Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note.

A/N: This isn't the way I usually portray Mello, but I think this way is interesting, too.

Mello looked into the wide bathroom mirror, already hating what he saw. He gazed at his hair, only really describable as 'pretty,' no matter what he tried to do with it. His forehead was too big to cut it short, and it would never stay in a manly ponytail no matter how hard he tried. He let his eyes fall to his eyebrows, thin and feminine. He skipped his eyes, not wanting to see what he knew he'd see in them, and skimmed down to his slender nose, his pale cheeks, his, according to more than four guys, 'BJ lips.'

He didn't like his body either, although he knew he was attractive. His arms were too thin. Muscled, but muscled in the way that female gymnasts get muscles. He was naturally skinny despite all the chocolate he ate. And, for a guy, he was too short.

He looked nothing like a boy, and yet, the T-length, dark blue dress he was wearing didn't fit him right at all.

No matter how much he wished it did.

...Not that he wished it did, of course.

It wasn't that Mello disliked himself, although he certainly had days where the guilt nearly smothered him. He had done a lot of things. Killed a lot of people, fucked a lot of strangers, done a lot of drugs in his time. Even if he wasn't doing those things now, even if he was now 'redeemed,' they weren't images that would ever just leave him.

It also wasn't that he had some strange fetish for cross-dressing like so many gay guys seemed to. Mello had never gone out in public dressed like a girl. He'd gone out in gay little leather outfits and undeniably faggy sunglasses with feathered coats, but it was always clear that he was a man. Male. A dude. A guy. One 'Y' chromosome and only one 'X' chromosome, however flaming he may be.

It wasn't even that he was terribly unhappy being a guy. Hell no. He liked being able to nail Matt to the mattress. He liked that he didn't get periods or PMS, although Matt would probably say he did, at which point Mello would again assert the fact that he was, in the end, male.

And he was, definitely.

It was just that... he was pretty sure he wasn't supposed to be.

He turned himself, looking at his flat front and the bulge where there shouldn't be one.

Would it be worth such a huge change to justify, well, pretty much every aspect of his life? Worth the cost and the effort and the huge amounts of time and drugs involved? The humiliation? What was worse of a sin- to alter his body like that, or to continue loving Matt as a guy? Sleeping with Matt, as two guys?

Only Mello's Mafia training stopped him from jumping when he suddenly noticed, in the mirror, that the object of his most recent contemplation had caught him in the middle of the one thing he had never told him about. Matt was leaning on the frame of the bathroom door, his face unreadable, his eyes covered by his goggles, thereby keeping the time/space continuum firmly intact.

Mello waited silently for some kind of judgment, some kind of reaction. For Matt to laugh, or make fun of him, or to jump him. Or, worse, to go storming out of the room and never come back. Matt was gay, no question, and he'd also, as far as Mello knew, never had the problem that Mello had. Maybe he wouldn't be able to understand it. For once, Mello had absolutely no idea how Matt was going to react, and that was scary because he knew Matt better than anyone had ever known someone else.

Matt saw him watching him. He hadn't initially planned on saying anything, but Mello looked... actually scared. Ha. As if Matt would ever blow up at him. As if Matt would ever leave him. As if he ever could or would ever want to.

Especially since he had already found the carefully-folded dress, years ago.

At first, Matt hadn't suspected that Mello actually wore it. He thought he kept it for some kind of mysterious sentimental reason (he had had an older sister, maybe it was hers, or perhaps his mother's), or because he intended to talk Matt into putting it on as some kind of heretofore unexplored but not entirely unwelcome kink.

Then one day Matt had caught him wearing it. Mello hadn't seen him and Matt hadn't mentioned it or asked any questions. If Mello liked wearing dresses, then Mello liked wearing dresses. Whatever. It wouldn't be the weirdest thing Mello ever did. He never even wondered why.

But Mello was still looking at him, present time, and his eyes were becoming more and more frightened as the silence stretched on.

So Matt said: "You look beautiful."

Mello exhaled and managed a sarcastic eye roll. "You find your boyfriend wearing a dress for unexplained reasons and that's all you have to say?"

Matt thought, and then edited his statement. "Gorgeous, then."

Mello forced out a half smile, his blue gaze sliding back to himself, looking himself over. "Matt," he said quietly, finding the rusty nozzle of the faucet in their stained sink suddenly fascinating. "What if I wanted to get a sex change?"

"Sexy," Matt replied lazily.

Mello eyes flickered up to Matt's again. He didn't have to say what he was thinking for Matt to read his expression.

The younger man shrugged. "Sure. Why not?"

"But you're not into girls!" Mello insisted.

"Well, yeah, I'd miss your dick, but that's what dildos are for."

Mello stared at him.

"Use your words, Mello."

"You're okay with it. Just like that."

He shrugged again. "Whatever makes you happy."

"You wouldn't leave me?"

Matt actually laughed at that, a big, happy sound. "Leave you? I couldn't if I tried, mi'dear. And why the hell would I even want to, anyway? Really, Mels. And you pretend to be smart. I don't give a fuck how many holes you have or where they're at. And if you want to get stuff cut off, added, or, hell, if you want to get them all sewn up, then go for it, and I promise you'll always have a really horny lover waiting for you back at the ranch." He grinned. "Besides, you'll still have a mouth, right? And hands? I can live with that."

Naturally, Mello was, by now, in tears, and he didn't bother trying to hide it. Matt had now seen him at his worst. Compared to that, tears were nothing. "You love me."

"No shit, Sherlock," the gamer said gently, and he came up behind him and held him. Mello relaxed into his arms. "And there's nothing you could do or say to change it."