my response. I became aware that this was where I would part from him.

I embraced him.

He gasped, shocked at my sudden constriction.

"Thank you, Mello," I told him. "Thank you for keeping me safe."

Before long, I felt his hesitant movement. One hand ran across my back. The other slowly cupped the back of my head, bringing me in closer to his racing heart.

His face leaned down to me and he whispered, so low it was barely audible...

"Always."

His voice sent bewitching shivers up my spine.

He released me first and I slipped out of his grip. I trailed into Matt's apartment.

But I caught something that deviated from what I expected...

Matt had been watching us.

He looked peaky.

When I entered his space, I noticed the mug of steaming tea he had mentioned sitting on the island table. I walked towards it, magnetized. My throat felt scratchy and my body nauseated, as if to remind my brain why this drink was so imperative.

I got up onto the stool and eagerly took a sip. The warm liquid seeped into my stomach, enveloping my taste buds with honey and lavender.

Matt stepped out into the hall and shut the door slightly, leaving only a crack.

I peered behind me inquisitively, alerted by the sudden irregular behavior. I could hear low their voices in small waves, catching some phrases and losing others.

"I burned the footage on this tape... - so when you review it... -their confession is clear... "

Mello's voice spoke... I recognized the intonations in it, but couldn't make out his words.

"No, they didn't. She hurt them, actually. Bloody brilliant."

"Not with her... you know how she- ..."

"I know. Relax, will you? I'm not a moron."

"I never said you were, Matt. "

The door moved, opening back up. I quickly swiveled around, as if to hide the fact that I had been eavesdropping.

Matt entered back into the room and let out a heavy exhale. The door shut and locked. I then heard the soft thuds of him kicking off his shoes.

"How's the tea?" he inquired, making conversation.

"It's perfect, Matt. Thank you again."

I turned around to face him and flashed him a smile. He returned one, but it wasn't too lively. His eyes dully moved to the tea and then back to me.

"I'm, uhm... going to get changed," he said. "Do you need anything?"

"No, I'm alright," I answered.

"Okay... let me know if you do."

"I will."

He simply nodded and wandered into his room.

I crawled into bed within the hour.

The room glowed in a purple hue; the game council ran the urban screen on Matt's tele to give me light. This was routine now.

Exhaustion crept up on me. I had been up for a long time, but my body also went through such a state of shock that it was completely drained. It took a lot of energy to keep my heart beat active and my body warm...

I almost died tonight.

Reminding myself of that seemed surreal. I had been so close to the cusp of death. My fingers brushed the edge of life... I peered beyond the veil into a dream-like eternal rest... and somehow I am still here.

I glanced at Mello's jacket, which hung on the foot stand of Matt's bed. The black leather draped over like a bleak pall.

I was still here... because of him.

The floorboards creaked from outside of the bedroom. Matt's voice weaved in and out as he paced in his living area. His phone call has lasted over half an hour. The mission was almost at its finale and Jose still needed Matt's direction.

Even though they came to save me, it didn't take them away from the tasks they were assigned.

Matt had claimed he and Jose had a special order in regards to the Feeney Boys a while back, and through the small dialogue I gathered, I knew this is what they were now communicating about.

Thinking of that infamous gang made me shiver. I clenched tighter on Matt's blanket.

"Type in codes H and A," I heard Matt command. "Let me know what you see... is it blank? No... what numbers? Yes, that's it. Type in "O-J-R... eight, seven, two, five, six, two, one and enter... are you in? Bloody hell, hurry up... okay, now are you in? Good. Shut it down."

I couldn't wrap my head around what was occurring. I didn't want to. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to distance myself from everything that was occurring. I didn't want to think about the mafia anymore... I didn't want to think about violence... or power or money or Kira or murders or drugs...

I wanted to think about other things...

Like the trees outside. Not the palm trees, but the maple ones. I wanted to remember how the leaves sounded when the breeze rushed through them. And little ants climbing up the trunk in a marching line... they followed each other, remaining close and working together...

And underneath the tree there was perhaps a soccer ball that we could all play with... or a Rubik's cube... or perhaps a bucket of chalk...

As I thought about the tree, my mind created the roots, which purged up from the ground...

Underneath the root, a newspaper fluttered.

I knew that article... no, I don't want to see that.

I shut my eyes shut tighter, trying to eradicate it from my mind.

The sky grew darker, while bleak clouds hovered over the sunlight. Low thunder rumbled and the wind brutally picked up. The newspaper fought desperately against the wind. I trudged towards it, only to discover that it was not the newspaper I thought it was.

I would recognize that black spine anywhere.

The Death Note sat underneath the root, ushering me in.

But, before I could even react, a hand picked it up off the ground.

The notebook cradled in the arms of a man... a man with a lightning tattoo that climbed up his thick neck...

Ralphie grinned at me sinisterly, opening the book.

He said nothing. I did nothing. My body refused to move. I couldn't look away.

I was frozen in fright.

It grew colder.

Pete walked out from behind the tree, holding onto a pen. His eyes were mahogany and burned, dripping tears down his abhorrent scar.

He uncapped the pen and began to scribe into the notebook. Then, he peered up and smiled. Ralphie slowly turned the book around, displaying its pages to me.

Written in smudged red ink was none other than my name...

My real name.

Lightning crashed across the sky and I inhaled shakily.

My heartbeat hammered so hard against my chest that it hurt.

The men laughed as I screamed.

My eyes shot open, as my body released the last of its scream. I gasped for air.

It was pitch dark.

Where was I?!

Thunder shook the walls, releasing a raucous blare. It sounded like the door to the freezer being jutted into...

I choked on my own air and let out another wail, my whole body beginning to panic.

I was back... I was back... get me out... get me out of the freezer! I can't see!

The door to my right slammed open, hitting the wall.

Light broke through the darkness.

"Matt!" I cried out.

He hurried into the room, flickering on the light switch.

"I'm here," he quickly announced. "I'm right here."

The bed dipped and suddenly I was in his arms. The scent of amber grounded me back to the present, ripping me away from my delusion.

My mind, still on high alert, broke down. I gripped onto him, crying into his shoulder.

"I'm not sound," I whimpered afraid.

"Shh, don't say that," he hushed. "I'm so sorry. I didn't realize I would be gone that long... I forgot the council was in sleep mode."

"The dark... I thought... I thought I was back..." I admitted to him, feeling ashamed at my cowardice.

Matt's chest stopped moving for a moment, his breath catching. I sniffled as he sat in silence. Then, I felt his arms hold me tighter.

"Shit... Y/N, I didn't even think about that... you are petrified of the dark and they trapped you in-" his voice broke. "That must have been terrifying."

I pulled back from him, wiping the tears from my face. His hands dropped.

His knuckles were scratched up and inflamed.

"Matt... what happened to your hands?"

He pulled them away, but I already saw. I tried to catch his eyes, but they were fixated on the blanket beneath us.

"Don't worry about it," he grumbled, shaking his head. "Let's work through this first, alright?"

Rain pattered against the window, as another crash of thunder lulled.

"It's alright," I tried. "I'm alive and it's over now."

I couldn't tell if that convincing phrase was for him or me. I shouldn't let this drag on for longer than it needed to. I didn't want him to worry and I shouldn't let myself go back and relive something so terrible. If I told myself it was alright, perhaps this whole trauma would just evaporate.

"Just because you survived, doesn't mean you didn't take a few hit points." Matt cringed at himself and then laughed. "That was awful, but you know what I mean."

... I guess he had a point. Although I did come out alive, it didn't omit the fact that I clearly wasn't unscathed.

"I was able to warm up," I reminded. "I got fresh clothes and bathed and the bruise on my leg will heal."

His hand softly tucked my hair behind my ear.

"... you and I both know that's not what what we are talking about," he said.

My mental state.

I wrung my hands together, glancing down at my palms.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to say... I don't know how to process this yet..."

"That's okay," Matt reassured. "It takes a while sometimes."

I blinked, recalling that he has been through similar situations. Probably not being locked in a freezer, but in the years he spent with Mello inside the criminal underground, I was sure he had a lot of heavy incidences and traumas to process. Mello had told me he witnessed nightmarish things...

Which meant Matt did too. The two of them never parted.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there," I whispered.

His eyebrows furrowed together and he glanced down at me in bewilderment.

"Huh?"

"For you... when you went through things like this... I wish I was there."

Matt blinked.

"... You were, believe it or not," he answered. "Just not physically."

Matt let out a sigh and lugged his legs up onto the mattress.

"But that's alright. We are here for each other now, right?" he cheered. "So, whenever you feel like you're ready to process it, you can just tap me on the shoulder."

He took out the pack of cigarettes from his pocket and retrieved one of the tabs. He set the pack onto the nightstand next to him, before placing the unlit cigarette in between his lips.

He didn't light it... I noticed that there are times where he dangled the object in his mouth. I wondered why he lit it on some occasions and didn't on others.

His fit body reclined back against the headboard. His shirt tightened over his muscles, which flexed out with his new inhale. I immediately felt an abrupt sensation of homesickness.

His hair waved slightly and dusted the bridge of his nose. The color of it still reminded me of scattered autumn leaves. They look like the ones that cascade off Winchester's oaks... which I should be seeing now... His honeyed eyes, though bringing me solace, made me feel wistful. I recalled how they used to crinkle with mischievous, innocent grins. Those genuine smiles were becoming more rare now, given all of the circumstances we were going through.

Matt's presence alone was assuaging. Even though I cannot go back into the past and experience life again through our childlike wonder, I was more than lucky to still have him at my side as adults.

Especially when he works so hard to keep me shielded from the madness of the world.

He was like my best friend.

An overwhelming feeling hit my heart. It was warm and inexplicable. I desired to voice it to him and share it, as it felt so heavy to bear alone. But I didn't know what it was. I didn't know what I should say.

Matt's eyes found mine. I opened my mouth to speak, but still I found no words.

His brow pinched, warping those charming freckles on his face. He brought his long fingers to his mouth and pulled out the cigarette. His thin lips parted slightly while he tried to decipher me.

"You look like you want to tell me something," Matt heralded. "I'm all ears."

His lips tugged into a handsome smile, in an attempt to make the atmosphere more comfortable for me. I gaped at his toothy grin... and my hand reached up to him. I cupped his cheek and ran my thumb near the corner of his mouth, where that cute gap was by his canine.

His smile faltered in his shock, but he didn't pull from my touch. His face grew warmer as a faint flush ignited on his face.

"I am so grateful for you, Matt."

Matt's arm wrapped around me and pulled me in.

My body curved into his tall frame as he held me against him. Heat emitted off of his strong body, creating a comfortable warmth. I could also feel the soft flutters of his breath blow across the top of my head.

My heart accelerated from his intoxicating smell. His strong arms felt like an impenetrable wall around me, securing me in the safety of something so familiar and understandable.

I buried my face into his chest.

"I'm probably annoyingly needy," I muttered. "I never wanted to lose you. Now that you're back, I keep demanding your time. I'm just lucky you let me."

"Y/N... I'm quite literally addicted to you."

I glanced up at him.

His gaze was complex. Sincerity swirled in his honeycomb eyes, followed by an timidity from the vulnerability of his statement.

What made me so addicting? Video games brought him an escape. Cigarettes gave his brain a chemical release. And me...

"I'm nothing too special," I proclaimed.

Matt shook his head. His hand reached up and smoothed my hair back delicately. His touch was faint, as if I were made of porcelain.

"I don't think you even know how beautiful you are," he put forth.

My face burned and my heart pounded. His smile widened.

"I'm embarrassing you," he laughed.

I buried my face into my hands and his laughter grew louder.

"Matt..."

He always tried to get some sort of reaction out of me.

"Alright, alright, I'll stop," he said through his chuckles.

The thunder broke through again, but it seemed more distant. The rain still pelted against the glass. Instead of it being clamorous, it had a more gentle drum.

"I'm exhausted," I informed him, feeling my body begin to pull me away again.

"Go to sleep," he commanded.

"I'm scared to."

"I'll stay up next to you."

"But-"

"I'm wide awake. I slept all day, remember? I was thinking of playing some games, anyways... are you okay with that?"

Having background noise and more light seemed very appealing. Plus, it would remind me that he was here.

I nodded.

Matt grabbed the controller he left on the nightstand and turned on the council. It buzzed back to life, breaking out of its slumber. I heard some clicks and then music trinkled into our space. He kept me cuddled against him, wrapping his long arms around my frame comfortably.

As he played, my mind recalled all of the actions I did that led me into the situation I got trapped in. With my sleep deprived state, I blurted out some random comments.

"Matt..." I yawned, "In the future... I will let you know if I'm going to do something stupid. So then, we don't have to do all this again..."

Matt chuckled. "I think you grossly underestimate the amount of stupid things you do."

He smoothed my hair back and I sank deeper into him. "But I'll be there to get you out of them... or join you in them. Whichever seems more fun."

I cracked a smile, my mind drifting deeper into rest.

"Thank you, Matt..."

"No thank you is ever needed, Y/N. You know that."

October 16, 2009

Ross shuffled his deck of cards. The harsh nature of their bend triggered their ricochet to sound like a round of bullets.

The mafia leader cleared his throat, before dispersing them to the men he decided to play with. A game of poker was in session.

I saw Jose, Eddie, Roy, and Skyer around the table. Jack was also there... and then some men I didn't quite know.

We were back in the wild factory room. Everyone was here, since the meeting Ross commenced required all of his mafia members' attendance. They all seemed exhausted from the irregularity of their sleep schedule.

Ralphie and Pete were missing... I wondered what Ross thought of that. He seemed rather pleased today. Maybe the betrayal didn't effect him as much as I thought it might. Perhaps being a drug lord made you used to things like that...

Music came out of a monitor in the back. I recognized it... "I Hear You Knocking" from Gale Storm. In this setting, it was eerie and unsettling. It didn't match... and the lyrics landed on me poorly.

Mello and Matt stood next to me, eying the lounge around us like bodyguards. They did not hide the fact that they knew me. In fact, they were making it quite a display that they did. They not only walked in with me, but have been glued at my side since leaving the apartment complex.

I theorized that perhaps Pete and Ralphie's incident changed their perception on how to handle Ross's threat. Instead of avoiding me, they were overly protecting me. Their glares were threatening and dooming. It was like they were silently warning everyone that I was marked.

That if anyone attempted to do what Ralphie and Pete did, they would bring down a Hellish vengeance.

I had evidence they already have...

My eyes found Kollet's again unwillingly.

His thick lip was busted and his cheek welted. His onyx eyes glanced at me with deep guilt. He had been tasked to watch me and overdosed instead...

I flickered my eyes to Matt's knuckles.

I wasn't that unintelligent to not connect the dots. He watched the monitors... he saw Kollet do it... he must have witnessed my desperate attempt to wake him up...

It seemed his fist did better job at getting him up than my shaking. Of course, he was not as friendly as I had been.

Ross's deep voice resounded as he carelessly flicked the cards across the table.

"Salazar's men have been wiped... the Scorpions are squashed... Hollywood's leader is dead... and we cleaned out many of Angelo's men..."

I paled, realizing just how many people were murdered last night. I wondered how much was done with Kira's weapon...

The black notebook materialized in my memories... its ill-omened nature left me shivering. It was so sinister that even the mere thought of the baleful weapon left me full of terror. Perhaps it was because I couldn't quite explain it... how does it kill? How can simply writing someone's name down terminate them?

"I received word from Angelo. He's hosting a little gathering for us... a way for us to air out our bad blood."

The men in the room glanced at each other. There was an electric feeling in the room, like they were pleased at this news.

Gathering?

Ross grinned. "Tomorrow we will celebrate our win the traditional way. Sunday night, we'll join Angelo's exclusive party at The Three Clubs... everyone in this room will go."

I gulped. The Three Clubs... was that a nightclub? I've never been clubbing before.

After a final few remarks, he adjourned the meeting.

Marge hurried over to me. She was going to take me out to shop for outfits, as Mello asked her to.

The two men watched her approach, still as statues. She eyed them incautiously.

"Am I alright to approach?" she asked sarcastically, a hint of annoyance in her voice.

They relaxed, seeming slightly embarrassed.

"You're going to keep your phone on you?" Mello asked, his tone implying there was really no other option.

Marge rolled her eyes, "Yes."

Matt pulled out his keys and handed them over to her. Marge scrunched her nose up at them and swatted his hand away.

"I don't want your lame car. I have my own," she stated.

"Your car is a pink Lamborghini," Matt reminded her, his eyebrow twitching.

"A sparkly pink Lamborghini with a chromatic bumper," Marge corrected smugly.

Mello rolled his eyes and defended Matt by arguing, "It's going to draw attention."

"So?" Marge shrugged. "Who cares? It's meant to be looked at."

Mello's glare deepened and he shot, "But we are trying to keep Y/N out of public eye."

Marge groaned, "Ugh, you cannot force someone who is alive to appear dead. She is going to be looked at no matter what car she is in. It's called having tits and ass."

Marge's arm wrapped around mine.

"It's the woman experience. You can't change that. We are taking my car and that's the last I want to hear about it. Comprende?"

Mello looked like he was going to explode. Matt stepped in front of him, his expression weary but also slightly humored.

He handed her a wad of American dollars from his jacket. I stared at the green material and my eyes bulged.

It was full of one-hundred dollar bills.

"Here is some spending money," Matt said casually, letting her take it. "Do you at least have your gun on you, Mamma Marge?"

"What do I look like, an idiot?!" she shot. "I have my taser too."

She led me towards the staircase, before the two could hound her further.

"Let's get you away from here," she murmured.

"Where are we going?" I wondered. "Does L.A. have many stores?"

Marge stared at me like I had three eyeballs.

"Carrément ?" she stammered. "Oh, mon loulou, you have much to see."

Chapter Text

In the far back of the factory, a massive storage containment facility expanded across the sandy ground. Instead of being filled with excess containers, like I had previously presumed, it housed the mafia's transportation vehicles.

And my word, did they have so many.

Admittingly, I didn't know much about cars. I never really had to learn about the mechanics of them or memorize brands, since automobiles weren't really prioritized at The Wammy's House as much as other practical knowledges.

However, just by glimpsing at the vehicles' chic designs, I could immediately tell that these were expensive.

Marge cleared her throat as we journeyed into the large room. Her sound echoed through the space, along with the clinking of her keys which jangled near her long, slim legs.

I stayed close behind her, squeezing past a sleek blue car along the way. I caught my reflection in it and got embarrassed.

Mello’s clothes looked a little frumpy on me. It was different from Matt’s- his clothes were like parachutes. I fit into Mello’s clothes, but not in the way they were designed to be fit into. When he wore them, they looked divine… like they were embroidered for his perfect body.

On me, they were loose in some areas and tight in others… they fit, but it didn’t have the same effect on me as it did on Mello. He looked ethereal and I looked… well, like I was wearing someone else’s hand-me-downs.

Or maybe that was just my insecurity speaking… hopefully, today I would be able to find something that was more me.

Marge raised her keys into the air and clicked a button.

A high pitch beep responded, along with a pink hued light. We moved towards the sound and my jaw dropped.

A bright pink car, which Matt mentioned was a Lamborghini, was parked near the opening. It had been modified, the paint on it sparkling like gemstones. She tapped the door and- like science fiction- the doors crooned and lifted vertically into the air.

“You can move Jose’s stuff,” Marge said as she climbed into the driver’s side seat. “Just shove it to the floor.”

The car purred.

I climbed into the passenger seat, discarding Jose’s pair of boots from the seat into the back of the car. The seats were made of black leather. The trim of the car was chromatic, shining iridescently like a bright pink pearl. Marge had a tiny diamond chandelier hanging off her front mirror. I couldn’t tell if the diamonds were real or not.

Even her steering wheel was highly decorated. A fluffy, pink cover strapped over it and the horn in the middle was bedazzled.

Marge hit a button and the doors to the car closed. She hit another on her key chain which opened the doors to this warehouse section.

The heavy doors creaked open, letting in the beautiful light from outside. The car roared and Marge floored it out.

“Wow!” I gasped without meaning to.

The car felt so fluid compared to the ones I had been in before. Roger’s car was rocky and hesitated on its acceleration (unless he was angry, in which case he abruptly slammed the petal and sent our guts to our spine). The taxis I had driven in with Roger also felt the same. I had always thought it was because of Winchester’s cobblestone roads or even Wales’s rocky gravel.

However, being in this car felt like I was floating. I had a feeling that it would be this way no matter what road it traveled on.

“What?” Marge commented, sliding down her sunglasses.

She rolled down the windows, letting in the air from outside. It refreshingly combed through my hair.

“Your car,” I replied. “It feels really nice.”

She smirked. “I know. Mine is the best.”

Marge reached down and pressed a button, closing the doors behind us. She then flicked on the car stereo. A channel buzzed in:

“… beautiful afternoon in Los Angeles today. We return back with some top hits of our year. Here is ‘Untouched’ by The Veronicas.”

The music blared through her car as she drove away from the factory.

“Have you ever ridden in a Lamborghini before?” she asked.

“Not that I can remember… I haven’t been in many cars,” I admitted to her.

Marge’s eyebrows furrowed while she turned her car down a road.

“And you’re twenty?” she wondered. “What, did you not have friends to go out with or…?”

“I had some friends,” I giggled. “But I just… didn’t really have the most normal childhood.”

She made a verbal noise of acknowledgement, before we took another turn.

The car drove down by the large ocean to our right. I glanced out the window in complete wonderment. The palm trees swayed by, intercepting my glimpses of people getting ready to surf, swim, and sun tan. As we went deeper, I watched people skate and bike by. They caught my attention with their eccentric-colored clothing.

Over the car music, I also heard other peoples’ speakers booming and cars driving and squealing around us.

The sensory was a lot, but not unpleasant.

It was like something I would find straight out of an American film.

“How long have you lived here?” I wondered suddenly, glancing over at the European.

“Pardon?”

“You’re from France right?”

“Proudly.”

“I’ve just never seen anything like this before… was L.A. this exciting for you too?”

Marge shrugged, “Eh. My city Marseilles is better, of course. But I like Hollywood…”

She sped into the other lane and moved in front of the slow car in front of us. It honked but Marge wasn’t fazed.

She turned up the stereo volume, as if to drown out their anger with hip hop beats.

“Thirteen years,” she answered. “… Funny. I was your age when I came here.”

I glanced over at the woman, now finally able to pin an age to her. It was difficult because she looked young and had youthful energy, but her maturity and stubbornness stemmed from someone more experienced. Plus, she was called “Mamma Marge” on occasion.

Yet, she was thirty-three years old. Only thirteen years older than me, twelve years older than Matt (and, in technicality, eleven years older than Mello by one month). Compared to Greg, who was eighteen, she was still only fifteen years older than him.

If anything, she was more like an older sister than mother. But, to be fair, she took care of and disciplined everyone in almost a motherly way. “Mamma Marge” also had a better ring to it than “Sister Marge”… here I am overthinking again.

“What made you leave Marseilles?” I asked.

Marge glanced my way quickly. I caught her eyes through the small gap in her sunglasses.

“How do you know Mello and Matt?” she returned.

I sank further into my seat.

Marge shrugged, “We don’t trust each other like that yet. Let’s keep it personal for now.”

“For now,” I agreed.

She drove us deeper into Los Angeles, carrying us into its urban heart. I now understood what she meant before.

Los Angeles had shops… thousands. The overwhelming feeling came to me again as I scanned all of the buildings, reading sign after sign of commercial stores.

“Marge, there are so many…” I said, shrinking from the window.

“Oui,” she answered. “But I am taking you to the mall. No need to panic.”

“Oh! I’ve heard of those!” I gasped. “This is so exciting! Thank you very much!”

Marge arched her eyebrow.

“It’s a mall,” she reiterated, as if I were not supposed to be as happy as I was. “… you’re welcome? I guess?”

Marge took me to Westfield Century City, a massive mall district that extended both outside and inside.

With the knowledge that I was staggered by the multitude of options, she decided to take the lead.

We walked along the shaded section of the court yard, passing by electronic shops. I assumed she was most likely on her way to the door that led inside.

"What do you normally wear?" Marge inquired, pushing her sunglasses up to the top of her head.

We didn't shop much at The Wammy's House, unless it was during the two market days in May and January. Plus, with the budget Mr. Wammy had allocated to us, I always hesitated to buy new clothes if it wasn't necessary. It wasn't until the clothes tore or I grew out of them that I branched out.

Even then, I didn't look for a specific design as much as what could stretch my budget out longer.

"I'm not really sure... I guess whatever is the least expensive, I'll get."

Marge casted me a look of disappointment, clearly at a loss from what I just said.

"Non, non," she chastised. "We will not be doing that again. Do you not care about what your clothes will look like?"

"Well, not always... I feel better knowing that how you are on the inside matters more."

Marge scoffed. "No one will care about your inside if your outside looks like a fucking mess."

We walked into the interior of the mall and I was starstruck. It was stories high and full of dazzling lights. Crowds of people visited various stores, dangling shopping bags from their arms. It was just like I thought it would be, but some how even more grand.

"Matt said to use every dollar," Marge passed down. "So start thinking of what you want to wear."

"He said that?" I repeated in disbelief.

I recalled the large wad of cash he handed her. Surely, that was too much...

A loud vibration struck through our silence. Marge reached into her velvet purse and pulled out her flip phone. As she opened the screen and read the message, her demeanor became irritated. She rolled her eyes and plopped the phone back into her purse.

I didn't have too much time to question what she read, because she dipped right into another conversation.

"We can start with shoes?" she submited.

Her tone declared that there was really no wiggle room, as she scrutinized the only dirtied pair of shoes I had. I shared in her judgement. My white leather loafers were put on for the Winchester charity event so long ago... they were really only going to be used for standing around and auctioning. Had I known I would be hustled around a public airport, tossed into the back of a Tesco delivery van, trudged through sandy desert, chased by criminals, and stuck into a freezer... I might have considered something a little different.

My shoes' nearly shredded, discolored fabric and the blisters on my feet agreed.

"Alright," I opted, more than eager to get these off.

"What do you like?"

"I like flats."

"Like... ballet shoes?"

"Yes, sort of. I found I'm less likely to trip over myself wearing them."

A grin spread on Marge's face, "Finalement, you actually know what you want. I know where to go. Follow me."

She took me to one of her favorite stores, which was called Michele Lopriore. The interior of this shop was filled to the brim with designer shoes. The myriad of styles and colors climbed up the walls on elaborate displays.

I observed the shoes in wonderment, drawing close to a specific pair of pistachio green colored flats.

I picked them up, loving the soft feel of them. However, as I flipped them over, I nearly jumped out of my skin.

"Ooo, those are pretty," Marge complimented from next to me. "Get your size."

I paled and set the shoe softly down, afraid of accidentally damaging it.

"I... I can't," I stammered lowly. "Did you see the price on those?"

"You pay for what you get," Marge said carelessly with a shrug.

Her brown eyes bounced up and glistened, as she pointed higher on the rack.

"Get it in that color too," she demanded. "And then hurry over to me. I want you to try on some heels."

My head was still whirling at the idea of spending so much on a pair of flats. Yet, in the midst of it all, I still found a way to process her request.

"Why heels?" I wondered.

Another buzz came from Marge's phone. I heard it faintly over the music from the mall's speakers. They were playing another song... it sounded like Britney Spears, I think. it was something that Heidi would have definitely played from her radio.

Marge ignored her phone, answering me instead. "We have been invited to The Three Clubs. You cannot wear flats there."

I wrung my hands. "I'm not too sure I can move well in heels."

"You don't need to 'move well'. You just need to stand there and look pretty." Her eyes trailed my body. "You have a good figure. You can pass with a short heel, if you want."

I glanced down at myself. I didn't know if I could agree with that... in the clothes I wore, it definitely didn't seem like it.

"You should grab at minimum seven pairs," Marge calculated, returning back to the flats. "One pair per day of the week... we should grab running shoes for you too."

Considering everything I had been through in less than a week, running shoes seemed brilliant.

I grimaced. "But... the money-"

She put her finger out and pressed it against my lips.

"Zip," she demanded, dropping her hand. "I don't want to hear it again. When you are with the mafia, money does not matter. Comprende?"

Marge was currently dressed from head to heel in designer brands. Her car was luxury, as was everyone else's it seemed. In fact, Greg told me that Ross was the most powerful drug lord in the nation, if not the world. With Matt and Mello fueling his power outreach, I wouldn't be surprised if that statement wasn't a hyperbole.

Money for clothes would barely scratch the surface of what Ross and the gang were accumulating. But then again, I wasn't technically getting money by being associated with their mafia. I hadn't done anything for them besides clean.

I would also feel unsettled to use the mafia's money knowing where it came from...

However, in all technicality Matt was paying for me. He did say "anything you want, I'll get it." He was adamant about that too.

I peered into the mirror behind my body and really looked at myself. Seeing how disheveled and unruly I appeared began to change something in me. I wanted to look better... as selfish as it was, I really did.

I picked up the shoes... then another pair... and another...

Marge and I left the store within the hour, carrying bags of flats and heels. I felt guilty, yet slightly excited too. It was conflicting, but it was also surreal. I wasn't used to pampering myself... and while I looked into the bags around my arms, I felt something flutter in my heart.

I felt... it felt like I was finally becoming me.

Like I was embracing my own style.

More than that.

I was letting myself grow up.

Marge took me to a makeup store and had a consultant aid me in finding the right shades for my face. I placed a lip gloss the consultant matched for me into my bag and had a ping of homesickness. I was reminded of Heidi.

'Why are you giving her this mascara?" Marge bluntly asked the consultant.

The consultant stammered, "Well... it's the best one we have, ma'am."

Marge glowered at the container and then at the lady.

"No, it is not," she refuted. "Where is the Talika brand?"

"We don't have that in our store... it's just this one."

Marge arched her eyebrow and exhaled sharply out of her nose in disappointment. She tossed the mascara into my bag.

"Fine," she declared defeated. "But just know I'm lowering my standards."

I gave the consultant an apologetic look. She didn't seem too phased by Marge's last remark. Working in customer service, she might have experienced worse reactions. Still, I expressed to her how grateful I was for her help and she seemed pleased enough.

As the consultant left, Marge's arm interlocked with mine and she pulled me to the check out. Her brown eyes rummaged through the top layer of my bag.

"I'm sorry for you," she sighed. "I would have liked to give you the best one."

"I don't mind at all," I diffused. "I'll wear whatever they give me."

"That's something ugly people say. You have a beautiful face, Y/N. You deserve quality products."

Marge halted our steps at the counter. I stared at her in surprise. She thought I was pretty and deserving... these bold- borderline rude, at times- comments were coming from her desire to give me the best.

"Thank you, Marge," I told her. "You are truly beautiful too."

This much was true. She had a classy, elegant beauty. Her delicately thin eyebrows arched over her unhooded, upturned eyes. Her petite nose curved over heart shaped lips, which were often coded in dark colors that artfully contrasted her paler skin.

She looked almost identical to Louise Brooks- one of the silent movie actresses Dr. Clover showed us during our art of bodily expressions unit. It was quite uncanny.

Marge shrugged. "I know. I don't need you to tell me."

I caught a small smile on her red stained lips. She then uttered, "But thank you... it's nice to hear it from someone who isn't myself or Jose."

"Don't you have girl friends too?" I wondered. "Ones that you go shopping with?"

"Oui. But many of them are too snobby or too stupid. It's fun to have someone new to hang out with." Her chin crinkled with her pout as her eyebrows pinched. "Now that we talk about it, Ross infuriated their men. I doubt they will have this sort of freedom for a while."

Marge's phone buzzed again, she hastily texted something into it as we checked out. I knew better than to ask about it, even though my curiosity begged me to. I needed to give her privacy. We journeyed out of the store and headed off towards another.

We picked up some hygienic products. I got body wash, shampoo, and conditioner; as well as a new toothbrush and toothpaste, shaving cream, new deodorant, a razor, and exfoliator.

After I gathered those products, Marge lead me over to the clothing store outlets. This is where I faltered. I peered at the endless stores, each exhibiting various styles and trendy clothes.

"I'm not sure where to go," I admitted sheepishly to Marge.

My eyes found a store with some modest clothes. They were plain and quite ordinary... but its simplicity was alluring because it didn't demand any sort of thought or attention.

"Maybe... that one?" I suggested, pointing hesitantly towards the store.

Marge casted me a look that I read like a book: are you fucking serious? 

We did not go into that one.

Instead, Marge directed me towards a different store. She noted to me that I would blend into the mafia better wearing a style that was more suitable to them. The store All Saints definitely reflected that.

Marge indicated this was a good place to start, because it wasn't too flashy. At the very least, she expressed to me that we could find clothing that fit my frame here. I trusted that and let her help me pull items off the racks to try on.

I pulled the curtains aside and stepped out of the fitting room. My breath caught in my chest as I turned to Marge, awaiting her judgement. She glanced up from her phone, flipping it shut.

"If you died in that outfit, I would do a closed casket funeral," Marge rejected bluntly.

"Noted. I'll put it back."

Shopping with her was brutal, but very beneficial. She gave me her opinions straight and also offered valuable critiques. She narrowed down a lot of my options, commenting things such as "this makes your shoulders look too big" or "the neckline of this compliments you better".

Slowly, I started to find outfits I felt comfortable and happy in. We purchased a little bit of clothes that stuck out to me and Marge, before heading off towards another one of Marge's favorite stores Disturbia. 

Marge went wild in here.

... and it was here that I found out just how womanly I was.

I didn't even know my frame could be accentuated so vividly. The dresses made me feel pretty. The corsets squeezed my waist in and bumped up my chest. The low rise jeans made my hips look fuller and feminine.

Marge was verbal about these things.

"La vache!" she gasped. "T’est ben chix! Sexy!"

I never felt that way about myself before. Therefore, peering at myself in the full length mirror, I almost felt like an imposter. The women in the glass moved as I moved, breathed as I breathed. I kept having to remind myself that this was me.

It was surreal... but not unwelcome.

Additionally, the clothes were never what I expected myself to fashion. The black hues and gothic patterns were more Mello's style than anything. Even the baggy jeans and ripped tops aligned better with Matt's taste.

Yet... I somehow found a way to merge that fashion with my own personality. I gravitated more towards lace and dainty designs. That filled up majority of my basket.

Marge selected a final dress for me to try on. She declared it would be the best one for The Three Clubs.

I slipped it on and stepped out.

Marge smirked, peering up at me through her long lashes. She pointed me up and down, before remarking, "They are going to go wild."

"Who?"

"Who else? Mello and Matt. Your men."

I felt my cheeks singe and my nose went sideways, trying to mask my embarrassment.

"They aren't my men," I replied.

Marge laughed, "Not yet. But they both wish to be."

I stirred. "I'm sorry... but I think you are mistaken. We are all just friends."

Marge crossed her thin arms across her chest, her gaze austere and tense.

"They put their necks on Ross's guillotine for you. Not once, but twice. 'Just friends' would never do that. Never."

I casted my eyes downwards towards the floor, pondering on her words.

We left the mall and headed back to her car, the shopping trip successfully completed.

Marge popped open her trunk and I placed my bags in there.

"C’est dans la poche!" she happily commended, slipping her sunglasses back on.

Her phone rang again. Marge's lips puckered in annoyance, her hands darting to her purse.

She flipped it open and answered the call.

"What?... Oui... we are done... there's a few hundred still... I can do that... it was fine... no... no... I'm hanging up now."

She hung up the phone and popped open her car doors. We climbed into our seats and secured ourselves in. The doors shut and the car turned on.

"Who was on the phone?" I wondered, wriggling my seat belt.

Marge leaned back against the seat, lulling her head over to me.

"I, uhm, noticed someone was messaging you a lot," I disclosed.

"Take a guess who that was," she played, testing my observation.

"Jose?"

She smiled a little but only because his name was mentioned. She shook her head in denial.

"No... more annoying than him," she hinted.

That could be anybody. Marge found lots of people annoying.

"Greg?"

"A good guess, but you broke his phone, tu te souviens ?"

I winced. How could I forget that?

I was at a loss, my lips stammering as I tried to envision another. I think she might have felt pity for me, because her answer came quick.

"Mello," she revealed.

My heart skipped a beat.

"Oh! Is he alright?"

She scoffed. "Am I alright is the better question. It was like I was babysitting you. 'Did you arrive?', 'don't let her out of your sight', 'keep her safe Marge', bleh, bleh, bleh. And then Matt calls me and asks me almost the same things. It must be suffocating for you!"

I released the belt.

"Well... it hasn't really been normal," I confessed candidly.

Suffocating wasn't the right word. However, the sudden changes have been quite jarring. I haven't really had time to keep up with everything, and not processing things made the present feel overbearing at times.

Marge drummed her fingers against the wheel.

"Okay..." she mumbled, pulling out her phone. "I made up my mind."

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Pissing them off," she answered, flipping the device open.

She typed into it and then hit a button. A woosh sound came out of its small speaker, before she shut the phone.

"You're spending the night with me," she told me, shifting the gear of her car. "You need a damn break."

"Wine?"

She eyed me skeptically as she lifted a bottle of Mourvèdre wine into the air.

"Forget the question," she ordered. "You are too stiff. I'll make you a glass."

A glass quickly turned into two... though technically this was illegal in America, I rationalized that in my home country people could drink aged five and up. I did vocalize some concerns, but Marge was quick to quip that I would be twenty- one in a year... and I was a witness to other illegal activities, so enjoying some wine paled in comparison.

I took another sip of the beverage, beginning to enjoy its taste. The initial sting dulled now. My tongue was either numb or my tastebuds had grown adept to its bitterness. I couldn't tell.

I wasn't used to drinking alcohol, only having done so on two occasions. I had my first taste of wine two years ago at a philanthropy organization event. It was around Christmas and the wine was offered as a toast to the late Mr. Wammy. I felt obliged to partake, but I never finished the glass. I remember handing it off to Fifi, who drank the rest for me. The second time I consumed alcohol was last year. Heidi was gifted Pappy Van Winkle whiskey for her birthday and handed me a shot to try with her.

"I don't want to drink alone," I recall her complaining. "Take a shot with me. It's sensational, I promise you'll like it."

I practically vomited it back up.

The bottle itself was worth an arm and a leg, but it was so strong I felt suffocated. I apologized profusely, feeling as though I just spat out five hundred pounds.

I was more than pleased that the wine I drank with Marge settled easier for me. My body built up so much tension the past few days that I felt thankful for the relaxed state the alcohol brought it. Also, I don't think Marge would have reacted too kindly to me spitting up her wine.

The French woman ran her nail down the edge of my thumb, collecting some rose colored polish that leaked over.

"Putain," she grumbled in frustration.

Her eyes squinted harder as she brought the small brush back to my nail.

The silk nightgown she wore crinkled slightly as she leaned in. The fabric of it practically matched the nail polish she was now applying. I speculated pink might be her favorite color.

That said, I was alarmed that I didn't see more of that color in her apartment.

Th apartment had semblances of Marge's personality- its chic, classy design undeniably had her flare. Yet, the walls were grey, as was the soft sheepskin throw I reclined on. That blanket draped over a black velvet couch. The carpet underneath our bare feet was a furry, swirled assortment of colorless hues too.

Marge did make up for the dull pallets with her wonderful accessories. The marble table she currently painted my nails on carried a golden sculpture of a cupped hand, which held a remote to her tele, an old caramel wrapper, and some abandoned earrings. A lit wicked candle stood across it, which crackled deliciously. It emitted the warm scent of cashmere and vanilla.

Marge's walls hung up portraits of her inner character; for instance, she had an oil painting of her birthplace Marseilles by her door and a still life portrait of aged cheese and wine plastered in her kitchen. These artworks were made visible by sculptured lamps that danced up the corners of her apartment.

Just by witnessing the interior of her place, I could tell she had lived here a long time. Much longer than Matt and Mello, at least. Both of their apartments were definitely more scarce. Those two wouldn't have dried pampas grass dangling by their couches like Marge did.

I set my glass down on the table, my head feeling a little foggy. Marge finished her last stroke of polish and blew on my nails slightly.

"There," she whispered, fanning over my hand for good measure. "All done. Don't touch anything until it dries."

"Okay."

I observed my hands, outstretching my fingers so they wouldn't touch each other. They looked pretty and it made me happy. I smiled, loving how it looked. I felt all pampered. We had just done everything showers, so my skin felt smooth and radiant. We deep conditioned our hairs and finished face masks. Marge even had whitening strips laid out for after dinner, so we could brighten our teeth.

"Thank you, Marge... your nail polish is stunning," I complimented.

"You can relax your fingers."

"Oh! Right..."

I unflexed them, letting them fall more naturally. Her eyes crinkled with her smirk as she screwed the cap to the nail polish back on.

"You act like you never get your nails done," she remarked.

"I don't."

Her movements slowed, her twisting almost coming to a stop. Her eyes flickered upwards, scrutinizing me with a look that was almost pitiful.

"Really?"

I nodded.

Her eyebrow twitched but she didn't say anything else. Marge set the nail polish down and sighed, reclining back on her palms.

"So you never drove in cars or went to the mall or got your nails done..." she drawled. "I'd ask what else you didn't do, but I think it's easier to ask what did you do?"

"I studied," I lamely replied. "I read a lot... and did homework..."

"Why?" she wondered. "Strict parents?"

"Something like that..."

I wouldn't consider L and Mr. Wammy to be parents, but they definitely were strict.

Marge grabbed her own glass of wine and took a swing. After swallowing, she encouraged me to continue by elongating the topic.

"Tell me about your parents, Y/N."

My cheeks burned. It could have been from the wine, or perhaps the sudden personal topic. The woman in front of me tilted her head, staring like an eager child. Her sharp collarbone popped, the shadows of the candle dancing along her dainty bones.

She was beautiful and alluring. It made me feel more comfortable, for some reason...

"My mother was the kindest soul I've ever met," I began. "I don't think I'll ever meet anyone as sweet as she was."

"Was," Marge caught, her head straightening back up. "Your mother has passed."

I nodded, feeling an old, yet familiar, lump of grief clog my throat. I haven't cried about her in years. Maybe it was because I haven't talked out loud about her since I was a child. Yet, the alcohol could also be effecting me emotionally.

I was on my second glass, but already I felt like I was sitting on a cloud. Everything around me moved slower. I was relaxed... too relaxed. If I thought more about it, I'm sure I would panic. I wasn't used to this sensation.

Marge twirled her finger around the rim of her wine glass listlessly.

"Well, if it makes any difference I think you are a nice soul," she commented. "Or at least the version of you that you're showing me. If this is truly you, then I bet your mother is proud."

I giggled in my drunken state. "Oh, Marge. I am afraid I am too stupid to pretend to be someone else."

Her eyebrow shot up with her condescending leer as she retorted, "You tried to be someone else two days ago."

My giggling intensified. "And look how that turned out. I did a pretty poor job, don't you think?"

A smile spread on Marge's face. The next thing I knew, she was laughing with me. Her laugh was something to behold. It was infectious, spreading visible, bright joy through her demeanor. She laughed as if she had been ambushed by humor, her hand immediately darting up to her mouth as a final, weak attempt to stop it from happening. The laugh blurted out of her in trembles, tightening her abdomen and crinkling her nose. It was intercepted by the hiccups of a few adorable snorts.

I loved it. It made me laugh even harder.

When it died down, she wiped a tear from her face.

"What about your father?" she asked. "Was he kind too?"

I sniffed, and shrugged. "I don't know. My mother never liked to talk about him. It just made her sad."

Marge hummed and took a sip of her wine. She popped her lips and set the glass down.

"My mother never liked to talk about mine, either. I could see why... he was an asshole."

I perked up, disbelieving I heard her right. Was she letting me in?!

Marge's lips thinned and she half shrugged, before admitting, "He was, of course... but I was always- what you would say- a daddy's girl. I was closer to him. That's why I am the way I am. Strong headed."

"Are your parents still...?"

Alive?

Marge filled in the gap and shook her head.

"My mother had terminal cancer when my dad and I left France," Marge informed me with the implication she had since passed away from the illness. "And my father died six years ago. He was shot in his sleep."

My blood ran cold, nearly sobering me up.

"Marge... I'm so sorry..."

"Don't be. He had it coming. He crossed the wrong people."

Marge rolled her shoulder back, until it cracked. She let out a sigh of relief.

"Your father... was he in a gang too?" I tentatively asked, not really expecting an answer.

To my surprise, I received one.

"He lead one," Marge responded. "I was a princess- the daughter of a drug lord. But everyone has a bloodlust for power, especially in the underground. It was his own members that shot him. In the end, he put his trust in the wrong people."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm not. He was an idiot."

Her statement was brunt, but her eyes contrasted it. I could see melancholy swirling within them, despite her attempt to keep her face hard.

"How did you end up here?" I asked, distracting her from reliving such a painful memory.

"Jose," she answered. Just like that, the sadness evaporated like he was some sort of elixir. "My father knew Ross when Ross was climbing the ranks... before he became the beast he is now. Jose was one of his right-hand men... he was my age and charming and desperate. I enjoyed his chase... and his relentless nature. My father also had a good feeling about him. So, when he died, I ran to him. Right into his arms. Ross let me stay under his mafia's wing, since he respected my father and Jose."

I felt my heart flutter. I was such a hopeless romantic it was almost delusional. I loved the idea of love. Learning Marge's story intensified that admiration. I had a higher respect for Jose now too, after hearing how he became her safety net.

"Now you spill," Marge directed, taking yet another sip of her wine. "What happened to your mother?"

I followed her lead, lubricating my mouth with some more alcohol. It made slipping out words easier.

"My mother was also shot," I related. "She was shot three times... one bullet for each gang member she incarcerated."

Marge shook her head. "L’enfer, c’est les autres."

The candle continued to crinkle. A siren went off outside, as a first responder sped down the streets of Los Angeles.

"Was your mother a police officer?" Marge inquired.

"No, uhm... she just happened to be at the right place at the right time. She sadly suffered for it."

"Don't you mean 'wrong place at the wrong time'?"

"I don't think so. It was fate that brought her to the alley. I think she was destined to save Mel-"

My mouth shut immediately. It was too late. Marge already caught the syllables that my drunken lips failed to conceal.

"Ah, so you knew Mello as a child," she probed.

I froze, afraid to speak.

Marge's eyes narrowed and she continued, "Why are you hesitant to speak about them? It's like you forget I know them too."

My hands itched to grasp something, built up anxiousness growing within me. The wet nail polish mocked me, disabling me from clenching onto some sort of anchor. I gulped, fluttering my gaze towards her carpet.

"We have a complicated past..." I alluded to her.

"So do we," she suddenly declared.

I glanced up to see her stern stare. She arched forward, folding her arms across the marble table.

"Their past with me is convoluted."

"And you think their past with me isn't?" Marge challenged.

"I don't mean it like that..." I said, failing to even convince myself.

She wasn't there to see The Wammy's House. She doesn't know about their training to be the next L. She doesn't know the mental toll we underwent. If she did, then she wouldn't be asking about my past. Therefore, Mello and Matt never shared this information with her.

Marge licked her bottom lip and examined, "Were you there for their first sip of alcohol?"

I blinked and responded, "No."

"Were you there for their first ambush?"

"N-"

"Were you there when they got into their first car crash? Were you there when Matt choked on a drumstick? Or when they got high? Or during their first bar fight? Were you there to stop someone from blowing Mello's brains out when he was distracted? Were you the one to knock the gun out of that man's unshaking hands? Were you there to offer them comfort after they watched Ross beat a man to death in front of everyone? Or to be a shoulder to cry on when shit got too fucked up?"

Marge's eyes sternly met mine, her jaw clenching. "Because I was. I know more than anyone that trust needs to be earned. I know how important it is to protect the ones you care about from dishonest people. Mello and Matt put their faith and trust in you... and they also trust me. You should too."

My voice came out as a whisper, "... why do you want to know?"

"The same reason you want to know about the years you missed," Marge analyzed. "To fill in the gaps."

I cracked then. I told an outsider enough to make her understand our relationships. Enough to make her comprehend why we are what we are. I revealed how my mother saved Mello's life... and how she enrolled me in the same orphanage as him. I told her that the orphanage had an ambitious goal to train its children to be aberrant geniuses, often at the cost of complete mental disintegration. I let her know about us becoming the next L- repeating the way Roger explained it to Matsuda and Aizawa, as to not reveal anything too secretive. I disclosed to her that Mello, Matt, and I became close through my tutoring. I filled her in on little things up until L's death, where Mello and Matt left.

I left out stories and facts... like Near's existence, Matt running away, the successor program, Mello's breakdown, and more. Those were more personal and I thought it best to keep those in my heart.

In return, she filled me in on years that I missed. Marge began the day that they arrived after killing The Viper. She informed me of little stories- their first experiences of gang life, big emotional moments, small victories, heartbreaks...

I'm sure she also left out moments, but I respected her for that.

We bonded over the trade, securing the strings that attached us to each other. It made it easier to be around her, knowing that she cared as much for them as I.

"You had a very sheltered life," Marge pointed out. "After hearing your story, I can see why they are so scared for you. You lack street smarts and independence."

I recoiled, but I couldn't deny it.

Marge's lip pursed before she acknowledged, "It must be difficult to be here."

"It's been strange... I feel like I've been living in the past all my life. Even after they left, I've been stuck in the orphanage, like I was trapped in a never ending loop. As silly as it sounds, I feel like I've just been propelled into the future. It's an out of body sensation. I see Mello and Matt, but... sometimes I have a hard time recognizing them."

"You see the world once as a child. Then, you simply rely on that memory to be in the world now. If you keep lingering on past memories, you will never experience the present. My advice to you is this: do not keep those boys in the past. Experience them as they are now, and everyone will be happier."

Marge's smile deepened.

"Speaking of which, you have much to experience, non ?" she illuded, casting me a look I could not quite pinpoint.

It was sultry and smug, with a tinge of humor. A playful glint flashed in her eyes while she wiggled her eyebrows.

"What do you mean?" I wondered.

She reached over and grabbed one of our shopping bags. Marge opened up its white paper top and dug in, pulling out a black laced thong. The fabric draped sinfully in the air.

"I mean, a certain someone will get to see these on you," she gleamed.

My cheeks incinerated and I immediately downed the rest of my wine.

"Come on," she giggled, slinging them at me.

They soared across the table and landed softly on my lap. I picked them up, my cheeks growing hotter as I imagined actually putting them on.

Marge had bought me lacy bras and different undergarments that were much more... erotic than I was used to.

"I- I don't know," I stuttered. "I doubt anyone will want to see this on me."

"I don't," she boldly stated. "You're hot. Release the innocence, accept the thrill."

My mouth went agape.

"But... but I thought you told me that I shouldn't. In the kitchen, when we were talking about Angelo, you said-"

"Two different scenarios," she denied, waving her hand. "Very different. I'm talking about having consensual fun with someone you find alluring. You can't tell me that you haven't had thoughts..."

I knew what she was gearing towards. I felt my heart hammer against my chest, feeling almost guilty. The thing was... I had. I couldn't hide it, even if I wanted to. I experienced the magnetizing draw to kiss his lips... my eyes lingered on the muscles that flexed underneath their shirts... my skin tingled whenever they touched me, desiring more...

My stomach felt warm and I set the lace down.

It was wrong. It was just hormones.

"I shouldn't," I denied.

"Eh," Marge shrugged. "I think you should. They like you. Why not? C'est la vie."

"I wouldn't even know how," I admitted embarrassed. "I don't know, Marge..."

"You need an older sister to teach you the ways," she declared proudly. "These talks are one of the best parts of being a woman."

Marge picked up her bottle and poured the rest of the wine in our glasses. We spoke for a few moments longer, before there was a knock on her door.

I gasped and shrank into myself, keeping quiet. I was used to reacting this way whenever someone knocked on Matt's door. He always directed me to be still and quiet, while he grabbed his weapon and crept to the door.

Marge reacted differently. She got up and trailed to the door unalarmed, stepping up on her tip toes to peer in the peak hole.

She opened the door quickly, only to be grabbed and lifted into the air.

She squealed.

And then laughed as she was spun around.

"Jose! Put me down, you scoundrel!"

"Mi alma," he said wistfully. "I miss you."

Her small, bare feet patted against the ground as he released her. I blushed as his hand trailed down to cup her behind.

He growled, "Oh, mi amor, your dress... me estas volviendo loco."

"Stop it," she giggled, swatting his greedy hand from pulling up her short nightgown. "Y/N's here."

"Ohh!" he gasped in shock. "That's right!"

The man walked into her apartment and made eye contact with me.

He waved and chuckled, "Hello."

I gave him a small wave too and a smile to accompany it. He turned his head back to Marge, his face tinted in red.

"Damn," he lowly muttered, so soft I could barely hear. "This is too bad. I would ravish you."

Her hand playfully hit his chest and she rolled her eyes.

"What are you doing here?"

"I just missed you," he admitted. "Can't I swing by to say I miss you?"

She crossed her arms. He laughed.

"I also was sent to check on you both," he admitted. "And bring you dinner."

"The boys?" Marge investigated.

"How'd you guess?" he replied sarcastically.

"What are they up to?"

"They are playing with the notebook. Matt has it hooked up to some machine of his... they are running X-Rays and tests on it... I don't know, we aren't allowed to interrupt them. Who knows?"

"And dinner?" Marge wondered, glimpsing at his bare hands. "Don't tell me it's you."

Jose laughed, "No. It's outside, hold on..."

He retreated into the hallway for a moment, before coming back in with two bags of food.

Marge grinned as he handed it to her.

"I got you those spring rolls you liked. I don't know what Y/N likes, so I got her two entrees. She can pick one or the other."

Jose stepped deeper into the room and looked back at me.

"How are you doing?" he wondered.

"Good!" I replied with a smile. "I'm having a wonderful time with Marge."

"That's to be expected. But... I mean, how are you after... you know?"

I paled. He was referring to the freezer.

"Oh... I'm okay..."

"Don't bring it up," Marge scolded. "Come on, time and place."

"Sorry," Jose said to the both of us. "I heard about it and wanted to make sure..."

He gave his attention back to me and sent out another wave. "I won't interrupt much longer. See you tomorrow at the bonfire?"

Bonfire?

I nodded and waved, assuming I would probably be there.

The two of them stepped into the hall and gave each other their goodbyes. I heard some kissing noises, so I knew their goodbye was a little more sultry.

Marge emerged after a minute or so and shut the door, locking it behind her. She then put the bags in her kitchen, calling me over. We enjoyed Thai/ Vietnamese take- out food.

"Jose mentioned there was going to be a bonfire?" I wondered, dipping my spoon into my rice.

"Oui," Marge affirmed, grabbing another spring roll. "It's our traditional way of celebrating here. We burn all of our trash to get rid of our DNA and incriminating evidence. Once in a while, we host a night of celebration by the fire, dancing and drinking and... well, that's really it."

She dipped her spring roll into some sauce, before ending, "You'll have fun... especially since you'll have new clothes to show off."

Her eyes peered up, a knowing smirk etching across her face.

"But you'll really have a good time at The Three Clubs. Now that is what I'm excited for."

Chapter Text

October 17, 2009

“Is dinner ready yet?!” Roy griped. “Damn, I’m starvin'.”

Marge dumped some charcoal into the grill. A breeze ruffled her short hair, which almost matched the color of the element she worked with.

“Ben mange te main et garde l’autre por domain!” she growled, tossing the bag aside.

“What she say?” Roy asked, cocking his head.

Skyer shrugged, “Probably something bitchy. Aye, Marge!? What's grilling anyways?”

“Des caillous,” she shot back, poking at the charcoal roughly.

Skyer nodded slowly. Roy leaned into him.

"The fuck is that?" he mumbled lowly.

“I think that means chicken?”

Jose snorted at the men. They glanced up at him, expressions of confusion etched visibly on their faces. Jose, however, appeared humored. Whatever she said, it definitely wasn't chicken.

He handed the two of them foil trays.

"¡Che!" he exclaimed. "If you want dinner faster, help. Get the hot dogs and burgers. They should be packaged in the fridge."

Skyer groaned, snatching the tray harshly. "Burgers? Is this fuckin' McDonalds? Didn't we have ribs and filet?"

Jose glared at him, flicking his sweaty head. "In the broken freezer, you capullo."

My body shuttered. I took a deep breath, trying to forget about the frigid containment. Instead, I let my eyes travel across the setting we were at, grounding myself back to the present.

The dirt around us lifted and swirled across the ground with another warm breeze. It scurried off towards the abandoned containers, which surrounded the area. They stacked around our set-up, forging us from anyone's distant peaking eyes.

The shadow of the abandoned factory extended east, as the sun slowly set behind it. Another shadow merged into the geometrical shapes of the building, as Eddie plodded towards the large dumpster. He hoisted a cardboard box full of papers on his broad shoulder. Once he reached the dumpster, he tossed it in to be burnt with the rest later.

Eddie let out a sigh, rubbing his palm across his forehead. He glanced over towards me, probably feeling my gaze prickling him.

The man jutted his chin cordially at me, his lips pulling tight. I smiled, returning the silent greeting. I've gathered through the days that he wasn't much of a talker.

"Aye! Y/N!"

I staggered in alarm at the sudden call. I took Eddie out of my sight and pivoted towards my caller.

Skyer scratched the scruff on his face and waited until my eyes landed fully on him before he continued speaking.

"Wanna do me a solid?" he questioned.

"Oh, uhm... sure."

His burly hand lifted up the tray Jose handed off to him and he waved it towards me.

"Could you go to the kitchen and fetch the food?"

My body went rigid.

"Are you kidding me?!" Roy scolded, popping into frame.

Skyer's eyebrows shot up and he nearly dropped his tray.

"What?" he responded.

"You're a fucking moron," Roy chastised, shaking his head. "You are so fucking dumb, for real."

Roy's eyes found mine, his face scrunching into a lamentable mien.

"I'm sorry 'bout that. You stay right here, you don't need to go to no kitchen."

He then flickered his eyes back to Skyer as quick as daggers.

"You lazy ass," he mumbled scornfully. "Asking her to go to the kitchen after what she went through, the fuck's wrong with you?"

"I forgot!" Skyer defended. "Honest mistake!"

"You're always in the damn pantry, how the hell you gonna tell me you 'forgot'?"

The two of them continued to bicker as they journeyed back into the factory.

I sauntered over to Marge, not quite knowing what else to do. Eddie and Jose had already carried out transportable tables and fold chairs, so that task was completed. Roy and Skyer were getting the meat. Greg should be on his way back from his errand; Marge wanted him to retrieve some extra side dishes. That left me to... well, twiddle my thumbs.

I approached the French woman as Roy and Skyer's sparring faded away.

I caught Roy's final statement before it got swallowed up, “Quit the gags, man. Don’t make me beat your ass.”

Marge cranked up the panel of the grill. Its creaking sound clashed with my impending footsteps, so I cleared my throat to not alarm her of my presence.

Marge blew air out of her cheeks and swirled around.

"Ah, Y/N. You bored?"

"A little."

"I bet. Your entertainment just left," she countered, gesturing towards where Skyer and Roy once stood. She rolled her eyes and snorted, "Those men are the soap opera of my life."

"Is there anything I can help you with?" I wondered.

Marge casted me a soft smile, before she reached up and moved a hair out of my face.

"Non, you just stand there and keep looking pretty." Surprise dropped her jaw and swiped her hand back. "Oooo... your hair is soft! That hair mask is incroyable."

Instinctively, I reached up and touched my hair. It did feel softer, like brushing your finger tips down the edge of a feather. Sensation wise, it wasn't too much of a dramatic difference. However, when I peered into Marge's mirror this morning, I definitely noticed it looked more vibrant and healthy... probably because it was also the first time I didn't have to use my fingers to settle its frays down. Marge and I bought hair products at the mall and she owned some oils that she allowed me to use both last night and this morning.

My hand fell, dropping a lock of my hair near my shoulder. The soft scent of marshmallow hit me, radiating off of my hair. It was gentle, but sweet enough to take a notice.

"Thank you, Marge."

"Uh-huh," she said with pride. "I did a good job, didn't I?"

Her brown eyes glanced back at my outfit, and her gratified expression boosted. I followed her gaze, though I already knew what I looked like.

The low rise denim jeans I wore hugged my hips and thighs. They cupped tightly against my curves until the fabric got to my knees. They flared out there, cascading down to the white platform sneakers Marge wanted me to get. A black lace cami top rose above my jeans. It covered majority of my midriff, stopping just below my belly button. I probably would have stopped there, but Marge encouraged more.

She wrapped me in silver jewelry like I was some sort of monarch, even lacing a silver studded belt through the loops of my denim jeans. My bare arms were covered too with a white fur jacket, finishing the look.

To say I wasn't nervous stepping outside this evening would be a lie. It was a big change. Yet, comparing myself to her style and majority of the other mafia members, I guess I blended in better this way.

Marge, herself, was wearing something similar. She had on a red crop top, which exposed her strong core. Black faux leather pants squeezed her legs, which were pumped up by red heels. Huge loop earrings pulled on her ear lobes, matching a Gucci necklace.

Marge's eyes saw past me, observing something over my shoulder. Her pupils dilated and she stepped past me.

"Gregory, over here!" she called out, waving her arm in the air.

The large golden cuff on it jangled with each shake. I turned around and spotted Gregory moving past the containers. He carried a backpack on his shoulders, while two plastic grocery bags dangled on his folded elbows

Sweat dripped down his forehead, and the grey shirt he wore had some staining on it, like he got rained on. The man trotted over to us, his chest heaving up and down.

"You went to Ralph's?" Marge inspected. "That's six miles away. You didn't take a car?!"

Greg shook his head, as he slowed his motion.

"No," he panted. "I got my run in today... twelve miles is light work."

Twelve miles... is his light work?!

Marge furrowed her eyebrows, grabbing the bags he extended out to her. Greg then slipped the backpack off his shoulders and unzipped it, before pulling out even more groceries from inside it.

"Were you able to find everything?" Marge wondered.

"Yeah... I think so. I got... buns... hamburger and hotdog... and mustard... and chips and some fruit and lettuce."

Marge peered into the two bags she had, before asking: "Pickles?"

Greg practically punched the air. "Shit! I knew I forgot something! I'll go back!"

"No, no, don't. The only one who eats pickles is Skyer. He'll live."

Marge took the other bags from Greg and ordered him to take a shower.

"Why?" Greg argued. "I'm going to be coming right back outside, anyways."

"Because you're sweaty and stinky," she explained. "Isn't he Y/N?"

My spine stiffened at the redirection.

"Oh, uhm... I don't know..."

Greg saw me for the first time. I watched something change in his face. His demeanor altered from irritation to wonder. His blue eyes scanned my outfit, before a smile stretched far across his thin face. To those who didn’t know Greg, it would come off as insincere. But I have learned that he happily wore his emotions, even if they looked almost exaggerated. I appreciated that about him.

"Wow!" he hailed. "You look hip!"

His smile transferred to me, lowering my insecurity.

"Thank you, Greg."

He nodded... and continued staring at me. I shifted my weight, beginning to feel slightly awkward about the deviation of social normalcy. I plucked on some of the fur mindlessly in hopes that someone would say something.

Marge swooped in.

"She'll look even better tomorrow," she declared with a wink.

"Yeah?" Greg wondered, his eyes leaving me.

"Oui. And you know what would look even better?"

"What?"

"A fresh, clean Gregory with clothes that don't smell like b.o.! Go take a shower and change."

Eventually, Roy and Skyer came back with the meat. Greg had run off to refresh himself before dinner. I helped Marge set out the arrayment of extra food, as well as the paper plates and cutlery Greg bought. Jose hooked up his speaker, while Eddie set up some lanterns and string lights.

"Anyone know the E.T.A. on when the others are getting here?!" Jose called out over his rock music.

He set his iPod down onto the speaker. I saw words flash on the screen.

Nightrain...

They moved slowly, sliding out of view. New words took its stead.

... Guns N' Roses

"Soon!" Roy called out. "I saw Jack's fugly ass walkin' up with Kollet."

Sure enough, a few moments later Jack and Kollet emerged. Jack was the first one through. He was met with some greetings, but the men seemed more interested in the containers of beer he carried than him.

"I'll take that from ya," Skyer coyly announced, retrieving three cases of beer.

Jack dully allowed his, his face remaining mundane and unchanged. He really didn't react much to anything... in fact, he often appeared as though he were lifeless. Yet, tonight especially, he seemed more despondent. His eyes were vacant and his face sunken. He looked paler too, causing the natural contour of his face to come off grey.

The sleeves of his jacket yanked upwards as Skyer grabbed the last case of beer. A breath hiccupped out of me, seeing his exposed arm. There were rashes and scars over it. Jack sniffed, rubbing his red nose, before he pulled the sleeve back down.

I felt my stomach twist, a mixture of alert and sadness brewing within me. I was reminded that this mafia sold drugs... it shouldn't surprise me that some of them might be addicts. In fact, I knew it to be true that they were...

Because the other one, Kollet, followed him in. He brought some more alcohol with him, which Roy took. They fist bumped and shared some words with each other that I couldn't hear. Kollet's eyes scanned the area, until they found mine.

His lip was still inflamed and busted. A thin, white plaster was taped above it, presumably with the purpose of soaking up any blood that would trickle from him opening his mouth too wide. The welt on Kollet's face had fortunately deflated, but the discoloration was evidently there.

He marched over to me and I felt my heart accelerate.

Was he going to yell at me? Was he going to blame me for Matt's reaction?

Kollet stopped a few feet in front of me. My fear vanquished immediately. His eyes were pleading and sorrowful. His large lip curved downwards into a pout, while his eyebrows arched inward.

"Y/N... I just wanted to say that... uh.... damn... I'm sorry," he began. "I, uhm... didn't have a handle on what I was taking... I only wanted to relax, but them pills were stronger than I thought. I trusted Ralphie and Pete too, you know? I didn't think they would do somethin' like that. Swear to God, I didn't."

My shoulders fell. He came to apologize?

"Kollet, it's okay," I reassured, not expecting this. "Really. I'm just glad we are both alright. I was worried about you."

"You were?" he questioned, his eyebrows falling.

"You weren't waking up... I'm very happy you came out okay." My undereye twitched, peering at the plaster on his face. "Well... sort of okay."

Kollet scoffed and nodded, understanding my implication.

"Damn, well... okay. This was easier than I thought it would be... thank you," he concluded.

He walked away, both of us reconciling the issue from two nights ago in our own way. No punches necessary, obviously.

Some more men trailed in, around six of them. These were ones that I had not met, but I have seen before. They have been in nearly all of Ross's meetings- I've come to gather that these are the hitmen. They didn't seem too interested in congregating outside of their group. The muscular adults did not give off very welcoming energies anyways to make the idea of conversing with them really desirable.

I recognized two of their faces and shuttered. The sickening sound of a loud snap echoed in my memory... it was followed by a sharp cry of pain... I turned my face away from them, hating the anger that began to boil up in me.

They were the ones that hurt Matt.

Speaking of which...

"Where's Mello and Matt?" I wondered aloud.

Marge overheard me.

"They must be close," she answered. "If Jack and Kollet are here, that means Ross is done with them."

"What-"

My words halted as Marge scurried father off, grabbing a new spatula. She was busy, so I probably shouldn't keep asking her so many questions. I shifted on my feet, peering off at the men she mentioned. Jack paced back and forth, his hand fidgeting with a string that dangled from his shirt.

I took a deep breath and journeyed over to him.

Upon seeing me, his movements slowed. His eyes narrowed with a baffled look, then a fragment of agitation.

"What do you want?" he called out, stopping my approach.

His voice wasn't angry, but it was sternly direct. It was like he wanted to distance himself from me as much as possible, not even wanting to be within five feet of me.

I could understand that... I seemed to be a magnet for trouble.

"I was just wondering if you knew where Mello and M-"

"On their way," he cut off quickly.

Right...

Jack pivoted his body, his eyes holding onto my gaze before he fully turned around. It was like he mistrusted me to not lunge towards him or something. I remained still, as if I were near a cowering animal, so I wouldn't frighten him further. Satisfied with my lack of movement, Jack felt confident enough to walk away.

"Look at him!" Jose cheered, blowing a dramatic whistle.

Eddie laughed at his side, the two men ushering our attention to the factory. Greg, freshly cleaned up, strutted out. The men complimented him in a teasing, yet loving way. Jose rustled the top of his curly hair, while Eddie clasped his shoulder. The eighteen year old snorted and wrestled them off.

"Y/N!" Marge projected from the grill. "Grab a plate for me, would you?"

I hustled back to the table and got her a paper plate. I then set it next to her. She set her tongs down on it, before grabbing the spatula to flip the first round of burgers. They sizzled and steamed, while she rubbed a little bit of butter onto the patty.

She used butter a lot I noticed.

The music changed to a band I didn't recognize. It still was rock. I didn't mind. I loved all music, so I found enjoyment in this genre. It had a solid, full sound and I enjoyed how freely the instrumentalists played.

"Jose! Should I toast the buns?" Marge yelled, as her fingers attempted to open the hamburger bun bag.

I grabbed it, opening it for her. She gave me a grateful glance, as she flipped the patty's again, pushing some towards the center.

The Spaniard leisured over, a bottle of beer in his hand. His hungry eyes fell on the grill.

"Up to you," he answered, licking his lip.

"Why'd I even ask?" she huffed, obviously displeased by his cop out. "I'll just do half the bag."

"There you go," he encouraged.

Marge peered over at him, her eyes widening curiously.

"What's that?" she wondered, plucking the bottle out of his hand.

Jose let her and answered, "It's Corona."

She let out a hum, before taking a massive gulp from it.

"Merci," she said, tipping it to him like a toast.

A grin spread across his face, realizing she just stole it from him.

"De rein," he tried to say, his French diluted with an accent.

Marge crinkled her nose and declared, "Oh, I love it when you speak French. You're so cute."

Jose wrapped an arm around her tiny shoulders and pulled her in, pressing a kiss on top of her head.

"You're doing great," he complimented. "It smells good..."

"When do I not?" she boasted.

He chuckled, rubbing her arm affectionately.

"Alright, chef. Get back to work. I have to go get myself another beer."

Jose released her.

"Wait," Marge quickly ordered. "Ask Y/N if she wants one."

Jose turned around and faced me. He lifted his eyebrows in question, not having to vocalize it since I overheard her request.

Instead, he opted to list them: "We have Corona, Busch, IPAs...?"

"I'm not sure... I've never drank beer before..." I confessed.

"So, all of the above!" Jose rallied. "Taste them all!"

Marge tsked her tongue and shook her head.

"No, you will not be doing that," she rejected. "Y/N can't hold her alcohol..."

Marge laid out some buns on the grill as I let that statement sink in. So she could tell? I guess she would be able too... I was slurring my speech after just two glasses of wine last night.

"¿Verdad?" he stated, tilting his head. "I can see it... you look fragile. Just like Marge."

"Fragile?" Marge snorted. "I can kick your ass."

"I said you look fragile, but I know you pack a mean punch," Jose corrected, brushing her cheek.

"Oui."

Jose stepped aside, while she started to take the burgers off of the grill. She placed them into a foil tray that was waiting on the table next to her.

"Give her one of Greg's drinks," Marge directed. "The Seagram's."

"The kid juice?" Jose giggled.

"The kid juice," she affirmed.

I didn't take offense to that. My palate wasn't that mature yet to be able to handle the really strong drinks. Jose came back with three bottles.

"Greg has these flavors left..." he began. "Calypso Colada, Jamaican Me Happy, and Passionfruit Mango."

"Are you sure it's okay if I take one?" I wondered. "I don't want to steal from Greg..."

I couldn't imagine him being angry over me taking one, but still I worried that I might upset him by taking a bottle he might have wanted.

"Positive," Marge answered without hesitation. "Who do you think buys them for him?"

Jose wiggled his eyebrows, indicating he was the plug.

"There's more in an unopened box too," he informed me. "So, if none of these are appealing, I can go check the other one."

"Oh! No need, thank you."

I felt better knowing Greg had more selections. I smiled and grabbed the flavor that looked most appealing to me. Jose left to return the others to the cooler.

I grabbed the cap and twisted. I hissed, feeling the sharp ridges imprint against my skin. Marge set her stolen beer down.

"Give," she motioned, holding out her hand.

I handed it to her. She bit down on the cap and popped it off with her teeth, blowing the cap to the side. It blew through the air like a bullet and clattered against the dirt.

"All done."

I took the bottle back in complete awe.

I sipped on it while Marge began grilling the hot dogs. It tasted slightly bitter, but incredibly sweet. It was like juice to me... I really enjoyed it, honesty.

The hot dogs cooked faster than the burgers. Within minutes, she was calling everyone over to begin the meal.

The men lined up. I put on some gloves and helped her get them all prepared, opening the condiments and handing off plates.

That's when I caught a flash of comforting hues in my peripheral.

Standing together, they reflected like the burning rays of the sunset. A mix of fiery orange and gold. They were greeted by Roy and Skyer, who were waiting near the end of the line. Matt scrunched up the sleeves of his striped shirt and grinned, showing off that adorable gap. Mello stuffed his hands into the pockets of his grey jacket. He wasn't smiling like Matt, but his posture wasn't unwelcoming.

I felt a nudge on my shoulder.

Marge gave me a knowing stare before uttering, "Go to them. They've been dying to see you."

She didn't have to tell me twice. I took off my gloves and set them by my half full Seagram bottle. I then walked over their way.

Roy's eyes found me nearing them. I saw him peer at me from over their shoulder. He grinned and gave me a wink.

Matt and Mello turned around.

I was excited to see them, practically skipping in my step. Who knew a little over twenty-four hours could feel like an eternity?

A smile finally spread on Mello's face.

My heart skipped at the sight. I adored seeing it.

"Who is that?!" Matt cheekily hollered.

He pulled up his goggles dramatically, resting them atop of his head. He whistled, his eyes still crinkled from the smile on his face.

I flushed and halted my steps, peering down at my outfit again.

"It's a change..." I acknowledged hesitantly.

"Change is good," Matt stated.

His golden eyes scanned me slowly, the grin only getting stronger.

"Wow," he breathed again.

"Thank you for letting me get new clothes," I told him, not forgetting that it was his money that bought the attire I was wearing.

"No thank you needed. Want to go next week too?"

I giggled, shaking my head.

"Marge bought me enough to last a long time," I revealed.

Matt crossed his arms and teased, "We'll see about that, clumsy."

Mello shifted his weight, drawing my attention. His eyes widened at my sudden eye contact. His lips fell open, following a sharp inhale. It looked like he was about to say something.

But Jose interrupted him.

"Come on, amigos!" he yelled out. "The food is getting cold!"

"Ah, shit," Skyer grumbled, dashing over.

We followed him over and made our plates.

“Stop hogging the damn ketchup!”

"Chill out, Skyer."

The atmosphere at the table was lively and boisterous. The mafia members spoke over each other, each involved in their own conversations. The sun was starting to set. A few of the lights Eddie had strung up earlier lit up to account for the diminishing light.

I sat across from Matt and Mello at the edge of the table. Greg sat by my side, Roy sprawled next to him, and then Skyer. Across from the men sat Eddie, Jose, and Marge. The others filtered down the table.

Greg reached over and grabbed a bag of chips, leaning over Roy's plate in the process. Roy's eyes followed him while he chewed on his burger. He was aggravated, but opted not to react.

Greg poured the chips onto his plate. They towered upwards, which alerted Jose.

"Woah, Greg. Does your stomach think your throat's been slit?"

"I could eat a whole horse right now," Greg declared, chowing down on his chips.

He scooted his body down to grab his Seagram and chugged it. He shifted again to call out to Marge.

"Mama Marge! Do we have anymore burgers?!"

Marge grabbed something from the table. After a few seconds, she lifted up a plate with a new burger and extended it down the table.

"Eat up," she responded.

"Sick!" Greg exclaimed happily, reaching over and grabbing the plate.

Roy's eye twitched. “Greg… my guy…. if you scoot any closer to me during this dinner I’m calling the cops.”

Matt took a sip from his beer, watching the display. Mello swirled his fork around the fruit salad Marge cut up- it contained the produce Greg brought back earlier. His second hot dog remained half- eaten next to it. He seemed lost in thought...

I wondered if maybe it was from his meeting earlier with Ross. Speaking of which, the boss was no where to be found. I wondered if that could possibly be why the energy was so high tonight.

There was a lull in the conversation at the end of the table, making the midsection easier to listen to.

“Well, needless to say, I peed,” I heard Skyer say. "And then-"

There were groans from the men around him.

"That's disgusting," Eddie chastised.

Skyer scratched his scruff and defended, "Oh, come on, stop lookin' at me like that! All of ya! I was in the shower so it wasn't weird... speaking of which..."

A frown sketched onto his face. His large body pivoted on the chair and he faced Kollet.

“Kollet, if I hear you singing in the shower again, I’m going to jump in there and drown you,” he threatened.

Jose snorted, “Before or after you piss.”

Laughter erupted from the table.

Skyer's face reddened. “Go fuck yourself.”

“He’s gonna have to if you don’t hurry into his shower fast enough!" Roy shouted.

This caused even more of a frenzy, much to Skyer's dismay.

“I would rather caress my ass with a chainsaw,” the Chicagoan groaned.

“Kinky,” Marge commented.

“You guys are absolutely disgusting. Honest to God, you’re the most foul pieces of shit I’ve ever had the misfortunate of meeting," Skyer ranted.

He crumpled his napkin before reaching down to his food. His hand hesitated over the hot dog and realization dawned on him. The men snickered childishly, their eyes leering between the man and the wiener.

Skyer retracted his hand and scooted the plate away from him, before grumbling, “Fuck off, all of you."

"What flavor are you drinking?" Greg asked me suddenly, ripping me away from that conversation.

He twirled my bottle around and read the label.

"Ooo... do you like this one?"

"I do."

"Then I should drink it next!" Greg exclaimed, pounding his hands on the table in vigor.

"I think you should slow down," Matt reckoned, taking another sip of his beer.

"I think not," Greg replied smugly, crossing his arms.

"It's hard to take you seriously when you're smiling like an idiot, Greg," Mello commented, his eyes glistening with amusement.

Greg released his smile and put on his best frown.

"I think not," he tried again, lowering his voice down to make it seem more stern. For extra measure, he jabbed his finger.

"What's with the disobedience?" Matt drawled, his head tilting in curiosity.

"I feel like my confidence has increased lately," he declared proudly. "I have a less difficult time getting bossed around."

"Greg!" Skyer hollered from across the table. "Pass the mustard. Now!"

Greg jumped. "Sure thing. Here you go!"

With the speed of lightning, he grabbed the container and passed it down.

Mello and Matt eyed each other. Their lips thinned, hiding back the laughter they wanted to let out. I gave them a warning glance, shaking my head. That only riled them up more. Matt slipped, pretending unconvincingly to cough into his elbow.

Mello's whole body shook and then he caved, also "coughing" into his sleeve.

Greg redirected his attention back to us, taking notice of their fit.

"Gesundheit," he said, trying to be helpful.

Matt practically screamed, pivoting around so he didn't have to face us. His holler broke Mello, who shoved him. They laughed hysterically, Matt slapping his knee, while Mello was shaking him.

"What's so funny?" Greg wondered, watching the two buffoon around.

"Nothing," I lied. "They are just being ridiculous."

There was a clatter down the table.

"Ugh, no more hot dogs?!" a man angrily noticed. "How many did everyone get?!"

"Skyer had three!" someone pointed out.

"What the hell?!" he remarked angrily, upset his name was dropped. "What, you want everyone to get the same amount of everything?! Weigh our rations like its the fucking Great Depression?"

"Well, when it comes to the meat I think it's fair to put a limit!" the furious man debated.

"Okay, you commie."

"You callin' me a communist?!"

"The shoe fits!"

They both stood up, eying each other angrily.

"Boys! Put your rulers away and sit the hell down!" Marge growled.

“Actually, Communism isn't really about just the quantity of food," Greg butted in. "The thing about Marxism is-!”

Groans erupted from the table.

"Shut up, Greg!"

A shower of napkins flew through the air, hitting the boy.

Matt laughed.

We cleaned up, disregarding the plates into the dumpster. Eddie was getting the fuel ready. Once it got a little darker, he would light it all aflame.

Jose was aiding Marge in collecting the dishes that were not disposable by the grill. They seemed to be having fun. She snapped the tongs teasingly at him while he jumped out of the way. They both laughed. I could hear her little snorts from where I stood by the dumpster.

Mello and Matt stood next to me. Roy, Skyer, and Greg huddled close by too. Greg was staring upwards towards the bleak sky. It was notably empty, the lights from L.A. swallowing up the natural illumination from the stars.

"You know what I miss?" Greg began.

"The fucking point," Skyer ridiculed.

"Opportunities of self improvement," Matt shot.

"Bitches," Roy added.

Greg huffed and rolled his eyes.

Not wanting him to lose his thought, I cupped a hand on his shoulder.

"What do you miss?" I encouraged.

"Lightning bugs," he answered, loosening up. "I miss those little bugs. We had them a lot in Boston. It would be a good night for them."

"We had those too in England," I related. "They were so cute!"

"What was it?" Mello investigated, jumping into the conversation.

He had dozed off and wanted to partake. I smiled at him, opening up space for him to join.

"Fireflies," I restated, using the name we called them.

Mello's eyes softened in recollection. "Oh yeah..."

"I remember those!" Matt joined. "I used to squeeze them as a kid, so my finger tips would glow in the dark."

Greg's jaw dropped. “Did you sell your soul to Satan?! Why would you do that?!”

“If Satan asked for Matt’s soul then there must be a shortage,” Mello teased. “He wouldn’t be that desperate.”

Matt snickered.

“No, you mean he wouldn’t be that stupid,” Matt corrected. “He knows I’d take over.”

“Probably because you'd make Satan off himself,” Skyer interjected. “You yap too goddamn much. An eternity of you? Even Hell doesn’t have that kind of torture.”

Matt’s cheeky grin deepened. “If I killed the devil, would that make me an angel?”

No one had an answer to that.

Eddie lit the fuel, creating a massive fire.

The flames licked upwards. They towered like blossoming red flowers, pollinating embers into the bleak night sky. It spotted the otherwise bleak atmosphere with the illusions of stars. The constellation was simply the residue of our material existence, but somehow I found a beauty in that.

We had moved the chairs from dinner around the fire, so that we could sit and watch it.

Matt already made a cheeky comment about it.

"What better way to celebrate the mafia then sitting around a dumpster fire," he declared.

But I thought it was pretty nice, considering it allowed everyone a time to not only breathe but bond with each other.

My eyes were glued to the fire. I couldn't pull my gaze away from its warm tones. It looked like it had its own heartbeat... it felt alive. The more I stared at it, the more personified it became. It was like I could almost see it trying to claw its way out of the dumpster and join us.

“You look pretty,” Mello said abruptly.

I turned my head, unsure I heard what I heard.

He was staring at me. His expression was resolute, but his eyes wavered. I could see a slight worry in them, as he analyzed my reaction.

"Could you say that again?" I asked, still in disbelief.

"I, uhm... said you look pretty," he declared again, glancing back towards the fire.

I stared at his side profile. Unfairly symmetrical, unfairly beautiful... especially now that the colors of the fire highlighted the sculpted curves of his face. Even the element wanted to softly caress him. He was pretty... he was every synonym of the word. It was invented for him. For him to say that about me seemed almost inconceivable.

Mello cleared his throat, his eyebrows pinching together. His fingers drummed against the beer bottle in his hands.

"Should I... not have said that?" he asked.

I realized the longevity of my silence and was quick to speak.

"N-No! It's just... I didn't expect that from you. Thank you, Mello... this really means a lot to me."

Mello glanced my way, his eyes softening.

"Of course..." he uttered.

His eyes were pinned to me, and I could already read them like a book. They implored mine, desiring to uncover facets of my answer. More specifically, I knew the "I didn't expect that from you" struck his core interest.

"I'm not sure you've ever given me a physical compliment before," I revealed to him.

Mello's eyes widened, the gears in his head spinning.

"Oh... that's strange," he mumbled. "As a kid, I used to practice giving you compliments in the mirror all the time... I guess I never got to say them out loud."

"You did?!"

Mello nodded, his lip tilting up. "Embarrassing, huh?"

"Hardly."

I envisioned Mello as I knew him years ago. My tutor standing in his room... facing the mirror attached to his wardrobe. I never once would have ever believed he spent time practicing compliments for me. Trying to build the courage to say them.

It was so sweet, my heart wanted to burst.

"I don't know about that," Mello denied. "It comes so easily to everyone else... you, Linda, Matt... Near."

He took another sip of his drink, then stared down the bottle.

"I don't know. I've never really been too good about that kind of stuff. I always ended up wording things wrong."

That much wasn't too far off. I do recall him being blunt or having his words come out in a way that didn't quite parallel what he wanted to say. But even then, his eyes never lied. His intentions were often so pure and noble.

"It's best to say something and have a chance to explain, then keep it hidden for fear of it being misunderstood," I comforted with a smile.

Mello's eyes peered deeply into mine.

"I suppose so," he acknowledged. "Then I'll say it again... to make up for the time I didn't when we were younger. You are pretty, riff raff."

I was so thankful that there was a fire, because the way my face was burning I could already tell I was bright red.

The music grew louder, a new song playing on the speakers. Mello and I turned around to see Matt turning up the knob. I squinted, looking at the title.

Are You Gonna Be My Girl... Jet

Some of the drunken men cheered, stomping their feet on the ground to the percussion.

Matt caught onto the music, a lit cigarette dangling from his mouth.

"Oh, four, five, six, c'mon and get your kicks! Now you don't need the money when you look like that do you honey?!" he sang along, gathering some whoops from the men.

"Sing it!" Marge giggled, lifting her own bottle.

Greg stood up and danced with him. Jose followed his lead and pulled Marge to her feet. They galloped around, laughing. Some of the mafia members clapped their hands to the beat. Kollet and Roy joined too.

I watched in awe, not expecting such a scene.

Matt danced his way over to Mello and I. He's never danced like this before... at least, from what I've seen. I laughed as he cranked his shoulders up and down.

"Come on, Mello-Poo," he beckoned, extending his arms.

"Hard no," Mello stated sternly.

Matt cuffed his ear, "Hold on... did you hear that? I think Y/N wants you to dance."

Mello arched his eyebrow, glancing over my way. My grin deepened and I nodded my head.

"Don't encourage him," Mello groaned.

In response, I clapped my hands to the beat.

Matt snatched the beer bottle out of his hands causing Mello to yelp.

"Hey! Wha-?!"

"Take this instead," Matt directed, placing his cigarette into Mello's mouth.

Mello frowned and pulled it out.

"Why did you-?!"

"So you can't bash me with glass when I do this!"

Matt wrapped his arm around Mello's and hoisted him up. He paraded him towards the fire, causing everyone to cheer even louder.

"No way! Mello?!" Greg slurred, pulling his hair.

Eventually, Mello loosened up and gave in. The alcohol he had consumed granted him the intoxicating feeling of being careless and free. He laughed with Matt and stomped around the fire with the others.

I soaked it in. The picture of them laughing together and enjoying being alive. They hollered and cheered till practically dusk.

And I clapped, supporting them along.

Chapter Text

October 18, 2009

"I done put in a call, time to ring the alarm 'cause you ain't never seen a fire like the one I'ma cause!"

Marge turned the volume up on her iPod, the speakers vibrating the beats of her playlist.

She continued curling my lashes, singing to herself.

The music was hyping her up. Occasionally, she would shake her hips and give a little dance break between each makeup section. I was also encouraged to move during those times and "loosen up". I had fun doing it, bopping my head to the music she selected.

"I added this one just for you," she chuckled. "Mon femme britannique."

"London Bridge" by Fergie played and I laughed.

How come every time you come around, my London- London Bridge wanna go down? Like London, London, London, wanna go down, like London, London, London, be going down like.

She finished the last step of my makeup, the lip matte, when the song concluded.

"This sounds like Matt, doesn't it?" Marge remarked.

We listened to the song's finishing dialogue together. I thought it was cute that her ears picked up on this, but it wasn't quite his accent. He had a northern Yorkshire accent, which differentiated from Mello, Near, and I's. Mello and Near's were ironically the most similar, both more posh and southern. During Matt's years at The Wammy's House, his accent got less defined, his sound house adapting to the professors'. But there were still little idiosyncrasies I picked up on when he uttered certain vowels and consonants. I was quite fond of it.

"I hear how it's similar," I told her, not wanting to hurt her feelings. "He grew up in the northern section of England."

"See? I got a good ear, eh?" she commented, setting down the lipstick. "Okay. Go get dressed."

We switched places.

Marge had already done her makeup, but she needed the heating iron that was warming up. She grabbed it, the wire tightening against the outlet. She moved it up to her sleek black hair, which matched the black spots on her cheetah dress.

I stood up from the chair and walked over to the closet where my dress was hung up. My high heels were awaiting for me underneath them.

We kept this outfit in her room, since we would be getting ready together at her apartment. I spent the night with her again after the bonfire. It made getting ready for The Three Clubs easier this way.

I took the dress off the hanger. It was light in my hands. After stripping myself, I stepped into the dress, pulling it up to surround my body. Its shimmering black fabric hugged against my figure, wrapping naturally around me.

The straps of it fell limply on my shoulders. I struggled with them, craning my neck to find the bonds.

“Let me help you,” Marge offered. “Before you sweat off your new face…”

She appeared next to me, her soft hands grabbing hold of the dress. I dropped my own, allowing her to tighten it.

“You look like someone’s muse,” Marge complimented highly, while she adjusted the straps. “This dress was made for you.”

“If I do, it's only because of you Marge. You pulled it off the rack, so your intuition was correct.”

A soft huff of air tapped the back of my neck as she scoffed. “As if it’s ever wrong, Y/N.”

I giggled.

“Regardez.”

Her hands cupped my shoulders, and she turned me to her mirror.

I saw Marge first. Her eyes fluttered up at my reflection, exhilaration brightening them. Her red lips gave a triumphant smirk, obviously pleased at her final result.

The other woman met my eyes. I barely recognized her… barely knew myself.

Marge’s work was stunning.

My skin pulsed with life, appearing unflawed underneath the creams. I glowed, radiating femininity and beauty. My long eyelashes were thick and accentuated my eyes. The shadow she chose made their color more prominent than they have ever been before.

My lips were glittery and full; the shading of them made me feel like I was deceiving. They were almost too perfect to be mine…

It was the same with the contour of my face. How did she make my features look this lovely?

“I feel like I’m lying,” I vocalized. “I don’t really look this beautiful.”

Marge shook her head, affectionately petting back my hair. It had been deep conditioned, the lustrous appearance of even that foreign to me too.

“Tu es belle. We only drew out what you already have.”

My eyes trailed to my body and the sense that I was an imposter heightened. It was skillfully designed, near deceptive. The top cradled my chest, bumping it up to reveal shapely cleavage. It tightened around my waist and flared out at my hips, giving my body a luscious curve.

I looked elegant and classy and graceful.

I doubt I would like that moving though... not with my two left feet.

"You're going to get attention, Y/N," Marge warned. "It's shit that I'm not allowed to give you a gun."

Her reflection moved. I watched her through the mirror, as she walked over to her closet. She reached up towards a rack and pulled out a box, flipping it open. Marge's eyes twinkled. She retrieved a bedazzled pistol from her box and placed it into her clutch purse.

"You're not?" I wondered.

"Mello told me 'no'," she grumbled, rolling her eyes.

I rubbed my arm and reasoned, "I guess it makes sense... I don't know how to shoot a gun."

Marge shook her head in clear disappointment. "I don't get that. I learned how to shoot a gun before I could even count to one-hundred."

That's right... Marge's father was a renowned drug lord. A leader of a mafia in probably both France and the United States. It made sense that her childhood had more brutish trials.

Marge displayed her box to me and wondered, "Do you want any weapon, though? I'll let you borrow."

I paled at her question.

My eyes landed in the box. It glittered like a jewelry case. There were mace bottles bedazzled with pink rhinestones, knives with glitter handles, and even brass knuckles in the shape of cat paws.

"I don't think so..." I meekly replied.

I couldn't envision myself with a weapon.

Marge shrugged and shut her box, putting it back into the closet.

"Your choice. You will have constant surveillance anyways."

A lump formed in my throat as I was harshly reminded that this was no ordinary outing. My first time clubbing wasn't for fun... rather, it was for some sort of mafia scrimmage. I got lucky with Ralphie and Pete. Yet, if I had to confront more men who were just like them, who knows what will happen?

"Marge... I'm going to look so out of place. I'm worried they might see right through me. I'm practically a moving target."

"Then don't let them hit you," she quickly replied, adding lip stick to her purse's inventory. "Remember the three B's: bark, bite, and break balls."

"I'm too soft."

Admitting that was heartbreaking. I was ashamed at myself for not being able to adapt to the mafia's lifestyle quicker. If I did, then no one would have to be burdened by me. But I couldn't break away from my nature. I held my mother's wisdom and teachings in a high regard; much of what this gang did clashed with it. I couldn't bring myself to change.

Marge's face relaxed. She slowly moved back towards me, placing a firm grip on my arms like she could make them stronger.

“Just because you are soft, do not think you are not a force to be reckoned with," she motivated. "Honey, though sweet and golden, will trap even the most poisonous insects and cause them to sink and die a horrible, suffocating death.”

She flashed a sweet smile and patted my shoulder.

My mouth stammered, “... Thank you… I think…”

Marge's phone vibrated on the vanity. She darted over to it and answered the call.

"Hello?... Oui?!... we will be right there..."

She hung up the phone, a beautiful smile beaming on her face.

"Jose is here," she informed me, stuffing her phone into her purse.

I knew I was supposed to follow her. I assume that means Jose must be giving us a ride. I was just following along, going wherever they wanted me.

Marge picked up my shoes and handed them to me. I sat at the edge of her bed and tucked my feet into their soles. While buckling the intricate straps at the back of my heels, I prayed that I wouldn't break my ankles in them.

I got up from the bed, wabbling slightly. I shifted on my toes, accustoming myself to the shoes. They weren't as bad as I psyched them up to be. Marge, thankfully, limited my options to shorter heels. The arch was dramatic enough to make a noticeable difference in my legs, but not tall enough to flare up my already horrendous clumsiness.

Marge grabbed her speaker and her iPod. My eyebrow shot up as she trudged to the door.

"Are you taking that with?" I asked.

"Of course," she replied, hovering her hand over the light switch.

"Why?"

"You can't make an entrance without music."

An entrance?

"I thought we were meeting Jose in the car."

She scoffed and I realized it wasn't that generic. He was waiting for her out in the lobby and she wanted to make her appearance memorable.

I compromised, "I'll go after you, if you want... or even before so I don't interrupt."

She lifted up her eyebrow at my chary reply, before directing, "You're coming with me."

"I don't know if I should..."

“Mon Loulou, don’t disrespect yourself. Always give a grand entrance.”

Out of civility for the mafia members, the cameras in the lobby were turned off whenever they requested. I learned from Marge that the apartments they rented were not randomly selected. Ross had inside men working the front desk at certain complexes and they got paid out or threatened to keep the mafia's identities discreet and safe. It was weirdly comforting and scary that they had this power.

Yet, I guess it wasn't so different from how L used to operate...

Tonight was one of those nights where the security cameras were altered. I peered up at the black device strung in the ceiling. Its blank lens lifelessly leered back at me. Light was vacant from it, indicating it captured no footage. Did she tell the desk to turn it off for Jose? That didn't make sense... did they do that when he surprised Marge a few nights ago?

Marge leaned forward at the doorway to the main staircase, careful not to let herself peak through.

“Are you ready, mon cœur?!” Marge called out.

Her heels clicked against the ground in excitement. I was not as anticipating about this as she was. I felt nervous, my insides bubbling at the thought of our scenario.

This type of extroverted behavior was far from my comfort zone. I already felt embarrassed at the whole ordeal of stepping out in front of watchful eyes.

“I’m ready, mi amor!” Jose responded, his voice echoing up the stairs.

Marge grinned, fixing her posture upright.

“This better not take forever,” I suddenly heard Skyer complain.

My heart pounded. It wasn't just Jose down there. Others were there too. My mind jumbled, filtering through all the possible people that could be waiting. And Skyer was already impatient. This wasn’t a good idea.

“¡Calla!” Jose scolded. “Let her show off.”

“I ain’t much of a window shopper,” Roy grunted. “I don’t vibe with this whole ‘you can look, but you can’t touch’. You just rubbin’ it in that you got a babe.”

“I know,” Jose smugly replied. “Admire her and remember that she’s mine.”

Greg's voice sprung up, "But Y/N's there too. She's single, right?"

I nearly stumbled, my name now thrown into this conversation.

"She's off limits."

Mello's voice was quick and austere.

"Off fucking limits, Greg."

And there was Matt.

They both were here waiting for us at the bottom of the stairs.

My throat dried as I imagined going down. Everyone's responses to this action might be humiliating… it could be awkward and discomposing.

I couldn't voice these thoughts. Marge had already pressed the button on her device. The song she selected trumpeted out from the speakers.

She grabbed my wrist and pulled me around the corner.

We walked down as the vocals began, turning around the swiveling steps. We saw their legs first, due to the curve of the ceiling. I made out black boots and fancy shoes, clumped together in a group.

In turn, they only saw our legs. Both of our legs were exposed, glistening like a doll's from the Vaseline Marge put on us. They were also accentuated thanks to the heels.

Slowly, our bodies came into view.

As did their reactions.

Jose practically fell to his knees. A proud smile was plastered on his face. His charming eyes were glued to Marge. The only time they glittered like this is when they landed on her. By the expression on his face, you would believe he was seeing the creation of the universe.

Eddie was here too, towering over the crew. He stood next to Jose, as he normally did. When Marge came into focus, I watched him take a step back, preempting that she would be taking his place soon. He was the most reserved in his reaction, lowering his eyes to not gawk.

That was done by everyone else.

Skyer, who had vocalized his protests just a few moments ago, had his mouth agape. He rubbed a hand over his thinning hair like he needed to give his hand something to do. Roy whistled next to him, his unbashful eyes scanning us up and down.

"Ooo, they bad," he muttered.

A flash of color averted my gaze to the human next to him.

Greg's body slumped almost dramatically, while a grin spread across his face. The neon green leathered vest he wore shimmered with candy colored streaks. It matched both his pink running shoes and eccentric style. His bouncy hair was held back with his signature headband, the curls pooling over the band.

"WOW!" he exclaimed.

I gazed past him on the eyes that were zoned in on me.

Their sight was treasure- specs of breathtaking emerald and gold.

My heart skipped at the realization I currently possessed something so valuable: the simplicity of their undivided attention.

I almost tripped over myself.

My word.

I've never seen them so attractive.

Matt wore grey slim fit cargo pants. Half of his button down shirt was tucked into the waist band. The top was made from a sheer fabric, which left little to the imagination. His forearms were exposed, the sleeves rolled up above his elbows. The buttons on his shirt were also unfasted, exposing his prominent collarbone and the beginning outline of his strong chest.

The lack of color brightened his auburn hair, making it appear more red.

Mello paired beautifully next to him. He fashioned an off shoulder onyx turtleneck. The shirt was hollowed out, revealing his strong, pale shoulders. The fabric held tightly against his lean muscles and stopped short at his hip bone. He wore black fitting pants that were tucked into dark boots. A silver chain accentuated the loops. He also sported silver rings and my cross necklace.

His blonde hair wrapped back in a half up style, one loose strand hanging limply near his chiseled face.

Their reaction, surprisingly, was just like mine.

Speechless.

Matt's goofy grin was vacant. Instead, his mouth remained aloof as if unknowing what to do. The unlit cigarette between his lips was barely holding on, dipping with his slacked jaw. His eyes widened, remaining transfixed on me as I journeyed down the stairs.

Mello's eyebrows shot up, his mouth parting in shock. His stare was wild and vivid. It was a rare look that I had seen before- one that he would give only if he couldn't solution a crux. When his brain was "short-circuiting", as Matt would describe. My appearance surprised him... or something about it made him have some sort of enigma.

Mello's face tinted with a blush. His cold, stoic expression he wore around the mafia members cracked. This made me feel a complacent sense of self- positivity, as selfish as it was.

We made it to the bottom of the stairs. I inwardly patted myself on the back for managing to not fall.

Marge set down her speaker on the floor and journeyed over to Jose, who was holding out his arms. She folded into them and he dipped her, before trailing kisses all over her cheeks and nose.

She giggled as he brought her back up. Marge touched the loose, white tie fastened around his grey button up.

"This is a nice tie," she claimed, letting it run down her palm.

"You bought it for me,” he reminded her.

Marge smirked, "Ah. Yes. It's much better than the last one. Don’t wear that again.”

“Couldn’t if I wanted to. You lit it on fire, remember?”

"No, but that sounds like me."

Skyer interrupted them, calling out to her.

"Marge, can I bother you for a second?" Skyer questioned.

Her jaw ticked. "You always bother me, but sure."

Jose released her and she moved over to the man.

He turned around and pointed towards the collar on his shirt.

“Is my collar folded right? I can’t fucking reach the damn thing.”

She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Oh, you’re hopeless.”

Despite her grumbling, she did not hesitate to fix him up. She even buttoned up his front button to make him appear more classy.

Greg was at my side in an instant.

"You are smoking, Y/N!" he complimented. "I didn't know you could look like this."

I smiled, hoping this was a compliment and not some sort of mockery. Yet, Greg's eyes were honest and his energy vibrant. No humor was evident, which made me feel comfortable letting his words sink in.

"Thank you, Greg. I like your outfit."

"Really?! Thanks. I think it looks fly, but Roy said I look gay. He doesn't get it. But you're a woman, so if you think it's cool then I'm definitely going to get some action."

Matt and Mello journeyed over to me. Greg saw them approaching and casted me a sheepish expression, before scurrying off towards Jose and Eddie.

I spoke first.

"You two look really nice," I told them.

"Nice doesn't even begin to describe how you look," Matt immediately returned.

Mello nodded and swallowed. "You... uhm... you look good."

He played with the rings on his finger absentmindedly.

"More than good, I'd say," Matt confidently expressed, adjusting his goggles. "Where have you been hiding all this time?"

I laughed.

"Alright, boys!" Jose called out. His eyes landed on me and Marge briefly before he added, "And señoras. Time to go!"

We all walked outside of Marge's apartment complex towards the arched driveway. I gaped at the cars awaiting us. Two vehicles glistened under the outside lights. One was a yellow Ferrari. The other one was an incredible, sleek black car.

Greg paused at my side, witnessing my dazed expression.

"We are in the Koenigsegg," he told me, pointing to the black car.

The crew split up in two. Jose hopped into the driver's seat of the Ferrari- after opening the passenger door for Marge, of course. Eddie, Roy, and Skyer hopped into the back seat.

That left me, Greg, Matt, and Mello for the Koenigsegg.

Mello walked towards the driver's seat, much to Matt's dismay. The gamer swatted at him, trying to snatch the keys.

"Bugger off," Mello griped.

“Let me drive, mate!”

"You drive like a fucking maniac."

"And you drive like an old lady!" he shot back. "You're too slow."

"I'll let you drive when there's a need for it."

Matt tossed his unlit cigarette onto the asphalt in annoyance.

Greg and I piled into the back seat, while Mello and Matt slid into the front.

Mello turned the car on. The air conditioning hummed while it cooled off the leather seats. His eyes flickered up towards the rear view mirror, eying Jose's vehicle.

The headlights from the Ferrari casted a pale glow on him, striping across his eyes. The green in them morphed like a cool jade. He gripped onto the steering wheel with one hand, the other cupping the shift. He drummed his fingers on it, sending my stomach fluttering.

He was so damn beautiful.

I bet I could stare at his eyes for an eternity.

They flickered over to me in the mirror. We both seemed equally alarmed to catch each other staring at the other and averted our gazes.

A loud roar caught our attention and suddenly Jose's car sped off in front of us. The flash of yellow was like a jaguar, speeding off into the distance. Mello responded immediately, racing after him.

"I can't believe you let him go in front of you," Matt griped.

When it came to academics, he could care less. However, dangle a video game or any sort of racing challenge in front of Matt and he became a whole different beast.

And Mello was not one to let someone tarnish his ego. He sped the car up and surpassed Jose.

As I sat in the backseat, I couldn't help but wonder when the two of them learned to drive.

After being let in on glimpses of their life after exile, I could imagine they probably picked up driving illegally. They definitely had fake licenses. Despite probably never going to any sort of driving school, Mello's driving was perfect. He coasted along the road steadily. Not like I expected anything less from him.

It was actually surreal to be getting driven around by him. We had always been in vehicles together that were chauffeured by others... like trains or Roger's backseat. There was a strange sense of freedom that came from this experience.

"Ugh, silence is a drag…” Matt moaned. “What kinda music is on?"

The auburn haired male flicked on the stereo. He turned the knob, letting us faintly hear the final words of the radio broadcaster's announcement. The beginning of a new song began.

Greg shot up as clicking noises ricocheted back and forth through the sports car's speakers.

"Turn it up!" he hollered enthusiastically, clapping on the back of Matt's head rest.

Matt obliged happily. The song grew louder.

The two of them sang along with it, throwing their heads back in joy.

"YOU SPIN MY HEAD RIGHT ROUND, RIGHT ROUND, WHEN YOU GO DOWN! WHEN YOU GO DOWN, DOWN!"

Mello rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

They continued singing and I giggled, watching them bounce off each other's energies. Greg and Matt were boisterous and humorous, casting comical facial expressions to each other and waving their arms to the beats and words.

"From the top of the pole I watch her go down, she got me throwing my money around!" Matt sang.

Greg continued, "Ain't nothing more beautiful to be found! It's going down, down!"

"You two are so goddamn annoying," Mello complained, despite the smile on his face.

In response, Matt grew louder, practically yelling in his best friend's ear: "Yeah, I'm spending my money!"

Greg cupped his mouth and ad libbed, "HEY!"

"I'm outta control!"

"HEY!"

"Somebody help me," Matt turned around and pointed at me. "She's taking my bank roll! But she's queen of the club!"

"HEY!"

"And she's wearing the crown!"

Greg, a little too excitingly, finished the rest, "Popping these bottles, touching these models! Watching they asses go down, down!"

"Okay," Mello snorted, turning the volume down. "Jesus Christ, you two."

I wish the happy ambience we set in the car ride could have lasted all night. But The Three Clubs had other plans.

"Don't go where we can't follow. Stay close to me or Matt," Mello ordered.

I nodded.

"With Y/N dressed like that, I'm not letting her out of my sight," Matt confirmed.

If the Devil ever owned a portion of this world, it would be The Three Clubs. It radiated sin, seeping its dark allure towards us.

There were three definitive sections of this place, each having a large club lit up next to it. The ground level had a massive bar and dance floor, housed by a beaming white club. Two sets of staircases swirled towards the upper levels. The second floor, which had the black club, was furbished for gamblers. From where I was standing, I could see a dealer's back leaning near the railing. As he shifted to grab cards, the colors of the table sprung to life and gave me the clarity to know they were playing Blackjack. Other tables were up there that I could not make out... there were hazy movements in that darkness indicating so.

A chandelier hung from the top of the ceiling, its purple lights dangling at the last level.

The highest level that laid under the chandelier was the one that captured most of my intrigue. The red club shimmered dangerously, like a red beacon of alarm. Through its light, I could scarcely make out a meeting area- potentially for the night club's owner and VIP guests. Two figures were standing up, leering over the balcony. When the spotlight from the dance floor circulated towards their railing, I felt my guts churn.

One of the men's faces was illuminated first. He had tan skin that appeared rough like leather, his large cleft lip anchored to a flattened nose. It zig zagged as a result of it being broken too many times. His black hair was sleek and gelled back stiffly, twisting up into a long braid that ran down his black suit.

The light motioned to the man next to him. I recognized him. I couldn't forget him. Not after seeing the photo.

Angelo perched up there. A slight smile spread on his face. It wasn't kind... in fact, I think it made him appear even more menacing to me. Because it didn't dance up to his eyes... instead, his scrutiny remained hard and piercing. They widened momentarily when the lights returned back to our group.

They were crazed.

They were on him.

I slowly turned and glanced at Mello.

His emerald eyes were returning Angelo's glare.

He appeared cold and dismissive. It was the same stare I had witnessed when I reunited with him. It was a calculative one. Mello didn't appear friendly or fragile. He didn't look like himself... he looked like a mafia boss. It was the kind of demeanor that would make you feel perturbed. In a situation such as this, where two potent, older men were glaring down at him, he peered up as if he had the higher ground.

It made you wonder if he did...

Matt trailed over to his side, his hands stuffed into his pockets. A grin was plastered on his face, as if he found humor in the whole ordeal. He might have.

Matt peered up at them too, the tall geniuses looking double threatening now that it was two vs. two.

"What bosses are we battling?" Matt asked, as if this were some sort of game.

"Angelo, obviously," Mello muttered, jutting his chin slightly towards the man.

His green eyes flickered over to the other man and his eyebrow twitched. "And that's Salazar."

Matt squinted, his nose crinkling while he evidently stared.

"Ah, yeah... the ugly one, right?" he spectated. "... didn't Ross say there was supposed to be another guy? What's his face?"

"The Scorpians' leader, Montraie... and Jose was right to believe that Hollywood's son might be here tonight... he's probably out for vengeance. He wasn't in L.A. when it happened."

'It' referring to their siege a few days ago. Ross declared they practically wiped out all of these mafia bosses' members. I didn't understand the bureaucracy of these mafias, so I wasn't too sure why Angelo decided to bring Ross's gang into this night club to quell bad blood. It felt like a trap to me...

But if Mello and Matt are here, then they probably know something that I don't. They wouldn't willingly walk into a trap if they weren't already three steps ahead of its trigger.

Matt blew air out of his cheeks, before inquiring, "You think the Feeney Boys are gonna show?"

"They are bold. It's likely."

Matt clicked his tongue.

"Ooo... now that'll be fun."

Mello side- eyed his best friend, his lip twitching upwards.

"They have it out for you," he reminded.

Ardor animated Matt's face. "That's why I'm excited."

I turned around to catch the other mafia's responses. Kollet, Roy, and Skyer grouped together, peering up at the gambling section. Greg stood close to Eddie, Marge, and Jose, already eyeing out the dance floor.

Shivers crept up my spine as I quickly scanned Ross. He was looking up at the men on the third floor with a condescending grin. His zebra striped shirt was left open, revealing his shredded figure. His body remained large and menacing. Two escorts that he paid for were around each of his arms. The women shifted on their feet, pretending to be happy... or maybe they were? Ross was paying them a lot of money to hang out with him tonight.

The six hitmen surrounded him, each having their own conversations.

"Are we all going up to the third floor?" Jack asked.

I didn't even notice him. He stepped out from behind Jose's bulky frame, adjusting his glasses as he peered up at the mafia bosses awaiting them.

Ross didn't even look at him, answering brutally, "Does it take effort to get more fucking dumb every time you open your mouth, Jack?"

The escorts giggled, causing Ross's smile to deepen.

"Why don't you ladies go get a drink?" he acknowledged. "I got business."

He released them, letting them walk over to the bar. I flickered my eyes over to Marge, who was watching them go. I couldn't discern her expression. It looked distasteful, like she pitied and hated them. Almost like the look she gave me the first time we ever laid eyes on each other.

"What's the plan?" Jose voiced. "How do you wanna do this Ross? We follow you."

He seemed to have learned the best way to talk to the mafia boss. His statement gave Ross the executive power to make a choice for the group, which opted a better receptive response.

"We will go to the third floor. Mello, Jose, and Eddie- I want you three with me." He called off six names I did not know, so I knew they were the hitmen. "I want you all to station yourselves on the third floor as look out. Everyone else, scatter and... 'connect'."

I knew "connect" was not actually socializing. There was something underlining about that command. But I was too naive and new to know.

I glanced at Mello, frightened. He said his name. He had to go up there.

Mello glanced down at me and gave me a look. I read it: don't worry. His green eyes flickered over to Matt before returning to mine. He was silently ordering me to stay at his side.

I nodded and his shoulders relaxed.

"Aye," Jose snapped, capturing everyone's attention. “It’s best to pretend like the room is bugged. Knowing some of the guests, it probably will be.”

"So watch your fucking mouths," Marge concluded, arching her eyebrow.

I heard a few verbal sounds of agreement and acknowledgement.

Ross took his crew up the stairs. I felt my heart pull with worry as Mello followed them up. I took a deep breath, trying to remind myself that this was just a meeting. They were here to talk things over.

Mello wouldn't do anything to jeopardize his safety.

I needed to trust that.

The others began to filter off. Roy, Skyer, and Kollet clumped together, navigating towards the gambling floor.

"Have either of you seen my watch?" Roy asked them.

"Nah," Kollet answered.

"Come on, I must 've left it somewhere," he grumbled.

Skyer scoffed, “Like all your other shit? You leave everything all around the hideout like its your own personal, fucking closet.”

"Woulda been nice if you brought it," Kollet added. "We could've pawned it tonight."

Eddie hovered near Marge like he was her new guard dog now that Jose was gone. Meanwhile, Marge stood protectively over Greg. All three neared Matt and I.

"We are heading to the bar," Marge commented.

In translation, Marge was telling us to follow them.

"Are you sure?" I wondered, eyeing around distrustfully.

"Yes. It's better to have alcohol in you," Marge told me. "You'll be less nervous."

I guess that would be a good thing...

"Don't we need ID's?" I investigated.

Matt wheezed next to me while Marge arched her eyebrow.

"No," she replied. "No one gets ID'd here."

I quickly found out why. Every single person in this establishment belonged to one of the gangs. Even the workers were paid out, many being employees from Angelo's chain restaurants. No one got ID'd because criminals ran the illegal establishment.

We were in the wild.

We got to the bar and talked with the bartender. Matt ordered two shots of vodka and a lemon chaser. Greg ordered some sort of bright colored cocktail. I couldn't hear Eddie. The bartender's eyes landed on me and I faltered.

"I... uhm..."

"She'll have an amaretto stone sour," Marge ordered for me. "Give me a mad dog."

Matt tossed the bar tender cash and he went to work, sliding each of us our drinks. The one Marge ordered for me was sweet and smooth. I loved it, so she ordered another one for me.

"Marge... should we be worried?"

She swallowed her shot, her eyes watering from the sting of it.

"Hm?"

I glanced up at the third floor. Her eyes didn't need to follow mine to know what I was asking. Mello and Jose were up there.

"Worrying is normal," she told me. "But we shouldn't panic. Let the men do what the men do."

"Are they going to be alright?"

Marge traced her finger on the button of her clutch purse. I could practically see the bedazzled gun which I knew was nuzzled up inside of the bag.

"Are they going to be alright," she repeated. "I think you forget who you are talking about. Ross isn't number one because he's stupid, you know. My Jose is his right-hand man for equal reason... I don't need to remind you of Mello's capability, do I?"

I shook my head. As I pondered on her words, I began feeling better. If Marge had this much confidence in them, I should to.

"The best thing you can do is blend in," Marge informed me. "Be entertained... but stay vigilant. Comprende ?"

I nodded.

"Holy shit," Greg gasped.

We turned to his direction. He looked lovestruck, the straw shaking near his mouth from where he spit it out. His jaw practically touched the floor as his blue eyes zoned in on a woman swaying on the dance floor.

The neon lights flashed against her, as she twirled. They reflected off her dark skin, her long cornrows embraced her waist with each spin. She smiled, her eyes blissfully closed as she lost herself in the music.

"You found yourself a woman?" Matt teased.

"A goddess," Greg corrected.

"Go talk to her, Gregory," Marge motivated.

"I'm too nervous. She's too pretty, I'll look like an idiot!"

"Ne sois pas ridicule. She'd be lucky to talk to you."

Eddie pushed Greg's cocktail closer to him. "Finish this. You'll be able to talk then."

Greg obliged and gulped down his alcoholic beverage.

"There you go," Matt chuckled, clapping his back. "Go get her!"

Greg nodded, rubbing the back of his hand across his lips. He slid off the stool of the bar and paraded off to the girl. I tried to keep my eyes on him, but the floor got more crowded. I lost him in the sea of bodies.

We drank some more. Soon, the scene around me felt more normal. I didn't feel over-censored anymore, nor as anxious.

Matt tapped my shoulder. I peered up at him, as the bartender slid me my third drink. I sipped on it.

"Wanna dance?" he wondered.

I felt my cheeks flush and I shook my head, nearly choking on the amaretto.

"I can't dance," I said, trying desperately not to cough.

His grin deepened and his eyes glinted with that familiar mischief. I felt my stomach dip.

"I think you can," he challenged.

The music had a catchy beat to it. Matt drummed the table, stood up from his seat, and walked closer to me.

"We gon' boogie oogie oggi, jiggle, wiggle and dance. Like the roof on fire," he sang along, a giggle breaking through his voice.

"Matt..." I drawled, fighting off my own chuckle at the ridiculous lyrics.

He grabbed the back of my chair and spun it, so that I was now fully facing him. My eyes made contact with his black shirt, before I slowly trailed back up to his freckled face.

He looked down at me, his eyes crinkling with entertainment. His auburn bangs waterfalled to the middle of his nose, which was colored half way by the dance floor's beckoning lights.

I sighed, knowing what was coming. Despite the worry, my body naturally smiled. He had a way of doing this to me.

The music got loud, before it paused.

"Matt I-."

He pointed upwards, stopping my protest. It was dramatic, as we waited for the music to commence again.

"Fireball!" he sang with Pitbull.

Matt's hands captured mine and I was pulled to the dancefloor.

I felt my heart jump to my throat as we weaved through some people to find a spot on the floor. It was sticky under my feet and much warmer than the bar. People were all around us, jumping to the music. I gasped as they rocked back and forth around us, some hitting my body. The feeling was equivalent to jumping into a stampede.

Matt stopped, finding us a comfortable spot. I looked around, trying to ground myself. My eyes could barely follow everyone dancing. The lights made my head hurt. They were blinding and flickering. The music was so loud. I tried to make out a familiar face. Where did Greg go? And that girl? And where were we? Where was the way out?!

I-

My chin was gently moved. Matt wrapped his fingers around it, forcing my eyes to return to him.

And then I was glued. I saw my childhood friend's handsome face smile down at me in reassurance. He dropped his hand and then grabbed mine, moving his body with the beat. I tried to loosen up, rocking with him. He seemed happier when I did, which in turn made me confident enough to do it more.

The alcohol I had drank started to catch up to me. I felt even more calm and the world around me slowed comfortably. I kept my eyes on him and rocked my body. Matt spun me around, singing along with the music. Others were too.

It was... fun. I lost myself in the music.

"We're bringing it, we're bringing it, we're bringing it back!" the crowd sang.

"FIREBALL!" I sang out with them.

Matt gave me the largest smile as he cheered with the crowd, "Woo- hoo!"

I laughed as he spun me around again, enjoying how the beats reverberated through our bodies.

"I tell her baby, baby, baby, baby, baby. I'm on fire," Matt sung, stomping around me.

I laughed with him spinning the opposite way. I pulled up my shoulder strap, which was falling again. I'd have to have Marge adjust it when we returned.

"I'm a fireball!" the crowd roared.

We stayed out for more songs. The alcohol surged deeper through our veins, freeing us to do whatever we wanted.

Matt navigated me closer to him, especially since it was getting more crowded on the floor. Our bodies moved against each other, catching heat. I pressed against him going up and down to the rhythm. Matt held me tighter during these moments, reciprocating my movements.

Something strange happened to me. I felt warm on the inside. My body wanted to keep pushing against him. It wasn't satisfied with the distance. But my mind sent sirens out, alerting me of the peculiar shift.

I took some steps back, redirecting myself. I shouldn't be doing that...

The music shifted, merging with the key of the one before it. The loud beats of the new song practically matched my hammering heart. Matt unbinded another button from his black top, peering off at the disk jockey's booth.

The multicolored lights painted his glistening skin, moving across his marginally exposed pecks and collar bone. They trailed down his body, circling his waist and hips, running up his biceps and exposed forearms...

They practically worshipped him. As my eyes were doing now.

The strap to my dress dropped again. I pulled it up slowly, adjusting it back onto my shoulder.

Matt was watching me do it. Something I had never seen before flashed in his hazel eyes. I blinked. When I opened my eye lids again, the look still remained.

Lust.

I felt it too. It made my head spin. My lower stomach burned as he slowly lowered his hands from his top, his long fingers trailing the seam. The lyrics of the song taunted me, vocalizing thoughts that I wished I could keep concealed.

Matt smirked and I knew that my expression betrayed me.

There was no hiding it.

He stepped closer to me, minimizing our distance even more. Our bodies had a mere unit between us. We were so close that the scent of amber found me, battling the club's sinful aroma. He tested the waters with his proximity, but it didn't appear to affect him as it did me. I wasn't sure if this was appropriate... but he looked unswerving.

Matt's gaze remained on me. Not even the distracting strobe lights and bodies whirling around us faltered his obstinate focus. Slowly, his eyes fell to my mouth.

He leaned in towards my ear. The low timbre of his voice sent shivers up my body.

"I want to kiss you."

My stomach twirled. I stilled, completely stunned by his confession.

Matt reclined back up, his eyes looking down into mine with a strong yearning. Despite this dominant craving, he was keeping himself controlled, awaiting my consent.

I stared at his lips, paying special attention to a tiny freckle towards the left of his cupid's bow. The lights shaded it in blue... pink... red...

It became vast... no, I was drawing nearer.

I found myself leaning into him, a dangerous mix of desire and inebriation dulling my modesty in this moment. He tilted his neck down to reach me, his lips grazing across mine. It sent shocks through me, tinging my cheekbones. Just the mere brush of him caused a reaction. My lips have never been kissed before.

"Can you say it?" he begged.

I swallowed, my vision tunneled on his mouth.

"Kiss me, please."

His mouth parted into a grin.

He bent down and pecked my lips.

It happened once... then twice... he hovered over me and I was magnetized. The warmth of him drew me closer. The peck smoldered into a melt. We merged together. It was sloppy at first- I felt my teeth graze his. He chuckled against my lips. But then, Matt quickly forced my virgin lips into a synchronization and the chemistry ignited.

He pulled back. I fought back a whimper, surprised that I felt disappointed it ended so quickly.

However, that wasn't Matt's intention.

"Follow me..." he beckoned.

I obeyed.

I grabbed onto his outstretched hand, letting him lead me through the crowd of people.

The music pumped, sending trembles through the sticky floor. Around us, sweaty bodies grinded against each other. I clenched onto his hand harder, to which he ran a thumb over my knuckles.

He led me to a backroom. There were public bathrooms to the left. On the right were posters and graffiti. He trailed us deeper into the hall, which wrapped to the right. The lights were low in the private area. Yet, it wasn't too secluded. I could still hear the music from where we were.

Matt ran us into a coat rack.

"Pardon us," Matt giggled to the inanimate object.

I laughed with him, as he guided me near the opposing wall. A long shelf was drilled into it, probably intended to be purposed as a storage unit. I couldn't tell since it was empty.

"Matt... are you drunk?" I wondered, after the coat rack stopped shaking.

"Only enough to help me gain confidence or handle rejection," he revealed. "You're not drunk either."

"No, just tipsy... I am very aware."

I felt my stomach begin to turn as he let go of my hand.

But what was I supposed to be doing?

Matt's hand cupped my face, his thumb tracing across my lips. That feeling morphed into flutters, like a trillion butterflies were tickling my insides.

Ah... this.

"Good... I want you to remember this too," he breathed.

I let him pull my lip and watched as he captured me again. I closed my eyes and sank into his grasp.

My senses fogged, surrounding me in a haze that no amount of alcohol could achieve. I was drunk off his kiss.

He nibbled softly on my lip. I opened my mouth, my body releasing an involuntary pant. His tongue lightly danced under my bottom lip, before exploring my own. The taste of vodka and lemons were sharp on my tastebuds. It numbed me, yet I chased after it.

Vodka, lemons, tobacco... him. I wanted him.

I wanted to touch him. To feel his auburn hair between my fingers. My hand reached up on its own accord and ran through it. His thick waves were like silk. The more I played with it, the more vigorous he became. His kisses grew harsher. Desperate.

Before I knew what I was doing, I pulled his hair. Our lips parted. Matt released a grunt, his head leaning back with the strands I clenched. The sight of his jaw flexing and his dazed face sent shivers down my spine.

I released his hair, trailing my hand to the back of his neck. His golden eyes were heavy lidded, dilating as he took the sight of me in. His blush dusted across his freckled cheeks, surging to his ears and towards his exposed collar bone. I moved my eyes down to it, watching in awe as his large chest rose and fell quickly. He struggled to catch his breath.

I was the cause of that.

I gasped, as he lifted me.

There was a blur of motion, before I landed against the shelf. My back was leaned against the cold brick wall, the sensation doing little to cool down the heat of my body. Matt's hips settled in between my thighs, opening my legs. I grabbed hold of his shoulders, while he dove into the cusp of my neck.

My back arched, following the lifts of his warm lips as he kissed and nibbled my skin, dipping down to my shoulder.

The sensations were new. Intense. I could barely hold back the sounds that slipped out of my mouth. Every touch he gave me was like a tourniquet to the overwhelming sultriness in my body.

Matt...

He was there. He was everywhere.

The strap of my dress fell off the shoulder he just attended. Matt's eyes shamelessly watched it fall, then moved towards the exposed cleavage it drooped near. His gaze was carnal.

"Fuck, Y/N," he breathed, looking back at me lewdly.

He pulled me closer, spreading me further apart. I could feel my dress rising up and constricting against my skin.

"C-Careful!" I breathlessly pled. "You might tear the dress."

"I'll buy you a hundred more," he growled hungrily.

He kissed my lips again, cupping the back of my head. I pressed against him.

He groaned with a masculine resonance. It sent vibrations on my lips. It was needy and raw. His hands ran up my waist, before slipping down to trace across my hips and thighs. They felt up towards my ass and gave it a squeeze.

The breath caught in my throat and I hiccupped. My body jolted in response.

Matt unlocked his lips from me, letting out a laugh. His familiar wheeze swirled in my head, among all the other sensations.

"You're so cute," he purred. "You're always so cute."

"Matt..." I choked, not knowing quite what to say.

There was so much on my mind. So many sensations to process. The high of this new horniness also left me feeling light headed. I had never experienced this sort of rush before.

His hand escaped from that part of me, opting instead to rest on my back.

His eyes beseeched mine. I watched them grow softer, melting from that metallic gold to a softer shade similar to the leaves of autumn... and like dulcet drops of dew, they glistened.

He rested his forehead on mine, and sighed.

"Let's stop..."

The music faded in the distance, new beats coming through like echoes. Our breaths were louder. Our hearts created their own rhythms. Our own music.

I nodded.

We moved back to the dancefloor, I pulled on my dress, my cheeks still burning. I could still feel the phantom warmth of his lips on my neck and shoulder.

I can't believe we just did that.

I heart Matt softly laugh next to me as he fixed some of my hair that was out of place.

"You alright?" he asked. "You look like you're lost."

"Yes... oh! To being alright, not lost. Are- are you? Alright, I mean," I stuttered, still trying to ground myself back.

"More than alright," he replied, his smile refusing to fade. "You're a great kisser, you know?"

"Are you mocking me?" I wondered, peering up at him hesitantly.

He shook his head. "No. I'm being serious."

"Oh... thank you. You are too."

"Am I the best you've ever had?"

"You're the only kiss I've had."

Matt froze. His smile faded and his eyes widened.

"I'm... your first kiss?" he repeated.

I gave him an affirmative nod. "I've been in The Wammy's House for years... I've just never had the chance to..."

He practically punched himself the way his demeanor rippled. "Of course, I-! You couldn't snog- you... I should've-"

He couldn't get his sentences out. It was difficult to discern if he was panicking or regretting or worrying...

"Matt?"

I placed a hand on his arm. The tenseness in his bicep relaxed under my palm, before his hand reached up to grasp mine.

"I'm sorry..." he blurted. "It should've been more... romantic."

"It's okay. I didn't not enjoy it," I comforted.

That seemed to make him feel a little better. His hazel eyes flickered down to my lips, then back to me. They now appeared elated.

"... I can't believe I was your first kiss," he laughed. "Who would've thought, Y/N?"

I shifted on my feet. It was now my turn to be worried.

"You don't regret it do you?"

Matt shook his head immediately.

"No. It's an honor."

He escorted me back to the dance floor.

On our way, we found a familiar face. Greg was holding onto the girl he had been eyeing before, swaying with the song.

"Greg!" I called out. I felt relieved and surprisingly overjoyed to see the young adult.

His head turned to my voice. He waved at us, then spoke into the woman's ear. They both travelled over to us.

"Hey!" he cheered.

"What are you doing with this lad?" Matt directed at the girl, raising his voice over the music. "You're too pretty for him."

It was true. She was striking. She grinned at Matt, while wrapping her arm around Greg.

"He's adorable!" she answered. "I love him to bits!"

Greg's chest inflated and his smile grew even larger.

"You hear that?!" he exclaimed. "She loves me!"

Matt wheezed. "For tonight, at least!"

The girl got up on her tip toes and kissed his cheek, then nibbled his ear.

Greg gave a goofy giggle, and spun her in front of him. He kissed her.

My smile slowly fell.

There was a tattoo on her back, which was now exposed to us.

The letter 'A'.

Matt pulled me to him, as a couple brushed past where I had been just a second prior. They were too intoxicated to watch where they were moving. We swayed to the slower music together, next to Greg and his partner.

Slow dancing with him allowed me to catch my breath a little bit. Matt pulled up my shoulder strap which fell once more.

"Do you want me to fix this?" he wondered.

"Can you?" I asked.

He kept one arm around my waist, the other came up to the strap. He skillfully adjusted it with just his fingers.

"How'd you do that?" I wondered in shock.

"Gamer hands," he replied.

"Huh..."

We continued swaying with each other, until a sound broke through the crowd.

"Matt!"

My whole body jolted, like a string of electricity suddenly surged through me. We stopped moving and I spun around.

Mello squeezed his way through, trying to get to us.

I let go of Matt.

"Mello!" I called out.

He met my gaze and moved faster. When he finally got to us, he took a breath. He was panting slightly, his eyes screaming with urgency.

However, that urgency began to terminate as his eyes scrutinized his friend. I turned to peak at him. Matt's shirt was wrinkled and untucked. His hair was rummaged about, a result of my pulling. His lips also looked slightly more colorful and plump than before.

I looked back at Mello. His green eyes quickly moved to me.

It was hard to explain the raw emotion that overcame me as I stared at the man in front of me.

I reached up and touched my lips, wiping slightly to make sure there were no smears.

I identified it then.

Guilt.

It was sobering.

Mello's eyes flickered to my lips and I knew... I knew he figured it out.

His reaction was strange. He didn't change his facial expression, but turned back to Matt like he hadn't seen anything.

Yet, I was watching his eyes. I noticed how his pupils dilated... the immediate flinch... the emerald color fading to the weakened jade. It was like I just took a knife and stabbed him. He was upstairs in a dangerous situation and I was kissing people. I bet it probably seemed like I didn't care...

That's got to be it.

"They need you upstairs," Mello declared.

Matt didn't hesitate to begin his journey. Whatever they needed him for, he wasn't going to question it. He probably already knew.

Mello glanced over at me, his eyes wavering slightly. He turned away and called out for Greg.

"Yes?" Greg answered.

"Watch Y/N," Mello ordered.

"Mello-" I vocalized.

"Stay with Greg."

He swallowed and took a hesitant step back, before leading Matt towards the staircase.

Greg, the girl- who I learned her name was Nakaijah- and I waited at the bar. Greg had another drink, while the girl smoked a joint.

The bartender eyed them suspiciously.

The two either didn't notice or didn't care.

Marge and Eddie had been called upstairs. I wondered what was happening now that required all of their attendance. The third floor appeared empty, since everyone was secluded in the VIP lounges. Every once in a while, I would see one of the mafia's guards trail by. One was ours... but then another would be someone else's...

I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned and flinched, the putrid smell of whiskey hitting my nose.

"Hey," a voice rang.

The man sat next to me, analyzing me with droopy eyes. Earrings dangled from his long earlobes. His shaven head had dyed designs on it, which twirled around atop his skull.

"Hi," I responded unsurely.

He smiled. "You look good. Saw you from across the bar and wanted to talk with you."

"Oh... uhm... thank you."

"Do you have a number?"

"No, I don't have a phone."

"Well, that's cool. We can just get to know each other tonight then."

I flinched at his statement, not oblivious to the implications of his tone. His eyes were also not even looking at mine. They were looking at my chest.

I covered my hand over my bust feeling uncomfortable.

"No, I'm okay," I replied.

He frowned, looking back at me. "Come on now, don't be a stuck up bitch. I promise I'd make it worth your time."

"Is there a problem?"

Greg's voice came off sharp and penetrating. I hadn't heard that tone from him before.

The man peered behind my shoulder and scoffed, realizing it was Greg who spoke.

"Who are you supposed to be?" he asked.

"I'm her brother," he lied convincingly. "Who the fuck are you?"

The man rose his hands and scoffed, "Look, I mean no disrespect. I think your sister's hot."

"She clearly doesn't think you are. Get the hell away from her."

I had to keep my face from revealing my bewilderment. Greg was like a completely different person. I stared at him, witnessing how his eyes poisonously glared at the man. His nostrils flared while his jaw clenched hard against gritted teeth.

"And if I say no?" the man contested.

Greg reached into his pocket and whipped out a gun I didn't even know he was carrying. He pointed it directly at the man. The stranger paled and got up from his seat.

"Woah, chill the fuck out dude. She's not even fucking worth this shit," he rambled, escaping the bar.

Greg put the gun back into his pocket, eying the bartender who leered at him.

"I know, I know," Greg grumbled. "I'm putting it away. I won't shoot it."

"Brother?" I wondered, flabbergasted by the whole scene.

Greg shrugged, "It works better than boyfriend. Gang members think it's hot to cause cheating scandals. Boning girlfriends, fiancés, wives, and all that is like an ego boost. But they don't really mess with family."

That was... smart of him. Perhaps this is why Mello and Matt trusted him so much.

"That was hot," Nakaijah claimed, trailing her finger down his shirt.

Greg smiled, pleased at her comment. He puffed his chest out.

"Oh yeah?" he said.

I turned away from them, letting them have some privacy.

It didn't last long.

Commotion rang from the third floor. It started off as little sounds, but it grew dramatically loud within seconds. The tones were alarming and dangerous, causing anyone within earshot to pause and look.

Sounds of fear. Anger. Screams. Threats. Warnings.

A gun shot rang through the air and crashed against the large chandelier. The grand structure groaned like a hollowed wail, before it fell from the top story. It crashed against the floor and burst, shattering the glass and our ears.

Some people were sliced by the glass shards. Their blood pooled on the ground, followed by the cries of pain.

Panic plunged through the air, sending everyone into a frenzy. More gunshots rang, while everyone in the club went into fight or flight mode. People either ran towards the doors, or stood their ground to fight.

Greg whipped back out his gun. This time, the bartender had no quarrel.

In the crowd of people leaving, I spotted the escorts Ross paid fleeing. I hoped they would be okay.

"Y/N!" Greg called out, waving me over. I ran to him, hovering behind his outstretched arms with Nakaijah.

I glanced down and saw her pull out her own weapon: a small pistol.

"I have to go find my people!" Nakaijah screamed over the noise.

"What?!" Greg recoiled, trying to hear her.

"I'm leaving! I have to find my people!" she yelled again.

This time, she started to run towards the crowd. Greg looked heartbroken as he saw her vacate our spot.

"WAIT!" he called out to her, outstretching his hand.

She didn't.

"Fuck," he groaned.

He turned back to me.

"We need to find Mello," he told me, readjusting his priorities.

I nodded in full agreement.

Greg's hand gripped mine, his other hand holding his gun out. We swerved through the crowd, trying to find any familiar faces. Some people knocked into me, loosening my grip on Greg's hand.

"Don't let go!" he commanded, squeezing me.

He was more agile and fast than I was used to and I couldn't move as quick as he did in these heels.

"Greg! My shoes!" I yelled, as he tried desperately to get me to go faster.

I was sliding all over the place. He looked back at me in alarm, then at my shoes. His eyebrows pinched, before he dragged me to a corner.

"Take them off," he demanded.

I did as he asked, alarmed that he was also slipping his shoes off.

"Greg-"

"There's glass all over the floor. You can't go barefoot. Wear my shoes."

"But what will you-?!"

"I'll wear your shoes."

I blinked in surprise, but he was adamant.

"I'm an athlete. I did track in high school..." he moved to his other shoe and undid the laces. "... and gymnastics as a kid... don't ask... but heels don't scare me."

We changed our shoes after getting them off. He was right. This man ran equally fast in the heels. They clicked against the ground. His feet were slightly too big, but it didn't seem to effect him too much. It was actually impressive.

I spotted someone we knew and gasped.

"Greg! Over there!"

Greg pivoted to where I pointed and yelled out to him. "SKYER!"

The large man spotted Greg immediately and gestured us over. We ran to the sweaty gang member.

"Shit, okay..." Skyer muttered once we got to him. "So we have you two now. Roy and Kollet are over there-" he motioned to the bottom of the staircase, where the two men stood guard, peering up at the third floor. "- now we just need the others."

"What's going on?" Greg asked.

Skyer wiped sweat off his brow.

"The Feeney Boys jumped Salazar and Montraie. They tried to get Ross too, but they weren't successful. That's all I know right now."

"The Feeney Boys are here?!" Greg gasped, taking two steps forward.

The clicks of my heels on his feet captured Skyer's attention immediately.

"Greg... what the fuck am I looking at right now?"

"There's more important things to worry about, Skyer!"

Another gun shot rang out. I instinctively ducked, covering my head. Another gun. The sound of metal crunching. I hyperventilated, my body feeling like it was back in the freezer. I squinted my eyes shut.

Calm down. Try to calm down. Focus. Come on, focus.

"Hey, there's Marge!" Greg announced.

"Thank God, that means Jose is close by too," Skyer concluded.

I peeked, moving my eyes to the stairs. Sure enough, Marge was trudging down. Behind her, Jose and Eddie were running. They both kept peering back behind their shoulders, their guns lifted to shoot whoever dared to attack them.

Marge had her own gun clenched in her hands. She shook it, hitting the bottom. An empty bullet shell clattered on the step she surpassed. She already used it.

"J’en ai jusque là!" Marge shouted out angrily.

"Down here!" Roy called out.

Marge ran to them and they blocked her, hustling her over to where Skyer, Greg, and I were standing.

Jose and Eddie got to the bottom of the steps and turned around, lifting their guns to the stairs defensively.

Marge and I made eye contact. Her eyes were frenzied, but she kept her composure. She always did.

"We need to get you out of here," she declared to me. "Now."

"Everyone needs to get out!" I acknowledged, prying myself from my cower.

"Non," she growled.

She wrapped her arm around mine and moved me closer behind the men to forge me from wandering eyes.

"They are looking for you, Y/N."

My blood ran cold.

"Who?" I whispered.

Marge's eyebrows furrowed.

"The Feeney Boys."

Another ring of gun shots rained down, before a frenzied amount of voices hollered.

Ross and Jack bolted down the stairs, Mello and Matt trailing behind them. Mello shot his gun up at the lights above. The glass shattered and broke. Slowly, flames began to lick the carpet from where the heat had become too much. It gave the men enough time to reach the bottom steps without having to worry about others chasing them.

"Run, motherfuckers, run!" Ross ordered, waving his arm in the air.

The mafia needed no time to wait for another command. We all bolted outside, towards the cars.

As I ran, two bodies immediately met me at my sides. The smell of amber and chocolate battled against the gunpowder and smoke in the air.

Mello tossed the keys. They flew over my head.

"You're up, Matt!"

He caught them.

"About fucking time!"

The lights to the car flashed as Matt unlocked it. Mello opened the back seat door for me and I leapt in. He quickly followed behind me and slammed the door. Greg hopped into the passenger seat, while Matt slid into the driver's.

Matt turned the keys into the black car's ignition, letting it purr to life.

Mello's green eyes beseeched mine, staring at me intensely.

"Seatbelt," he ordered sternly.

"I-"

"Seatbelt on, Y/N."

I was still shaking, disoriented from everything. I tried to feel for it. Mello's hand quickly stretched across from me and grabbed the strap, securing it tightly around me. As he buckled it in, he ordered Matt to drive.

Matt floored it. The car accelerated out of the lot and into the city roads.

I gasped, feeling my stomach drop from the G-Force. The seatbelt tightened against me, the car immediately believing we were in a crash. I peered over at the speedometer and could understand why. The arrow moved through the bolts.

80...90...100...110...

Mello flung against the backseat, searching for his own now. He found it and yanked on it, breaking it from its lock, before securing it around him.

Matt weaved the car through the traffic, rushing onto the ramp of the highway.

"Who's behind us?!" Greg called out, glancing at the rear view. "That's not one of our cars!"

Mello turned around and his eyes narrowed.

"Fuck!" he barked. "It's them."

Matt's eyes briefly moved to the rear view. I saw them crinkle and knew that he was smiling.

"They want to race me?" he clicked his tongue. "What a bad idea."

I clenched onto my dress and shut my eyes, blowing air out as the car went even faster.

We were well over one-hundred and twenty miles per hour... one flip of the car, one miscalculation, one missed curve, or even one gap we could not squeeze through would kill us.

I had to put my faith in Matt and his driving ability. That part was easy. But putting trust that other people on the road would react safely was near impossible.

With it being so late at night, the road wasn't as crowded. However, there were still vehicles around. I didn't know how Matt could even see them with the speed he was driving. The lights around the highway were mere streaks, blurring past the windows so fast that I couldn't even tell if we were on the road anymore.

"They are keeping up," Greg whimpered.

Matt kept up on the highway for a little longer, before declaring, "We need to get into the city."

"Are you crazy?!" Greg shouted. "The traffic-!"

"That's why, idiot," Mello thundered, pulling out his gun. "They can keep up with us here. We have a better chance losing them in harder terrain."

I felt like I was going to be sick.

Matt took an exit and sped right back into Los Angeles. The car behind us followed. As we took the curve, gun shots rang out and hit the bumper. I felt Mello's hand instantly on the back of my head. He nudged me down, escorting my head to my knees.

"Keep your head down," he quickly commanded.

My eyes flickered over to him, watching as he rolled down his car window. He leaned his body out and fired at the car behind us.

After three shots, he came back in, their bullets whistling past where he had just hung out from.

The wind from the open window slammed into the car, causing his hair to whip around like solar flares.

"Shit, I missed," he said hoarsely.

"I'll lose them, Mels," Matt promised, running a red light. "Just buy me some time here."

He surged through the lanes of Los Angeles. Horns blared left and right at us, then again at the car following his lead. Matt spun the car quickly. It drifted, before rushing towards another road. The car did the same. It was relentless.

The road we went down was less busy and had easy gaps to swerve through. Unfortunately, that meant the car behind us could keep up. It raced forward and slammed into the back of the car.

I screeched, feeling the rumble of it. My brain shook in my skull. My teeth clattered harshly against each other.

Mello instantly got back out and shot at the car.

"MELLO!" Greg screamed.

Mello's body fell back in, crashing on top of me.

A huge pole brushed close to the side of the car. If Mello had stayed out there longer, he would have been decapitated.

Matt took another turn and stepped harder on the gas. The car sprung and squealed, darting towards a hill.

We climbed up it, but at its peak, I heard Matt release a string of curses. He slammed on the break of the car as it accelerated down the slope. We all saw what he was looking at.

There was a massive pile- up of stop and go traffic. Construction ahead closed three of the four lanes, slowly surging the cars into one.

I tried to think fast, my adrenaline kicking into high gear. We were going to have to break. If the car stopped, theirs would too. They would shoot us. Who knows how many bullets the men around me have left? And how many people were in the car behind us?!

I unbuckled my seat belt, my body flung into the seat violently, obeying the gravitational pull.

"Y/N!" Mello scolded. "Are you trying to kill yourself?!"

I ignored him, shaking off his frantic hands as he tried to get the seatbelt back around me. I pushed my body back and scanned the floor.

I found what I was looking for.

A massive wheel wrench was laying under the driver's seat, stored there for emergencies. This was definitely an emergency.

I gripped onto the wrench and hoisted it up.

I then quickly pressed the button to roll down my window.

"Y/N!" Mello yelled again.

Bullets rang past my side of the car, successfully hitting the side mirror.

I took a few deep breaths, getting my bravery back. I couldn't think. I just needed to do.

Before I could regret it, I pushed my body out of the window.

The wind muffled out the sounds of the men screaming at me. I could faintly hear Matt's plea, Greg's scream, and Mello's warning. The breeze from the speed hit me harshly, my hair obstructed my view ever so often. My eyes, however, narrowed down on the Porsche that was following us.

I reclined my arm back with all my might and whipped the wrench towards their front window.

With the speed of both cars, the impact of the wrench increased tenfold. It slammed against the glass, shattering it.

The car veered and spun off the road, crashing into the side railings.

I gulped and was suddenly pulled back into the vehicle.

Mello's hands held tightly against my waist, pulling me into him. He wrapped his arms around me, keeping me constrained against his chest.

My ears rang from the alteration of pressure and noise.

Mello's worried voice weaved in and out.

"Are you insane... you could've died... "

I shook against him, tears brimming my eyes. It could have been from the wind... or perhaps the lights...

... or, maybe most probable of all, the fact that I might have hurt whoever was in that car. They didn't die... but they most likely got injured.

It was a kill or be killed situation.

I buried my face into Mello's chest, the tears falling.

His gripes stopped instantly. I felt his lungs deflate. His hands clenched tighter around me, one hand snaking up to cup my cheek.

Matt successfully slowed down his car, enough to squeeze into the one lane.

"WOO!" Greg cheered "Good job, Y/N! We totally lost them!"

We got out of the one lane and merged into normal traffic.

"How'd you even think of that?" Mello inquired.

"I know how she thought of it," Matt quipped, his golden eyes glancing at mine through the mirror. "She's the Potassium Serial Killer, after all."

Mello stared at him in confusion, until realization slowly dawned on him. It was followed by disbelief.

"Mario Kart?" he stated out loud.

I shivered. "I guess so..."

"You used... Mario Kart... to stop those gang members..."

There was a silence. The car groaned, the bumper skid on the asphalt ever so often, and the broken side mirror rattled against the paint.

Slowly, Mello snorted. Greg released a puff of air, practically spitting. Matt chuckled.

I found my own face smiling too.

Within seconds, we were all laughing.

Chapter Text

October 18, 2009

No one slept.

The adrenaline of last night's battle kept everyone at a peak.

We staggered into the hideout in intervals, in case anyone was being watched. The last group arrived around three in the morning.

We all busied ourselves with tasks until that time, awaiting Ross to send out a message. Mello left rather quickly. He mentioned he needed to find Jack and hastily gave some departing remarks. I didn't have an opportunity to say anything to him nor did he give me one. It felt... off.

Jose's car arrived shortly after he left. Thankfully, our vehicle was the only one that got badly shot up. Matt stayed behind with Roy to access the damage. I found out through the yelling and cussing that this was Roy's car. Matt got a mouthful from him, which he laughed off.

"I'll fix it, mate. You have my word," Matt had promised.

"Your word don't mean shit."

"Come on, don't be like that. Look, I'll start now. I'll work on it until the others come back."

"Yeah? Well, Roy sent out a message. He wants everyone downstairs at three thirty."

"That gives us a solid forty minutes," Matt optimistically replied. "Enough time to duct tape the mirror back on."

"Duct tape?! I know you're jokin'!"

Greg aided them, grabbing some tools in the warehouse. Skyer didn't have much to say, other than muttering something about the bathroom. He sped walked out of the garage the minute he unbuckled. Jose and Marge left together to debrief.

That left just Matt, Greg, Roy, and I in the warehouse.

I didn't know much about cars or tools, so I felt rather unhelpful. Therefore, I found myself gazing out the warehouse opening and counting the mafia members as they pulled in.

One vehicle caught my eye. A certain blonde staggered out, adjusting the glasses on his long nose. His thin body cowered while the driver's side door slammed shut.

Jack.

Didn't Mello say he needed to speak with him?

He crept away from the vehicle, scurrying his feet towards the hideout, where some of the other mafia members had run off to.

I decided to go with him.

The room downstairs was practically vacant. According to that forty minute countdown, everyone had twenty more minutes to get here, which I’m sure was being maximized. People needed to clean up, sit in a silent room, change into something more comfortable, check in with each other, or even tend to their cars.

For me, the only thing I wanted to do was sit with Mello.

Jack handed him the notebook, exchanging a few words. Mello grabbed it and plopped down on the zebra printed couch.

As Jack walked away, my feet remained still. I felt… nervous.

My lips tingled and I remembered why. I hurt him earlier. My body hesitated now to move forward, in fear that I may rekindle that sting. It would be just the two of us… would that be okay to him?

Mello’s eyes flickered upwards and met mine.

I stiffened.

Instead of narrowing or flinching, they softened. He tilted his head, motioning me towards him.

And as if he were my cure, my feet sprang back to life. I darted over to him.

“You came here alone,” he noted, starting a conversation.

“Yes, uh… Marge went off with Jose… and Matt and Roy are still working on the car with Greg, so…”

“You’re nervous,” Mello pried.

I couldn’t lie to him. His eyes trailed down towards my hands, which were clenching and unclenching each other. He knew my mannerisms enough to know what flared up this habit of mine.

“A little…” I claimed.

“Why?”

“I don’t think this is the place to talk about it.”

Mello glanced back up at me, his eyebrow arching. A look settled on his face that I couldn’t describe. It was like a delicate form of anxiety, if there was such a thing.

I didn’t want this to dangle in front of him, but I also didn’t want to have the conversation about what he saw occur right now in the small time span we had. Plus, I had no idea when everyone would be piling into the room. It just wasn’t a good idea.

“That’s the Death Note?” I redirected, staring down at it. “Marge said you and Matt ran tests on it two days ago.”

“We did,” he said, lifting the book more. “All of it came back normal. Strange, right?”

The minacious energy from it sent chills down my body. Mello’s gloves crinkled, while he lowered it back to his cross-legged lap.

“I’ve never seen it this close up before,” I revealed.

His lips thinned while his eyes ran up and down the dark cover.

“Not a lot of people have,” he disclosed, his voice low. “We limited it after we read the rules.”

“Rules?” I repeated, astonished.

This weapon had guidelines. That’s quintessential.

I kept my voice hushed, though no one could really hear us anyways. It was more of a precaution. The monitors were buzzing and the little people that were here sat wide apart from each other, lost in small conversations.

“May I see them?” I asked.

“I knew you’d be curious, riff raff,” Mello permitted. “You can see it, but don’t touch it.”

My eyebrows pinched as he ordered this. Why couldn’t I touch it?

I sat down on the cushion next to him and peered over his shoulder at the book. I had been in this position with him so many times before, studying or reading together on the library couch.

But it felt drastically different now. The pages we scrutinized together left a sickening feeling in my stomach. The history of its malice was not left forgotten by me.

Mello’s gloved hands held the onyx weapon open, letting me in on the haunting inscriptions that were hastily scribbled in.

• The human whose name is written in this note shall die.
• This note will not take effect unless the writer has the person’s face in their mind when writing their name. Therefore, people sharing the same name will not be affected.
• If the cause of death is written within the next forty seconds of writing the person’s name, it will happen.
• If the cause of death is not specified, the person will simply die of a heart attack.
• After writing the cause of death, details of the death should be written in the next 6 minutes and 40 seconds.
• If the person using this note fails to consecutively write names of people to be killed within 13 days of each other, then the user will die.
• If you make this note unusable by tearing it up or burning it, all the humans who have touched the note till then will die.

So that’s why he didn’t want me to touch it… but…

“Tell me your thoughts,” his voice tasked.

“You touched the book,” I whispered, fearfully rereading the last rule.

“I wore gloves, but I doubt that exempts me.”

I peered up at Mello. His face was slightly pale at that admittance, but his inquisitive stare pierced through it.

“I meant about the rules, though. Tell me your thoughts about the rules.”

His determined eyes bore into mine, ready to pick my brain.

“I don’t think I’ll be much help,” I answered. “I’m sure you and Matt have already found everything I could possibly think of…”

“Perhaps,” Mello confirmed. “But I’d like to hear it from you too. You and Matt are the only people here who’s opinions matter to me.”

I chewed on my lower lip as I pieced together everything I wanted to say. Mello waited for me patiently.

“It’s a frightening book.”

“That goes without saying.”

“Yes, but I think what makes it so is that you have to decode it. These rules… whoever made the notebook didn’t write these words. Someone else did.”

Mello’s eyebrows twitched and a new fervor lit in his eyes.

“Why do you say that?” he urged.

“I’m not too sure but… well, uhm… this notebook is detailed and well preserved. There are no scratches nor indents anywhere on it. Whoever made the notebook created it with high importance… like they wanted it to not only last but remain in near perfect condition… it doesn’t really make sense to put so much detail into the object, only to scribble down some ‘how to use’ rules in the cover. I don’t know, I feel like you would have some pride in the work… the guidelines should match the craft.”

Mello hummed and reclined back into the couch.

“So, you think the maker didn’t write these… interesting…”

“What did you and Matt find?” I wondered.

“That some of these rules might be fake.”

My eyes widened at his suggestion.

“We’ve tested out the killings already…” he flipped the page and a list of mafia members were listed, along with the SPK members and the men that sold Ross’s drugs under the table.

As melancholy as this made me feel, I couldn’t help but have guilt for the relief rushing through me. None of this was Matt or Mello’s calligraphy. It all was one person’s writing- who I remember is Jack.

“The rules are right,” Mello continued. “Whoever is written down dies of a heart attack within forty seconds… and you can kill someone other ways…”

His gloved thumb brushed across an inscription:

SPK spy Shawn Dunleavy shoots himself in the head.

“You tested the rules with numbers?” I wondered, scanning through the list.

“Too much detail indicates a lie,” Mello reminded me, using one of many infamous scoldings Roger used to tell us. “Numbers are typically a giveaway.”

“These numbers seem random… I know thirteen is a superstitious number, but why forty and six…?”

“It’s all biblical. Forty is the sacred time for any change or transition. Jesus fasted for forty days and forty nights, the rain of the Great Flood lasted for forty days, Moses stayed in the mountain for forty days to receive the covenant… the list goes on. Then, there’s six... that number has always been a label of imperfection and of our transgressions towards God. Mankind was created on the sixth day, six is our labor period before the day of the sabbath, the Devil’s number, and more...”

Mello relaxed his grip on the book and sighed.

“Those numbers checked out. Each of the killings happened the way the rules said they should. Look…” he tapped on an inscription, “this one failed because Jack wrote it down after six minutes and forty-three seconds.”

Enrique Salazar will jump off the third floor of The Three Clubs at a quarter past midnight.

“What about thirteen?” I inquired, glancing back at the rule.

If the notebook’s user doesn’t write a name within thirteen days, they will perish.

"We haven't had the notebook long enough to test that out yet," Mello said.

“But is thirteen biblical too?” I expanded.

“Theoretically. It comes up in various cases… mainly in rebellion. Christ also said there’s thirteen things that defile a person.”

“I thought there were seven.”

“That’s different. You’re thinking of the seven sins.”

Oh.

Mello reached into the drawer of the table near the couch. He pulled out a chocolate bar. He kept a stash in there, which I found cute.

I blinked and recounted the rules, coming to a realization. “Wait... there’s seven rules here.”

Mello nodded, already knowing this. “Seven is the most prominent number in the Bible. It symbolizes perfect completion.”

I shook my head, looking back at the rules. I heard the wrapper tear.

“If that’s the case… then wouldn’t this make all of the rules complete and perfect?”

“That’s why I don’t trust it. Especially after your deduction. It shouldn’t be that easy.”

“Why is that?”

Mello shut the book.

“Because if the owner of the Death Note didn’t write the rules…”

I gasped, “Then it was Kira who did.”

His jade eyes fell upon mine. They glistened with avid pride as he gave me a nod.

"And I don't trust that bastard," he finished.

Mello snapped off a piece of his chocolate.

He gave it to me.

I ate it.

Sounds echoed up at the top of the staircase, drawing our attention from each other. Slowly, people began to file in.

Within minutes, the room filled. Ross was the final person in, and the one to initiate the meeting.

I stood up from the couch and walked over to the wall where others were standing. Mello didn’t stop me from going. At the presence of more people, his overall character hardened. He turned back into that cold person, pulling up a front for both him and the others.

I took my place besides Matt and Marge. Jose, Eddie, Greg, Roy, and Skyer surrounded us.

Ross took a quick scan around the room, before reaching over and grabbing his hard liquor. He popped the tab off and poured it into an old glass.

“Now that Pete and Ralphie have decided to fuck themselves, I need two replacements,” Ross announced.

His sharp eyes scanned the crowd of hitmen, before befalling on the two largest men. A bad taste was left in my mouth.

They were the ones who dislocated Matt’s shoulder.

“You two,” he pointed. “Rashual and Glen. Congrats, you’re now my personal guards.”

Glen’s blonde bowl cut was an umbrella around his squared face. His nose lay flat against his wide cheekbones, accentuated harshly by his equally enlarged lips. His hooded eyes were shadowed over by his deep brow, as he squinted over at Rashual.

Rashual’s facial features were squished inwards, clumped in the middle of his otherwise long face. To offset the appearance, two large strands of black hair curtained on the sides of his face to make it look more symmetrical.

“Matt…” I whispered while people offered their appraisals. “… those are the guys who-“

“I know,” he affirmed quietly.

His voice brushed my ear as he bent down to speak with me.

“It’s best to keep your distance. Rashual’s a homicidal maniac and Glen is clinically insane… if you couldn’t tell by the hair.”

“Why does Ross trust them to be his body guards then?”

“See that group of men over there?” he motioned as he pivoted my body towards the hitmen.

“Yes.”

“All of them helped Ross build this mafia in some way. Glen and Rashual were the ones that established him in the core of California.”

“So… Pete and Ralphie weren’t his right hand men?”

“No, they were. But they- along with Jose- were with Ross when he was a junkie in someone else’s gang. They weren’t ones that built him, they were just there with him when he was getting built… if that makes sense?”

“I think so…”

“Think of it this way… it’s like a Monopoly game. Each of those men belong to an American city, and they helped Ross get his hands in major outlets. In return, they earned a place at his side and share the revenue from their city’s profits. That motivates them to give him more business and also keeps Ross’s drug empire expanded… get it?”

I nodded, “Yes… so Glen and Rashual built him roots in Los Angeles.”

“Rashual did. Glen gave him San Francisco, but that’s besides the point… okay and, like, that guy over there,” Matt pointed at one of the four remaining men. “He’s from Chicago. He used to be Skyer’s boss.”

“Oh… so not only do they connect him with dealers, but they also connect him with gangs and members.”

“Bingo.”

“Then… that group of men aren’t his hitmen?”

Matt chuckled, “What? Where did you come up with that?”

His chuckle ceased like it was cut midway in the air. I felt his hand grip the back of my dress.

Ross was staring at me.

“Y/N,” the boss’s voice beckoned. “Come sit by me.”

His massive hand patted the cushion next to him. The room silenced, allowing each thud to be heard.

My heart palpitated at the very prospect of sitting next to the power house. He wrapped his huge arm across the back of the couch. I noticed blood stains dotting his shirt, like it had splattered onto him from the ground.

My knees wobbled, knowing that mine could soon be painted with it.

I drifted my gaze to Mello. His body was stiff, his eyes predatorily narrowing on Ross. They flickered over to mine and weakened.

He gave me a soft nod… he was telling me to go.

If anything were to happen, at least I knew he was near the couch.

I took a step forward and Matt released my fabric.

People’s eyes were on me as I moved towards the boss. I sat on a cushion far from him, scooting more towards the arm rest.

“Closer,” he ordered. “I don’t bite.”

It seems like it.

I obeyed. His scent reeked of strong cologne, alcohol, and sweat. I had a difficult time breathing. Ross's sturdy arm remained limp behind me, cradling me into his deadly grasp. Every muscle in me was tensing. I wanted to jump and flee.

“Only one woman?” a voice called from the crowd. “Isn’t your other side jealous?”

Marge took some steps forward and navigated towards Ross and I.

The mafia boss laughed, permitting her to take the other spot at his side. He made some cheeky remarks to Jose. The moment I felt the couch dip, gratitude filled me. I was glad she was here with me.

It broke some of the fear of being the only one next to the man. Plus, I trusted her enough to know she wouldn’t let anything happen. She was in arms reach now and knew him better than I.

In my peripheral vision, I saw Mello let out a breath that he had been holding. He seemed equally relieved that Marge journeyed over.

She crossed her legs, letting the fishnet on them expand. Her brown eyes then found mine.

Thank you, I mouthed.

She winked.

“Here’s to a successful night,” Ross declared, finally taking the shot he poured out.

Cheers erupted.

“Jack,” Ross called out. “How many faces did you get?”

“Everyone in the room, boss,” he answered.

Jack removed a small camera from his shirt and set it next to a monitor. He hooked it up into the machine, downloading the faces he captured though the hidden device.

The screen pixelated, showing hundreds of freeze shot frames. All the men in the VIP room were shown. I saw Angelo… Salazar… Ross…

The only people not in the frame were Mello, Jack, and Matt. Jack wasn’t present, since he was the camera. Matt and Mello must have stood behind him.

“And names?”

Ross’s eyes moved to Matt.

“Names and bank accounts,” he declared. “Easy hack. They all connected to the same network last night.”

That’s why they brought him in the room?

“Did you spot any cameras or bugs?” Mello questioned, though he probably knew the answer.

“I detected four,” Matt confirmed. “And one that was forgotten about… it had been placed years ago. I smashed each one. On the way out, I dismantled the network. All their downloads were stopped. They have no records of anything.”

“HA!” Ross guffawed loudly. I jumped. “Another win.”

More claps ensued.

“Almost,” Mello cut off. “The Feeney Boys had information for us that we shouldn’t take lightly.”

The room quieted.

“They were after Y/N,” he revealed.

The mention of this fact made my hair prick. Marge had told me this, but in the chaos of the moment, it didn't seem as heavy of a caution. Now, inside the room with the mafia members, it became all the more real.

“So?” Ross snorted.

“That means Pete and Ralphie successfully told them about her,” Mello admonished. “If they crawled back to them, then they have the address to our hideout.”

“Jack already wrote down their names in the book,” Ross dismissed. “Dead men don’t speak.”

“What if they told them before they died?” Jose questioned.

“Then let the Feeney gang come!” Glen laughed. “We’ll kill them off!”

There were shouts of agreement, people rallying behind the slaughter.

“It’s not them, I’m talking about you shit,” Mello growled, causing the room to fall silent. “It’s who will tip them off. Have you forgotten that Kira is after us? And the SPK? The Feeney Boys will do anything for a profit. If they get paid to have someone else do their dirty work, they will take it.”

"Mello's got a point," Ross declared, rubbing a hand down his face. "We can get our second base ready... the one in Santa Monica. We'll go there if they come. Let's make it next month's goal."

"The sooner the better," Mello objected. "Start tomorrow."

"Why the rush? The SPK is still keeping watch on the hideout we used two years ago," Jack defended, glimpsing at the monitors. "They don't even know that we're going to change our hideout again soon."

I bit my tongue.

They'll know... Near's abilities extended far beyond their wildest imaginations. He would notice a change in the flutter of a fly's wings. It was highly probable that Near could sense the repositioning was coming.

Mello snapped a piece of his chocolate bar aggressively. His eyes narrowed on the notebook, but he didn't convince me he was reading it. Based on his reaction, I knew he was lost in the same thought pattern as me. Only, we differentiated over how we felt about Near's mind. He always harnessed a bitter feeling towards his intellect that I did not share.

One other thing struck me from Jack's sentiment. He said that Near had eyes on their last hideout... does that mean he might know where we are now? Mello said the SPK didn't have that information, but did he know that for sure? Could Near have been watching us?

My eyes flickered up to one of the security cameras in the room. There was no way he hacked into it. Matt for sure set those up. As impressive as Near was in observation and theoretical problem solving, he was no match for Matt's technologically driven brain. No one could crack the gamer's codes. And, if they managed to, Matt would have already been alerted.

But perhaps Near might have other ways to gain information. I wasn't too sure...

"We can tighten our reigns over the surviving gangs," Jose suggested to Ross and the others. "Last night we were meeting up for negotiations. The Feeney Boys are the ones that spilled blood on peace grounds. We can use this to sway others and collectively threaten The Feeney Boys to not say anything."

"No," Mello objected. "That won't work. Kira had this note for longer and may still have access to its power... he might kill anyone who gets in his way. If it was easy for us to get their names and faces, it will be easy for him too. The Feeney Boys will be under protection of that killer. It's pointless to waste our efforts."

The room went silent again, all of us stumped by the predicament we were now in.

The Feeney Boys were playing similar cards to Ross, trying to gain control of the underground. The only thing standing in their way of achieving more power was Ross. They couldn't surpass Ross unless they took down his main strengths: Mello and Matt. In order for that to happen, I would need to be killed. At least, that's what the mafia believes. Therefore, after gathering this information from Pete and Ralphie, the Feeney Boys were after me.

However, on the other hand, the Task Force and the SPK are both searching for Mello and his counterparts. He has the Death Note- and committed felonies to get it. He is right to assume that if they begin knocking on doors, The Feeney Boys will answer. And they had incriminating evidence to give them... whether they have our hideout information or not is up to debate. Only members here knew that. Yet, The Feeney Boys probably have the faces and names of some of the people here like Ross... and my alias, which the SPK and the Task Force would both recognize.

Mello flipped open one of the pages of the Death Note. I saw the crinkle in his brow and knew he was in a deep thought.

“I guess we’re going to have to keep testing to find out to what extent we can control people with this,” Mello mumbled.

Control people? What did he mean?

The notebook soared.

It smacked Jack in the back of his head and fell into his lap.

The blonde let out a whine and rubbed his skull, glaring over at Mello in hurt and frustration.

Ridiculing snickers escaped into our space from the sight of Jack getting smacked.

“What the-?” Mello choked.

Shock was evident in his expression, a demeanor that I didn't get to see too often in unemotional scenarios like this. His eyes widened as he glanced between his gloved hand and the book.

“The notebook just flew by itself,” he whispered in disbelief.

I blinked. He didn't throw it?

The chortles died down.

I glanced over at Matt immediately. The auburn haired male was frowning, not laughing. He had heard Mello say this too and seemed equally as unsettled as I was.

“That’s impossible,” Marge opinioned, narrowing her eyes accusingly.

Ross’s laugh thundered out. It rumbled the tone in the room, creating an absurdity within the eerie ambience.

“It’s a notebook that can kill people. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s alive,” he stated.

His left leg bounced, rattling the gun inside his thigh pocket.

Body language didn’t lie. He still felt fear.

All of us did- the deadly weapon guised itself as a mundane object and had no explanation. The anatomy was complex; in nature, it was simply a book. The radiographic scans that Matt conducted picked up nothing out of the ordinary. Yet, even if you didn’t know that this notebook belonged to Kira, there was still an inexplicable sinister energy to it.

It beckoned you to want to open it and, in contradiction, also made you want to forget you ever saw it.

It killed whoever you wanted, seeping in the ink to create a phantom black spot over the user's victims. In return, they were also marked, cursed to keep writing.

But to have it fly... now that was-

Jack screamed.

It was a raw. Vehement. Obtrusive.

The yell bubbled up from such a primal state of fear that it curdled your very blood.

He fell onto the floor and staggered back, crawling into the chairs near the monitor. His breaths were harsh and reckless, while sweat seeped down from his pale face.

We watched him in puzzlement. He appeared like a scared animal getting cornered... but nothing was there. His panicked eyes were scrutinizing the air.

Slowly, he let out a scared chuckle, which came out in breathless tunes.

“B-Boss… is this ugly looking guy in the costume a new recruit or something?”

... ugly costume?

No one said anything. The clock in the room ticked, letting us hear how many brutal seconds were passing.

I glanced over at Marge. Her nose crinkled and she looked at Jack like he was making a horrible joke. I turned and witnessed some others, who all had similar reactions. Greg was ultimately confused... he kept glancing between Jack and Matt, trying to discern how he should react based on how his older friend did.

Matt's face was flat and sternly void. It was like he was waiting for some sort of stimulus. His golden eyes flickered over to the monitors. I followed them. Nothing was showing on the screen. Mello shifted in the pixels.

He turned his chest over to Jack, giving him his attention.

Jack's face crinkled.

“… Shinigami?”

My heart began to pound.

Jack laughed nervously.

If this was a joke, I didn't find it funny. It was petrifying more than anything. This sort of supernatural stuff has always been a nightmare of mine. I slept with the lights on because of it... I didn't need him to be fooling around like this.

“Are you okay, Jack?” Jose asked from behind me.

“Have you been smoking too much crack?” Ross teased.

There was a hint of malice in his voice, as though he were suspicious of it. He didn’t like people messing with his drugs.

But, quite honestly, they were valid concerns. Jack might be hallucinating or having a very bad trip. Maybe he just needs help... like a glass of water and an area to lay down.

“It says you can see it if you touch the notebook," Jack proclaimed.

It?

"See for yourself!" he begged, lurching the notebook forward. "I’m not crazy.”

Glen groaned, redirecting our attention from the pleading man.

“If you touch the notebook, and then for some reason the notebook is burnt or something, then all the people who’ve touched it die, right?” he said.

“Most of us have touched the notebook before we read the rules. I’ve already touched it," Ross scolded. "Come on, everybody touch the notebook.”

People stood up and moved to Jack, placing their hands on it once again.

I heard gasps and yells erupt through the air. People ran to hide behind the couches.

My curious nature lured me to it. I let my legs carry me to the weapon. The overpowering urge to touch it whispered against my neck. Matt's hand was on it when I got to the book. He retracted it and glanced up. His golden eyes widened and his pupils shrank. I watched the color drain from his face.

I then flickered my eyes back to that black book. It was like it was staring back at me, beckoning for my hand.

"Y/N..."

I moved my eyes up from the only thing that could possibly yank me from this supernatural siren.

Mello was staring down at me, his brows pulling together. He was wrestling with himself over his decision: stop me or give me the autonomy to make a choice.

He told me not to touch it earlier, over discontentment about the last rule. But something was happening that I should probably see... he knew that.

"I'm not forcing this bravery," I told him, hovering my hand over the book.

This much was true. I was petrified by what was going to happen. But my curiosity was the driving force for my decision, not some artificial bravery.

Mello pursed his lips, but didn't argue. That was my green light.

I brushed my hand on top of the notebook. Tingles surged through my fingertips and up my arms. I gasped. The phantom allure I felt before was gone.

Instead, the tactile atmosphere in the room changed. It grew darker around me as if I were covered by a looming shadow. There was a rancid smell now too, almost like faint decaying flesh.

I turned around.

“What?” Matt breathed in wonderment. “I couldn’t see this thing when I touched the notebook before…”

In this moment, I wish I never had.

My bones rattled in my skin, which pricked and crawled like thousands of insects were rushing up my body. The very breath in my lungs was sucked dry.

Standing in the middle of the room was the very thing I always feared.

A supernatural entity perched under the fluorescent factory light.

The Shinigami.

It stood almost seven feet tall, casting its haunting shadow over us. Its frame was conflicting, appearing almost humanistic. Yet, its arms cradled inwards like the large pinchers of an insect, sprouting three fingers that were easily the length of my leg.

The Shinigami’s body was covered in ancient cloths, like it had been mummified. Even its face was wrapped tightly in stained ivory fabric. The tarnished attire draped over the creature and ceased by its exposed ankles.

The decayed flesh on its feet was tight against the rigid bones that jutted out angularly. Its crooked toes were talons, similar to a bird.

Maybe it once was a bird… the area where its mouth was had remnants of a bird’s beak... like something viciously ripped its beak off- leaving behind irritated gummy flesh, a hole, and nostril apertures.

A white cape draped over its shoulder blades… no. That was no cape. Veins branched out like warped, invasive roots. They pulsed, horrifically alive.

What was that?

Its eye sockets dipped inwards, revealing a gaze that vanquished any ounce of light that befell upon it. They appeared as though they had severe hyphema. The anterior chambers were filled with burgundy red, twirling like blood around two arylide yellow orbs. The gaze was as toxic as the color it reflected. The slits of its obsidian pupils narrowed on us, reminding me of a goat.

“Boss, should we kill it?!” Rashual barked.

Before they even got a direct order, the sound of gunfire rang through the air. The triggers were pulled, clicking hazardously.

Bullets sputtered out from the mafia members. Many shot past the creature, imprinting their failures on the factory walls and puncturing holes into the pipes. The ones that did hit the Shinigami either seeped through the fabric or collided off its skin.

I flinched, covering my ears. The loud pops of the weapons rattled by eardrums. The smell of gunpowder singed my nose. Even though the monster wasn’t falling, the bullets were still puncturing its wrapped-up body. It was probably just as affected.

How do you define a monster, Y/N?

Near’s question rang in my head.

I flickered my eyes to the mafia, witnessing their animosity. Their eyes were crazed and murderous. Fear whispered a call to action, and they all chose a violent route. I turned back to the Shinigami, who was simply taking the bullets.

My heart wrenched.

“Stop it! You’re going to hurt it!”

The guns died down. I doubt it was from my plea.

Empty shells trembled on the floor and empty guns trembled in their hands.

They exhausted their efforts.

It was now the Shinigami’s turn.

Its mouth opened and I shivered. All its teeth, including the incisors, were fanged. The bones were long, pointy, sharp… nightmare inducing. They could bite through diamond.

“It’s no use. Humans can’t kill me.”

Its voice made everyone jolt. It spoke to us using our language. But something was off about its voice. It was nasally, like its chords were straining to push out sound. The words fried. The intonation of its voice was strange too. There was no accent nor dialect you could pin on the creature. Its like it was mimicking the sounds it had previously heard to create its speech.

The voice was masculine. I think it’s a male…

My whole body froze.

Its eyes were on mine.

“I do not feel pain. But it was annoying.”

“What do you want with us?” Glen shouted out at the creature.

It didn’t respond, continuing its gaze on me.

“How come we had to touch the notebook to see you?” Jose bravely asked.

After his inquiry, a whole chorus rang out.

“What the hell are you?!”

“Are you really a Shinigami? Are there others here?!”

“Where did you come from?!”

“Are you going to kill us?!”

“What’s your name?” I asked softly.

“Sidoh.”

It’s response shocked all of us. Members of the mafia were looking at me. I could practically feel Mello and Matt’s stares burning between me and the creature. They were all coming to the same realization I was.

It was focusing solely on me right now… but why?

I didn't want this... I wanted to run and hide. But I had a suspicion that would be the worst thing I could do right now. In order to help, I had to stay. I had to speak with him.

“Hello, Sidoh. My name is Y/N,” I told it, trying to keep our conversation going.

Sidoh tilted his head.

“No, it’s not.”

The air felt colder in the room. The sensation not unwarranted, as this creature had just extinguished my lie. The alias I gave the monster did not feel untruthful to me, as I had been called Y/N much longer than I have ever been addressed by my real name.

It was off putting that it knew this.

“You know my name?” I speculated.

“I’m a Shinigami,” it restated.

The more I talked with it, the fuller its voice became. I couldn’t tell if it was because our consciousness of the creature was slowly augmenting or if it was becoming more confident in its delivery.

“So, you can see my name…” I clarified.

“I see everyone’s names. More than that, I can also see when everyone in this room will die.”

“That’s not… now, is it?” Greg’s shaky voice asked.

The creature deflated, almost as though it were exhausted with all of the questions. I could have sworn it rolled its eyes... but perhaps I imagined it. It couldn't have a sense of humor, right? Was something so human possible for the creature?

The mafia members shifted and I knew that they were still on the brink of shooting him again or doing something equally as hasty.

“I don’t think that’s why Sidoh’s here, Greg…” I answered, hoping that verification would be a form of release.

“I really don’t care about any of you.”

So… what does it care about?

I saw Mello shift in his seat. His eyebrow twitched, before his gaze flickered to me.

Keep going, his eyes motivated.

He was thinking the same.

“What are you here for, Sidoh?” I investigated bluntly.

The Shinigami’s long talon hovered over towards the Death Note.

“I dropped the notebook,” he said.

“Are you going to take it back?”

A low vibration came from his chest, similar to a toddler’s cranky whine. Sidoh didn’t answer this question. Rather he sank even more, like he was working out an exhausting tantrum.

“Why are you only answering her questions?!” Ross suddenly snapped.

The mafia boss's frown deepened in both confusion and annoyance. Sidoh glanced at him.

“Because she’s nice,” he said. “You tried to shoot me.”

So Sidoh just liked cordial treatment... that's a pretty basic want. My heart panged at this, especially witnessing how it seemed to shrink down with each second from the burden of so many negative statements.

Ever so slowly, he didn't seem as scary as before.

“You look tired,” I addressed.

“Shinigami’s do not get tired… but I do get impatient…” Sidoh responded. “It was a long flight here.”

The unidentifiable portion on him from earlier shifted. The white surplus of flesh practically melted off its shoulders and spread out. Sounds of brittle snaps clicked in the air as that flesh extended into two large wings.

Gasps were released, while we witnessed the creature’s evolution.

"Would you like a treat?" I then wondered, grasping at ways to keep Sidoh content.

"It's not a dog," Matt muttered from next to me.

Something flashed in Sidoh's eyes, however, at the mention of this. Interest.

I walked over to the table, where Mello kept his stash of chocolate. I saw him tense up when I opened the drawer, probably disappointed I was giving away his chocolate.

I grabbed one of the bars and outstretched it to Sidoh. My hand shook as his large pinchers extended out. I worried he might grab my arm and pull me in, opting instead to chop off my head. Instead, I was relieved to see him gently snatch the bar from my fingers.

He bit into it and his mouth gaped. I worried Sidoh might not have liked it...

"What is this?" he asked.

"Chocolate."

He took another bite and I realized it was just the opposite.

"Mmm!"

He devoured it quickly.

“It seems to like Y/N…” Greg whispered.

“I don’t think that thing can like anything,” Skyer retorted lowly. “It’s a monster.”

"More!" Sidoh demanded, stretching out his arms. "MORE!"

I reached into the drawer and an idea hit me.

"Sidoh... do you know a lot about the notebook?" I wondered.

His reach stopped and slowly retracted, as he eyed me skeptically.

"Yes."

I tossed him the chocolate bar and he happily caught it, eating the wrapper and the candy together. A happy purr came out of his chest, as his teeth slashed together.

His eyes fired up as he returned his gaze back to me. He understood the game. Answer the question, get the chocolate bar.

"If I showed you the rules, would you be able to tell me about them?" I questioned.

Sidoh hummed, "I suppose."

I tossed him the chocolate bar and then turned to Jack.

He jolted and quickly ran up, handing me the book.

I opened its cover and turned it around, displaying the guidelines to Sidoh.

"Oh... uhm," I awkwardly began, realizing this was a creature. "Do you want me to read them for you or I...?"

"I can read anything written in the book," Sidoh proudly stated. "That includes all of your strange languages..."

"That's impressive."

He seemed to like that compliment, his posture getting straighter.

Sidoh's eyes scanned through the book. He then made some chilling noises.

It took me a moment to realize he was laughing.

"What's funny?" I wondered.

Sidoh didn't respond. He glanced up and stared at me stubbornly. I realized then that he had finished his candy and was expecting more.

I reached into the drawer and pulled out the last bar Mello had.

I gave it to him.

"Some of those rules are fake," Sidoh confirmed, biting into the bar.

"Which ones?"

"Mm... the thirteen days rule..." he said between chomps. "... and the last one..."

I glanced over at Mello. A grin spread on his face in small victory. He had been right.

“Chocolate’s good…” Sidoh praised, almost finished with the bar in his hand.

“So the rules about ‘a person who writes a name down in the notebook will die if they don’t write another name in thirteen days time’ and ‘if you shred, burn, or demolish the notebook in any way, then everybody who touched the notebook so far will die’ are made up?” Ross asked.

I turned to Sidoh and nodded, indicating this was a question I wanted an answer for too.

“Yeah, those two are lies. A Shinigami must have written it down for fun before handing it to a human. These notebooks don’t usually have rules written in them.”

I nearly gasped. I was right. The notebooks didn't have rules written in them. But did a Shinigami write these? Or did Kira?

“Sidoh,” Mello called out.

The Shinigami cranked its neck to him.

“There’s another notebook in the human world. You know where it is, don’t you?”

Another notebook?! Is that what he meant earlier... that Kira might still have access to its power? Did he believe Kira had another notebook?

Sidoh glanced back at me. I shifted on my feet in a predicament. I flickered my eyes over to Mello's hand, which still had the chocolate bar he opened earlier.

"He has the last chocolate bar," I stated. "If you answer his questions, he will give it to you."

Mello's eyes widened. I gave him an apologetic glance. The situation called for it.

Sidoh let out a guttural noise, his new obsession with the candy overpowering his filter.

“… Let me check if there’s a way to find out… Shinigami have a lot of rules.”

I don't know why, but I was shocked to learn that supernatural creatures had rules too... I thought they kind of existed in a lawless state of nature.

His hand reached into the black robe- like attire and pulled out a long, ancient scroll. It rustled in his hands, while he sprawled it in the air. I saw some calligraphy I didn't recognize dancing around its beige paper, along with some drawings.

“Here it is… a Shinigami who has dropped their notebook in the human world and is presently without a notebook… they are allowed to be in the human world as an exemption but are not allowed to talk about any other notebook beside their own. Any Shinigami who breaks this rule will die after receiving second-degree agony.”

He trembled... was he scared? Could he feel an emotion like that? The more I analyzed him, the more human he felt. Maybe it was because I related to his cowardice, in some way. I felt for him.

“Sorry," the creature lied. "I don’t know anything, and even if I did, I can’t say anything about it. All I can talk to you about is the notebook that I dropped.”

That he... dropped? What did that mean?

“Shinigami are useless,” Ross complained.

Mello didn’t seem so convinced at that sentiment. His eyes flared. He caught something in that statement too. Whether intentional or not, the Shinigami labeled possession of the notebook.

"Are Shinigami's attached to notebooks then?" I investigated.

"Yes."

"So, do you tell the notebook's user people's names? Is that how they know who to write down?"

"No. We don't tell you. That would spoil our fun."

Fun.

"What do you mean, Sidoh?"

"We offer trades instead. Whoever possesses ownership of the notebook can be given our power. If you have Shinigami eyes, you too can see names and the life span."

"What's in it for you, then?" Mello pried.

The creature came close to giving a smile. It's eyes glistened dangerously, while its mouth opened wider.

"Half your life."

I gulped.

"Why do you need something like that?" I questioned.

"That's how we stay immortal," Sidoh revealed. "We consume remaining life spans. If a Shinigami takes someone's life before their death date, we consume the rest of the years that person should have lived."

"Take a life... you're the ones making people have heart attacks!"

"More or less, yes."

Mello's voice echoed.

“Sidoh.”

The creature pivoted to him.

“Yes…”

“The ownership of the notebook can easily be moved around between humans at their own will… and the ownership of that notebook is currently with Jack. Is that right?”

“Yeah. If the guy with glasses and long hair is Jack, then you’re right.”

Jack whimpered while Sidoh pointed at him.

“Jack. Make a deal with Sidoh for the eyes.”

The room went silent. I could scarcely believe the order myself.

The air stilled.

Jack stammered, fear evident in his eyes. “But it’s half of my remaining life…”

“Jack,” Ross sang. “Wouldn’t that still be better than dying right now?”

“Boss…!”

Ross trailed over to him, bending down to be at his level on the floor. He manipulatively clasped a hand on his shoulder, as if they were close companions.

“I trust you to the extent that you’re willing to give your life to me. And if you’re willing to make this deal, then you’re definitely my right-hand man.”

Jack's eyes widened.

Being a right-hand man to Ross was a large accomplishment. From what I have heard, you are compensated with more money and treated better. It's like being promoted to work alongside a CEO.

The material benefits that came from this position- money, hookers, drug access, respect- overweighed the taunt of losing half his years.

Jack's fear slowly faded and a greedy thrill replaced it.

“I think we’ve got a deal,” Ross surmised, grinning at Jack's new look.

The Shinigami moved over to him, practically hovering over the floor. Its black fingers reached out and clenched onto Jack's face. He gasped, his eyes widening as he stared into Sidoh's eye sockets. He started to yell, his eyes glowing white.

Jack's body flailed. I couldn't tell if it was from pain or from this invasive procedure. After a few seconds, it ceased. Sidoh dropped him and stood up. He looked less sluggish now... and pleased.

The flesh on his feet also appeared less jarred.

Did Jack's years do that to him?

“I can see it," Jack shouted in joy. "Everybody’s name and life span!”

“Awesome, Jack," Ross congratulated. "I want you to tell me the lifespan of everyone in this room later.”

Mello casted him a dark look.

“Except me, Mello, and Matt,” Ross quickly adjoined.

Mello’s eyes narrowed even deeper, not satisfied. Ross pieced it together.

“… and Y/N,” he added distastefully. However, to not give Mello too much power, he also added, “But tell me the real names of those people with aliases.”

I shuttered.

Mello tossed Sidoh a piece of his chocolate bar, which made the creature happy.

“Get the guy outside standing watch to come back in. We’ll only need the surveillance cameras and Sidoh now,” Mello ordered to Eddie. “Sidoh, you stand watch outside.”

The creature stammered, “Huh?”

So did I. I didn't expect Mello to recruit a Shinigami. That was... bold.

“You can’t be seen by humans, so you’re useful. When a human comes along, pull them over to the camera.”

The creature’s eyes flickered over to me. There was a demand in them and an urgency, no doubt fueled by Mello's authoritative tone. It didn’t take me long to figure out Sidoh was inquiring about.

Our cameras.

I moved my eyes to the corner of the room, where I knew a surveillance camera was stationed. The creature followed my gaze, zoning in on the camera. It memorized its design.

The creature seemed to hesitate, however. He probably realized that he had control over himself. Mello picked up on this right away, putting the final nail in the coffin.

“When we get the notebook from Kira, then I’ll give one of the notebooks back to you.”

Sidoh appeared elated, the wings on him trembling.

"Deal."

The room cleared out, people had a lot to process. Not only did we experience a new era of the underground, but now we had a Shinigami join our crew. Some people were excited about it, like Greg- who kept repeating we had the "ultimate weapon".

Others, like me, were more concerned. If Shinigami existed... what else did? What was beyond the veil? How many notebooks could there be? If we caught Kira, would this even end? Could Sidoh even be trusted? My mind kept conjuring up question after question after question.

It was hard to put the breaks on it, even while Marge was talking to me.

"You're spending the night with me again," she demanded. "I have your stuff in my apartment. I'm thinking of making it a permanent place for you."

I barely acknowledged what she had said, my mind on hyperdrive. I nodded to her, confirming this change.

"Bien. I'll meet you out front then, oui ?"

She strutted off, joining Jose on the way out.

I left with Matt and Mello. We were the last ones out. All three of us were silent, but we shared the same thoughts.

The Kira case just got more sinister... and more dire.

The Wammy's House prepared us for many things- but supernatural creatures were not one of them.

Mello adjusted the notebook in his arms. He fought to keep it in his hands and Ross allowed him. With the Shinigami around, he seemed to be the only one brave enough besides Jack. And Ross didn't trust Jack too much to keep the book, in fear he might write down his name to upsurge him.

"Are you two worried?" I vocalized once we got to the factory floor.

Our small feet echoed through the massive space, barely filling the area with sound. Our existence in this world seemed even smaller now...

"No," Mello answered.

Matt glanced at him, but said nothing.

"Are you?" Mello returned.

"I'm always worried," I replied earnestly. "Especially now. I don't want anything to happen to either of you."

I felt my head being patted.

"Relax, nothing's gonna happen," Matt coaxed. "How many dangerous situations have we been in, hm?"

"A lot," I sighed.

"And have we ever not made it out?"

"No."

"Exactly."

"You're worrying about nothing, riff raff. If anything, this case just got better for us," Mello declared.

He said it with such confidence that my anxieties fizzled out.

Mello's steps slowed down and he peered down at me.

"You wanted to speak to me earlier," he mentioned. "I didn't forget."

Matt slowed his steps too.

I felt my throat dry up. I couldn't talk about it now. Not with the two of them in the same space.

"Later," I bargained, feigning a yawn. "I'm tired..."

Mello's eyes wavered but he didn't press. He nodded and let it be.

"Are you coming back to my place?" Matt questioned. "You haven't been around for a while."

Mello's lips thinned. His posture was more rigid while he eavesdropped.

"I'm actually going back to Marge's. I think she wants me to stay with her. She said she's waiting for me out front."

Matt sighed, "What a drag. Well, you know my room is always open for you."

"Marge's is the best option," Mello interrupted, his tone sharp. "It's the safest. She agreed to house you."

Matt arched his eyebrow and shot, "What the hell?! Do you think my apartment isn't safe?"

"You're putting words in my mouth."

"No, Mello. I don't think I am."

"Drop it, Matt."

The gamer's face reddened. Its hue barely changed as we stepped outside into the nightfall.

I saw Marge waiting for me in the distance. Jose was at her side, which gave me some relief. I didn't want her alone.

"I'm not dropping it. You've been acting weird over this!" Matt chided.

Mello snapped his head towards his friend. "Over what?"

Matt's face pigmented even more, only this time, I don't think it was from anger.

"Name it," Mello imposed.

"I... I can't."

The air shifted, blowing on strands of their hair. They remained standing, facing each other.

I took a step back, feeling a strange tension begin to brew.

Mello flinched and he shook his head. I couldn't read his expression in the dark, but I had a feeling he wanted it that way.

"Goodnight," he closed off bitterly.

"Mello!" Matt called out, watching him march off. "Mello, wait!"

He ran off after him.

I heard a noise behind me and gasped, spinning around.

Underneath one of the lightbulbs, Sidoh stood guard. He hunched near the factory doors, his long fingers jittering slowly.

I still wasn't used to him yet, so the sight frightened me. Something about being in a space alone with him in the dark made me feel as though I were asleep, experiencing a nightmare.

"Sidoh..." I breathed in greeting.

"Those two... are they your friends?"

I peered over my shoulder. Mello was far in the distance. Matt was catching speed, nearing him.

I nodded.

"Yes... we are very close..."

Matt finally reached Mello and clasped his shoulder. They stopped moving, exchanging words I could not hear.

"They don't seem that way... the blonde... Mello you call him... he's scary."

"No," I denied, "he might come off that way, but he has the biggest heart in the world."

You didn't need to search long to see it. He shone like a beacon, if you only knew how to look. It made my own heart have a silent, childish yearning. I wished that I could have lived across the halls from The Wammy's House with him forever.

How insane was that.

"If you stay around him long enough, you'll experience it too," I told Sidoh. "The warmth of his heart."

"I see..." Sidoh drawled in a tone I couldn't comprehend.

I turned around to face him.

The creature was peering at me and smiling, like he knew something I didn't.

He let out a small chuckle, which grew louder with each passing second.

... it left me unsettled.

Because his laugh was manic.

"How entertaining!"

Chapter Text

Okay, I'm going to need just a few days to write the next chapter. So random intermission...

I'm curious to know how you all see the characters from a real life perspective. If you were to cast/ face claim them, how does your brain envision them?

For me, it would probably be this:

Mello: Dominik Sadoch 

"You were never a distraction for us, Y/N. You were always a motivation." 

Matt: Louis Hoffman... but with hazel eyes.

"What a drag."

Near: Thomas Brodie- Sangster... but with lighter hair and blue/grey eyes.

"I was somewhat prepared for this the moment you gave away the notebook to the kidnappers... but it sure does hurt."

Throwback to Analyzing You with Linda (bc I miss her low key): Lily Simner

"You really scramble my eggs, buttface."

Thoughts?? Feel free to list yours below! Or, share other characters (ex. Greg, Marty, Tibbett, Jose, Natalie, etc.) I think this would spark fun conversations and be a cool little creative space.

Next chapter will be posted within a few days <3 Much love to you all!!

Coming back again to put in more!

Marty in Analyzing You: Freya Lawrence 

"People here always say rude things about you. But you are nice... perhaps it's because you're, like, stupid."

Heidi in Deducing Me: Kennedy Walsh

"Could you hand me my lash curler, Y/N?"

Maeve in Analyzing You: Neelam Gill

"I love shopping, jewelry, and celebrity gossip. Always have, always will."

Greg from Deducing Me: Ashton Irwin... but with a missing tooth hehe

"DO YOU LIKE GOLDFISH?!"

Chapter Text

Yeah, I'm all to blame.
Yeah, it's all on me.
I don't deserve your love.
I don't deserve your heart.
But if you trust in me, could you hold on tighter to me?

October 18, 2009

Marge pulled out the rack from her oven. Her pink oven mit clasped onto a tin and lifted it onto the stove.

The aroma of the quiche filled the kitchen. Flakes from the crust cascaded from the tin, while the Gruyère cheese bubbled on top of the fluffy egg. Crumbles of bacon were scattered throughout the dish, alongside the caramelized onion.

She closed the oven and took off the mit, transitioning over to the salad bowl. Marge drizzled some lemon vinaigrette over the greens, before tossing it all together.

Steam drifted in the air beside the busy woman, emitting from the fresh loaf of baguette.

The floor underneath me creaked to announce my presence to Marge.

She peered at me over her shoulder, casting me a gorgeous smile. The silk, baby blue nightgown she wore twirled as she pivoted her body to greet me properly.

"Bonjour, mon loulou. I made some... brunch. That's the word, non ?"

I casted my eyes over to the time on her clock.

12:23 P.M.

"Yes," I confirmed, fighting back a yawn.

All of us went to bed late. I had a difficult time falling asleep last night. Learning that monsters were real took me for a spin, not to mention everything else that the evening unraveled... Marge gave me a Melatonin tablet to help.

It worked.

"Did you sleep well?" I asked her. "I didn't hear you last night."

Normally, the buzzing of her fan would seep into the cracks of her guest bedroom. I don't know if it was the sleeping medicine that made me oblivious to this or not...

Marge's smile deepened and she tucked her black hair behind her ear.

"Nope. I was at Jose's," she admitted in a suggestive tone.

I made a nonverbal 'oh' and she wiggled her eyebrows. Marge spun back around and reached over to her coffee pot.

"I made some coffee if you would like," she motioned, lifting it up on display. "And, of course, there is food. I'll make you a plate."

She refilled her mug with some more of the hot beverage.

"Thank you," I said. "This all looks wonderful."

We sat down together.

Marge placed a plate in front of me, along with a fork and butter knife. The slice of quiche she gave me was generous, as was the lofty side of bread and glob of butter. In a few seconds, she returned to color my plate with harvested greens.

The conversation started off simple, so that we could eat more peacefully. We briefly discussed the weather for today and our sleepiness levels. After the soft openers were done, our plates were practically empty. Marge and I began some more attentive conversations.

"You don't have a phone," Marge noted.

"Right."

"Mm, that's annoying. I'll have to talk with the men about that. How else are you going to know when we have meetings? Which brings me to my point- we have one later this afternoon."

I deflated, dropping my fork onto the table. "Another one?"

"Yes. Mello ordered it..."

I became inquisitive. Knowing it was him who called for us made me wish to go.

Marge sighed, glancing into her coffee mug. She rested her chin on her palm languidly.

"We barely have time to ourselves anymore... Gregory and Matt were smart and went out early. They are picking up some groceries for us."

My ears perked up at this.

"They are? Would you be able to ask them if they can pick up more chocolate?"

I emptied out Mello's stash last night, much to his obvious dismay. I felt guilty for that.

"That's always on the list," Marge waved.

"Well... more than the usual... you know, for Sidoh."

Marge eyed me stupefied.

"You want them to buy chocolate for the ugly ghost?"

"Shinigami," I corrected.

Her eye twitched.

I felt pity for the creature. As horrifying as it was, nothing should be treated so cruelly. He has to keep watch outside until we get Kira's notebook... and who knows how long that will take? I know Sidoh disclosed that Shinigami's don't feel fatigue nor pain... but he also revealed that he experienced emotions.

I would be tormented if I had to stay out there alone. Therefore, I wanted to gather the courage to keep him company. I already had questions for him... and, of course, to gather trustworthy answers I needed chocolate.

"Please," I begged.

Marge folded, letting out an exhaustive puff of air. She grabbed her phone off the table and flipped it open, scrolling down her contact list.

She pressed down on one and let it ring on speaker.

After two rings, it picked up.

"Hello?" Matt's voice chirped.

"Hello," Marge answered. "Are you still at the store?"

"We're in the check out... why?"

"Can you grab an extra box of chocolate?"

"Uh... extra? Did Mello up his dose or something?"

"No. Y/N wants to give more chocolate to Sidoh."

There was a heavy pause, before we heard his wheezing laugh.

"She wants to give chocolate to that fugly ghost?!"

Marge glanced up at me, arching her eyebrow.

"Exactly what I said, Matt," she groaned.

"Well, can't say I didn't expect anything less from her. No Shinigami left behind, right? ... Greg... Greg, run and grab two more boxes of this, will ya?... Anything else, Momma Marge?"

"Non."

"Alright. How's Y/N doing?"

"You can ask her yourself... you're on speaker."

She scooted the phone closer to me. I tentatively arched over it and spoke into the device.

"Good morning, Matt."

I could hear the grin through his voice, which tightened his accented vowels: "Good morning, Y/N! Sleep well?"

"Yes. Marge gave me some Melatonin to help."

"Did she? I bet you were out like a light, huh?"

"Yes," I chuckled.

I heard his laugh intermix with mine.

"What about you? How did you sleep?"

"I didn't... I couldn't stop thinking of you."

Marge's eyebrows shot up in surprise. The shock was almost equivalent to mine.

"M-Me?"

"I'm peeved at you."

My stomach dropped. "You are?"

"Yes. You've ruined sleep for me. No dream will ever top my memory of you last night. I'd rather lie awake thinking of you."

I stammered, releasing syllables with no words.

Matt laughed, "Corny, right? Does Marge look like she's going to vomit?"

I glanced up at her twisted face and giggled.

"Thought so. Jokes aside, I can't wait to see you. I bought you a box of Poppa-Tarts, in case you swing by my apartment again. They had this limited edition one, uh..." I heard rustling in his cart. "...it's, uhm... chocolate banana split? I don't know, thought we could get a lil' risky."

"Ooo, do you think Sidoh would like it? Maybe we should get him a box!"

"Y/N, you're going to give that god of death diabetes."

Greg's voice came out muffled in the background: "They only had dark chocolate left. Is that okay? I got, like, two boxes of it."

"Mate, I don't think Sidoh is going to care."

"This is for Sidoh?!"

Their shopping cart clamored, so I assume he tossed the boxes in.

"We will see you at the meeting later," Marge intercepted, cueing the end of the call.

We said our goodbyes and hung up.

Marge retrieved the phone, but her brown eyes zoned in on me conspicuously.

"What happened last night?" she asked.

"Last night?"

"Between you and Matt," she stated. "That was some heavy flirting."

I hadn't told anyone yet. I think the only person who knows is Mello... and maybe Greg, if he was observant enough. However, seeing how enchanted he was with Nakaijah, I doubt he was too perceptive.

Marge took a sip from her coffee, waiting for my story.

I wanted to tell it.

My first kiss. I always envisioned that it would be Linda who got this news first. We told each other everything growing up... then we fell apart. Perhaps I would have told Heidi or maybe Fifi... but I was kidnapped, so that wasn't an option.

The universe, instead, gave me Marge. And, quite honestly, I was very happy about this.

“Matt and I kissed,” I confessed.

Marge nearly spit out her coffee. The small droplets she managed to swallow suffocated her, sending her into a coughing fit.

She slammed her fist against her brittle chest, before owling me.

“You did?! Why are you just now telling me?!”

“I… I don’t know. Was I supposed to earlier?”

“Immediately!”

That was impossible. Marge had already been beckoned upstairs by the time I made it back to the bar. And that’s if she was there the whole time…

“I didn’t think you’d be interested,” I admitted.

“Didn’t think- I-” she appeared stricken as she moved the coffee mugs away, making it just her and I in the space between us. “Details. Now.”

“How much do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

I held nothing back. I recounted the moments leading up to our make out session… how Matt ran his hands up my body. How he kissed and nibbled my neck and shoulder… the sweet words he uttered and the laughter that I tasted...

Marge soaked up every word. She fanned herself.

"Je n’arrive plus à me concentrer ! Do you still think about it?"

I shrugged. Not as much as I probably should. It was a release... and... confusing. I found Matt attractive and alluring. I love being his friend. I feel safe around him and he knows how to keep my spirits high. Whenever I am with him, I know I will end up smiling... even if he does riddle my brain.

The kiss felt natural in the moment... but I never had any thoughts of kissing him prior to it. I had thoughts of him being handsome, of course, but... it was just kind of like a firework. Like two sparks colliding to see a momentary explosion.

After it fizzled out, I was left with scattered feelings. I enjoyed it. I was thrilled dancing with him and had positive feelings being around him the whole night.

But...

“You look… down,” Marge analyzed.

I twiddled with my fingers. “Well, uhm… I feel guilty about it.”

“Why?”

“After we kissed, Mello saw us…”

Marge made a sound of acknowledgement.

“I reckon he might feel like I don’t care about him… he was in a dangerous situation and I was snogging Matt.”

Marge reclined back in her seat.

“So… you think he’s upset because you kissed someone while he was playing around with the big boys?”

I nodded, but began to feel skeptical. Her ridiculing expression did not go unnoticed by me. She rubbed her forehead like I gave her the worst migraine and smiled, shaking her head.

“Did I say something bad?” I wondered, afraid I might have sounded stupid again.

“No… you’re just… how do I put this?” she struggled, lowering her hands. “Naïve?”

I blinked, shrinking.

“You kissing someone while he was upstairs is not why he would be upset, Y/N. Let’s be realistic. He’d be upset that you kissed Matt instead of him.”

“I don’t think that’s the case…”

“Really?” Marge drew. “Because he didn’t care about anyone else’s kisses.”

"He seemed pretty heated at Matt..."

Marge arched her eyebrow at me.

“We're his friends..." I grasped. "So, he might have thought we didn't care because we were having fun.“

“You blending in was what he wanted. Drinking, dancing, letting loose… if you had stood there looking anxious then people would have grown suspicious that there was something they should be worried about. That would have harmed all of us.”

“I guess…”

“And I understand you two have a friendship. But we’ve known them for as long as you have and we have been through some fucked up things together too. He has never been upset at any of us in similar situations. So, why would he be mad at you?”

She had valid points. I couldn’t find anything debatable, and yet...

“… then why do I feel so guilty, Marge?”

“Because maybe you’re upset with yourself.”

I observed the older woman in front of me. She had lived through and experienced more romance than I ever have. I was a novice in such topics, whereas she seemed to be a master.

I blindly walked through a maze in my own heart and needed a counselor to help me navigate it.

“Please, help me understand,” I pled.

Her questions formed like maps in my head.

“Do you... regret kissing Matt?”

“No. I mean, we both wanted to.”

“And when you kissed him, what did you feel?”

“I… I felt, uhm…” I was too shy to form the words, but Marge seemed to understand.

“Lustful?” she threw out. “Sexy?”

“Yes,” I confirmed. “It was fun. Matt always brings that sort of energy out of me... he constantly uplifts me and makes me feel very happy.”

“But when you think of Mello…?”

My heart skipped, sending warmth through my body. I brought my hand up to my chest, as if I could mediate it. Marge’s gaze sharpened.

“There it is.”

“There what is?”

“The answer to your guilt. Your heart wants Mello more.”

... does it?

Marge smirked and folded her hands in front of her.

"Think on it," she encouraged.

The heat in the room was almost suffocating. It laid heavy, bearing down on our lungs like we were breathing in hot water. Two fans tried desperately to air out the room, sputtering out artificial winds. The factory's old air conditioning system could not combat California's heat today.

Marge had already warned me about this, since Jose had been sweltering in it since this morning. Therefore, I was thankful we dressed for the occasion.

I wore simple black denim shorts and a bowknot white tank top. I twisted my hair back with a pin to keep it off my neck. Even so, I could still feel beads of sweat forming on the back of it.

Matt shuffled his pack of cigarettes next to me.

"It's so hot in here, I might not even need a lighter," he mumbled, pulling one out.

He placed the cig in his mouth, before pocketing the box into his jeans.

"You don't need to light it," I protested.

His eyes flickered in my direction, before crinkling with his smile.

"Right you are, Y/N. Smoking is awful for you."

"Then why do you do it?" I wondered.

"It's the nicotine. It's addictive... releases my dopamine..." his voice faded off for a moment, as his grin widened. "Although, I think your kiss is worse. I'd do anything to have your lips on mine again instead of this cigarette."

He winked at me and then repositioned his gaze to the trio walking towards us. I kept mine on him though, concentrating hard on the way I felt.

My cheeks were warmer, flushed from the words he spoke. I felt my heart accelerate slightly, but besides that... I didn't feel that same addictive urge. I thought maybe I would want to reach out and cup his angular face... and move it closer to meet mine. That I would want to continue exploring his mouth, trailing kisses alongside the freckles at the corners of his lips, until I felt them lift up in a smile. But... I didn't.

Was I broken?

"It's hotter than balls in here!" Greg complained.

He dragged his feet into Matt and I's vicinity, pulling on his top. Skyer and Roy followed close behind him.

"You would know, wouldn't ya?" Skyer jabbed, snickering.

Greg frowned. "Shut up."

"No heels today, Greg?"

"I said shut up!"

Roy's face morphed with his confusion as he inquired, "Sky, why the hell you askin' that?"

"Greg likes to cross- dress."

Greg's face reddened. His eyes locked with mine, pleading for help.

"Actually, those were my shoes... Greg helped me last night," I defended. "I couldn't run too well in my shoes, so we traded."

"That's my boy!"

Jose's voice took all of us by surprise. The man wrapped his strong arm around Greg's shoulders, shaking him adoringly.

"Always the helper," he cheered, before releasing him.

"Look what the cat dragged in," Skyer greeted, flashing his stained teeth. "The heartbreaker himself."

"I don't break hearts," Jose denied. "I just break beds."

Roy hollered, slapping his back. "Oh, you dawg!"

"You broke lots of hearts yesterday," Skyer objected, "when you turned down every female that came at you."

Jose shrugged, "I already have the prettiest woman in the world."

"Yeah, yeah. You were just scared cause Marge woulda murdered ya."

"True. My baby doesn't mess around either... my murder would have made history." Despite the morbid comment, he wore a lovesick smile. "La mujer de mis sueños."

"I don't get how you two get numbers so easily," Greg retorted, pointing between Jose and Matt. "Like this morning, the cashier wrote her number down on the receipt for Matt and he threw it away."

"Oops," Matt said flatly, without a single care.

"You should've kept it," Skyer scolded. "Save some women for the rest of us."

"What kinda high are you on? Ain't no woman gonna want your bald- spot, greasy lookin', stanky ass," Roy chided.

Matt spit out his cigarette, his contagious laugh latching onto Jose and Greg.

Skyer's jaw fell, his eyebrow twitching. "You asshole. I've about had it up to here with you.."

He rose his arm above his head. It reached Roy's chin, the man obviously towering over him.

"Put your arm down, you look a damn fool."

Jose turned towards the staircase and his demeanor shifted into a more serious one. Curiously, I followed his gaze.

Mello walked in.

The unopened chocolate bar he held dangled by his leathered pants. The tight brown top he wore appeared as though it were a vest. He left it half unzipped, revealing the necklace I made him which drooped down his chest.

In his other hand, he clenched the notebook.

Other people gawked at him as he made his way to the empty couch reserved for him.

Jose abandoned his post by us, walking over to Ross. The meeting was now started.

We silenced ourselves, letting the fans and the squeals of shoes colliding against the humid floors fill the void.

"Any updates?" Jose asked.

Glen let out a guttural sound, stepping in front of him. Jose's eyebrow arched... I then lost him entirely. Glen's massive frame hid him from my sight.

"Yeah," Rashual pushed out, before repeating the exact same inquiry. "What kind of updates are there?"

It was almost like there was a powerplay dynamic going on. It seemed a little childish, as rude as that sounded...

Back at The Wammy's House, people often did this too. They would try to be the only ones in the professor's range of sight, so that there would be a positive impression associated with them. In other words, the more exposure the professor had with the student increased the probability that they would be remembered and liked.

I didn't think a similar concept would trinkle down into the mafia. Nor did I expect Glen and Rashual to feel like they needed to upsurge Jose.

"Ask Mello," Ross dismissed, lighting up his cigar.

The cherry bud of it glew as he flicked the lighter over it. A woody aroma was released while smoke curled up into the hot air. The sensation made me nauseous. I don't know how Ross could smoke in a climate such as this... it was already so hot in the room.

Mello propped his long legs onto the table, drawing their attention.

“Our threats remain the same,” he announced, ripping open the wrapper of his chocolate bar. “The Feeney Boys were not captured on camera when we were attacked last night. We searched through Jack’s footage, but got nothing. Jack didn’t face the camera to capture them.”

Ross’s fist clenched, the vein on his neck popping. I am positive that if Jack didn’t have the Shinigami’s eyes, he would have ordered his men to kill him.

“We can’t write their names down in the notebook, because Jack needs to physically see them. However, I found a solution that will attack our enemies from all fronts… Kira, the SPK, and our rivals.”

"Salazar is dead... and so is Montraie, right?" Jose asked.

Mello nodded. "Hollywood's son was murdered too... that leaves just Angelo and The Feeney Boys."

"Well, it looks like we've been able to kill most of the guys connected to us," Ross declared.

The sound of quick footsteps echoed through the room, as someone darted up the metallic stairs. I saw a flash of white scurry through the back of the crowd, before ceasing behind Ross’s couch.

Jack caught his breath, the white suit he wore cascading with his panting. A cellular phone was gripped tightly in his hand.

"The fuck is he wearing?" Skyer whispered to no one in particular. "Looks like he played dress up with Ross..."

Now that he mentioned it, I couldn't unsee the similarities. Jack was wearing almost the same exact attire as Ross. The white suit was near identical, the only scarce difference being the undershirts. However, Jack was able to find one that matched the same color pallets, despite the difference of design and fabric.

"Such an ass kisser," Roy grumbled.

"All founding fathers were," Skyer chuckled, using his inside joke.

Roy snickered, "You goin' to Hell. Stop comparin' him to those ancient ass people."

"You think he ran so fast because George Washington ordered him to?" Skyer asked.

"Boss," Jack proclaimed, leaning over his shoulder. "I've got the President on the line. It was easier than I thought it would be."

The two men were in complete shock. They pinched their mouths closed so no sound would come out, as laughter exploded silently within them. Tears streamed down Skyer's red face.

"Don't fuckin' look at me," Roy pled in a whisper, his tone high pitched and strained.

"It's George," Skyer wheezed out.

"You son of a bitch."

They spit and turned around.

Ross didn't even acknowledge Jack. He flicked the cigar in his hand, letting its ashes fall onto the carpet below his feet.

"Hand the phone to Mello," the mafia boss ordered.

Mello already had his hand outstretched.

Jack faltered momentarily, before he straightened back up. His face twisted in discontentment, as he tossed the phone over to him.

Mello's reflexes were always spectacular. He caught the phone instantly, not even having to peer up from the notebook.

He brought the phone up to his ear and spoke.

"President David Hoope, is this line being monitored? If anybody else hears what I'm about to say, it's going to cause a worldwide panic."

"N-No... it's secure..." a voice replied through the speaker.

So that really was the President. I stook in complete bewilderment. I was afraid to even make a sound. That was an incredibly important authority... the man that controlled the entire country I was currently- and illegally- in.

"That's his solution?" I whispered. "The President?"

Matt shrugged. "I don't know... he didn't tell me."

That's right... they were in an argument. I glanced up at him. Matt's eyes were dull and lifeless, staring at Mello with a forced indifference. Yet, by his rigidness and awkward attempt to feign detachment, I could evidently see that this was negatively affecting him.

Their fights always did. From what I remember, though, they never lasted too long.

Mello brought the phone closer. "I'm sure you know about the murder notebook and an anti-Kira organization called SPK, right? You organized it, so I know that you know about that..."

I gaped.

The SPK was founded by the President of the United States? I knew Near went to the United States Government... but I didn't know he went directly to the President! How did he manage to do that?!

"You should also know that the notebook has passed out of the hands of Deputy Director Yagami of the Japanese police and into someone else's control," Mello declared.

His lips turned upward in triumph as he revealed, "Ours."

The notebook was lifted into the air. Mello dangled it by his fingers, almost carelessly. I would have worried had it not been for Sidoh's admittance that the consequence in the rule about tarnishing the notebook was fake...

Or that it was actually Sidoh that was the murderous one... not entirely the notebook that just compelled Sidoh to act.

My eyes flickered over to the middle monitor screen, which showed footage from outside the building. I saw a smidge of the Shinigami's shadow cascading by the entryway.

He was still out there... bored, no doubt. I'm sure he would be more amused witnessing all that was happening in here.

"You probably can't believe it," Mello continued. "But this notebook has the power to control and kill people. If you want proof, give me the name of a person you want to die and how you want that person to be killed... go ahead..."

The President did not speak.

He believed him.

Mello's grin spread in response to the authority's silent confession.

He continued, "This means that I can control whoever is in charge of pressing the button that launches a nuclear strike, and then kill them."

I froze at his threat, letting it sink in.

The President panicked, barking over the phone: "S-Stop joking around! If you do that, you'll start World War Three!"

"That's right," Mello confirmed. "So you've got no choice but to listen to us. Understand?"

Weakly, the voice submitted to him.

"What... what do you want?"

Mello's eyes twinkled in delight, relishing in his capitulation.

"Very good, Mr. President," he praised.

Mello set the notebook in his lap. He snapped a off piece of chocolate with his canines. The crisp of it echoed in the phone's speakers. It was almost like he wanted the other person to know he was eating it... I noticed he did this over the phone with Yagami too...

"Jesus Christ," Skyer grumbled next to me. "He's gonna get that shit all over that damn notebook. Eddie, go help him."

Eddie swooped over to him quickly, his long legs making the journey towards Mello's couch short. He grabbed the phone from his gloved hand. Mello allowed this, having Eddie dangle it next to his ear. It gave him more autonomy over his hands.

Mello reached down and flipped the page of the notebook, letting the ruffle reverberate in the phone.

"We have no intention of making an enemy of the United States, so why don't we cut a deal that'll satisfy both our needs?" L's successor bargained.

He reclined back into the couch. The chocolate melted with the heat of the room, dripping its sugar down the bar. Mello brought the wrapper closer to his lips.

Before its drip caused a mess, Mello trailed his tongue along the side of it. He licked it, capturing the melt delicately.

I felt my cheeks burn at the sight.

As his tongue ambled up, I recalled the way Matt's danced with mine, travelling along my bottom lip. I wondered how Mello's would feel...

I pulled my eyes away from him immediately, feeling that warm feeling erupt within me again.

I can't be thinking of this now.

Focus.

"Satisfy both our needs?" the President repeated.

"That's right. What you want is to get your hands on the notebook too. And you want it before its existence goes public."

"Wh- What are you talking about?"

"That's why you created the SPK in the first place, right? But we already have one of the notebooks, and the other one is in Kira's hands. The enforcer of justice- the one who controls this world- shouldn't be Kira, right Mr. President? Once we kill Kira and get the other notebook, we will give it to you."

Jose's fists clenched behind him and his eyes widened. Other men in the room had similar reactions.

Were they just as unaware by this news as I was?

Mello promised Sidoh one of the notebooks. He was now promising the opposite to the President of the United States. Both entities would hold him accountable. You couldn't double- cross either.

Now I knew why the Shinigami was left out of this meeting... he didn't want Sidoh to hear this.

But Mello might have a plan that can get him out of this mess. At least, I hope he did.

I don't want to watch his world crumble.

"But," Mello quickly snipped, "in return, I want you to cooperate with us to get the notebook from Kira, and give us amnesty. We'll coexist with American society like we've always done. No, even more than we've always done."

"What do you mean by 'cooperate'?"

Mello hummed, licking more of the melted chocolate. He dragged his thumb across the corner of his mouth to wipe off the excess.

"First, I want you to give me everything you know about the SPK and their movements from now on. I also want funding, weapons, and use of the satellite cameras."

The President seemed hesitant as he admitted, "A-As you say, I did give you my approval to create the SPK Anti- Kira organization... but only the members have access to their information. And even I don't know who they are."

I shrank slightly. That was a poor excuse...

Mello's eye ticked and he sarcastically retorted, "I'm well aware of that. I'm asking you to use your powers as the President to get as much information as you can without them suspecting you. You didn't get to be president by luck. I'm sure you've got the skills to uncover the information."

"And I may be able to fund you, but I can't make a decision on the weapons and satellite alone."

Mello rolled his eyes and I was yanked to the past. His face bore the same irritated demeanor he used to give Matt during our library sessions. It was usually followed by the snarky remark of, 'Do I have to do everything for you, Matt?' To which, the gamer would often reply, 'Preferably.'

"You can claim a terrorist group killed the Japanese Police Director, and pretend to create a covert group as a counter-terrorist tactic," Mello instructed.

His tone screamed of his annoyance. I understood why he felt that way. It was weird to see that simple solutions such as this were lost on other people. Yet again, we also had to understand that not everyone was as rigorously trained as we were...

I also think the President's reluctance of cultivating solutions relayed that he did not wish to do this.

We heard the President sigh. I couldn't tell if it was out of fear or if it was due to the realization that Mello quite literally had an answer to any possible excuses he had.

Mello addressed both.

"There's nothing to worry about," he coaxed, taking his feet off the table. "... If you reject this offer, you're going to go down in history as the worst President the world has ever seen. You've got no choice."

The line cut off.