Black and White
Matt loved something about Mello - he wasn't entirely sure what it was or if he could ever hope to grasp it, only that it was probably doing him ill.
Maybe he loved his thighs - not that he had ever seen them without their familiar leather sheen, but still he enjoyed watching them shift next to each other as Mello wound one leg around the other, reclining into a ratty loveseat, shoes scuffing into the table.
He wondered if this was any basis for a solid reason. But as the gray area between Kira and Kira's enemies diminished - or spread, he suppose, sometimes it was hard to tell whether they were all heading towards the same ultimate goal or being shoved into opposite corners of a bloody room - one thing became more and more evident, and that was that he couldn't keep his eyes focused on a boss battle when Mello was doing arousing things with his legs again. Damn.
It was like a chess board, now. Sometimes Mello was the black king, sometimes he was the white queen. Matt... well, he was always a pawn. But there was little he could do about it, and he doubted very much he'd ever endeavor enough to reach Mello's pedestal. That was alright, though. He was at least a piece on the board, while the rest of the world billowed by like grains of sand.
Then another day passed. Another day of irritable stares, of Mello's quick glances when he must have sensed Matt looking, watching... He smirked wryly (he'd seen this time) and returned to his work, while Matt pretended to give a damn about the four gates he still needed to open before he could advance to the fifth stage.
Love and indifference. The black and white areas were still there. They were just starting to smudge.