HAI GUYZ iz ttly me 'gains.

Sorry about the last short chapter, this one will be a little longer (: thanks for reading, reviewing, and once again, if you review regularly, I'll give you a cameo ;) /review whoring - and inner-gay-Matt appears, just for you, Mr. Reviewer ^^

DOT. DOT. DOT.

You could have cut the air with a spork. Tension sparked through the air like... uh... y'know. Sparky things. Moving on.

To recap: 'I dare you... to kiss me.' said Mello, his long dark eyelashes fluttering in my direction. 'No... make that... make out with me.'

He moved one long slender hand to my cheek and -

No. No fantasies here, Inner-Gay-Matt.

But yup. That got the general gist of it across. Ahem.

"Uh… pardon?" I stuttered out.

"You know, it's pretty damn easy…take your mouth, put it on mine, inject some saliva and move your lips," he elaborated. "Wait… oh God. (and here, readers, he is truly taken aback. He's a Catholic. Work it out.) Are you... is this your first time?"

"Kind of?"

A pause. A pause so terrible I considered suicide.

"Well, I guess this is up to me." he got up and moved to my bed. He lay next to me, and slowly moved his angel's face closer and closer to me. His long dark eyelashes fluttered in my direction. He moved one long slender hand to my cheek (hm…so this is what déjà vu feels like…) and kissed me as softly as a fragile old woman. I'm really not painting a sexy image here, am I? But anyway, it rocked. He kissed me again, down the side of my neck and then… omigawd… on my lips. He went to go back to his bed, but I seized his arm and pulled him back. I lay down with him in a tender hug… and lost in the moment I said the most mentally retarded thing I had ever said in my life.

"I…love you."

Immediately, Mello jerked away from my skinny arms pumping with adrenaline. He got up, and without a word retreated to his sofa.

OHSHIT.

I slept fitfully and dreamt of horrific things… every Sim in Pleasantville dying of a horrific flu virus (okay, I had read The Stand the other day…), a fire destroying every console I own (God forbid)… Mello turning away from me.

When I awoke with a start, Mello was not on the sofa.

Mello was not in the bathroom.

Mello was not in the canteen.

In fact, Mello was not in Wammy's.

When I returned, holding back tears, to my room, there was a carefully folded note on my pillow. Mello's meticulous handwriting read simply:

I have left to think.

Mello.

As I held the last piece of Mello I had in my hand, I finally let out the tears that I feared would have drowned my eyes.

For the next seven days, I felt like I was in a dream. People gave me a wide berth in the corridors, like despair was catching. Every day I came into class there would be a seat right at the back, seemingly saved for me – or maybe it was because I had sat there once, and no-one wanted to go anywhere near where Matt had been. Every evening I cursed myself for saying those three simple words. Every night, I sobbed myself into dreamless, or worse, nightmare-filled sleep.

On the eighth day, I had given up all hope of ever seeing my blond beauty ever again. I sat in a trance at the back of class, tensed for when I knew his name would be called in the register, and there would be that horrific, screaming silence. However, when "Mello, 9S?" was called, some stupid prankster decided to answer. "Finally, Mello. And take that darn hood down."

The voice came from an all-black figure in the second to front row. When his elegant fingers reached up to take the hood off, strands of honey blond hair were exposed.

And for the second time in my life, I fainted.

"Matt…hey. You need to stop doing this, it's gayer than Edward Cullen."

I shut my eyes again, and opened them. Because there was no way in hell Mello was here, he would never be here.

"Yup, I'm here." said Mello. Was he a mind reader? He was the bloody Edward Cullen, not me. "You, me, at six." And with that, Mello left me.

Six.

I sat at the table we first met at. God, I sound like Bella Swan. Just as I was about to get my phone out my bag, a beautiful black haired girl walked over to me. I recognised her from my last date, she was the waitress that had been crying… I never noticed how lovely her eyes were, pure raven black. She looked a little like L – not that I got to see much of him. I was so busy pondering the last time I'd seen L, that until I felt her warm breath ruffle my hair I didn't realise she was sitting right next to me. She'd pulled up a chair and was sitting very…suggestively, may I say. She leant dangerously close to my ear and whispered, "my name's Felicity… what's yours?"

"Uh… Matt. W-why?" curse my gayness when talking to cute girls!

"Because I want to know…so where's that hot boyfriend of yours?"

"He's coming…um…so are you coming to – take, uh, take my order? Because I don't think I'm ready yet." She put a delicate finger on my lips.

"Are you fre-" she began to sigh in my ear but was swiftly stopped when she was flung on the floor.

"The F*CK do you think you're doing, whore?" screamed Mello.

"I…I…" here, she ran away.

"Anyway," Mello continued, not missing a beat, "I have to tell you something, Matt. I know we're not supposed to talk about our past lives at Wammy's, but seeing as it's just about the only rule I haven't broken, and God knows you deserve it… here goes. When I was a kid, my parents were in gangs. Like, big gangs. Mafia big. They'd never be in, they'd leave me on my own with knives and guns and drugs and f*ck knows what else. I hated them, but I had a grandma, and an auntie. They were like the only light in my life, and I loved them so, so much. They, you know, were the only two people who had ever said I love you to me, at that age anyway. Soon enough, they both got blown to smithereens by an opposing gang. I never quite forgave my parents for that.

"When I was six, I came to Wammy's. When I was thirteen I got my first boyfriend, almost as soon as I worked out I was gay. He said that he loved me, when we were on our eighth date, and the very next night he got stabbed to death for no reason at all. Those three were the only people who have ever said that they love me, and those three people all died.

"At first, I figured it was God telling me to stay out of relationships, to never get too close to anyone for some reason, any reason. And when you said that you… loved me… it hurt me more than anything - I thought for sure that you'd die too. I guess I thought, if I ran away, it might save you. But I realised, if God didn't want me to be with anyone – with you – then He can't be a very good God. So I came back.

"And there's something I have to tell you Matt… I love you."

I guess life is more like Twilight than I thought.