Mello would text you that evening, telling you to take the next flight to London. Near had insisted you both return to the UK, for whatever reason, and there was already a house in the capital under Near’s name that awaited your arrival. You would touch down first, caught up in a faded recognition of somewhere you once called home, and used your phone to find your way east, using the coordinates Mello had sent over.

Unfurnished, the size of the house looked intimidating as you wandered in, with nothing more than a backpack of accumulated necessities you had managed to obtain. Perhaps it was that you hadn’t lived in a place with so much room for so long that you were almost intimidated by the space, unable to envision how it could become your own. The flight had been a long one and, finding a mattress propped up in the hallway, you pulled it into the living room and fell straight to sleep on it, using your jacket as a blanket.

Mello arrived the next afternoon.

You held him close, breathing in that familiar earthy smell that no one other than Mello emanated, and rather than begin to groan, or struggle against your embrace, his arms wrapped around your back and he lowered his face into the curve of your neck. You told him that you missed him and he made a noise that suggested he did too.

Making a house into a home was always going to be a challenge. There were some essentials that needed to be procured – a bedframe, a sofa, various kitchen appliances – and these filled those large blank spaces with the commitment of residency. Mello would often say this wasn’t meant to be permanent, that although Near had not made any suggestion that they were indebted to him in any way, that you both would be moving out as soon as the opportunity presented itself. You felt no sense of urgency, this sense of sudden stability foreign yet welcome after these past years of constant vigilance.

There would be no threats of heart attacks, and you cut back on the cigarettes, the irony of dying in such a way from your own hand no longer offered the incentive it once held.

You had been decorating. Mello felt the white walls were too dull so after a healthy debate at the pub the evening before, you both settled on a burgundy colour, which you picked up that morning. Mello had found what appeared to be a very lucrative junk sale a few streets away, and arrived with various rugs, lampshades and kitsch ceramic that initially looked like a rather incohesive collection of impulse purchases. After the paint had dried, you put up some shelves and he arranged it all in such a way that even you had to admit looked nice.

Eventually, you brought back your tech, albeit having lost files and documents you would never be able to recover without the backups on hard drives that could be anywhere now. You were careful in settling them up so the cables didn’t trail across the floor, which had been a pet peeve of Mello’s when you first moved in together, but once your laptops were turned on, your consoles whirred into life, you realised you really didn’t want to leave now.

This was where you were happiest.

Granted, you know there’ll come a time any day now where the House will reach out, a new case will be opened, and perhaps you will need to leave this place behind. For now, you both spend your evenings on the sofa, drinking beers as you lie beside one another, easy conversations flowing. Mello is more relaxed than you have ever seen him, and he smiles easier now too.

"Chill out, I'm not saying you're wrong or anything." I sit up, my hand reaching for the small of Mello's back, "I think it's impressive you managed to pull the exchange off, you know." Granted, I was relieved when Mello confirmed the girl had been reunited with her father, thinking he had gone a little too far in kidnapping her to begin with. Not that Mello would have appreciated my two cents on his ethical practices.

"It went fine." Mello mutters stubbornly, evidently unconvinced that my earlier comment was not, in fact, passive aggressive, "We have the notebook now, meaning I can learn more about how it works. That should give us a significant advantage over Near going forward."

"Are you going to write names in it?"

"I won't, no, but we will need to be certain of what it is capable of. Don’t worry – my test subjects will not be anyone the world will miss." I have learnt over my time with Mello since arriving in the States that he tends to know what he's doing, and it is best to let him get on with it without challenging him.

"What are you going to do to celebrate then?"I ask instead, my hand climbing beneath his leather vest. I can feel the narrow edge of his spine against my fingertips. He repositions himself, glancing at me.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, this is more than enough of an excuse to do something, right? It's like you said, you're ahead of Near now, you've got the most powerful weapon humanity has ever come up against in your hands, I think you deserve to reward yourself for your hard work."

Mello considers my words, before cocking his head, “What do you suggest?”

I slide my hand back down his back, bringing it around his hip to grab onto his Chromehearts belt buckle, “Let me treat you.”

“If you’re so eager…” Mello guides my face towards his, his palm against my jawline, and we kiss as I pull his belt strap loose, tugging his incredibly frustrating tight leather trousers down. He moves further on to the bed, his own hands on mine as we manage to pull them. I slide my hand beneath his underwear, satisfied to find that he is already hard and the quiet murmurs between our lips only confirms his desires. I slide my tongue into his mouth, circling it over his, against his teeth, and gently push him down onto the mattress.

Disengaging, I hurriedly begin fiddling with my own fly, impatient and paranoid of breaking the momentum. I have never been very good at taking things slow, playing the long game but then again, neither has Mello. He is already arching his hips upward, exposing himself, as he pushes his pants down his thighs to hold his cock like a threat. If you don’t hurry the fuck up, Matt, I am going to start without you.

I manage to strip myself of my jeans and underwear, throwing them to the floor as my hands greedily clamp onto Mello’s soft, bare legs, hoisting them upright. He purrs, balancing them on my shoulders.

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

I spit on my palm, a rather crass but still effective technique in times like this when Mello and I aren’t willing to mess around, and prepare myself, my spare hand restraining Mello by the wrists above his head. My hands are considerably bigger than his, and I can pin him down without too much effort. He writhes beneath me, but before he can make any complaint, I push my lips back onto his. He relaxes, and I take the opportunity to push myself in.

Mello’s tight, and that pressure makes me moan, although I am conscious to keep my voice low. I move my hips so I pull back ever so slightly, before thrusting in again, and Mello gasps, breaking our kiss. I lean back to watch his face screw into a tight grimace at the sensation of being penetrated. He wears his expressions so clearly, it is never difficult to decipher how he feels, even if to some he appears untranslatable. Or rather, unpredictable.

“You okay?”

“Keep going.”

I am establishing a rhythm, one that won’t be sustainable as I force myself deep then drift back, again and again, the speed developing naturally. As I said, I am not a patient man. My hand is becoming clammy against Mello’s wrists but I am determined to keep him under my control, and he makes up for his lack of ability to move to instead groan, his eyes shut tight.

“You like that, babe? You like being rewarded?” In response, Mello lets out a soft whine, but I can’t be doing all the work today, so I lean closer, “Tell me how much you’re enjoying it.”

“I fucking love it.” Mello stammers breathlessly and I propel myself forcefully into him, prompting a more explicit moan.

“Good boy. You can’t wait can you? You’re so desperate to cum.”

“Please.” Mello never begs, always bratty enough to play a tug of war with me at times like these. Yet today he is clearly so desperate, it doesn’t even cross his mind to put up a fight.

“Do you think you deserve it?”

“I do, fuck, Matt, I do!” It is almost pathetic but I cannot pretend that hearing Mello whimper my name isn’t pushing me to the edge too. I bring my face close to his again, my breath hot against his cheek.

“We are going to do it together, okay? On the count of three…” I can barely hold myself together but my own discomfort with the build up is negligible knowing Mello is also resisting climax. I adjust my body so I begin grinding, and the slight change in pattern prompts Mello to try and push himself up, unable to do so effectively. Caught between desire and desperation to escape.

“One…” I pull my hand away, and Mello immediately wraps his arms around my neck, rapid gasps spilling from his lips interrupted by indistinguishable noises that I know only I can evoke. That alone emboldens me.

“Two…” I am losing feeling in my legs, my chest tight, but my body seems to be driven by determination of the end point. I will spend the rest of the day with sore muscles and exhausted, but for this moment, I can endure such misery. For that highest peak of pleasure I am willing to put my body through anything. To chase the high.

“And three.” The final number breaks between my lips as I release deep within Mello, who in turn cums as well, our joint orgasm jolting us close, caught up in the exact same ecstasy. I pull away, catching my breath as he lies there, strangely silent despite how his chest rises and falls as quickly as mine does.

We appear to have made quite a mess.

I grab the tissue box, conveniently on the bedside table and wipe myself, “Did you enjoy that?”

“It was fine.”

“Fine? Sounds like it was more than fine, Mello.” I screw up the tissue in my hand and toss it.

Mello’s eyes widen and he sits up, turning to look where the tissue landed, “Oh for fuck’s sake!”

────────────────────────────

Mello wakes up again, this time to Matt's green eyes staring at him intently. It occurs to Mello that Matt only began wearing those goggles once they were adults, claiming to have traded them for a pack of Marlboros on a drunken night out. Perhaps as a stubborn attempt to convince himself the trade had been worth it, he wore them constantly, even getting one of the lenses replaced after Mello threw them at a wall during an argument.

It is like Mello had said even then, they were nothing more than costume tat, but Matt hadn't seemed to care.

"Morning." Mello mumbles, caught off guard at a voice higher pitched than the one he had since come to recognise as his own over the past five years.

"What's happening, Mello? Why are we here?"

Right. Matt had died too. No, he was killed. Mello reaches out to stroke his best friend's face, the variety of freckles scattered over his cheek soft to the touch.

"It's my birthday."

Matt blinks, then smiles, "Okay." He understands. His eyes stray to the alarm clock on the bedside table, a useless thing that never managed to serve its intended purpose, "We've missed the Chemistry lecture."

"Like you give a shit."

"Yeah, but you would. Especially this close to exam season." Pulling his hand from beneath the sheets, Matt points to the desk between the two beds. Two piles of textbooks balance precariously above sheets of notes and diagrams. A manifestation of Mello’s determination that now seems so insignificant in light of what has happened. Mello turns away.

"I'm sure Roger will understand."

"Do you think he's here? If anyone is? It's weirdly quiet."

Matt was right – for the middle of the day, that familiar cacophony of children yelling or heavy footsteps along the corridor cannot be heard.

"Guess we will have to find out."

────────────────────────────

Creeping out of their room, the two boys – for that's what they are, now – cautiously survey the long, empty corridor before them, sunlight from the large windows filtered through the glass. Specks of dust could be seen dancing downward and Mello turns to Matt, a smirk across his face.

"The coast is clear. We can do what we want."

Matt arches an eyebrow as if to challenge Mello's recklessness, but his features soften as he glances back and forth once again, "Yeah, I guess we have the House to ourselves."

"We should have hot chocolate. It's my birthday after all." Mello feels oddly excited by this insignificant act of rebellion to a set of rules he never even really abided by even at the time they were enforced. No hot chocolate before eight in the evening during the winter months. Something Mello had always taken issue with as a child.

Matt grins, "Race you to the kitchen?"

Nodding, Mello and Matt begin to run, their bare feet banging against the wooden floorboards. Despite the years since they last left this place, they know exactly where each room leads, which shortcut to take, and the passages to avoid where they would reach a dead end. Mello gains some momentum, sliding down the bannister while Matt opts to dash down the staircase two steps at a time. As they stumble into the kitchen, Mello claims his victory by triumphantly grinning and grabbing two mugs from the cabinet.

"That's not fair," Matt groans, placing a saucepan on the stove before pouring in a carton of milk, "You had the advantage at the end."

"Should have thought ahead, then, shouldn't you?" Mello replies. He leans against the counter as he watches Matt stir in the chocolate powder, turning up the heat. He is still catching his breath but as he relaxes into a slower pace, his chest feeling less tense, the reminder of the day dawns on him, and he places his hand on his chest gently. He can feel his heart beating, at least.

It only takes a few minutes before the drinks are ready, and Mello finds marshmallows to sprinkle in before they take the mugs into the Common Room. There was usually always someone in here, more often than not Near playing alone, but today on Mello's birthday they have the large room to themselves. Rather than lounge on either of the three sofas, or curl into an armchair, they sit crosslegged on the floor in the middle of the room, their knees pressed into each other. Mello takes a sip and sighs – it tastes how he remembers, and that's all that matters.

"I always hated that your birthday was first." Matt mumbles into his mug, holding it with both hands.

"Really? Why?"

"I don't know, I think I was scared you would grow out of wanting to hang out with me. In that month."

"That's stupid."

"I know."

Mello circles the rim of the mug with his finger, thinking about those years they spent apart. The infrequent phone calls they managed to organise, brief periods of respite between those chaotic months in the Mafia, clawing his way up to the top. Regret was a silly thing to concern himself with, now that it was all over and there was nothing else to be done, but Mello wonders if he had stayed at the House, or convinced Matt to come with him, things might have turned out differently.

He will never know.

"Hey, look outside."

Mello follows Matt's gaze towards the window where he could see snow begin to fall against the prematurely darkening sky. He hasn't seen such snowfall for years – well, since he was this age. As he watched it settle, far quicker than it realistically ought to, that childish spark of excitement rips through him once again.

"Come on, let's go."

Neither thinks to grab their coats, or even stuff their feet into shoes as they hurry towards the door leading out to the courtyard. They do not feel cold, or warm, just energised by the desire to embrace the weather, to mark their footsteps as the first in the fresh snow. They stumble outside the House and stand there together for a moment, necks craned upwards, watching as snowflakes fall towards them.

"It's so pretty." Matt says, his words manifesting in smoke from his lips, years before his first cigarette.

Mello smiles, "Yeah it is. Do you want to make snow angels?"

Giggling, Matt grabs Mello's hand and they wander out into the centre of the courtyard, which in years before would have been filled with the other children, throwing snowballs at one another and erecting snowmen that tended to share characteristics too similar to those of the teachers to be coincidental.

"Ready?"

They throw themselves onto the ground, just far enough apart that they can sweep their arms and legs freely, the edges of their wings touching. Mello turns his head to look at Matt who is already looking back at him, a huge grin on his face. His black and white striped shirt is practically as white as the one their predecessor used to wear, and when Mello glances down at his clothes, the black cotton long sleeved shirt and trousers he wore constantly, he sees that they too have been dusted with frost.

Perhaps with the sun setting, Mello's developing fatigue is weighing heavy on him now, and he reaches an arm out towards Matt who manages to lean over far enough to grab his hand. Despite not feeling as cold as he should, he is surprised by the warmth of Matt's hand in his.

"Happy birthday, Mello." Matt says, before quietly adding, "This is it, now, right?"

"I think so."

"I wish we had a bit longer. I wish I could have lived an entire lifetime with you."

"I'm sorry, Matt. I really am."

Matt shakes his head, "Not your fault. This is how it was meant to be."

Mello took a deep breath, for no other reason than the sake of doing so, "I guess you're right."

"Mihael?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

"I love you too, Mail."