...Y'what? -stares at word blankly- I haven't a clue.

Dance puppets, dance the night away.
The moon is high, the night is long
So dance my puppets; dance the dance of death.
And then I'll cut your strings;
And you, my puppets, you will bleed.

Like a rat on a wheel, they ran. Ran and ran forever on towards the cheese dangling just before their noses.

Ironic to compare Kira to a piece of cheese, but that was what made it so funny. He the cheese they sought and they the rats on the wheel. Matt let himself chuckle darkly at the thought, ash falling from the cigarette at his lips to his lap.

Run little rats, run fast fast fast. Get the cheese my little rats.

And Mello. Ah, Mello! Showing up on his doorstep with half his face blown off, bleeding like the world was ending. Matt had never seen so much blood up close like that. Not outside television, anyway. He hadn't been prepared to find a half-dead Mello standing there bleeding all over his floor, to be honest. He'd actually panicked and only after Mello didn't die had he calmed enough to get the story.

Fucking Mello, really. Just like him to get dramatic and blow the place up when he hadn't even left the fucking place yet. And for a little black book that he'd ended up losing anyway. Fucking moron.

And they called Matt the dumb one.

Number three, number three. Second best is fine, but third best is a waste of time. No one likes third rate losers.

Rats on a wheel, he reminded himself. Even L, -L the greatest mind in the world so great he'd needed to be three people at once to keep up with it all- had been tricked into stepping on the wheel with the rest of the rats. He'd died on the wheel.

And now Mello and Near had taken his place. Matt would have too-if only to be with Mello; who wanted to be L anyway? Too much work, but for Mello he'd go to Hell and back- except that he'd seen the wheel. He'd seen the bodies piled around it as the rats fell off one by one.

And he'd be damned if he was going to join them.

Perhaps one day he'd join the rats upon their wheel-because Mello asked him to, only ever for Mello- but for now he was fine with his games and his cigarettes.

And maybe, just maybe, a million years in the future he'd just died, but for now he doesn't feel it and it's him watching Mello sleep and that's all he needs.

Have you danced enough my puppets?
Have you danced to my dance of death
With all its twists and turns?
Scream my puppets,
Scream yourself hoarse
But I won't listen;
For soon I shall cut your strings.
And then, oh shall you bleed.