I-Wammy's House

This place…

Mello found himself once again staring vacantly out of the floor-to-ceiling windows that provided most of the light in the massive library, watching the first rays of sunlight break over the horizon. He sighed, brushing a hand through his hair only to have the pale strands fall into his eyes again.

This place is so boring.

Lately, the days within the walls of Wammy's House had slowly begun to bleed over into each other making it nearly impossible to tell one day from the next. It was as though time only truly existed as something to be experienced, cherished even, on the other side of the glass. Outside, the sun was beginning to catch in the dew that clung to the grass, making everything sparkle. As the darkness began to fade, Mello could see that the large trees that lined the walk were decorated in brilliant red, orange, and yellow and flecks of colour littered the stone pathways.

Mello rapped his long fingers on the table in front of him, crossing and re-crossing his legs impatiently. Every day, like clockwork, he would wait in the library until he heard the telltale clicking of Quillsh's shoes on the hardwood floors as the man made his way to the kitchen for breakfast. He would sit still and hold his breath as Quillsh passed the non-existent library door and wait until he knew the man was nearly to the end of the hallway before he dared to move. Quillsh was easily in his sixties, but he noticed more than people thought he did, largely because almost no one noticed him.

Today was no different. Mello exhaled slowly once Quillsh had past, counting under his breath, "Eins, Zwei, Drei…" until he reached 21. At 21, Quillsh was at the end of the hallway, and had reached the stairway. That meant that Mello could walk down after him without making Quillsh think he was being followed. He would simply think that Mello was one of those rare children that actually liked getting up early, rather than assuming the blonde had been up all night, which was usually the case. Closing his book and standing as quietly as he could, he turned to follow the old man…only to find him standing just behind him.

Mello jumped, bringing his gloved hands up to his chest with a ridiculously feminine squeak. Mentally kicking himself, both for the noise and for not paying closer attention, he fell back a step to lean against the table.

"Hello." Quillsh said simply, smiling effortlessly at the slightly panicky blonde in front of him. "So, this is how you always manage to be the first one downstairs. I've told you before that it's not good for you to stay up all night when you don't have to." He continued in the tone of a loving grandfather as Mello fought to get his heart restarted.

"I-Ich…" Mello stuttered, lapsing into his native German for an instant before remembering he was supposed to be practicing his English. "Um, how did you..?" His voice trailed off when he reflexively glanced down and realised that the man was in his stocking feet, the dark grey socks chosen to match his suit.

Quillsh brought his hand out from behind his back to reveal that he was carrying his shoes. A sharp bark of laughter clawed its way out of Mello's throat. Taking off your shoes in order to sneak up on someone was something people did at 12, not 65. He stared up at Quillsh in pure disbelief. That gentle, grandfatherly smile that crinkled the man's eyes behind his spectacles never left his face as he reached out to ruffle Mello's brass-blonde hair now that the boy could breathe again. "I admit, it took me a few days to figure out how you were doing it. That was impressive, Mello."

"Danke." Mello said softly, disbelievingly. Being complimented for being sneaky wasn't necessarily normal, even for Mello. It was even stranger that Quillsh didn't reprimand him for slipping into German. The man was still smiling as though nothing at all was the least bit out of the ordinary.

"Come on," Quillsh placed a hand on Mello's shoulder. The boy could feel the warmth of his hand through his jacket. "Let's go get some breakfast." Mello almost laughed again. He'd been under-estimating the old man, he thought as he walked along the cavernous hallway at Quillsh's side, falling into step with him despite the notable difference in their height.

Well, well…maybe this place isn't so boring after all.

******************************

"Guten morgen!" Mello's clear voice met his ears as L stepped into the kitchen.

"Guten morgen." L replied with his trademark lack of enthusiasm. He brushed a pale hand through his disheveled hair, only succeeding in causing it to stick out in the opposite direction than it previously was. Why so many people considered L such a perfectionist was beyond him. It L was a perfectionist, it didn't show in his dress or mannerisms whatsoever. He was barefoot and wore plain blue jeans that were about two sizes too big for him and hung low on his hips. The white long-sleeved shirt looked too big for him as well, but was several inches too short in the sleeves. He was considered underweight for his height, and his thick black hair constantly looked as though he'd just gotten out of bed.

"Didn't sleep well?" Mello asked, leaning forward as L sat down across from him at the table, pulling his legs up so that his knees were against his chest. Mello always asked that question, referring to the dark circles under L's eyes that he had always thought made him look as though he'd slept in heavy makeup.

"No." L replied shortly. "Didn't sleep at all." He looked up at Mello, eyes wide and unblinking as always. L's sleep schedule consisted mostly of short naps taken when he could get them. He only really needed bed rest every 5 or 6 days. Still, the lack of any rest at all tended to make him rather irritable.

"Now, now, boys." said Quillsh, with the patience of a grandfather babysitting his grandsons, "Don't fight at the table." He set L and Mello's plates gently on the table before popping back through a revolving door to check on the kitchen staff. Left alone again, Mello shook his head at the plate of food Quillsh had given L. Cake, Panda cookies, and Pocky were hardly 'breakfast'.

"How can you stand to eat like that?" he asked, grimacing slightly as L stirred cube after cube of sugar into his coffee. He had to look away after the ninth cube. The thought of the sugary sludge forming in the bottom of that cup was starting to make him physically sick. "I'd think you'd get sick from all that sugar."

"I'm not the only one," L gestured with his fork, which he held almost daintily between his thumb and index finger, to Mello's plate, which was mainly filled with chocolate. "I'm surprised you're still so thin, Mello-kun."

Mello blushed a bit at being addressed in such a familiar way. He sat back in his chair, crossing his legs and letting his shoulder-length hair fall forward to hide the pink tinge that burned his cheeks. "Least I'm not underweight." He muttered, fiddling with the wrapper of one of his chocolate bars. He could have sworn he heard L laugh softly, as though Mello were a child.

The two sat together in a strangely comfortable silence as they finished their breakfast. This was how their mornings typically went: a lackadaisical play fight followed by sitting quietly across the table from one another, neither knowing quite what to say until the others came down from upstairs and gave them someone else to talk to.

******************************

Matt's heavy boots thudded loudly on the staircase as he made his way down to the kitchen. It was just after 8 o'clock, which meant that L and Mello had been sitting in near silence for almost an hour. He paused for a moment at the edge of the hardwood, looking from Mello to L and back again.

"What'd I miss?" He asked, taking his tray from the counter. So far he was the only one of them with an actual breakfast. He sat down in the empty chair between the other two, resting his elbows on the table and placing his chin on his hands.

"Nothing." L answered, brief and to the point as always.

"Guten morgen, Matt." Mello said softly, not really looking at the other boy. He wasn't exactly sure what it was about Matt that made him so nervous, but whenever he was around him, he found it more difficult to speak. In any language.

Maybe it was simply because the boy was still a bit unfamiliar. Mello and L had been at Wammy's House nearly all their lives, but Matt had only come to live there a little over a year ago. If Mello remembered correctly, the redhead had come here straight from the hospital after his father killed his mother and then himself. Matt had escaped without so much as a scratch, though.

Matt smiled. "Guten morgen, Mello." He answered, a little unsure of his pronunciation. When Mello smiled at him, he knew it was at least understandable. He had slowly been picking up the language from being around Mello, and he knew that the blonde was still more comfortable in German even though it severely limited the number of people he could talk to. As far as Matt knew, no one besides L, Near, and possibly Quillsh spoke German.

For a few minutes, the three of them sat in silence, with Matt focused intensely on the plate in front of him, Mello nipping at the last of a chocolate bar, and L sipping what was, by now, a cup of moist, coffee-flavoured sugar. Mello found himself glancing over at Matt every few minutes. How did someone who seemed so normal end up here?

Matt, in all honesty, was by far the most normal of the group. He dressed in comfortable clothes and boots that made him look like a kid playing dress-up. He had sharp, green eyes under somewhat tousled, dark red hair, which was always a bit squished down due to the goggles he, for some reason, wore constantly. Right now, with the goggles pushed up on his head, Mello could see just how green his eyes really were. Without the glass to filter the colour, Matt's eyes went from just a pale green to a deep, drowning jade. The change was truly remarkable. Mello started to wonder why Matt didn't go without those goggles more often when L broke his train of thought.

"Well, then, shall we go find Near?" The man asked, standing gracefully from his strange position, and shoving his hands into his pockets. "He should be awake by now."

"Yeah!" Matt suddenly sounded so childish that Mello had to look to be sure it was the same person. His voice had been at least an octave higher. Shaking his head, Mello stood to follow them. He could never explain just what it was about Near that both L and Matt found so adorable. Maybe it was the way he seemed to mimic L's childish mannerisms, or the way he always seemed to know things that no one else did, but was so young that it took quite an effort to take him seriously. Oh, well. He wasn't sure he really cared that much.

******************************

The room was dimly lit, but it was a soft, comforting darkness. The only light came from the small bedside lamp, switched on at its lowest setting. The door fell shut behind L with a soft click. The small boy seated in the centre of the floor, surrounded by children's toys, never glanced up at them. L stepped forward.

"Hello, Near." He said softly.

"Hello, L." The boy deadpanned, finally turning to face them. He looked very young, 12 or 13, maybe. Honestly, he was seventeen. His skin was pale as milk, from what could be seen of it, and his eyes were wide and bright under a gentle fall of white-blonde hair, one lock of which he was twirling around his finger. Such an innocent gesture seemed somehow out of place coming from Near, whose surprisingly dark eyes were fixed on the three of them. The intensity of that stare always reminded Mello very strongly of L.

That was it. That was why the boy irked him. He was nothing more than a cheap copy of L. To Mello, L was, and always would be, the best. This boy wasn't L, and he never would be no matter how much, or how easily he mimicked him. Still, every gesture he made reminded him of the older man, and it made him sick. The two were so similar that whenever Near jabbed at him, it was like being rejected by L.

Matt, oblivious and grinning like an idiot, stepped forward to stand next to L. "I haven't seen you in a while, Near." He said cheerily, as though they were old friends. "How have you been?"

Near didn't answer, preferring instead to focus on the puzzle on the floor in front of him. Eventually, his hand stilled over the pieces. "Why is he here?"

Mello tensed, crossing his arms over his chest. The soft creaking of his leather jacket caused Matt to glance back at him. He didn't like Near and he made no effort to hide it. Did he realise how obnoxious he was? Just being around the boy brought that familiar cold rush through his body that made him clench his gloved hands in the front of his jacket to keep from doing something he'd end up regretting.

"Mello," L's low, smooth voice pulled the blonde from his thoughts. "Are you alright?" There was something markedly different in the older man's voice. He was worried. Mello watched L's gunmetal-grey eyes. For just a moment, he saw his gaze flicker down to his arms, which trembled slightly, still crossed over his chest. L knew.

The blonde drew a slow, steadying breath and nodded. He was freezing. His heartbeat seemed deafening in the small room and he could physically hear the blood rushing in his veins. His throat was dry and he suddenly felt sick. He'd always been so careful. How did L possibly find out?

Matt placed a hand gently on Mello's shoulder, not quite sure what was really going on, but trying to be helpful. Even through the heavy leather jacket, he could feel how tense the blonde was. "Hey," he whispered, stepping closer. "What's wrong?"

"No, it's nothing." Mello breathed, his voice hollow. "Just a little dizzy." He sounded weak, as if he'd just woken up. One thin hand clutched the silver crucifix he wore around his neck. Matt cocked his head at him, a worried expression ghosting over his features, but he didn't press the issue. Instead, he turned his attention back to Near.

"So," He said, clearly fishing for something to say.

"Maybe he should go to the hospital." Near's calm voice smoothly interrupted him. "If he's feeling ill, that is."

Mello clenched his teeth so hard he nearly cracked them. He wanted nothing more than to punch that emotionless brat right in the face. Actually, he did want something more.

Mello turned on his heel, wrenching the door open and barking something in German over his shoulder, his heavy Berlin accent making it sound harsh and rough, like a terrible insult. He slammed the door behind him, leaving the three of them standing in Near's room in a stunned silence. Matt was the first to speak.

"Wow. What was that?" He asked, looking up at L, who was still staring at the heavy door Mello had passed through. The older man finally tore his gaze away from the door to focus on the small boy who sat at his feet, having never taken his eyes from puzzle.

"Don't use me as a tool to solve your puzzles. I'm not a game." L translated Mello's German for Matt's sake. Near knew full well what the blonde had said. "What did he mean by that?"

Near didn't answer right away. Placing the final puzzle piece in its place, he curled his hands around the frame, picking it up and turning it. The pure white pieces fell onto the floor in a disorganised heap. Setting the frame down, he picked up a corner piece, fitting it easily into place. As he continued to work, he answered, "If you can't solve the puzzle, then you're just a loser."