Disclaimer: Death Note isn't mine. Mello, Matt and L would still be alive, for the first, and you know a whole slew of other things would have changed if I wrote it. Actually, it probably wouldn't have even happened if it had been mine.

Author's Notes: This is…. Well, this is a bit of a release of emotions for me. Last year, I had a moment similar to this, but I didn't write it then. I'm writing it now because I actually like the premise of it. Enjoy!

Dedications: To Evil-Pixie-Dust! The bestest beta of all betas!

(If You Could) Look At Me Once More

The cigarette carton hung heavy in his hand, and he fiddled unconsciously with the top of his lighter, enjoying the click-flip-cling, click-flip-cling noises it made. He stood in front of his own dorm room for minutes before he just shook his head and turned around. It wasn't worth the risk. Gripping leather between his teeth, he pulled off his gloves one at a time, trading his cigs and lighter back and forth before resuming his tinkering with them. He stared out the window as he walked towards the study lounge like it was his lifeline, like if he looked anywhere else (like the door to the room where he was, where they probably were), he would break in to unendingly tiny pieces. Carefully, he tried to stop thinking, tried to make everything narrow down to the now, but…

But as far back as Matt could remember, Mello has always been there.

Always.

They were almost never separate if either of them could help it, running around and causing havoc as much as either of them could stand and more. Weekends were rotated at each other's houses, one week at Matt's and one at Mello's. Matt would be dragged (protesting, unwilling, but having so much fun and never regretting a moment of it) away from his darkened room and video games by a boisterous Mello, dragged out into the sunlight and grime of the real world. And they would have fun out there. Running around playing nonsense games, only to come back inside and tear down their rooms to make blanket forts stocked with marshmallows and hot chocolate and nothing else. Even now, if Matt had to pick a "best time of his life", it would be any time he spent with Mello. Even the times where Mello pushed him a little too far.

(Mello would always be pushing him, literally and figuratively.

"Hey, I can climb that tree. Bet you can't."

"Oh ew, look at that mud." (Matt had to take three showers to get rid of all the muck. But so did Mello, so it was worth it.)

"How fast do you think we can roll down this hill?"

One half-remembered afternoon that Matt still held, clutched possessively to his chest, where Mello had asked him if he knew what kissing was like and they had tried it out, sharing candy and first kisses with the ease of unaware children.)

In middle school, high school, they hadn't been apart. No one could come between them. Matt was always Mello's shadow, the number two salutatorian to Mello's number one valedictorian, his calm, amiable friend that helped him set stink-bombs in the hallway and let a box of white mice free inside the school on their last day. Their weekends were still spent with each other, though they were filled with more homework and videogames than hot chocolate and house-forts.

But somewhere in the middle of all the high school classes and events, Matt had begun to see.

See the curve of Mello's smile as he laughed. See the way his eyes focused on problems when they were almost solved. See the movement of his hands as he talked, and he had felt the clench and burn of want and need that kept him curled under his covers, biting the skin of his hand as he brought himself off to the remembered sound of Mello's voice. It had always made him feel guilty.

Never enough to stop.

However, he had also seen the way others looked at Mello, with this strange mix of curiosity and attraction and disgust. After all, Mello hadn't been, still wasn't, the easiest person to get along with. His sense of humor was cutting, he never tolerated any sort of mistakes, and his obsession with chocolate had been legendary by the time they were out of middle school. Everyone had watched him. Everyone had wanted him, in some way.

Mello had never looked back at anyone but Matt.

(And Matt had let himself begin to hope.)

But none of it made sense anymore.

Matt sighed, flopping down onto the old couches in the lounge and staring morosely at the walls. Leaning back, he set the heels of his boots of the arms of the couch, crossing one arm behind him while he kept playing with the head of his lighter, the click-flip-cling of it quiet in the empty alcove. Moonlight shone steady on his boots.

They had decided to go to the same college.

They had decided to go to the same college, and be roommates, and Matt had never once stopped looking at Mello, had never stopped seeing Mello, and then….

Near.

Small, smart, pale, and challenging Near.

(Mello never could resist a challenge. Especially when he was told he would lose. )

Near pushed Mello in a way Matt couldn't. Matt let Mello win all the time, except in video games and computer technology, because Matt didn't care about winning. But Near did. And Mello did. And Mello hated being second best.

And Matt had to watch as his best friend (his crush of years) was taken away from him. There stopped being time for Mello to hang out in their room and play video games all Saturday with him, because Mello would be studying to beat Near, to always be on top. And he would never quite make it. Near would always be a step ahead of him.

So slowly, slowly, Mello had stopped talking about anything that didn't have to do with Near. Matt and Mello's daily lunches and dinners had stopped, and Matt would go down to the cafeteria to find Mello and Near arguing over food, gesticulating wildly and stabbing fingers and forks at ink-marked pieces of paper. Matt had looked at Mello's blonde head, bent so close to Near's white one, had seen the delight in his eyes, the glow and determination that would fill them when there was a problem to be solved.

Had seen, and had turned away, going back upstairs to turn on his games and skip class for the rest of the day to mindlessly shoot things, solve his own sort of problems with gunfire and a couple of pushes of buttons.

And then he had tried to ignore what he knew was happening.

Mello never could resist a challenge.

(Why wasn't Matt enough?)

Cling!

Jolting slightly, Matt blinked, zoning back into the world around him. His hands were shaking, trying and failing to keep flipping the top of the lighter. Standing, he paced agitatedly, ending up at the window time and time again. The lights from the lampposts reflected oddly on the snow beneath him, sending glittering, shifting images at his eyes. Matt reached up, taking off his goggles, blinking at the suddenly clean colors around him, yellow tint finally gone. Snow was white, and the lamplight was yellow, and they marked each other irreparably. There was no place for red in there, he thought, fingering a strand of his own hair. Auburn. Like dead leaves. Like him.

Now he didn't even want to go inside his own room. Entering his room meant seeing them. Meant watching them look at each other.

Watching Mello and Near date.

It killed Matt every time he had to see it. (First time was still the worst, though. Mello had finally gotten too frustrated, and had yanked Near forward and started kissing him, biting his lips as though still arguing with him. And Near had just smiled into it and kissed him back.(Matt had never been able to watch them kiss ever again; the tide of jealousy was just too much.)) But he was still Mello's best friend. And really, Near wasn't so bad. The three of them got along really well, Matt had to admit. They could be friends

But.

But….

Mello would look content, finally at ease with the world around him. And Near would drift off in the middle of sentences, and Matt would watch them both and have to leave because he wanted that. He wanted to have that sort of absent joy that came with being with someone. Just being on the outside of it kept getting harder and harder, and he hated feeling jealous of something he should be fucking happy about. But he wanted it with Mello. And Near had him, not Matt.

Slowly, Matt was losing hope that he could get his chance one day.

He hated it.

God, he hated watching Mello be happy with someone else.

He shouldn't! He should be happy for him! Mello and Near were happy together, even while they pushed and sniped at each other, even when it wasn't him that made Mello…. Frustrated, he pushed his hands against the glass of the window, wishing that he could just make it break. Matt growled under his breath, hitting the window with the flat of his hand, wanting it to shatter, to disappear.

("Matt, I'm sorry, I wanted to tell you a bit better than this, but…"

"How long?"

"Only in the last twenty minutes, so you're still the first to know?")

Damn it.

Sighing, Matt rested his forehead against the cold glass, watching his breath fog up in fluttering patterns. This wasn't what he wanted. He wanted… Damn it he just wanted Mello. For himself. Softly, he laughed, closing his eyes and shaking his head. The worst part was… he would share. He would honestly share Mello with Near if it meant that he at least got Mello for once.

"Fuck it all," he muttered, tearing into the carton of cigarettes and pulling one out, placing it between his teeth. As he fumbled with the lighter in his hands, his movements slowed until he just …stopped, head still resting against the indow. "Is…is it really too much to ask," he breathed indistinctly, "just for him to look at me for once? Just once?" He stopped himself when his voice broke, clenching his teeth around the cig.

Tearing himself away from the window, Matt whirled about, glaring half-heartedly at his dorm room door where Near and Mello probably were. It wasn't fair. He had waited years for Mello to notice him, and in only two months, Near had just… taken it from him.

And he pushed open the door to the stairs, walked downstairs, his thoughts a buzz of noncommittal white noise. His footsteps echoed large and ringing in the stairwell, mixing in with the metallic noise of the lighter as he continued to play with the top of his lighter. How was it fair? (He knew it wasn't, but he wished for once that the world would align his way for this.)

His foot missed a step, and he stumbled, slipped down a couple of steps. His lighter went skittering away, coming to a stop on the edge of the stairway's landing. Grabbing onto the railing, Matt steadied himself. Shaking, he walked down the last few steps, and leaned over to pick up his lighter again. His thumbs brushed over its surface, checking for any cracks. For a moment, he just studied the plain metal lighter, before he looked up at the door leading to his floor.

Matt snorted helplessly, a pained half-grin pulling at his lips. "Fuck." He leaned against the railing, overcome by the pounding in his ears and the sudden overwhelming swirl of emotion. "Fuck it, I love him," he finally whispered, sounding tiny and broken even to himself.

(He had never admitted it out loud before.)

The door above him began to open, and Matt collected himself enough to dart downstairs, slamming open the doors to outside with large crashes. Cold air hit him like a blast, and he welcomed it, feeling too hot and large inside his own skin. He checked his phone.

12:01

Past midnight. Mello and Near were probably asleep, curled around each other in a strange and beautiful mixture of gold and white. (Still no place for red there.) He pulled out his lighter.

Click-flip.

Looking up at the moon through the chill air, he lit up his cigarette, laughing mirthlessly, and muttered, "Happy motherfucking Valentine's Day."

Cling.

What's this, a fic that doesn't have a happy ending?

(Shock)

I'm just going to go out on a limb here and mention that I have a small sequel planned for this (one that ends a little happier, for all involved) but it is not required to read if you do like this ending more.

Reviews are appreciated and responded to!