Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

11. JEALOUSY

The city springs into motion long before the sun even has a chance to peek over the horizon. Many people are forced to set their alarms up to three hours before work or school simply to survive the morning traffic.

Every household has its own version of chaos.

Mothers trying to drag their children out of bed, husbands desperately searching for the missing shoe, entire families somehow making it through the madness of their morning routines.

And this one is no exception.

Whatever the hell has Mihael in such a foul mood that morning, it keeps the entire apartment wrapped in an uncomfortable tension.

Everyone watches him open one kitchen cabinet after another before moving on to the lower drawers. Each time he fails to find whatever he's looking for, he slams them shut a little harder than necessary.

Not everyone seems particularly invested in the spectacle, however.

Matt and Beyond pay little attention to anything that isn't their breakfast. Neither considers himself capable of functioning properly before ten in the morning, and the only reason they're awake this early is because one plans to go job hunting while the other is trying to get ahead on a mountain of unfinished work.

Besides...

Mello's dramatic episodes happen so often that they stopped being surprising a long time ago.

Near is a different story entirely.

The youngest of the group can't ignore the silent hostility hanging in the air and finds himself following Mello's every movement around the kitchen.

“Could you just tell us what the hell is wrong with you already?” Matt asks without looking up from his plate, both cheeks still stuffed with food.

Beyond and Matt would probably prefer to finish breakfast and move on with their lives without giving too much attention to the morning drama. But if Matt finally decides to break the silence, it's only because Near looks far too pale.

He doesn't even seem to be eating comfortably.

He chews slowly, cautiously, as though he's afraid of making too much noise every time he bites into his cereal.

Mello doesn't look particularly well, either.

His cheeks are flushed, and his expression seems to promise death to anyone foolish enough to cross his path.

Though, to be fair, that's practically his natural state.

“One of you ate my chocolates...” he mutters with a scowl, still crouched in front of one of the cabinets as he searches through the very back of the shelf.

That's the moment Beyond finally reacts.

Mello is too busy looking to notice, but Matt certainly does.

For the briefest of moments, the younger Lawliet's eyes widen dramatically before he immediately returns his attention to breakfast, practically burying his face in his cereal bowl.

The guilt is so obvious that anyone paying actual attention could have figured out he was responsible.

Fortunately for him, nobody seems to notice.

And Matt certainly isn't about to rat him out.

“That's a bit of an overreaction for a few chocolates, don't you think?” he says without taking his eyes off Beyond, waiting for some kind of reaction.

“Yeah...” Near quietly agrees, still keeping his head lowered. “We can always buy more after work.”

Mello grips the handle of one of the drawers so tightly his knuckles whiten before slamming it shut and finally turning toward the dining table.

“Watari has those chocolates shipped to me from England!” he shouts, slamming both fists onto the table. “How the hell do you expect us to find them here?!”

Near immediately looks away, visibly hurt despite having only been trying to help.

“Mello...” Beyond finally speaks up.

For the last several seconds, he's been trying to figure out how to confess his crime without getting himself killed.

“I was really hungry yesterday, so I took a few...” he admits, lowering his head slightly and using that unusually quiet voice he rarely ever employs.

Matt can't hold back his laugh at the sight of him acting like a puppy caught with muddy paws.

Though he can't really blame him.

When Mello gets angry, he's perfectly capable of turning just about any object—or person—into a weapon, so it's understandable that even someone like Beyond would show a healthy amount of respect toward a lunatic like him.

“I still think they're just stupid chocolates,” Matt adds, waving a dismissive hand as though the matter isn't worth discussing.

Clearly, no one else shares that opinion.

“I can talk to Roger and have another box sent over. I'll pay for the shipping,” Beyond continues, still looking embarrassed as he tries to negotiate peace with his friend.

He doesn't want to be responsible for Mello's bad mood—or for the tension hanging over the apartment.

Sure, maybe they are just stupid chocolates, as Matt just pointed out. But Elle is always insisting that respecting other people's belongings is essential for civilized cohabitation. Besides, Beyond can't entirely judge Mello's aggressive reaction; he's fairly certain he'd react exactly the same way if someone dared touch his jam without permission.

“It doesn't matter, Beyond,” Mello finally replies after several seconds, once his breathing seems to have settled a little.

“Are you sure?” the younger Lawliet asks, his eyes widening dramatically. “I can—”

“No,” Mello cuts him off flatly. “Just leave it alone. Seriously.”

He shrugs lightly and lets out a weary sigh.

Beyond decides not to push any further. Yes, he feels guilty. But he also believes his physical well-being deserves some consideration, especially when dealing with someone capable of going from feral lion to house cat in a matter of seconds.

“Are you going to eat breakfast?” Near asks, making an attempt to stand so he can serve him some more of the scrambled eggs Matt made.

But Mello immediately shakes his head.

“I'm going to take a shower before it gets any later,” he replies, turning his back on all of them. “You should get moving too.”

“Want me to pick you up for lunch?” Matt asks just before Mello leaves the kitchen, as if he'd deliberately waited until the blond was standing near the door before calling out to him.

“Yeah...” Mello answers without letting go of the handle, turning his head just enough to glance back at his friend over his shoulder. “You'd better be on time. I'll be waiting on the corner across from the restaurant.”

Matt nods and gives him a thumbs-up before returning to his breakfast with very little regard for table manners.

A new pizza place had opened a few blocks away from the restaurant where Near and Mello worked, and Mello had invited him out for lunch.

Though Matt knows perfectly well that the invitation is intended to be something a little less innocent than simply spending time with a friend.

Because, honestly... if that were the case, why invite only him?

“Near, you've got a little milk on your mouth,” Matt says suddenly with a grin, leaning forward slightly and extending an arm until he can reach the younger man's face. “Let me get that.”

He slowly brushes his thumb across Near's lips before tracing one corner of his mouth with exaggerated delicacy.

Near simply allows the contact without looking uncomfortable in the slightest.

Sometimes Matt thinks the younger man is far too innocent for someone his age. He doesn't even seem to have caught the double meaning behind the comment.

Though, truth be told, Near wasn't the one he was trying to tease.

A small smile tugs at his lips when, from the corner of his eye, he notices that Mello is still standing near the doorway, not quite leaving, watching every little interaction between them.

Probably dying of jealousy. Just as he has been for the past several days. He's simply far too proud to admit it out loud.

oOo

“Light...?”

The young man in question glances briefly toward the doorway and catches sight of Liam's silhouette behind the curtain. Dismissing it almost immediately, he turns back to the mirror and resumes fixing his hair.

“Can I come in...?”

Just as before, no answer comes.

Liam hesitates for a few seconds, but finding no better alternative, he eventually grabs one edge of the curtain and pulls it aside just enough to stick his head into the room.

Light startles slightly when the man's reflection suddenly appears in the mirror.

“Who said you could come in?” he snaps, turning toward him with obvious irritation.

“Hurry up and get changed. Breakfast is ready.”

“I'm not hungry,” Light shoots back before turning his back on him once more.

Liam scratches the back of his head a little harder than necessary.

It's been five days since he started trying to approach the boy kindly, yet Light remains just as evasive no matter what he does.

And he can't simply blame it on adolescence, because the kid turns into pure affection whenever Sachiko is involved.

With him, however, all he ever gets is rejection and irritated looks.

“Listen...” he says at last, stepping fully into the room. “I know we didn't get off to the best start, but I'd like us to get along.”

“You don't love her,” Light replies instantly without even looking at him.

The silence that follows stretches on for several seconds.

Because Liam can't really argue with that.

Everyone knows he only ended up living in this apartment after being evicted from his own place for failing to pay rent. But that doesn't mean sharing a home—or even a bed—with Sachiko is something he dislikes.

“I care about her very much,” he says finally.

And he means it.

Liam knows perfectly well what people say about Sachiko and Light. She's "a junkie"; he's "a lost kid." They're the same words he's heard more than once from Ushio himself and from the men he works with.

Even so, he can't bring himself to be indifferent toward the only person who offered him a hand when he needed one most.

“Get out of my room.”

That's the only response Light gives as he grabs his uniform from the battered coat rack, completely ignoring the attempt to get closer to him.

“Is there anything I can do to make you accept me, even a little?” Liam asks in one last effort before letting out a weary sigh.

Light immediately rolls his eyes, though the gesture goes unnoticed with his back turned.

Truthfully, Liam doesn't seem nearly as unbearable as the others.

Unlike many of the men in the neighborhood, he isn't useless. He knows how to fix things, helps around the apartment, and always seems willing to lend a hand whenever he can.

The only obvious flaw Light has found so far is how easily he takes to drinking, though he doesn't reach the same extremes as some of the other men around the area. In fact, Light has only seen him drunk enough to throw up on the couch once.

Other than that... he seems like a relatively decent guy.

Sachiko has even stayed a little more sober over the past few days.

But none of that changes the real problem.

Light simply cannot accept any man trying to carve out a place for himself in this apartment.

Especially someone who seems willing to take away his mother's affection.

“Don't let my mom leave the apartment. At least not today.”

It's the only request he makes before finally turning to face him, making it clear he's completely serious.

Liam nods without asking for an explanation.

He knows perfectly well that Sachiko only goes out to feed her addictions, either spending whatever little money she manages to get her hands on or piling up debts that her son eventually ends up paying.

He knew part of that story before moving in, but living with her has allowed him to see firsthand just how chaotic things can become when she drinks too much.

So considering that it's Sachiko's birthday weekend, he assumes Light simply wants to keep her as stable as possible.

And honestly, he intends to try.

If only so the boy will stop seeing him as just another intruder.

Light finishes getting dressed once Liam finally leaves the room. He checks that everything he needs is inside his duffel bag, then spends a few more seconds studying his reflection in the mirror.

No one at school would ever guess how much time he'd spent that morning locked in the bathroom, carefully removing every trace of body hair.

Even less would they suspect where he plans to go that night. But if everything goes according to plan… he'll be able to give his mother the best birthday she's had in a very long time.

oOo

“You were awfully quiet during lunch,” Matt remarks as he drives, one hand on the steering wheel and the other holding a lit cigarette.

But the sentence is abruptly cut short when he slams on the brakes.

“AT LEAST USE YOUR DAMN TURN SIGNAL, ASSHOLE!” he yells, leaning halfway out the window to curse at some idiot who decides to slow down and turn without bothering to signal first.

Mello settles back into his seat without commenting.

Instead, he clears his throat softly, trying to get his friend's attention, though it takes him several seconds to finally find the right words.

“There's still time for dessert, don't you think?” Mello asks in a flirtatious tone as he stretches an arm across the center console and lightly runs his hand along the other's thigh.

Matt removes it almost immediately.

“I can't. I'm on a diet.”

He says it matter-of-factly while pulling into a parking space outside the restaurant where Mello works.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” the blond snaps, his eyes widening completely.

If he'd merely suspected Matt was avoiding him before...

now he's practically certain.

“Nothing.” Matt shrugs as he pulls another cigarette from his pocket to replace the one he dropped on the floor moments earlier. “But trust me, there's no way you're getting my little buddy to cooperate. He's been kept pretty busy lately.”

He grins before sinking back into his seat and closing his eyes, looking far too pleased with himself to seem innocent.

“What the hell is going on with you and Near...?” Mello asks impulsively, clenching his hands as he frowns.

Bingo...

Matt smiles to himself.

He knew the subject of Near was going to come up sooner or later.

Though, honestly, Mello held out a lot longer than he'd expected.

“What are you talking about...?” Matt asks, raising an eyebrow and feigning complete innocence.

“Don't play dumb. You know exactly what I'm talking about.” Mello wets his lips before continuing. “I thought you were my friend, but apparently you've been keeping things from me.”

“Nate's my friend too,” Matt replies, flicking a bit of ash from his cigarette.

The explanation clearly isn't enough for Mello, who raises both eyebrows and makes an impatient gesture with his hand, demanding that he continue.

“I promised him I'd keep my dick at least three feet away from your ass,” Matt finally admits with a sigh.

“You promised what...?” the blond stammers, now even more confused than before. “Near and I aren't even dating for him to pull that kind of crap!”

The irritation in his voice is impossible to hide. How the hell does Near think he has the right to interfere like that?

“I know...” Matt sighs, sinking a little deeper into his seat.

He never imagined he'd reach a point where the words sex and forbidden would end up in the same conversation. Maybe Beyond's lecture the other day had made him feel a little guilty, but what truly got to him was the look on Near's face.

There had been no accusations. No tears. Yet one glance into his eyes had been enough to see the quiet hurt he was carrying.

“But you know I don't like breaking promises,” he continues at last, a crooked grin full of mischief spreading across his face, “especially when they're sealed with a kiss.”

Matt immediately enjoys the reaction.

Mello's eyes widen dramatically the moment he hears that.

Maybe the kiss part is a lie. But teasing Mello is simply too much fun. Unfortunately, the satisfaction doesn't last long. Because only a few seconds later, the car fills with the blond's laughter.

“Near would never kiss you,” Mello says through laughter, doubling over as he clutches his stomach with both arms.

“If you say so...” Matt shrugs before taking another leisurely drag from his cigarette.

Mello's laughter gradually dies down until he finally straightens up in his seat, still looking somewhat unconvinced.

“Come on, Matt. You can't seriously expect me to believe there's something going on between you and Near...”

This time, it's Matt who bursts out laughing.

He turns his head slightly toward him and replies with an almost irritating calmness.

“Your confidence is starting to look pretty pathetic. One day Nate's going to get tired of your selfishness... and I hope it won't be too late for you when that happens.”

Mello's jaw immediately tightens. He wants to answer. He wants to tell him to go to hell.

But the words tangle together in his head without forming a coherent thought.

And just when he finally manages to put together a proper response, someone knocks urgently on the driver's side window.

Matt lowers the window and can't help the faintly amused smile that appears when he sees who's standing there.

“Mello, Karlsson's looking for you! Have you even seen the time?!” Near scolds, practically leaning halfway into the car as he grips the bottom edge of the window frame with both hands. “You were supposed to be back five minutes ago!”

A small smile tugs at Mello's lips.

He understands perfectly well how serious the infraction is, but he doesn't seem particularly worried.

Instead, he leans toward Near and grabs him by the lapels of his uniform.

Then he pulls him closer until their lips meet.

The kiss is anything but gentle. It's possessive. Almost arrogant.

Mello claims his mouth without the slightest bit of restraint, making it abundantly clear that he doesn't care in the least that Matt is sitting only a few inches away, watching.

In fact... that's exactly the point.

But Near, completely unaware of the conversation he has just interrupted, places both hands against the blond's chest and gently pushes him back a few inches, breathing a little harder in surprise.

“Sorry for being late,” Mello says, still holding onto the younger man's lapels and remaining far too close to his face, “but Matt was telling me something hilarious, and I lost track of time.”

“Oh, really...?”

Near glances toward Matt.

And it doesn't take the redhead long to notice the brightness in the younger man's gray eyes or the faint blush spreading across his cheeks.

Nor does he miss the smug, self-satisfied smile that appears on Mello's face.

“And what exactly were you talking about?”

“Nothing important,” Mello replies before giving Matt a couple of pats on the shoulder, almost as if thanking him for the entertainment. “See you tonight.”

Then he climbs out of the car without waiting for an answer.

And honestly, he doesn't seem to need one.

Even so, the tension between them continues to linger in the air long after Mello walks away.

So much so that the small bubble of infatuated distraction Near seemed trapped in finally bursts the moment his eyes meet Matt's disapproving stare.

“Matt...” he murmurs immediately, unsettled by the expression on the other's face.

“Ready to go?” Mello interrupts, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze to reclaim his attention.

Near barely manages a nod.

“I hope you know the difference between being innocent and being an idiot, Nate.”

It's the only thing Matt says before starting the car and finally pulling away.

And no... seeing those two together doesn't really bother him.

What frustrates him is how little resistance Near seems capable of putting up whenever Mello is involved.

Over the past few days, Matt had tried to help him put some distance between them, convincing him to ignore Mello a little and stand his ground—if only the bare minimum.

He even went so far as to make promises nobody had actually asked him to make.

All of that...

only for Mello to regain complete control over him with nothing more than a touch and a kiss.

It's frustrating. But it's hardly worth staying angry about.

Because at the end of the day, whatever exists between Near and Mello belongs to them alone.

And they're probably the only two people capable of understanding it.

Dysfunctional. Toxic. Maybe even harmful.

But a relationship nonetheless.

One that, from Matt's perspective, seems inevitably headed for disaster.

oOo

“Le Grand Magasin” had recently been ranked the best shopping center in the city by one of the country's most prestigious social magazines. With more than two hundred thousand square meters and nearly seven hundred stores inside, it was practically impossible not to find whatever someone happened to be looking for.

Of course... none of those stores seemed particularly familiar with the concept of good quality at a reasonable price.

The perfectly lit display windows, decorated with meticulous precision, belonged exclusively to luxury brands whose prices were far beyond the reach of anyone earning an average salary.

“What about that one?” Mikami asks, taking another sip of his brightly colored frappé while pointing toward a store on the opposite side of the corridor.

“I don't know...” Light murmurs without taking his eyes off the mannequins displayed near the entrance.

He can't picture his mother walking down the street wearing those extravagant sunglasses or carrying the oversized handbags that seem to be fashionable lately.

“Have you even decided what you want to get her?” Teru presses, letting out a small sigh.

It's the fifth store he's suggested.

And Light still hasn't liked any of them.

“It's just... I'm not sure.”

His honey-colored eyes slowly sweep across the enormous shopping center.

Despite having been there many times before with Teru and Misa after school, everything feels overwhelmingly large that day.

Too many hallways.

Too many stores.

Too many people.

The stairways, restaurants, movie theaters, bars, and countless shops of every kind gradually begin to overwhelm him.

He never imagined choosing a gift for his mother would turn out to be this difficult.

“You must have some idea,” Mikami continues.

He doesn't actually mind shopping. Much less spending time with Light. But they've been wandering around for nearly an hour without setting foot inside a single store, and the fact that they're both still wearing their school uniforms makes them look like two broke students hiding in the mall for the air conditioning.

Which is fairly uncomfortable for someone like Teru.

“What's her favorite brand? Prada? Gucci? Chanel...?”

“Maybe we should just wait for Misa?” Light interrupts nervously, discreetly biting his lip.

Then he looks away, wondering for the fifth time why the hell Misa still hasn't shown up.

“You did tell her we were meeting here, right?”

“Of course. She just hasn't replied. I don't think she's coming.” He shrugs before taking another sip of his drink.

Light lets out a sigh and absently scratches his cheek, clearly anxious.

He's so focused on finding a solution that he doesn't stop to consider the possibility that Mikami is lying.

Because that message was never actually sent.

“Then why didn't you tell me sooner?” he complains, though there's no real bite behind the words.

The idea of bringing Misa along came from something fairly simple: Light is convinced that only another woman could help him choose the right gift for his mother.

That's the only reason he agreed to come to this particular shopping center in the first place.

Because he knows perfectly well that both Misa and Teru would probably suffer a complete breakdown if they ever had to set foot inside one of those discount stores packed with secondhand items and clearance racks.

But if he'd known from the start that Misa wasn't going to show up...

he would've looked for something much more affordable a long time ago.

“It's not that big of a deal,” Mikami says after a few seconds.

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches the obvious disappointment on Light's face and ends up feeling a little guilty.

“It can't be that difficult for two guys to find a gift for a woman,” he adds, giving him a couple of light pats on the back in an attempt to cheer him up.

Light responds with a small smile and a nod.

Maybe the problem was never really the gift.

Maybe what has him so nervous is that this will be the first time he's ever been able to give his mother something.

And no... the terrible drawings he used to make as a child with glue and dried beans definitely don't count.

He wants to do something special.

He wants to give her something beautiful.

And Teru is right.

It shouldn't be this complicated.

“What does your mom like?” he asks at last, sounding a little more determined as he continues studying the storefronts they pass.

“Jewelry,” Mikami answers immediately, not even needing to think about it.

Light, however, takes a moment to consider the suggestion.

A delicate chain with a beautiful gold pendant would probably look lovely around his mother's neck.

The problem is something else entirely.

He seriously doubts a gift like that would be appropriate considering the neighborhood they live in.

Still, he doesn't want to dismiss another one of Teru's suggestions when the other boy has already spent the entire afternoon helping him.

Besides, Mrs. Mikami always looks elegant with her perfectly coordinated rings and earrings.

“I think that's a good idea,” he admits at last with a small smile.

“I've got it!” Teru suddenly exclaims, stopping in his tracks.

Two young women have just walked past them, and while one of them strikes him as fairly attractive, it's the perfume lingering in her wake that truly catches his attention—and gives him a much better idea.

“Why don't you buy her a perfume?” he suggests, turning back toward Light. “There's no better accessory than a good fragrance, don't you think?”

This time, Light's smile is completely genuine.

Even his eyes seem to brighten the moment he hears the suggestion.

How the hell hadn't he thought of that sooner?

He hates the smell of alcohol.

And suddenly, he can't help wondering what it would be like to hug his mother again without that sour, nauseating scent clinging to her skin.

“Yes! That's perfect!” he exclaims, clasping his hands together excitedly.

“Great!” Teru smiles immediately, clearly relieved that one of his ideas has finally worked. “There are always women around the perfume section. I'm sure one of them can help us.”

Almost without realizing it, and simply trying to move through the crowd more quickly, Teru ends up taking Light's hand.

The contact goes completely unnoticed by the brunet, who is still far too absorbed in his own thoughts.

Mikami, however, notices.

And it takes him only a few seconds to realize how compromising the situation might look.

So, doing his best to act completely natural, he quickly lets go of his friend's hand and rests his own on the escalator handrail as though nothing had happened.

“Seriously, thank you, Teru,” Light says with a sincerity that catches the other boy off guard as they continue riding up.

Mikami is probably the most spoiled and superficial person Light knows.

Even so, he's genuinely fond of him.

And deep down, he truly is grateful that one of the people he spends the most time with is there with him that day, helping him choose something for the most important woman in his life.

“It's nothing,” Teru replies with a small shrug, trying to downplay it.

He keeps his eyes fixed ahead as they walk through one of the mall's main corridors, deliberately avoiding letting Light notice the faint blush beginning to creep across his cheeks.

“Maybe we could grab dinner afterward,” he suggests at last.

“I can't. I need to get home early,” Light answers immediately, with absolutely no tact whatsoever.

It's not that he has a bad memory.

But the excitement of finally finding a suitable gift idea is probably keeping him from noticing the real intention behind the invitation.

Besides...

he already has plans for that night.

And, if he's being honest, he probably won't even be going home.

“Why?” Teru snaps under his breath before he even realizes the tone he's just used.

In a reflexive motion, he squeezes the empty plastic cup in his hand far too hard, crumpling it between his fingers.

“My parents are coming back tomorrow,” Light explains calmly, though his tone grows slightly more serious as he notices his friend's obvious irritation. “The house has to be ready.”

“Isn't that what the staff is for?” Mikami shoots back, unable to completely hide the resentment in his voice.

He never really learned how to handle rejection.

His parents practically raised him believing he could have anything he wanted, so long as he wanted it badly enough.

And besides...

who would turn down the heir to the Mikami fortune?

Still, he lets out a sigh and even closes his eyes for a few seconds, trying to calm himself.

Because even he doesn't fully understand what he's feeling.

He knows it isn't love.

But he can't quite convince himself it's only curiosity, either.

The problem is that Teru has never been particularly known for his patience.

And sometimes it drives him crazy not being able to move as quickly as he'd like.

After all, he didn't get rid of Misa and spend an entire afternoon wandering around a shopping center just to end up being rejected.

“Someone has to tell them what to do,” Light replies with a small smile, trying to restore the calm that had existed between them only moments earlier. “But we could go out next Friday, when that movie you've been wanting to see finally comes out.”

As he speaks, they pass through the men's clothing section.

The large racks packed with clothes leave only narrow gaps between the aisles, and Light deliberately takes advantage of both the cramped space and the fact that Teru is walking right behind him.

He slows his pace.

Just enough for Mikami to bump lightly into him.

“I saw the trailer, and I don't think it's really Misa's kind of movie...” he continues softly over his shoulder as he subtly presses his hips back. “So maybe we could watch it by ourselves and grab something to eat afterward.”

The contact lasts only a second.

But it's more than enough to send an immediate flush across Teru's cheeks.

“Y-yeah... sure...” he stammers, quickly looking away.

His face burns.

And the embarrassment of realizing just how easily his body reacted to the contact burns even worse.

Light smiles faintly before resuming his normal pace.

Seduction doesn't come quite as naturally when money isn't involved, but he doesn't need to try very hard.

Teenage hormones do most of the work for him.

And, honestly, Teru isn't exactly a bad catch.

He's attractive.

He has money.

And if someone put duct tape over his mouth, he'd probably be perfect.

“Maybe afterward we could go back to my place,” Teru adds, sounding considerably more confident this time as he refers to their future outing.

Light simply nods, though he doesn't miss the flirtatious note in the other's voice.

He knows perfectly well it isn't right to encourage Teru's advances when he has no intention of ever returning them.

But keeping Mikami in a good mood benefits him.

He's already learned the hard way that the more irritated his friend becomes, the more uncomfortable questions he starts asking.

And that's exactly what Light needs to avoid.

In the end, everything always comes back to survival and adaptation.

The Mikami name appears in magazines, social events, and international news.

The Yagami name, on the other hand, is known only by the gossips in his neighborhood.

And that difference causes him enough problems as it is.

Because pretending to have a privileged life becomes difficult when your family doesn't even exist in the same world as your friends'.

So he simply tries to avoid questions.

Avoid situations.

Avoid anything that might expose him.

At least for the next two days, while he continues maintaining the lie that his parents are only returning to the city for the weekend.

After that, he'll find some excuse to put a little distance between himself and Mikami.

He'll probably try involving Misa more often without making it too obvious, simply to avoid being alone with him.

Because even though that friendship is built partly on lies, Light genuinely doesn't want to lose them.

He doesn't want the little he has to be ruined because of a teenage crush.

Especially when Misa and Teru are probably the only people he can truly call friends.

oOo

The clock reads eleven at night, and the avenue is already packed with people.

The sound of high heels striking the pavement barely manages to stand out against the music spilling from the nearby bars and clubs, setting the backdrop for streets that have turned into a chaotic sort of parade dominated by extravagant makeup, eccentric outfits, and neon lights.

Elle stands in the middle of all that commotion with a phone pressed to his ear.

Some people bump into him accidentally as they pass.

Others offer suggestive smiles.

The boldest of them—a pair of clearly intoxicated drag queens—go so far as to leave a kiss on each of his cheeks before sashaying away with exaggerated sways of their hips.

It doesn't really bother him.

Even so, he ends up fishing a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping his face with obvious discomfort.

The thick black clouds covering the moon have been threatening rain for quite some time now, reason enough to wear a light jacket.

Yet even with it on, he can feel sweat dampening the back of his neck.

At first, he blames the crowd.

Then he discovers the real culprits when a red car finally pulls up in front of him.

“We agreed on ten thirty.”

Ever since they were kids, he's never managed to get his friends anywhere on time.

Quillsh and Roger practically gave up hope the day Mello somehow managed to arrive late to his own tenth birthday party.

The only one who ever seems to make an effort to be punctual is Near.

Although, of course... if you run with wolves long enough, sooner or later you learn to howl.

“It's Matt's fault,” Beyond immediately defends himself. His brother and he only managed to patch things up a few days ago, so he definitely has no intention of arguing with Elle again because of someone else. “His inner diva couldn't decide between the blue shirt with black stripes and the black shirt with blue stripes.”

Matt's eyes widen dramatically before he smacks him on the back of the head.

More for ratting him out than because it isn't true.

Because, honestly, he did spend far too long picking an outfit.

At least he has the consolation of knowing he looks incredible tonight, unlike the other three, who clearly grabbed the first thing they found in their closets.

“We're really sorry, Elle,” Near apologizes, giving a small bow.

The eldest Lawliet immediately waves a hand, silently asking him to straighten up and dismissing the apology altogether.

Even he is starting to find it exhausting how often Near ends up apologizing for other people's mistakes.

Besides...

they're here now.

And that's all that really matters.

Well, that and the fact that his body has finally returned to a normal temperature after spending half an hour sweating in the middle of that crowd.

“Shall we?”

Without waiting for an answer, Elle turns and heads straight toward the nightclub entrance, where one of the security guards unhooks the rope and lets them in immediately.

The three walking behind him make a point of not looking too closely at the people still waiting outside, patiently standing in line for their turn.

Even so, they can't deny how nice it feels to enjoy the privileges that seem to come so easily to Elle.

One of those privileges, for example, is the reserved table in the club's most exclusive section.

At both ends of the nightclub, broad staircases rise upward, guarded by security personnel and once again separated by red velvet ropes stretched between polished metal posts.

Each staircase leads to a different section of the VIP area.

The entire upper floor is reserved exclusively for special clients, though it's divided into two completely different environments designed to suit different tastes.

The south wing remains open to the main dance floor, protected only by a railing high enough to prevent accidents without obstructing the view of the DJ mixing tracks alongside the dancers on stage—or the crowd below gradually losing control.

It's designed for people who want to enjoy the party without being trapped in the suffocating heat of the dance floor.

The north wing, on the other hand, is enclosed by enormous panels of tinted tempered glass that almost completely muffle the music and the shouting from outside, creating a far quieter and more intimate atmosphere.

And tonight, specifically, Elle isn't in the mood for parties.

So he simply shows his pass to the guard stationed at the north entrance, and the man lets them through without a single question.

The place is kept almost completely dark.

The only illumination comes from the faint violet glow tracing the upper edges of the ceiling and the bluish light shining from beneath the white round tabletops.

Beneath the muffled music come the soft clink of glasses, quiet laughter, and the low murmur of private conversations.

The silhouettes of bodies lounging across leather couches are barely visible through the shadows, much like the smoke drifting from the thick cigars some hold between their fingers.

It's difficult to make out anyone's face in there.

And that's precisely the point.

The lighting exists only to prevent people from tripping, keeping the atmosphere dark enough to provide privacy and comfort for the clientele.

Perfect for Elle.

The four of them settle around their reserved table, curiously the only one stocked with two buckets full of beer instead of whiskey, cognac, or expensive wine.

“And nobody's planning to dance?” Near complains as he rises to his feet.

Elle is the first to shake his head, grabbing a bottle and bringing it straight to his lips.

The neon-green wristbands around their wrists allow them to come and go from the VIP area as often as they like.

But just as he made clear earlier...

he isn't in the mood for parties tonight.

Which is rather contradictory, considering he was the one who insisted on coming to Le Chat Noir in the first place.

Beyond notices the distant look in his brother's eyes immediately.

Something is clearly bothering him.

Or worse yet...

someone.

And he sincerely hopes it isn't the latter.

He'll try to talk to him later, once Matt and the others are distracted with their own things and Elle seems a little more relaxed.

He'll try.

Because the relationship between them is still far too fragile after their recent argument.

“You know I don't like dancing,” Mello says in an unusually gentle voice when Near finally takes hold of his hand.

Elle smiles faintly at the small pout that immediately appears on the younger man's face. Near still has such childlike expressions that sometimes it's hard to believe he's already twenty years old.

And honestly, he finds himself wondering whether he'll ever truly lose that ridiculous innocence he still carries around.

“Pleeease!” Near begs, clasping his hands together without letting go of Mello's.

“I don't know...” the blond murmurs, pretending to consider it for a few seconds. “Though I might be willing to change my mind for someone as cute as you.”

He flashes a crooked smile before gently tugging him forward until Near ends up sitting on his lap. And just as he'd expected, the younger man's pale face immediately turns red from being so close to him.

Matt can't help rolling his eyes.

He doesn't even try to hide it.

It simply happens.

Because he knows perfectly well that Mello is acting this way out of pride, out of that arrogant need to show Near off as something that belongs exclusively to him.

And Near...

Near is far too in love to notice.

“I'll go see if I can find Nate's dignity,” he mutters at last as he rises to his feet.

Mello barely pays attention. Instead, he leans closer to Near and whispers a soft “ignore him” just before pressing a kiss behind his ear.

Near nods, though he doesn't seem entirely convinced. He hates feeling like any of his friends are upset with him, but he also understands that this is definitely not the right place to talk about it.

So he ends up turning all of his attention back to the young man who still has an arm wrapped around his waist.

“And what's gotten into you?” Beyond asks in a low voice, taking advantage of both Matt's departure and the fact that the couple in front of them seems far too busy making out to pay attention.

Elle grabs another beer bottle. He hesitates for only a moment before answering.

“I'm tired. You know... work can be exhausting.”

It's the only thing he says, because it's the only clear and coherent thought he manages to organize inside his head.

Everything else continues circling relentlessly through his thoughts, but he keeps it to himself.

He keeps to himself the fact that for the past several days, Light and he had been exchanging messages almost daily. Not long conversations, nor particularly deep ones. Just two or three brief texts that, strangely enough, the brunet always replied to immediately.

He also keeps to himself the fact that Light stopped answering his calls two days ago.

And most of all... he keeps to himself the fact that the silence is starting to worry him far more than it should.

At some point, Mello and Near manage to convince Beyond —the world's stiffest dancer— to go dance for a while, finally leaving Elle alone at the table.

And honestly, he doesn't mind.

In fact, he's almost grateful for it.

He doesn't want his bad mood ruining everyone else's night. Getting out of the house and spending time with his friends was supposed to help clear his head.

Instead, it has the exact opposite effect.

So he stays where he is, drinking while the others distract themselves. He tries not to think too much, but the combination of solitude, alcohol, and exhaustion turns out to be a terrible idea.

Because one after another, images of everything his life has become over the past few weeks begin piling up inside his head.

And in most of them...

Light is there.

oOo

The car turns a corner, and it's like entering a different world, one where the lights outshine the moon and the music makes the streets dance. They make their way down the avenue carefully, weaving around people moving from one side to the other. Light shrinks slightly into his seat when he realizes they're getting close to the place, where two illuminated skyscrapers frame the entrance. The fine hairs on his exposed stomach stand on end, and for a moment he doesn't think he'll be able to go through with his plan.

“We're here,” the driver says as he pulls over to the curb.

Light glances at him and tries to return the smile. His name is Tom... or John. He'll avoid saying it all night because he can't remember which one it is anymore.

They met a few days ago outside a fairly popular bar. The man has a nice body, but Light doesn't like his face at all; maybe it's the ridiculous amount of hair gel or the pathetic hairstyle he uses to hide his receding hairline. Even so, a few nights ago things ended with Light blowing him in the back seat of his car.

Tom, or John, made him promise they'd see each other again. According to him, he wasn't going to be satisfied until he'd gotten a shot at Light's ass.

Usually, Light writes down phone numbers he never bothers using again. There are only a handful of clients whose names and faces he actually remembers, usually because they pay well or because they show up often. But he decided to look this man up again because, unlike the others, he hadn't scribbled his number on a napkin. He'd handed over a business card with all his personal information on it.

Light might have remembered his name if he hadn't spent so much time staring at the job title printed underneath it.

It wasn't anything particularly impressive. Not compared to Elle, at least. But it was important enough to make Light think the man probably had money.

He had no idea whether his new client's life was actually miserable or genuinely wealthy, but he decided to trust his instincts.

And for once, they seemed to have gotten it right.

The plan was simple.

Light had spent days thinking about getting a fake ID. He was tired of waiting outside clubs; not only was it boring, it was starting to feel risky. And even though he was already eighteen, he'd discovered a long time ago that most of the clubs along that avenue only allowed people over twenty inside.

“Are you sure this will work?” he asks as the man hands him the piece of plastic bearing his photo and a modified date of birth.

Light's voice is soft, the same tone he usually uses to charm clients, but this time he isn't pretending when he lowers his head and clenches his hands like a lost kid standing in the middle of a huge amusement park.

He is genuinely nervous.

Sweat begins to gather at the back of his neck, and even so, he no longer feels capable of backing out. He owes it to Tom... or John. Whatever his name is. Not only did the man get him the fake ID, he also offered to accompany him the first night he used it at one of the avenue's most popular clubs. A “safe” place, according to the promise he'd made that afternoon.

But more than any sense of obligation toward that man, Light needs money.

His meetings with Elle are starting to take a toll on him. He doesn't complain; he knows perfectly well he's paying the consequences of his own actions. Even so, selling his body is still his job, the way he earns enough money to keep a roof over his head and avoid ending up sleeping on the street.

And Lawliet is becoming a problem.

The debt he owes him is starting to limit him. The occasional discounts helped for a while, but if things had continued that way, it would eventually have started feeling strange for both of them. So they returned to the arrangement they'd originally agreed on to reduce the debt. The problem is that every encounter leaves him physically drained, and afterward, going home empty-handed feels even worse when he knows he could have spent the night with another client instead.

“I already told you, the owner is a friend of mine,” the man explains as he takes hold of Light's chin and tilts his head up.

He finds himself lingering on those honey-colored eyes, still beautiful even now, clouded with uncertainty.

He hasn't felt this alive in a long time. He knows his wife thinks he's away on a business trip. He also knows he'd lose his family if they ever found out. But his friends talked so enthusiastically about their adventures with beautiful, voluptuous women that more than once he'd wished he were the one living those stories.

Light isn't a woman.

Even so, there's something about him that turns him on. Maybe it's his youth, his pretty face, or the filthy things he'd whispered in his ear that first night. Enough to have him here now, about to step out of the car and walk with an arm around the young man's waist like a pimp showing off his favorite escort.

“Here!” he says suddenly, pulling a small canister from his pocket after remembering he'd brought it specifically for him. “Use it if somebody gets too handsy, alright?”

Pepper spray.

The club owner might be his friend, but he'd made his position perfectly clear from the start: he didn't want any trouble. Letting a kid like this in—even if he was eighteen—was practically throwing a lamb into a wolf's den. And if a scene broke out inside his business, the responsibility would fall squarely on him.

Even so, he trusts that Light will know how to take care of himself. And if things do get ugly, that little canister should be enough.

Light nods. The container is so small it looks more like a breath spray than anything else, making it easy to hide inside the waistband of his pants.

The moment he steps out of the car and shrugs off his beige trench coat, he can feel several pairs of eyes settle on him, and he knows exactly why.

A pair of low-rise black leather pants hugs his frame, pocketless and tight-fitting, paired with a loose electric-blue crop top whose open straps expose most of his back.

Tom slips an arm around Light's bare waist. At first, he walks uncertainly, feeling exposed in those clothes, but the adrenaline from all those eyes on him starts to loosen him up. Soon his stride grows more confident, his hips swaying provocatively from side to side as they make their way through the entrance.

“You promise you'll behave, right?” John pulls him closer and, emboldened by the darkness of the club, goes searching for his lips while openly squeezing and pinching the young man's ass.

“Y-Yeah...” Light pants against his lips without breaking the kiss.

He doesn't care what Light is. All he wants is to empty his pent-up lust into that ass by the end of the night.

“I'll pay you well if you're a good boy.” He gives him a light bite on the chin before taking his hand and leading him farther inside.

Light understands that he can use his mouth, his hands, or any other part of his body to get what he wants tonight, but sex is off-limits. Tom had told him he didn't want him tired, much less “worn out.” Light doesn't mind the condition. From the beginning, he'd planned on charging for a blowjob here and there, taking on as many paying men as he could manage, and he's fairly sure more than a few will be willing.

They make their way to a staircase where another security guard stands watch over the entrance. Both of them are fitted with neon-green wristbands identifying them as exclusive members, and Tom kisses him again in farewell.

“Come find me upstairs when you're done.”

Tom keeps hold of Light's trench coat and flashes his wristband, allowing him access to the exclusive section.

The moment Light sees him disappear, his confidence starts to deflate. Suddenly, the place feels too big, too dark, too crowded.

He avoids the dance floor. There are too many bodies moving together, too many hands gliding over unfamiliar skin as if it were nothing. Instead, he stays close to the edges, walking slowly while trying to appear calmer than he actually feels.

Imagining this had been much easier than living it.

He sees men kissing against the walls, laughing, touching each other without the slightest trace of embarrassment, and for the first time he wonders how the hell he's supposed to convince anyone to pay for something other people seem to be getting for free.

He keeps moving without any real destination in mind, like a lost animal surrounded by too much noise.

Waiting for drunk men outside a bar is nothing like being inside a place like this, surrounded by men who stare a little too long or brush against him in passing as though they've already decided they have the right to touch him.

A hand squeezes his waist.

Another grazes his arm.

Someone smacks his ass while passing behind him, and Light doesn't even catch a glimpse of who it was.

That's enough to shatter whatever confidence he had left.

He immediately turns, searching through the lights and the crowd for the entrance to the north wing.

Coming to this club had been a terrible idea.

All he wanted was some colorful balloons, a nice gift, and a good-looking birthday cake for Sunday without ending up broke. Whatever John paid him would probably be enough. He'd figure out the rest of the week later.

He takes a few steps forward, only to stop when a hand settles against his stomach and blocks his path. At first all he sees is a broad, intimidating chest, but when he lifts his head, he's met by a pair of striking, piercing eyes.

“Are you here alone?”

The voice is deep and flirtatious. Light doesn't answer right away. Part of him still thinks it might be better to go back to Tom, but he finds himself staring at the man's perfect smile for a second too long.

Then he decides it's time to put his skills to use and not let the opportunity slip away.

He grabs the front of the man's shirt and rises onto his toes to reach his ear, trying to keep the music from swallowing his words.

“I'm with you,” he whispers before catching the man's earlobe between his lips.

“Do you charge?” the man asks, still smiling as his gaze travels leisurely over Light's body, as though trying to guess the answer before hearing it.

Light tenses at the bluntness of the question, immediately giving away that this is his first time in a place like this.

He doesn't realize it, but questions like that seem perfectly normal in here—a quick way of finding out what the other person is looking for. Besides, judging by the way he's dressed, it isn't exactly difficult to guess what he's offering.

“Five for a blowjob if you don't finish in my mouth,” he begins, feeling eager hands slide across his back before settling on his ass. “Ten if you want to do it on my face... and twenty if you want me to swallow.”

He finishes with what little confidence he has left.

His lungs feel tight, and he's almost surprised he managed to repeat the speech he'd practiced in his head so many times without stumbling over the words.

“And what if I want something more?” The man grips his hips and pulls him closer, lifting Light's feet off the ground for a few seconds.

The stranger is so attractive that, for a moment, Light genuinely wants to forget about Tom and leave with him instead.

But certain words keep hammering at the back of his mind, a rule he's trying to respect even in a place like this.

Act out of convenience, not pleasure.

“For tonight, my mouth is all you're getting,” he replies, keeping his voice close to the man's ear and ending the sentence with the promise of seeing him again in a few days.

“Fair enough. I'll take option three.”

Light nods and explains that he needs at least half the payment up front. The man pulls out his wallet and, instead of handing over only part of it, gives him the full amount before taking his hand and leading him through the crowd.

They walk down a long corridor where the lights seem to grow dimmer with every step. The place is spacious, yet somehow feels cramped because of everything happening against the walls.

It smells like sweat, alcohol, and semen.

A lot of semen.

And he doesn't just smell it in the air; he can see it, hear it. Moans echo off the walls while unfamiliar bodies move through the shadows and weak pools of light.

Light thinks he knows what's waiting at the end of the corridor. He's heard people talk about the dark rooms before, but he doesn't feel ready to step into one. Just imagining different hands deciding they have the right to touch him while he doesn't even know who they belong to is enough to make him nervous.

That's why he comes to an abrupt stop, forcing the other man to stop as well.

“Relax. I was only looking for an empty spot.”

The stranger immediately picks up on his unease. He steps closer, cups Light's face between both hands, and presses a kiss directly to his lips.

For a moment, the man simply studies him up close. His features look far too young for a place like this. He also suspects the provocatively dressed boy has never really been with a man before. And even if he isn't a virgin, this certainly looks like the first time he's ever set foot in a place full of desperate men.

It's painfully obvious.

In the tension of his jaw.

In the way he keeps glancing around.

In that uneasy, confused expression he still hasn't quite managed to hide.

The man takes him by the waist and positions him with his back against the wall, in an empty space between two couples.

Light tries to clear his mind, to ignore the bodies, sounds, and smells surrounding him. The sooner he starts, the sooner it'll be over. Afterward, he might still have time to try his luck one more time before going back to Tom, because he's already beginning to suspect he isn't ready for a place like this.

He's about to kneel down and get to work when the man stops him by placing a hand against his chest.

Once again, Light finds himself distracted by that beautiful smile, but he's completely unprepared to see the man crouch in front of him.

Even less so when he starts undoing his pants without a word.

“What... what are you doing?” he asks, confused.

Is this some kind of foreplay? Because they don't have time for that. Light would rather get straight to the point.

“Relax...” the man murmurs, running a hand over his exposed stomach. “I paid for a blowjob. I never said you'd be the one giving it to me.”

The man wastes no time, and Light tries to focus solely on getting it over with quickly. But little by little, his mind begins to go blank for entirely different reasons. The hands gripping his waist, the confidence with which the other man touches him, and the ease with which he seems to know exactly what he's doing leave him far more disarmed than he expected.

For a moment, he even stops thinking about the club, about Tom, about the money, or about how uncomfortable the place feels.

And everything is going fine. His partner seems more than willing to indulge him, offering no resistance when Light guides him deeper. The man's experience and skill are impossible to miss.

But then, just as his half-lidded eyes manage to focus on someone in the crowd, reality crashes back into him all at once, and his legs nearly give out beneath him.

Matt is standing there, only a few yards away, staring directly at him.

Light's entire body tenses immediately. He bites down hard on his lip to keep from making any sound while trying to make it clear to the man that they need to stop.

Now.

Their eyes remain locked for only a few seconds before Matt looks away and simply leaves.

He doesn't seem shocked. Or uncomfortable. Much less offended.

If anything, it's a strange gesture of courtesy. As though he'd immediately understood that standing there and watching would be awkward even for him.

And somehow, that only makes everything worse.

Light doesn't even know how he manages to finish after that.

The man eventually rises to his feet, licking his lips with a satisfied smile, but to Light, all that beauty has become completely irrelevant.

The only thing he wants now is to get out of there.

He pulls his pants back up as best he can and pushes the man away the moment he catches his breath.

If Matt is here, then Elle probably is too.

And Light has no intention of dealing with him tonight.

He doesn't want to hear any comments, endure any strange looks, much less give the businessman another opportunity to ruin his mood.

So, without even bothering to listen to whatever the man is trying to say, he straightens his clothes as best he can and starts making his way back, hurrying through the crowd with the sole intention of finding John again before he runs into Elle.

On the way back, more hands try to stop him. Other men who seem more than willing to pay for a good time with him. But Light doesn't stop. He sends Tom a message, and when he reaches the entrance to the exclusive section again, he flashes his wristband to the guard.

John shows up shortly afterward and leads him back to the table without any trouble. There are two other men sitting there.

Light asks him to send them away, but Tom only laughs and explains that it would be rude to ditch his friends when they've been there for less than an hour. He promises they won't stay much longer and asks him to be patient.

Light is just about to collapse into one of the armchairs in visible frustration when Tom pats his thigh a couple of times, indicating what he apparently considers Light's proper place.

He practically forces him to sit on his lap, facing him, with his legs wrapped around his waist.

A terrible position for a conversation, if you ask Light.

He isn't exactly small anymore; sitting like that, he ends up blocking half of Tom's body and making it difficult to even see the table. The logical thing would have been to seat him beside him like a normal person, especially if he really intends to stay there “chatting.”

But Light suspects that isn't the point.

Tom just wants to show him off.

“Have you been a good boy, or am I going to have to punish you?” Tom asks, holding him by the waist as his thumb traces slow circles over the exposed skin.

“I've been a good boy just for you,” Light replies with sweet submission, though a flicker of annoyance slips through before he buries his face against the man's neck.

Pretending comes naturally to him.

He figures that if he acts sweet enough, flirtatious enough, needy enough, he might convince Tom to leave sooner. So he plays the part.

He rolls his hips ever so slightly against the man's lap and starts whispering things into his ear that he doesn't even mean. One of Tom's hands strokes the bare skin of his back while the other lifts a glass of cognac to his lips.

Tom enjoys every second of it: the alcohol, his friends watching, and a much younger man moving on his lap as though he existed solely for him.

Tom's hands continue wandering beneath the fabric.

Light tries to ignore the fact that there are two other men sitting right across from them who probably aren't missing a single detail. He tries to convince himself that it doesn't matter.

But then the wandering hands become more intrusive. Light flinches slightly at the sudden intrusion and Tom casually remarks—loud enough for anyone nearby to hear—that he just wants to make sure “everything back there is still reserved for him.”

And very, very rarely, Light feels embarrassed.

Not because of the words or the audacity of them; he's far too used to men like this. It's the setting that bothers him. They aren't alone. It's not just Tom's friends. Waiters drift by every so often offering drinks, people pass near the table, shadows move around them... even if nobody seems to be paying much attention to what's happening.

“This arrangement is with you,” he murmurs softly, less as a genuine protest and more as an attempt to stop feeling like part of the evening's entertainment.

“Relax,” Tom replies with a smile. He wraps an arm around Light's waist, keeping him in place in case he'd been thinking about pulling away. “Why don't you just moan for me?”

The request comes with yet more insistent attention.

Light rolls his eyes when he realizes the other man can't even see him, but he does as he's asked anyway. He rests his head on Tom's shoulder and gives him a few quiet, fabricated moans near his ear, subtle enough for the setting...

Though he seems to be the only one who cares about that.

Because as the minutes pass, Tom's hands and mouth begin wandering further and further.

oOo

For Lawliet, the evening has gradually improved as the night goes on.

It has only been about fifteen minutes since everyone except Matt returned to the table to talk for a while. Bottle in hand, Beyond recounts how his job interview went. He doesn't think they'll call him back. Thanks to Matt, he knows his way around programming, but every position asks for experience, and the only experience he has is six months as technical support for a small company he eventually quit due to late paychecks and excessive workload.

Mello and Near talk about their day as well. Working as waiters isn't easy; some nights, the walk home becomes torture because of how swollen their legs end up feeling.

Lawliet's day has been a disaster too, though he'd rather keep that to himself.

He has no desire to offend his friends by complaining about things like the exquisite lunch he was forced to attend while finalizing an agreement with Swiss representatives, or about having to rush off afterward and spend an hour and a half locked in a meeting with business associates in the company's spacious, elegant boardroom, where he mostly sat in a cushioned reclining chair listening to proposals while his secretary documented everything important.

“Do you think he'll bring us Beauty or the Beast?” Mello asks before taking the last swig of his fifth beer.

Everyone laughs.

The jokes about Matt's romantic conquests resume almost immediately. They all agree on one thing: Matt has absolutely no middle ground. He either goes home with a complete train wreck or shows up accompanied by an actual Adonis.

The Lawliet brothers bet on the former. Considering the hour and how long Matt has been gone, they find it impossible to believe he hasn't visited the bar more than once already. And according to Beyond, alcohol has the wonderful ability to ruin a person's judgment, eyesight, and taste all at the same time.

Mello disagrees.

In his opinion, unattractive people tend to fall quickly for any attempt at flirting because they're not used to receiving attention. So if Matt has been gone this long, it's probably because this time his prey isn't making things easy.

Near is the only one who chooses to stay out of it.

Matt's words—and the way he'd looked at him earlier—are still too fresh in his mind, leaving him uncomfortable with the entire conversation. Besides, he doesn't think it's right to make fun of him the way the others do.

The laughter and merciless teasing continue as empty bottles pile up across the table and a fresh bucket of drinks arrives shortly afterward.

The only one who barely drinks is Near. He takes a sip or two at most before passing the bottle to Mello, though being more sober than the rest doesn't stop him from enjoying himself once the embarrassing childhood stories start coming out.

And, as usual, Beyond ends up being the star of most of them.

The table falls silent for a moment when Matt finally returns. Contrary to everyone's expectations, however, he comes back alone. The only thing they got right was that he's pretty drunk.

“Rough night?” Elle asks, convinced that Matt returned without company because nobody fell for his charms.

Much to Mello's annoyance, he and Near are forced to separate when Matt drops down between them without so much as asking.

“Not necessarily...” he replies with a crooked smile before letting his head fall back against the seat.

He closes his eyes for a few seconds and adjusts his pants with one hand, trying to ease the uncomfortable pressure in his groin, where the lingering traces of a very recent encounter still cling to his skin.

“I hope you at least asked for his name,” Mello jokes, nudging him a couple of times with his elbow.

“I closed my eyes and pretended he was Nate. Didn't need his name,” Matt replies without giving his own words a second thought.

To accompany the comment, he gives Near's thigh a light squeeze. The younger man stiffens in his seat and instinctively tries to pull away, though it isn't really the remark—or the touch—that unsettles him most.

It's Mello.

He's watched him turn red in a matter of seconds, and the situation only gets worse when Matt opens his mouth again.

“Though I would've liked it a lot more if it'd been the real Nate's lips around my—”

Mello doesn't let him finish.

He grabs the front of Matt's shirt and yanks him away, but in the state of drunkenness they're both in, all he really accomplishes is sending Matt sprawling across his lap.

“Get off me, idiot!” Mello slurs in a hoarse voice, trying to shove him away.

“But you're the one who pushed me!” Matt protests with a frown, attempting—and failing—to sit up properly. “And don't call me an idiot, you're the idiot!”

Mello is immediately offended and, while trying to get him off, starts calling him “Glowstick,” just like he used to when they were kids. Matt retaliates by calling him bleach blonde, and within seconds the argument devolves into an absurdly childish fight where one yanks the other's hair and the other responds by sticking his tongue out.

The rest watch the scene with a mixture of amusement and resignation.

Lawliet doesn't believe either of them would actually hurt the other, but the room is filled with nothing but soft music, and the argument is starting to attract far too much attention from the nearby tables. Several people are already shooting them uncomfortable looks, so he decides to intervene before they get thrown out.

“Could you two behave?” he mutters, leaning forward and grabbing Matt by the arm to pull him away.

The problem is that, inside Elle's head, the maneuver goes a lot better than it does in reality.

Neither of them is coordinating particularly well thanks to the alcohol.

The moment he tugs on the redhead, Matt stumbles into the table, and the extra weight sends both of them crashing backward onto the couch, with Matt sprawled completely on top of Elle.

The laughter starts almost immediately.

Especially from the two involved, who laugh as though it's the funniest thing in the world, far too drunk to possess even the slightest shred of dignity.

“I saw your boyfriend too!!” Matt blurts out in a high-pitched voice before dissolving into even louder laughter, as though he'd just delivered the greatest joke of all time.

Lawliet wraps both arms around his waist and gives him a slight squeeze, more in an attempt to keep him from ending up sprawled on the floor than because he's actually taking the comment seriously. He assumes Matt simply mistook some stranger for one of his exes.

“My boyfriend?” he jokes, still smiling. “Then why didn't you bring him over so I could meet him?”

“Meh... Light was busy,” Matt replies, waving a hand dismissively. “I wasn't about to interrupt him.”

Elle's reaction is immediate.

His smile vanishes so quickly it's uncomfortable to watch. The laughter dies. The easy warmth of the alcohol disappears from his eyes in a matter of seconds, and even his body seems to tense beneath Matt's weight.

For a moment, nobody says anything.

“That's impossible,” he says at last, though it takes him far too long to do so. “Light can't be here.”

Beyond doesn't like the expression that has just appeared on his brother's face.

He knows perfectly well that, even if Elle has never admitted it out loud, a certain boy named Light Yagami is far from indifferent to him. And for that exact reason, he doesn't like where this conversation seems to be heading.

He tries—unsuccessfully—to cover Matt's mouth while telling him to stop talking, but the redhead immediately squirms away, knocking the younger twin's hand aside.

“Don't touch me, Beyond! And it was Light!” he protests, slurring his words as he tries to fend off both brothers at once.

Then he raises his left arm and shows them the wristband still wrapped around his wrist.

“He even had one of these.”

The next thing Matt knows, he's on the floor.

Mello and Near try to help him back up while laughing through it, still far too drunk to fully process what just happened.

Elle, on the other hand, doesn't seem drunk at all anymore.

He got to his feet so quickly that he completely forgot Matt was practically lying on top of him, sending the redhead straight to the floor in the process. But he doesn't even stop to help him. Instead, he rounds the couch surrounding their reserved table and starts scanning the room.

Tense. Alert.

If Light was wearing a wristband, then that means he has access to the exclusive sections.

“What are you doing, Elle!?” Beyond demands as he catches up to him, but his brother either doesn't hear him... or simply chooses to ignore him.

Elle keeps moving.

The problem is that there's barely any light. Soft music pulses through the room, and people's faces blur together among the shadows, drifting smoke, and neon glow. Beyond stays close behind, sincerely hoping—for everyone's sake—that Light isn't actually there.

Then a sudden flash appears.

Elle has just pulled out his phone and started shining the flashlight directly at the tables and couches throughout the private section.

Even Beyond, who usually considers himself the black sheep of the family, knows that's incredibly rude. Especially in a place like this, where most people clearly have no desire to be seen too well.

“Elle, enough already...” Beyond insists, trying to grab him by the arm and drag him back.

But the slender limb slips from his fingers the moment the other picks up speed.

“Elle Lawliet!!” he calls after him in the same tone a fed-up mother might use on her child.

Still, Elle doesn't stop.

He doesn't even look back.

All Beyond can do is watch as he strides purposefully toward a particular table.

Near the far end of the room sits a cluster of modular couches arranged in a semicircle. Three men are talking and drinking together, but among all those bodies, Elle thinks he catches sight of someone with brown hair.

He can't be sure it's Light Yagami.

Maybe the alcohol is playing tricks on him. Besides, the person in question has his back turned and is practically sprawled across one of the men's laps, making it impossible to see his face.

Even so, that doesn't stop him from walking straight toward them.

He doesn't even have an excuse prepared.

“Good evening...”

Light tenses immediately at the sound of the voice.

His body goes rigid atop John's lap, and he barely manages to swallow a I told you we should've left, you idiot.

Instead, he buries his face even deeper into his client's neck with the absurd hope that it might somehow be enough to keep his identity hidden.

“Can we help you with something?” one of the men asks, narrowing his eyes slightly while shielding them from the annoying phone light with his hand.

“I'm looking for a—”

“A friend!” Beyond cuts in, finally catching up to his brother.

The very first thing he does upon arriving is snatch the phone from Elle's hand and switch off the flashlight once and for all.

The gesture earns an obvious sigh of relief from the men at the table, who even go so far as to invite them to sit down and tell them more about this mysterious missing friend.

Light curses his rotten luck.

And he curses the idiot named Tom for refusing to leave earlier.

He's furious.

He can feel his entire body trembling with anger, and he knows exactly who is responsible for it.

He can practically picture that insufferable smile on the businessman's face, and the thought alone irritates him even more. But he doesn't dare turn around. He refuses to give him the satisfaction of seeing him mocked in front of other men.

Fortunately, the voice he recognizes as Beyond's politely declines the invitation while apologizing for the disturbance.

“Let's go...” Light murmurs, barely audible, after nearly a minute has passed and he assumes the brothers have finally moved far enough away.

This time, John agrees that leaving is probably for the best. If he keeps drinking, he likely won't be able to end the night the way he'd originally imagined.

The other two men decide to stay a while longer, so after jokingly agreeing to meet up again sometime, the goodbyes come without much trouble.

Far from the table, Elle once again demands that Beyond let him go the moment he spots a certain pair getting to their feet and heading toward the exit.

But the younger twin refuses.

Still gripping his arm, he tries to drag him in the opposite direction. The problem is that they've both had far too much to drink. They barely manage a few steps before they start stumbling into each other, awkwardly wrestling in the middle of the lounge. From a distance, they probably look like a drunken couple arguing over jealousy.

Beyond grits his teeth in irritation. If they keep this up, it won't be long before a staff member shows up to tell them to behave—or simply throw them out. And honestly, at this point, he wouldn't mind a little outside help dealing with his brother.

“Give me one good reason to go after him!” Beyond demands, tired of hearing Elle repeat “let me go” over and over again. “Do you like him or something?”

“Of course not!” Elle shoots back immediately, rubbing the arm his brother had grabbed a little too hard. “But did you see that guy? He could practically be his father! And did you see the way he was touching him...?!”

“Yeah. Pretty disgusting, actually,” Beyond cuts in with a look of distaste.

“Exactly! And Light shouldn't even be in a place like this! Much less with a man that much older than him!”

Beyond rolls his eyes the moment he hears that.

Yes, the scene with that man had disgusted him. Watching him kiss Light and grope him in the middle of the club as though they were completely alone had turned his stomach. But in the end, that's what people like Light do, isn't it?

“Need I remind you that you're older than him too?” he points out coldly.

Elle falls silent for a few seconds.

“It's not the same...” he mutters, though even he doesn't sound convinced.

Maybe Beyond has a point, but the age gap is smaller. Besides, Elle would never expose someone that young to a place full of alcohol, drugs, and desperate men. He's heard too many stories about people ending up drugged or assaulted in those very hallways to feel comfortable after seeing him there.

“Yes, it is,” Beyond shoots back without softening his tone. “Or what's the difference? That you do it in private? That you know his name? Because at the end of the day, you're paying to sleep with him too.”

The comment hits harder than expected.

“They have a minimum age requirement for a reason,” Elle replies through clenched teeth. “And he doesn't even meet it.”

“So?” Beyond raises an eyebrow. “Honestly, Elle... why do you even care?”

Elle clenches his jaw.

“He didn't look forced to be there. That's the kind of person he is. You saw what he does. You saw what he lets people do to him.”

The words come out harsher than they probably should.

But Beyond doesn't back down.

“So stop pretending this is about principles. And if you're willing to lower yourself by going after someone like that, fine... just don't expect me to support you.”

Elle thinks about it.

He doesn't want to argue with Beyond again so soon, much less over the same issue—or, more specifically, the same person.

But he also needs to convince himself that his brother is the one who's wrong.

This has nothing to do with feelings. It's a matter of empathy, of basic human decency. You can't just stand by when you have the chance to prevent something bad from happening.

Though the idea feels less convincing each time he repeats it to himself.

He doesn't know how to save someone who never asked to be saved. He doesn't even know exactly what he's trying to save him from.

Even so, he eventually turns around.

And just as Beyond said, this time nobody tries to stop him.

Elle starts pushing his way through the crowd. It isn't easy; there are too many bodies blocking his path, too many people moving in and out beneath the lights, smoke, and music. But he quickens his pace the moment he catches sight of a thick head of brown hair near the main exit.

Once outside, he loses sight of the pair for a few seconds.

There are too many people.

He rises slightly onto his toes, trying to spot him again among the constant flow of bodies, and finally catches sight of him a few yards away.

He starts toward them, but the closer he gets, the more his concern and good intentions begin to warp into something else entirely.

Anger.

It had been two days.

Two goddamn days during which Light had ignored every call and message he'd sent. And now, with him only a few steps away, he finally understands why.

Who the hell does he think he is, ignoring him like that?

They had a deal, didn't they?

Elle paid in advance.

He could have him whenever he wanted.

“You're coming with me.”

The words leave his mouth the moment he finally catches up to him.

He grabs Light by the arm and pulls him along before the other even has time to react.

“What...?” Light murmurs reflexively as he suddenly finds himself face-to-face with the pale features of Elle Lawliet.

“Excuse me,” Tom cuts in after taking a few steps back when his date is practically yanked out of his hands.

He immediately recognizes the young man from earlier, though he doesn't seem particularly bothered by the interruption. To him, the situation is fairly obvious. One look at Light's clothes, the way he carries himself, and the environment they're standing in is enough to tell him exactly what Light is. So the appearance of another interested man doesn't surprise him in the slightest.

“You’re the same guy from earlier, aren't you?” he asks, letting out a short nasal laugh. “Sorry, but you'll have to find your own. I found this one first.”

Tom starts to move again, reaching for Light's hand, but Elle doesn't let him.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he says, tightening his grip on Light's arm.

“You’re drunk, Lawliet!” Light struggles again, shoving both hands against his chest in an attempt to push him away.

Only then does Tom realize that the two of them actually know each other.

Even so, he has no intention of letting a stranger ruin his night, so he straightens his posture and takes a step forward.

“You do realize he shouldn't have been able to get in here, don't you?” Elle says without taking his eyes off him. “Someone had to get him inside. I assume that was you.”

The confidence on the man's face falters.

Light's eyes widen.

He has no idea what the hell Elle is trying to accomplish with all of this, but he still hurries closer and quietly asks him to stop ruining his night.

Elle ignores him.

“I imagine your wife would be even more interested in what you do while she's asleep.”

The wedding band on the man's ring finger hadn't escaped his notice for a single moment.

And judging by the way the man immediately curls his hand into a fist, trying to hide it, the remark landed exactly where it was meant to.

Light tenses at once.

It feels as though all the blood has drained from his body in an instant, and little by little, his fingers begin to go numb.

He doesn't want to look.

He really doesn't.

But fear forces him to.

When his eyes finally meet Tom's, all he finds there is fury.

“You’re not worth it,” the man says flatly before dropping the trench coat he'd been carrying like a perfect gentleman for the boy only moments ago.

“Tom, wait!” Light runs after him and grabs at the sleeve of his shirt, trying to stop him.

But the man jerks away.

“My name is Ron, you idiot!” he shouts before shoving him aside.

It isn't a hard blow.

But it's more than enough to send the brunet straight to the ground.

Light gets to his feet too quickly and completely ignores the couple who stop beside him to ask if he's okay.

He has no intention of running after Ron and begging him to stay, but he can't tear his eyes away from him as he walks off. And with him go all the plans he'd had for the night.

Even so, what he feels isn't sadness.

It's anger.

A rage so intense it burns at the back of his throat and leaves his whole body trembling. He wants to shout that he never would've let someone like him touch him if money hadn't been involved, that there's no way something that ridiculously small could satisfy anyone. He wants to humiliate him right back, make him feel even a fraction of the humiliation he was just forced to endure, but the anger building inside his chest barely lets him breathe.

“Cover yourself,” Elle orders seriously after picking up the trench coat and draping it over his shoulders.

And that voice turns out to be the final trigger.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!?” Light spins on his heel and tries to shove him with both hands, but Elle catches his wrists before he can push him away.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Elle fires back, tightening his grip around his arms and pulling him closer. “You disappear for two days, and then I find you in a place you shouldn't even be in, with a guy who—”

“What?” Light cuts him off with a mocking laugh. “You thought you were the only one?”

“I couldn't care less how many people you sleep with,” Elle spits back, so close that his breath hits Light's face. “But unless I'm mistaken, you still owe me money. So fit your whoring around my schedule. If I tell you to come, you show up ready to work. Got it?”

Light goes completely still.

The words force their way in and strike exactly where it hurts most. He had always known how to put people in their place when they dismissed him as just another whore, but there's something in Elle's voice, in the poorly concealed fury crossing his face, that leaves him speechless for a moment.

“I hate you...” he finally mutters, because it's the only thing he feels in that moment.

An overwhelming hatred for that man.

“I don't care.”

Elle shrugs with an arrogance that only makes things worse. He releases one of Light's wrists, but only so he can wrap his free arm around his waist and pull him even closer, completely ignoring the curious glances beginning to linger on them.

“If you were that desperate to get your ass wrecked, you could've called me. I'd bet I'm still the best thing you've ever taken to bed.”

“Call you? The best?” Light lets out a laugh dripping with irony. “Do you really think exchanging a few messages makes you special? Exclusive? No, Lawliet. You're just another one.”

He tries to pull away again, but the way Elle is holding him makes it nearly impossible.

“You know what I actually want?” he continues, raising his voice. “For you to leave me the hell alone!”

“It's a shame what you want doesn't matter,” Elle replies without letting go. “Let's go.”

The mockery in Elle's eyes and the arrogance in his words turn out to be the final straw.

Light feels tears gathering behind his eyelids—hot, humiliating tears. He has never felt this ashamed in his life. All he wants is to go home, lock himself away, and forget he ever met Elle Lawliet.

But Elle doesn't seem willing to let him go.

“I hate you...” Light whispers one last time.

And then everything happens too fast.

For Elle, the world goes black the instant something strikes him in the face.

A muffled grunt escapes him, and he immediately claps both hands over his eyes. The burning hits almost at once—brutal, unbearable. His eyelids feel like they're on fire, his throat begins to close up, and breathing becomes harder with every passing second. He tries to open his eyes, only to make the pain worse.

He ends up clawing at his own skin in desperation as the choking sensation and searing sting tear a furious, disoriented cry for help from his throat.

Light freezes for a few seconds.

He watches Elle collapse to his knees on the sidewalk, his face bright red and his eyelids swelling rapidly, and fear crashes into him all at once.

He can't breathe properly either. His heart is pounding so hard he feels sick.

People are beginning to stare at him accusingly, and he can't stand it. His fingers go numb, and the small canister of pepper spray slips from his hand, hitting the ground just before he turns and runs.

He runs hoping he'll never see Elle again.