A/N: How many times has this type of story been done before? Don't care. Time to throw mine in the middle.
Chapter 1: Five strikes left
(Breakfast nuisance)
"Heard you are in trouble." A short but almost athletically built blond girl with amber coloured eyes collapsed into the seat across from Mello, harshly placing a tray containing a bowl full of porridge on the table.
"Heard you are shagging Drake every Wednesday after that half-arsed latin poetry class which, by the way," he took a swig from his lattè "is a pathetic schedule choice considering you could be taking Advanced Experimental and Research Psychology in the fifth period." Mello snapped sharply as she rolled her eyes. "Beg your pardon, aren't we playing that game where we both make obvious statements?"
"Are you this rude to everyone else too?" Linda asked before quickly slipping a spoon of breakfast into her mouth.
"Yes." The boy marvelled. "Don't think you are special." He proceeded to pick one of the strips of toast from his tray, dipping it in a soft boiled egg before allowing it to make its way to his mouth.
"What have you done?" She inquired.
"Why are you shagging Drake? Doesn't the mole on his plonker bother you?" Mello counterattacked.
Linda outlined a grimace. "In case you haven't noticed, I am eating."
"I have noticed. I cannot believe you haven't noticed that."
"I don't get it" she begun coolly "how come you don't want to brag about your latest prank?"
"There's no prank." Mello said firmly. "Don't you have a distorted fruit bowl to paint?"
"At least three kids saw you leaving Roger's office last night."
"Went there for some tea and a pleasant game of checkers." He dodged. "You know, you don't get to drink black kurrant tea down here - which I personally take as an offence to my refined taste."
"I might not be runner up in the rank but I'm not stupid."
Mello grinned. "Being number thirteen in the rank is quite close to that, though."
"Are you going to deny you got called into the office last night?"
"I never denied that."
"So?"
"I told you the truth - there is no prank. I haven't even seen that white sheep in the past two or three days - god only knows what kind of crazy ritual he has been attempting to do in his dorm during winter break." He raised an eyebrow and stopped for a second. "Wait - why am I explaining myself to you?"
"Telling me what happened last night would be the quicker way to get rid of me." The girl stated as she finished her meal, pushing the tray aside.
"Why make it quick when I can make it painful for you?" Mello replied while getting up from his sit, starting a quick paced march towards the dining hall exit.
"I'm gonna find out sooner of later." Linda exclaimed loudly form the table.
"Oh no - better go to my room cry in fetal position until the night comes and takes this torment away form me!" Mello replied in a dramatic tone from the corridor.
Making his way up to his dorm, he couldn't help but think about the concurrently confusing and terrifying situation he found himself in. Every piece of information he told Linda - with the exception of the tea and checkers part - was true. He hadn't done anything punishable in the last days; yet he had been called into the headmaster's office last night for a rather disturbing conversation he couldn't stop thinking about.
For all he knew, his days at Wammy's House could be counted due to a stupid rule he was never warned about and - even worst - he was too close for comfort of being excluded from the succession line, which pretty much meant he was one step away from loosing everything he ever wanted (and knew) in his meaningless 17-year-old-life.
"Watch your way." Mello bursted as he bumped into a slender redhead who wandered bluntly at the entrance hall, blocking the way to the stairs that led to the first floor where the boys dorms were located. The other boy barely had time to react - though the muttered a muffled an apology - as the blond vanished into the stairway.
(About Matt)
Matt was tall. He had a bright unnatural red hair that contoured his pale face down to the cheeks. He was somehow handsome - had a long straight nose, good skin, nice teeth and a crooked smile. Matt played video games better than everyone else he had ever met and had a very distinctive walk: lazy but self-possessing altogether, able to suggest that he was either as comfortable being wherever he was as he would be somewhere else or that everybody was just quite lucky that he showed up at all.
Matt was sixteen, looked eighteen and acted twelve. Or thirty-two.
He came to England when he was five and lived a miserable life in Peckham pretty much ever since. The neighbourhood was a failed area in south-east London, plagued with crime, unemployment, welfare dependency, poverty pimps and degenerated broken single mothers like his own.
Gertrude Jeevas was not one to blame. Abandoned by her first husband soon after the infamous fall of the Berlin Wall, which led to his silent scurry to the west on an icy February night - that coincided with the night she told him she was expecting - she found on Conall Watson the best way out of the imbroglio she found herself in - and quite certainly the only possibility to assure a relatively decent future to her young child.
And it worked out just fine for about a year or so.
The two of them exchanged a room in a shared condo with other three families in east Berlin for a cozy flat in the west end of London. Besides, Conall was a fine man, treated them well enough - and Mail did not dislike him for all that matters.
On January 1995, Mail became Matt, because Conall thought his original name was going to put him through too much discomfort when school started on September. He did not complain.
Matt was happy. His mother was happy. Everything was going smoothly enough as they had at least three meals per day, a twenty-four inches colour tv and a functioning heating system.
On the christmas of ninety-five, Conall gave little Matt a Sega Saturn - the finest piece of gaming money could buy - which quickly made him forget about the secondhand gameboy he got earlier that year for his birthday.
Margaret Watson was not pleased, however, when she discovered his husband was living a double life, nurturing a family with some lousy immigrant from eastern Europe - and saved no time to announce she would take up to his last penny in child support had he not figured out a way to get rid of the scum and put end that pathetic joke.
Conall was not one to blame either when he never came home to Gertrude after a supposed business trip to the north on an ordinary weekend. He was even benevolent enough to mail her a 300 pounds check and pay off the rent for the next month.
But that money eventually rant out and the bills did not start arriving at a slower pace and, as much as Matt did not fully understand what was going on back then, he had no doubts things were about to get complicated.
And they did, as the only job his mother could find was an unregistered part-time occupation in a textile factory near Bermondsey. They went east again and moved to a one bedroom dorm-like apartment in Perkham because - well, that's what they could afford.
If you consider all the variations, Matt turned out pretty fine. Of course, he had pickpocket here and there; but he was engaged in high school and did surprisingly well, specially in comparison with his low attendance rate. He was not part of a gang. He did not do drugs. The heavy ones, that is. He was remarkably good with technology - so good that when he was 14, he managed to hack the financial system of city hall through the public library computer so they would no longer have to worry about the ludicrous electricity bills that wouldn't stop coming; and so he went on with gas bills and water bills. He even managed to get him and his mother into welfare state.
Those things probably weighted against him when he found himself sitting in a Court room trying to convince the judge that he was ready to be emancipated. His public defender did not stand chance against the system and the odds were he would be sentenced to two long years locked in an institution for young offenders for fraud.
As bad as it was outside, it was surely still better than inside. Math was never his forte, but some freedom seemed better that no freedom at all.
Why did he found himself in a court room at the age of sixteen?
A while after they moved to Perkham his mother got involved with people she should have not. And when the police broke in into her new lover's apartment she happened to be there and things just went down. He went to jail for drugs possession, illegally carrying a G18 and three accusations of intentional homicide.
She went along because she was at the wrong place at the wrong time.
Maybe she went to jail, maybe she got deported - Matt didn't care.
Once again, it was not her fault, but this time Matt could not help it but blame her. Because he had told her to stop seeing that man months ago. And he also told her to cut off the cocain countless times. But she wouldn't listen.
The hammer hit the wooden table and the judge declared the obvious.
Motion denied.
1 vs. 0 to the system.
Once the session was dismissed, the silver haired man sitting across the room stood up and walked towards him with a mild expression and introduced himself. "Nice to meet you, Matt. I'm Roger Ruvie, the headmaster of Wammy's House. I am sure you are going to fit in our institution just fine." Matt did not utter a word, but responded to the hand shake the older man offered. "We are ready to leave to Winchester whenever you are." The man completed without ceremony, letting go of the boy's hand that remained floating in the air.
While the old man retrieved to the other end of the room, Matt headed to the way out, hands reaching the left pocket of his jeans for a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. An officer was quick to follow.
"Chill. Not running away." Matt muttered to the 7 feet man standing in front of him while lighting up the cigarette hanging from his mouth. "Mind giving me some last minutes of privacy?" The officer took a few steps back without loosing the sight of the boy.
Matt inhaled lightly through the cigarette. He hadn't smoked in a fairly long time. He was even starting to believe he had dropped the smoking for good, even though he carried a pack with him just in case. Rookie mistake.
The hardest part was to get over the psychological sense of breathing something that was not air - a little like breathing underwater. The nicotine rush was like a small high, a light-headed pleasant hazy feeling. Unfortunately for Matt, it didn't last as long as it should.
His mouth got dry and tasted like a bunch of household chemicals. The smell of it started sticking to his hair and clothes. He was thirsty. Or maybe he wanted to brush his teeth.
"Hey," he called for the officer staring at him from a safe distance "Mr. Officer, whatever your name is -" he exhaled some warm grey smoke into thin cold air. "Have any idea why they are taking me to Winchester?". The officer grinned.
"From what I heard, you should be thankful they are not throwing you straight on jail. Federal fraud?" He completed letting out a small but sarcastic laugh.
"You are probably right." Matt replied coolly.
The brief silence was interrupted by Sally Nash, the social worker, who asked in a very pitchy tone. "Matt, dear, do you think you are ready to go pack your belongings?" She then lowered her head and caught a glimpse of the small roll of paper in his mouth. "I don't believe you should be smoking."
"I believe you originally graduated at Law in Brunel University so I don't think you should be serving as a social worker for 18.000,00 pounds a year either, but here we are." Matt talked back, quickly allowing more smoke to enter his lungs shortly afterwards. Sally stared blankly at him trying to hide the feeling of disbelief that was haunting her soul at that moment. "I am sorry. I did not mean that in an offensive manner, you know, it is just... Something I heard." Or read. From your work file. Which I found two days ago while hacking into city hall system. Again.
"I don't want to take anything. I am good to go." He continued as she remained uncomfortably silent. In all honesty, he didn't mean to offend her. He just wanted to make her uncomfortable enough to forget about the cigarettes. He was starting to realise that this was the effect he caused on people when he knew way more than he should.
"Great!" She recovered the very pitchy tone. "Should we get you going then?" Matt nodded slowly, pressing the cigarette butt against the wall he was leaning on and tossing it off on the floor.
"Mind if I ask you something first?" the lady smiled back and Matt took it as a yes. "Why? Why Winchester? Going to lock me away?"
"Do you think we should lock you away?" She snapped.
"Dunno."
She turned to him and placed both hands on his shoulders. "Try giving yourself a chance, yes?"
Matt had a feeling that what she was really trying to say was "you better take this opportunity because you are not getting another one".
He shrugged.
They completed their walk side by side to the parking lot where the grey man talked to the judge. Another short man with tired features accompanied their conversation, although he did not say a word. Once he looked at Matt, he let out a condescending smile. Sally Nash quickly flashed towards their direction and Matt decided to just let the grown ups talk, heading for the guard wall where two black cars - to be more precise, two CL 63 AMG from Mercedes-Benz - were parked diagonally.
Matt fancied cars. The CL 63 was one of rarest Mercedes ever made up to that moment - they were produced only in November 2001 and just 26 examples were ever built for sale. Once he passed through one of them he unwittingly stopped in front of the driver's window and stared at his own reflection. It was only then that the window came down and a half-bald middle aged man greeted him with a grin.
"Hello, sir. Would you like to wait inside the car?" He asked Matt, who quickly walked into a circle looking into every direction like a dog after it's tail to make sure he wasn't anyone standing beside him. There wasn't.
"Sir?" The driver insisted.
"Huh?" Matt replied. "A-are you talking to me?"
"Why, yes. Aren't you heading to Winchester with Mr. Ruvie?" He inquired.
"I guess." Matt said suspiciously. The man laughed shyly as he opened the driver's door causing Matt to take a few steps backwards. He then proceeded to open the back seat door, leading the boy inside.
Matt sat quite uncomfortably against the leather, although it was most certainly not because of the vehicle. Silence dominated the environment and he decided to end it.
"What is your name?" He asked.
"Andrew Oliver, Sir." The driver replied.
Silence again.
"Aren't you gonna ask me my name?" Matt said bitterly.
"Pardon me, Sir, what is your name?" The man complied.
"Matt."
"Nice to meet you, Sir."
"Don't call me 'sir'."
"How you'd rather be called, sir?"
"Just Matt."
"Absolutely, Mr. Matt."
"Drop the titles." The driver nodded.
"Is there anything else I can do for you before we leave?" Andrew asked.
"Can you turn on the radio?"
Matt leaned his head against the car door and closed his eyes as some bad jazz music filled it gently enough allowing him to fall asleep. Whenever he was heading to, it was no ordinary place.
(Mellow)
Mello was the owner of a judgmental electric blue gaze. He had thin lips, a straight nose with a pointed tip and slightly prominent cheekbones. He fancied wearing black pants with sleazy tops that that did very little to divert the attention from his almost feminine silhouette. He had a quirky, yet cool in-between length ash blond hair that ended an inch or so from his narrow shoulders.
In all fairness, he was but an odd combination of features that turned out to work well together.
He was also a prodigy.
With no room for doubt, Mello was the beholder of extraordinary intelligence. In other words, he was good at everything. He spoke seven languages fluently, could solve pretty much every kind of equation within a blink of eye; he mastered English, Russian, German, Spanish and Portuguese literature by the time he was twelve and had taken a special interest in psychology lately.
But he did not care about any of that because, in spite of everything he accomplished and all the effort he put into his studies, he was sentenced to a lifetime internal struggle as runner-up in the line of succession for being the next L.
For he lived in an orphanage full of geniuses and all he ever knew was that he had to dedicate his life to being the world's greatest detective once L was ready to pass the spot.
As simple as that.
Things were not going according to his plans, however, when he turned seventeen and started to realise that he had a year to cave his way to the top of the rank otherwise he would be thrown away to the real world, destined to a life of cleaning tables and emptying trash cans in a low-income pub somewhere in underground London because, naturally, that was the only job suited for a failure.
The situation only got worst when he got called into the headmaster's office in the middle of the winter break of 2006 for apparently no reason.
Apparently.
(Last night)
"I didn't do anything - whenever happened this time, I swear it wasn't me." Mello said as he opened the door that led to Roger's office. He entered the room covered by wooden furniture and stood still in front of the now closed door. "Really."
"Mello" Roger greeted calmly. "Please, have a seat."
"Why? I already told you I'm innocent." Mello risked a step forward. "If this is about the incident with the football balls, you caught the wrong bloke."
"Kevin is already being punished for that." The grey man declared. "Will you please take a seat?"
"I would rather stand, thank you." Mello snapped in mockery tone.
"Mello" Roger said taking his sit behind the large wooden desk that occupied the centre of the room. "Do you know what this is?" He said as he placed a brownish envelope on the top of the table and pushing it towards the direction of the boy.
Mello took another step closer to examine the paper object. It was a a large piece of brown paper folded in the middle like an archive file, filled with a few pages of a thinner white pages.
"Why are you handing me my file?"
"I want you to read what it says."
Mello took it on his arms and started to peruse the document. He found a picture of when he first arrived at the house, probably still a five or six year old; his scores over the past twelve years - which the sight caused him to firmly hold his breath and count to five as he remembered the times he was number one in the house rank; next thing was a psychologic evaluation he quickly passed through and, at last, he found a thick sheaf of papers labeled "punishment record". He rushed right to its last page, where he spotted some kind of scoreboard at the bottom of the page that read:
Detentions: 55
Internal Exclusion Suspensions: 7
Out of School Suspensions: 2
"Have you got the chance to take a look at your punishment record yet?" The old man inquired.
"So?"
"You served fifty-five detentions."
"It's not that bad of a rate if you consider I have been here for over a decade." He talked back.
"I don't believe you are aware of the consequences of your acts, Mello." Roger adjusted his glasses and leaned forward, crossing his hands on the table.
"Enlighten me."
"According to the Whammy's House Code of Conduct-" Roger begun "-once you reach the mark of sixty detentions-" he tried to disguise as chocked on his own words "-you will be requested to leave this institution."
Mello tossed the file back on the table and allowed his body to fall into one of the chairs across from the old man.
His face was glazed for a split-second and then he frowned as his lips pursed together. His hands closed into fists as he crouched forward, daring the old man to repeat once more the words he had just pronounced.
"Have it ever crossed this nutter little mind of yours" Mello raged "that you should have told me that on one of those fifty-five visits I have paid to your shitty mold smelling office in the past twelve years?"
"Mello, will you pleas-"
"No, seriously, have you ever even considered that?! Because, honestly, you have kept me in here for the past twelve fucking years training my brains to believe that all I could ever want was to become the shitty successor of this stupid genius household and when the clock hit the forty-fifth minute of the second half of the match you decide to kick me out of the field? This is not fucking fair!"
"I think your overuse of the word fuck is fascinating but I would rather have you calm down for a second." Roger blurted seeking for a cup of tea on the counter sitting by the window.
"I will not calm down because you have just condemned me to a lifetime of-"
"-cleaning tables and emptying trash cans in a low-income pub somewhere in underground London." Roger completed as he poured some boiling water into a small white teacup. "Yes, I have heard your speech before. This is nothing of the sort. First of all, I am not kicking you out." He placed a dark teabag on the cup and headed back to his chair.
"I am telling you this because I truly believe you have what it takes to succeed L-" he took a sip of his tea "-otherwise I'd just lead you to the nearest low-income pub."
"Yeah, right."
"You are no longer a child, Mello. It is about time you start behaving your age. Maybe this is the incentive you need to place first on next month's rank. You are dismissed." Roger declared starting to analyse a pile of paperwork that sat on his desk.
"Maybe I should just get the fuck out of here already." Mello hissed as he led himself to the hallway. He felt a tad dizzy but started to march as firmly as he could to his room. He barked at few younger kids that were passing through the corridor and they quickly disappeared into the staircase.
One year to go, he thought to himself.
One person to surpass.
Only five strikes left.
This was going to be a long, long year.
(Back to Matt)
Matt never had dreams. No matter how much he slept or how hard he tried, he could not dream. Every time he closed his eyes he just drowned into endless darkness until something came to interrupt his rest. It was no different this time. The car parked in front of an old mansion-like house and the driver was quick in leaving his spot to open up the left back door so Matt could make his way to his new home.
The kid almost felt to the floor as Andrew pushed the door he was leaning on forward, causing him to wake up in distress.
"Pardon me, Sir." He stated. "Matt." Andrew corrected himself. "Did you have a pleasant trip to Winchester?"
"I guess." Matt declared, reaching for his right pocket after standing up. He felt slightly more relaxed when he felt his pack of cigarettes and gameboy console through his jeans. "So, this is it?" He asked.
"Please accompany me." Andrew nodded and started leading the way to the entrance door. After opening up, he made a sign with his hand inviting the boy inside and, before Matt could process, he had already left the hall, leaving him all alone in an old fashioned building he had never seen before.
The place looked far more impressive from the outside than from the inside. Still, he couldn't help but to walk around to catch a better glimpse of every detail of the room.
"Watch your way." Hissed a kid that bumped into him to make his way to the staircase. He was not really sure wether it was a boy or a girl so he attempted to launch an apology just in case, though he doubt she - or he - would listen.
"Sorry!"
"Matt?" Called a familiar voice from behind. The man from the court room greeted hanging his overcoat on the hatstand near the entrance. "Did you make a safe journey?" Matt just nodded. "Perfect. Would you mind following me to my office?" The boy did not respond, but started to follow the man into an old office room at the left end of the hall. "Have a seat."
"I would rather stand, thank you, Sir."
The headmaster sighed.
"Please. This will not be a short conversation."
Matt chocked on his breath. He approached the desk and took a seat, feeling very uncomfortable as the old wooden furniture seemed to swallow his soul.
"Do you have any idea why you are here?"
"Because I committed a federal offense?" He guessed.
The old man nodded negatively. "We believe you are special." Roger stated. "That is why we were willing to give you a chance here at Wammy's House, rather than letting the government take you to an institution for young offenders. I am sure you are wondering why, am I correct?"
The boy assented.
"You have skills most people do not. I am sure you have realised by now."
"Huh?" Matt grinned. "Sorry to disappoint you, Sir, but I am not an X-man."
"Lovely sense of humour." Matt shrugged. Bad timing.
"I don't see where you are trying to go."
"You are a prodigy."
"Am not." He gritted quickly.
"I beg to disagree with you." Roger cooed. "But why don't we let the test decide that?"
"I don't believe in tests."
"Do you believe in the penitentiary system?" The old man quizzed as he stared at Matt from above his lenses. Matt froze for a second but was able to relax when the man let out a pitiful smile.
"You have two and a half hours to complete the quiz." Roger proclaimed putting a sheaf of paper and a couple of black pens on top of the desk. "There is water and tea on the counter by the window in case you need it."
Roger left the room after assuring he would be back when the time was up.
Matt hesitated for a couple of minutes but gave in eventually and started to adventure himself into the pages.
(Two and a half hours later)
Roger did not seem concerned.
Matt looked like he was about to collapse.
"Excellent." Roger accused. The redhead felt confused.
"Does it mean I passed?"
"It means you have enough potential to stay."
Matt was not sure he was happy with the answer.
"You must be hungry." The grey man decided. "Before allowing you to go to lunch, I would like to adjust a few final details. It shouldn't take long." He told the boy that remained quiet. "For security reasons, you will have to go under an alias as long you remain in this institution. Your real name will be kept confidential. Are you following me?" Matt nodded positively. "Do you have a name you would like to use in mind?"
"I will just stick with Matt."
"I believe you are missing the point. I have just stressed it cannot be your real name."
"Matt is not my real name."
"What is your real name?"
"Didn't you just tell me it should remain a secret?"
"That is not how it works." Roger threatened.
"Mail. Mail Jeevas."
"Very well, then. I will have one of our students show you the way to the dining hall." Roger declared as he wrote a couple of words into a piece of paper laying on his desk. "Did you leave your belongings in the car?"
"I didn't bring anything."
"Then it is settled. Your dormitory is located in the second floor. Room 127." He declared as he reached for the corridor, in an attempt to get the attention of one of the kids passing by.
"Linda" he called "this is Matt. Would you mind showing him the way to the dining hall?"
The girl agreed without hesitation and they started their walk towards the other end of the room.
(Linda)
"So," she squeaked "how did you get here?"
"By car." Matt muttered.
"Brilliant."
"Linda, right?" She nodded. "Is everyone around a... You know, rocket scientist?"
"You could say so."
"Shit." Matt whispered. This was certainly more than he could take for that day. He wasn't even feeling like eating right now. In fact, he was starting to believe he had an upset stomach after all the food he had eaten.
"Listen, I'm not feeling very well-"
"Would you like me to accompany you to the infirmary?" She interrupted him.
"No. I just... I would appreciate if you could show me to my room, though."
"Sure thing. The boys dorms are this way." Linda led Matt to the staircase he was originally standing in front of when he got bumped into by the blond kid earlier that morning and they both climbed their way to the first floor. "Do you know what number it is?"
"127."
"Oh. My. God."
"What?" Matt asked.
"N-nothing. It's the room at the end of the corridor. I should get going, you know, girls are not allowed in here." She lied. "N-nice to meet you!"
Matt watched as the girl vanished into the ground floor and proceeded to the room at the end of the aisle. He felt somehow nervous and the fact that he could not explain why got to his nerves. It was just a stupid room he would probably share with another kid or two - there couldn't be many geniuses hanging around this place to the point they would have overpopulated dormitories - if he was lucky enough, he thought to himself, he could even get a whole room to himself.
He sought for the doorknob and caved his way in, unintentionally forgetting to knock.
"What the fuck?" He was welcomed by a roar coming from the bathroom. "Have you not learned to knock?" The blond boy snapped as he finished putting his top on. "Who the hell are you?"
"I am Matt."
"I don't care. Get out."
"But you just asked."
"And now I'm telling you to get out."
"I can't. This is my room."
"Listen up, kiddo" Mello spat "you are new around here and someone probably pranked you into coming into my room and I will let this one pass, alright?"
"No, you don't understand. Roger told me this is my room too." Matt marched into the room unaware of the risk he was putting himself into. He sat into one of the two beds that furnished the room.
"Get the fuck out of my bed!"
"Geez, calm down, I'll just take the other one."
"You are not taking any of them! Why haven't you left yet?"
"I told you, this is my room. Or at least it is supposed to be."
"Bullshit." Mello cried. "Who told you to do this? Drake? Luke?" Mello reached for the still opened door and yelled "WHOEVER DID THIS, IT IS NOT FUCKING FUNNY."
"I am telling you the truth. Roger sent me here. Do you want to go find him so we can sort this out and-"
"Of course I don't want to go find Roger, what the hell is wrong with you?"
"Hey, easy-" Matt tried to remain calm. "I promise you I will go after him later and get everything solved, but - for now - do you mind if I take a nap in this bed? You won't even notice I am here."
"Of course I fucking mind!" And how do you expect me to not notice this distracting piece of shit you call hair?
This could not be truth, Mello thought to himself. It was a whole new level of evil, even for Roger. It was bad enough to be under pressure to make it to the top of the rank by the end of the term without reaching the five strikes mark and getting kicked out of the house but having to share a room with him?
This had to be a joke, had to be a joke, had to be a a really bad joke, Mello debated inside his own mind.
He bursted out of his room to go seek an explanation for this.
Matt, on the other hand, just leaned back on the spare bed and closed his eyes with a sigh.
This year was going to be even longer than Mello originally anticipated.