What was he even doing with his life? Pulled out of his home with his friend, now rivals with another someone who he's also grown up with, working to find out a psychotic murderer? This was a flush of energy that had been consumed by days, and days. Time was ticking away—and who knew that in the moment of such an unusual mission, he'd be bored out of his mind. He had literally been doing nothing but burning cigs and spying on a girl; some model. He didn't even know what he was supposed to be looking for. Damn, Mello didn't even give him specific directions other than to look for anything unusual.

For fuck's sake, everything was unusual. Dealing with gods of death and a majestic book that went against all bases of beliefs; what the fuck was unusual even supposed to be? Although he'd been distracted by war-like intuition being awaken by his hand held game, there was certainly one thing he noticed about this Amane girl; and it was the fact that she was cute—attracting even. It would be crazy not to think, or rather, fantasize like that, especially leaving a hormonal filled teenage boy with the testosterone level of a maximum the responsibility to spy on a model.

Wait.

It's not as if he was a complete stalker. He had met her in person before; and this was accidental. Stupid, actually. He was never supposed to be seen by enemies, but he wasn't thinking when he parked his car next to her limousine in the parking garage of a shopping center. Well, how was he supposed to know it was hers? Minus the fact the license plate printed her last name. He hadn't paid attention since he was lighting another cigarette. He had gotten into deep shit with his mafia friends; or rather, just Mello. But it was okay; it was worth it, Matt supposed. After he had slammed his car door shut, swinging the key from the ignition on his finger, he noticed her staring at him with those enchanting oceanic orbs of hers. Her lips curved into an alluring half-smile at him before walking away with her bodyguards.

It was pretty interesting watching her from then on.

It's as if she was lonely—no—she was lonely. Definitely. He was sure of it. She remained in that apartment for days, doing her regular routine as to wake up around noon, shower—which, to his dismay, was not filmed—she could be doing god knows what in that arena of a bathroom, cook herself either some instant noodles or mac 'n cheese, watch some television, usually Sakura TV's Kira Supporting program, then off to sleep she went. She'd talk to herself, occasionally, most of the time how she longed for a man's touch—the Yagami boy's touch. But it wasn't as if he'd ever appear to give her the pleasure she needed to satisfy her hunger of hormones.

But god—she was so addicting to watch. She was so addicting to want.

And it was probably just because he knew he couldn't have her; she is the known enemy, or so Mello and whoever else say. But who cares, he thinks anyway. She was so tempting. Everything about her was enticing; it's as if she had seduced him mindlessly. The blonde teenager was naturally captivating. The way she spoke all innocently, the way she hummed when she cooked her meals, the way her ravishing and devilish charm awoke when she was in bed alone—everything she did was provocative; and she might have not even known, but she had him wrapped around her little finger.

The way she lay on her bed that night—people don't lie down like that—you cannot sleep like that; it'd be fucking uncomfortable. She was just trying to lure him, to seduce him; to seduce anyone. She needed it. She was around eighteen, wasn't she? It would be believable enough, wouldn't it?

No. No. He couldn't just give into it. The way her curvaceous stature posed restlessly on her satin-sheeted bed, her cream silk pillows under her golden hair. The way her cherry-stained lips puckered around—what was that? A lollipop? He couldn't tell whether the cerise of her lips had come off the translucent candy or from her flavored lipstick. She can't possibly be doing that without knowing he was watching her every move in that little hotel room of hers. And he brought himself to her blue eyes. A shade darker than his. It was pretty fucking beautiful. And it was pretty fucking deceiving too. She was—no, is—known as the second Kira. She's dishonest, she's cunning, she's evil. Misa Amane was a deadly assassin. But she was irresistible.

But who cares—right?

Mello. He would absolutely care. Most definitely. If he had even given Mello his full thoughts on this Misa Amane, he would sure as hell punch the life out of him; or even try to use this godly book against him—his own best friend. Either way, it pretty much scared him shitless.

He lit another cigarette and shut off his game boy. And when Mello asked about the model and actress, Misa Amane, Matt restrained himself, smirked, and stated, "She's cute."