Note: I'm not sure about this one... I was in a writing spree, updating Too Sexy For My Shirt yesterday, sending the first part of our new co-authored fic to Dlvvanzor today, writing Lionheart's next chapter completely (only needs re-reading before I post it) in a row just after that and then this oneshot, but I think this oneshot is proof I'm at the end of the spree, not really satisfied, but I'm posting it anyway.

It's common knowledge, or should I say, common guess, that I have always wanted to beat Near and be first at his place. It's so far from the truth that it makes me want to puke. Me, interested in Near? In taking his spot or anything else from him? I bet that the rumour was spread by the albino brat himself. He wanted to be L, he wanted to be the best, and he made a point of honour to guess people's motive.
But as much as he tried, he never figured me out, and was wrong all the way.

Why did I get mad at Roger when I found out L was dead and that he suggested that Near and me worked together? Yes, we didn't get along, and that was a reason good enough. But that wasn't just that.
The reason above everything was that it was relinquishing the real number one to nothing in these plans to catch Kira.
Matt.

Matt, and L knew it, was the one being number one, speaking of skills, knowledge, intelligence and focus. He didn't rank first because he didn't do his homework, and missed classes on a regular basis (which was everyday). But L was perfectly aware that these, doing homework, never skipping class, were not the requirements to be his designated heir as the greatest detective he was.
If he had had asked Matt, Matt would have accepted the job. Not that he wanted it, but he had a sense of duty and somehow, he would have done it. He probably would have taken that as a game with Kira as the last level boss.
He'd have caught him and moved on to the next Final Fantasy.

And I couldn't accept the fact that Roger thought so low of Matt, that Near did, too.
They only saw the shell and a brain reduced to an oyster's flesh.
They only saw the lazy ass, the smoker, the loner.

Matt was even smart enough not to be caught in Wammy's madness to the top. Collected, cold headed, keeping his life to a sane level, simply waiting for his future.
I always wondered why L had never asked us, him, for help. Kira would've been caught before he got himself killed. In a way, Matt was more than certainly even smarter than L himself, because the day I packed my stuff to leave the orphanage, he simply told me to call him the day I'll realise I couldn't do it without him, just after I had said I didn't want him with me because I didn't know what I'd have to do to get to Kira, and that I didn't want him killed in the process. The love I had for him was stronger than reason. I wanted to protect him, oblivious of the fact he would solve the case better than I would. No. He would solve the case while I probably would never.
But I left all the same, sure that I'd done the right thing by leaving him between these walls.

He didn't cry, didn't cringe, didn't lose sleep. He just went on like he used to, waking up late, playing games, eating only when he was hungry, chain smoking. Only keeping his cell phone at arm length.
And he picked it up when it rang two years later. Yeah yeah, you know it was me.
He got me out of the fire, a light smirk on his lips although I was dying, like if he was telling me "I told you so".

He got me back up on my feet, and when I was once again healthy enough, my brain registered one thing.
He had found me in less than fifteen minutes when I blew myself out, although he was supposed to be thousands miles away. That's when I realised that he had been behind me all the time, making sure I never got killed (and God knows how many times I risked my life). He knew me so well, that he had known from the beginning that I would do dangerous stuff to get to the top of the Mafia, and that he had to keep me alive if he wanted the day I would call him to come.

From then, we never parted. We lived together, slept together, worked together. And although I had shared a room with him for years at Wammy's, this was different. It was only him and me, and I got to see things I probably knew were there but never acknowledged clearly.

So much for being detectives. Neither L, nor Near, nor me before that day, had noticed.
The way Matt is perfect in everything, dedicated in every act, skilled to the point whatever he does is mastered.
It is just amazing. Weird, frighteningly beautiful, because he pushes it as far as applying his skills to the most insignificant of his daily actions.

The way, when he smokes, that he can make the ashes fall from the cigarette dangling from his lips to the ashtray in his lap while his eyes never leaves the TV screen when he's playing a game, not a single ash falling on the carpet as his mouth makes that little thing to tap the cigarette.

The way he can play his game with a single hand while he's toying with my hair, as I rest on his lap, both cuddling on the couch, pushing every button without failing to hit the target each time even with multiple combinations.

The way he parks his car without even looking at the place he's parking on, because he perfectly knows the size of his car and how to get it in place, and the way the Camaro lies along the pavement, exactly three inches from it, wheels in a perfect line.

The way he pours his morning coffee, not even looking at the cup or the coffeepot, because he knows the exact inclination the coffeepot needs and the exact timing to fill the cup before he stops pouring.

But my favourite one is probably the way he's perfect in loving me. Because then he's clueless, clumsy, genuine and sweet, and he makes me think of a child discovering the world everytime he looks at me. He knows me well, better than I know myself, and still, he renews his feelings for me like on the first day, every day of our perfect life together.