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Bluffing isn't like Mello-- he's too obsessed with proving his genius, and god forbid anyone mistake his strategy for genuine idiocy. Taking risks, however, is very like Mello.
It's for this reason that he finds himself with an essentially harmless needle lodged in a mafia executive's neck, hoping to hell and back that everyone in this room knows less than he does, because Mello is fully aware that the drug would take minutes to kick in at best, and not help at all at worst. No, judging by the size of this guy, there might as well be saline in the syringe.
"All I'd have to do," he says anyway, "is push."
The mob boss, seeing the steely determination in Mello's eyes and knowing he isn't going to back down no matter how many guns are pointed at him, gives a signal to his subordinates to lower their weapons.
"Now let's talk business," Mello says, fighting to hide the satisfaction from his face. He needs to bite something to curb his excitement, but he doesn't exactly have a free hand at the moment to pull out a chocolate bar, the only other thing they didn't take from him during the pat down. They were too busy with two handguns, a knife, and Mello's easy willingness to comply to think to look for a syringe.
As soon as he has what he came here for, his third mission thus far completed, he steps out into the night and lets the adrenaline leave him. He's already getting used to this, regret and anxiety nowhere to be found unlike his previous two assignments. Not that anyone has the right to "assign" him anything; Mello is simply making a name for himself at the moment. He knows exactly who has eyes on him.
Mello has about four more steps in mind regarding what to do next, but Rod Ross has already sent someone to chat with him before he can make any other moves. Mello is carefully ambivalent; showing neither a flippant lack of commitment nor any corny undying loyalty. Standing firmly on the line between the two brings him straight to Rod Ross himself and allows him a high rank from the start. He is quickly known to never be wrong. He finds himself eating chocolate even more often as a direct consequence of all the ego-stroking this mafia boss and his lackeys are so eager to offer. This lifestyle isn't "happiness", but it sure does keep him excited.
Being all alone in the world isn't so helpful, Mello quickly figures, and so he makes use of the puppy who'd followed him out of Wammy's House without hesitation. Matt becomes Mello's secret weapon, his method of obtaining otherwise completely unavailable information that not even Kira can figure out how to get a hold of. He's conspicuous as hell, yet he somehow always manages to blend in.
That is, until he gets shot once. Mello quickly puts down the assailant, wasting three extra bullets in his uncharacteristic panic, even though it turns out that Matt only got his bicep grazed. It doesn't even bleed a lot; Mello simply saw him recoil and went berserk. It should have been obvious from the start that involving someone he cares about was a bad idea. Mello stops using Matt.
Matt is fine with dropping out of mafia work, for a time. It's ludicrous how quickly he ends up bothering Mello to "at least hang out sometimes. You know, since we're not gonna see each other at work anymore."
Mello stubbornly ignores him, terrified of what he felt that day, of such clear weakness he'd convinced himself didn't exist in him. He thought he was done being the emotional, impulsive one; the one who constantly overthinks everything yet somehow inevitably manages to overlook the most important things.
He's doing it again. Near isn't around to be on "the other side" of whatever Mello is arguing for, so he's fine with giving up and visiting Matt. Matt has some dim shooting game on the television when Mello walks in, and he quickly determines it to be some type of horror game when it attempts to jump scare him. His only reaction is his eyes widening for a second.
"I remember you used to hate-- like, hate horror movies," Matt comments, noticing Mello's calm. "Wanna get over here and catch my arm in a death grip for old times' sake?"
No matter how much Matt insists he doesn't feel that way anymore, he still has the same stupid crush on Mello from when they were kids. Or maybe this is just him being friendly. He missed Matt's 19th birthday this past month, the first he wasn't there for, so he decides that humoring him will make up for it.
He swears he only ends up shoving Matt later because he's still frustrated. It's not his damn fault Matt purposefully pauses the game and lets his controller hit the ground, yielding completely to the push and letting it fell him to his side on the couch. It's only momentum that has Mello climbing on top of him, screaming in his head as he grabs a harsh fistful of Matt's hair and leans down without thinking, quickly learning that Matt fucking loves it when Mello is rough with him. Maybe he just loves Mello.
Honestly, fuck Matt for always being so eager to let Mello do whatever the hell he wants. Fuck him for going against every fiber of his lazy loser gamer boy persona to offer to actually make breakfast for Mello should he stay the night just because he likes him that much. Mello makes a half-assed attempt to smother him with one of the cushions that fell to the floor while they'd been at it. He gets dressed and leaves soon after, feeling like leaving is somehow even more of a mistake than fucking him in the first place was.
He comes back the next day intending to have a talk with Matt, but the words get lost before they come. He witnesses Matt ordering takeout for the second time that day and wonders aloud what the fuck he thought he was going to cook for Mello.
"Not like I don't know how," he says, "but, like... I'm not trying to impress myself or anything. There's no point in not being a lazy piece of shit when it's just me. You, though."
He looks at him meaningfully through those tinted goggles. Mello remembers when Matt used to be a crybaby about his sensitive eyes, convinced as a child that he had some incurable disease that was going to kill him. Then he started wearing tinted eyewear prescribed to him by their in-house doctor and that was his cure.
"I'm not going to be impressed by burnt eggs or whatever the fuck," he says, because he still cannot imagine Matt cooking anything at all, much less cooking anything good.
"Hey, first of all, it'd be burnt pancakes."
"Pancakes? Bullshit, there's no way you know how to make fucking pancakes, you're Matt."
"I make 'em sometimes."
Mello suddenly remembers pancake mix exists and quickly goes to check Matt's pantry, finding none. There's no fucking way he makes it homemade.
"Oh, I might be outta milk, actually. But other than that, I have all the ingredients and everything."
So Matt can allegedly cook. Jesus, what other secrets is he keeping from Mello? A few moments later, he settles back down next to Matt on the couch, kicking aside a mostly empty bag of chips. How Matt doesn't have bugs roaming around like they own the place, Mello has no fucking clue.
He watches Matt throw himself at a wall trying the same time trial over and over again and running out of time mere inches from the end each time for about 40 minutes before he lets his hands start wandering. Matt bumps him with his knee and spares him a smug glance. Mello wants to bite him.
He tackles him again and Matt is ready for it this time, snagging his arms around Mello's neck to drag him down with him. Leave it to Mello to keep making the same god damn mistake. He's convinced Matt has peppered his neck with crack or some shit, because Mello absolutely cannot stop himself from biting the hell out of it. He leaves Matt with marks he'll probably jerk off to later just because he truly can't help it. Mello gives him a hand for now.
A week later, he's sitting in Matt's car two blocks from a target he's after, just filling him in on the details like there's nothing weird going on between them.
"You're fucking me," Mello mutters in frustration as he reads the text Jose sent him.
"Right now? I wish," Matt comments.
"Jose's car crapped out on him, so it's either go in without backup or wait however long for someone else to show up. Romano will be long gone by then."
"He's mafia, can't he just snatch a car?"
"Don't be an idiot, Matt." Mello checks on his pistol and heaves a sigh before opening the car door. "No backup it is."
He should have known Matt was going to follow him when he didn't notice his car pulling out once Mello was out of it. Mello dragged him around so much when they were kids that now Matt just seems to follow him on instinct. He scoffs to himself, fighting a smile, and slips into cover near where his target is meant to be.
"Think you can cause a distraction without putting yourself in danger?" Mello asks without even looking at Matt, already knowing he's on his heels.
"Aye, cap'n," he says lowly, still joking around even when it's life or death.
He walks past Mello, casual as can be, and nobody bugs him. No one even seems to notice him aside from one passing glance. Somehow, Matt never has any presence whatsoever. Mello, on the other hand, always makes his presence felt whether it benefits him or not.
Matt discreetly leaves something on a crate and keeps going without ever once breaking his stride. Less than a minute later, a loud bell starts going off where Matt had passed, drawing everyone's attention long enough for Mello to slip by undetected. He must have brought one of the little gadgets he likes to make. Funny how Matt came more prepared than Jose, the actual mafia guy, probably would have. He knew he was going to end up following Mello today.
Even with that distraction, sneaking into the building would have been challenging. Mello instead makes a beeline for their closed off parking area.
Mello sizes up Romano's car and Matt taps him on the shoulder to take over. He walks up to the driver's side door but Mello places his hands on Matt's shoulders and guides him a few steps to the side. Once he gets the door open, Mello hops in the backseat and gestures for Matt to fuck off. He stares at Mello with this dumb lovey look on his face and he knows it's because he touched him.
"You're ridiculous," Mello says, rightfully.
"I'll be nearby," Matt tells him instead of defending himself, finally pushing off of where he'd been lounging against the frame and shutting the door behind him. Mello sinks down onto the floor of the backseat and waits.
When Romano gets in the driver's seat 10 or 15 minutes later, he's distracted by his phone. Mello waits for him to finish up with whatever he's doing before he lurches up and pins Romano to the seat by piano wire around his throat.
"Drive," he commands, voice low and easily dangerous, and Romano has no choice but to obey. Mello glances out the window and sees Matt's car poised to follow them. Having backup he knows he can genuinely rely on feels good.
Mello has Romano drive to one of his hideouts that Mello decided a week ago to make his own. It's a neat little set of warehouses that aren't quite abandoned, but the workers don't mind a bit of hush money in the slightest. It's a convenient location, too.
Mello has a sharp eye, so he easily notices Romano pulling out a switchblade and trying to jab backwards at him. Mello ducks and draws the piano wire lethally taut, quickly deciding it'll be simpler to just kill him to get the message across. He's never been averse to such methods.
He cracks the window and waves Matt over once Romano has gone limp. While he waits for Matt to come over, Mello removes one of his gloves and stains his index finger with blood drawn from Romano's neck. On the corpse's forehead, he simply writes "evacuate".
Matt immediately notices his handiwork and whistles.
"How are we luring them in?" he asks as he gets in on the passenger side.
Mello looks around for anything of use. He reaches past Matt and opens the glove box, holding the revealed gun in place as he sifts around it to find two rubber bands. Perfect.
He pats Romano down until he finds his cigarettes and lighter. He pulls a cigarette out, lights it, and holds it out to Matt.
"Take a drag," he says.
Matt cranes his head to glance at the carton in Mello's hand and grimaces at the brand.
"Oh, just deal with it."
Matt holds what little of the cigarette isn't already covered by Mello's fingers and takes a slow drag. He pulls another face when he's done. Mello is pretty sure cigarettes are all the fucking same anyway.
With one of the rubber bands, Mello binds the lit cigarette between Romano's fingers and rolls the window completely down to heave his arm out of it.
"We're done here. Let's go."
"Hey, if they don't find him quick, I bet a car explosion will get their attention."
Matt acts plenty calm, but Mello knows from experience that he speeds to let off steam, and he keeps fucking accelerating and making Mello grab the "oh shit" handle. Matt is soft; he'll do anything for Mello, but witnessing death always seems to haunt him. If he'd've fallen in love with anyone else, he could ditch Mello and be out of this god damn mess of a life. Not that Mello doesn't keep things neat and tidy as far as mafia work goes. Matt is lucky he does.
"Are they really any different?" Mello thinks to ask.
"What? Who?"
"Cigarettes."
"Oh-- god, yeah. I didn't see what brand that was but that one tasted like shit."
"They all taste like shit, Matt."
"There's different levels," he insists, and all this talk of cigarettes must have him craving one, because he pulls one out from his own pack and hands his lighter to Mello. He plucks the cigarette from Matt's lips to give him a quick kiss before replacing and lighting it. Finally, he slows down to the speed limit.
Matt tries to drop him off, but Mello wordlessly drags him out of the car and into his current apartment. They fuck because he knows Matt needs it, and-- Christ, he's done with the excuses. Something happens to Matt's voice when Mello fucks him that makes him sound literally heavenly, as cheesy as that feels, and Mello just cannot get enough of it. He does what he wants, and what he wants happens to be Matt.
He's already got Matt on his knees and a death grip on his hip when he finally snaps the goggles off and throws them to the far corner of the room. He slows down just for a minute, just to drag longer, breathier moans out of Matt, and Mello can see his eyes rolling into the back of his head. It works him into a frenzy.
Hell must be pretty chilly today, because Mello is the one who comes first, and he's hit by sudden inspiration. He lowers himself onto Matt, slowly and gently riding it out just to drive him as crazy as he makes Mello feel. It feels like he's stringing Matt along, but the way his hands frantically scramble for purchase as if he suddenly needs something to grab onto, the way his voice breaks around Mello's name as he comes untouched, shaky just like his knees, is more than worth it. Mello rests his lips on the back of Matt's neck-- the action is tender, entirely unlike Mello. Matt sighs and goes limp, his eyes blinking closed.
For the first time, Mello plays with the idea of telling Matt he loves him. He whispers it, barely audible, but he knows Matt freezing like that, eyes suddenly wide open, means he heard it. It feels, somehow, like a weight has been lifted. And only because Mello is in a good mood, he lets Matt cuddle up to him and stay the night. He supposes he just happens to also be in a good mood most nights from then on.