I was surprised to hear a knock at the door of my room. No one ever knocked on my door. I would only come out when I wanted to and pretty much everyone agreed to it. Something important had happened. Had there been another suicide?
"Come in," I called warily.
The door opened a creek, sending a shaft of light on my face, startling me. In the door was Roger. He was sweating slightly and shaking. He was scared of me. Most of the kids were, too, but Roger in particular. Perhaps is was because I hated them. That was probably it.
"Umm..." he began, "We have unexpected new arrival, Matt."
"New arrival? Roger the newbies aren't supposed to arrive for another few months," I said in the most condescending tome I could muster.
"Yes, I know." he said bitterly "But L has picked this one especially."
"So? I don't see what this has to do with me..."
"Well..." he muttered, "There are no free rooms at the moment and until we clear the box room...would you mind if he stays with you?"
Yes, I did. But instead I just gave a nonchalant nod.
"Good," he shuddered with relief. "I'll leave you two to...get acquainted."
He scurried away. Standing behind him was a small boy with a blonde bob of hair and a quizzical expression on his face.
"Why was that man scared of you?" he asked, one eyebrow quirked in an expression of disbelief.
"I dunno, to be honest. No one seems to like me much."
"Oh," he sighed, "that's a shame."
His accent...it reminded me of someone...
"Are you American?" I asked, for once genuinely curious.
"Nope! Just very good at accents," I looked at him, confused. "I was told to speak like this so it wouldn't reveal information about myself."
"What do you really sound like?" I pressed.
"Like this," he said, his voice altering, "So, Matt is it? How old are you?"
His accent was slurred slightly with familiar stresses. I guessed Russian or Eastern European. That would fit, I thought, with the blonde hair and blue eyes.
"Eleven...I think..."
"Wrong." he grinned. "You should never give away information about yourself so easily." He laughed. "I'm eleven, too."
Despite myself, I couldn't help but like him. I made it a general rule to not like people.
"I'm Matt," I introduced, holding out my hand.
"Mello," he smiled, and shook it.
"What's your real name?"
"I'm not telling. Only when I trust someone completely would I tell them my name. I'm not a trusting person."
We spent most of that day conversing with ease. For once, I didn't feel the lure of the game controller on the bedside table. We only stopped to watch Roger assemble a temporary bed for Mello. We had an agreement that it would be better for both our reputations to appear openly hostile. I discovered that he was a genius, the cleverest I'd met. Of course, a few of the little ones were also promising but they weren't old enough yet to really compete. He was determined to become L's successor even after I'd warned him that those who had tried before him had...not had happy endings.
That night, it rained. I didn't open my curtains often, but I could here it strumming on my window. I imagined the rain rhythmically and a percussion orchestra beat out their uneven piece in my brain. Like most nights, I did not try to sleep. I often went nights with barely minutes of it; it had become another part of my routine. Along with not eating much. Earlier, Mello had offered me some of the chocolate he had stashed in his bag but I had refused. He however ate bars of the stuff and seemingly little else.
This night was the first ever that I had spent in the presence of another human being. I kept glancing over at his sleeping form, wondering more about him, whilst also fearful that he might awake.
It wasn't long into the night when he began to stir. First he was just muttering, his face twisting slightly. But that grew louder until he was thrashing around, his face contorting unnaturally. I could not stand it any longer. I crossed the room and shook his shoulder. His eyes opened a crack, full of tears, and he stared at me, confused.
"You were thrashing about," I whispered, "I thought you might be having a nightmare."
He nodded. "Can you stay?" I looked confused. "Can you stay with me until I fall asleep?"
"Yeah, I guess..." I said, perching on the side of his bed. He sighed, relaxing, and closed his eyes. I didn't touch him, I just sat, staring at his face as he slowly drifted asleep.
This happened the next night. And the next. An the next. Each time he would thrash and scre and I would wake him and sit with him until he slept. Until one night I didn't leave. Instead of sitting as usual, I lay down beside him.
"Budge up," I muttered, and shuffled awkwardly in the small bed. He looked shocked but didn't complain. He stared at me expectantly.
"Sleep," I soothed. He closed his eyes and soon fell asleep. We faced each other on the bed and I stared at him, smiling. I'd never had a friend before. I could see why other people had so many of them.
The next night, neither of us slept. We lay side by side all night, gazing at the ceiling as if it were the night sky blazing with a thousand stars. We talked about anything, just happy to be there, to be in each others company.
This process, in various forms, continued for years. Some nights he would come to my bed, sometimes I to him. He would sleep, maybe have nightmares, and I would comfort him. Sometimes I would stroke his hair, sometimes I would hug him close. Mello was offered a separate room weeks after arriving but he declined and we stayed. At first it was just two children seeking comfort where others had failed to provide it. Over the years, however, it had come to mean more to me. Exactly how much more I wasn't sure. My sandcastle of hopes was built with painful slowness, one grain at a time. That was enough for me.
I was so familiar with him now, I had memorised every inch of his being. Over the years he had barely gained weight, his shoulder blades clearly visible from his back. I told him that they were like the buds of wings, and that one day they would sprout and he would become an angel. His sleep cycle, I knew well. I knew when he would be easily woke when he dreamt, when he was in a sleep so enveloping that nothing I could do would rouse him.
The night started as most did. I had gone to Mello's bed just as he was beginning to fall asleep. He mumbled something incomprehensible and shuffled slightly as I joined him. Before I had time to make myself comfortable, he was asleep. His eyes darted underneath his eyelids. He had a stressful day; the results were in for the recent exams. He had come second. Again. Stress often lead to nightmares and today was no exception. His body tensed and his head shook. Soon the muttering started and then the thrashing. When I finally decided I should wake him he was screaming in a state of panic, much louder than usual. I managed to wake him.
"Shh...ssh...its all right..." I cooed, hugging his head to my chest. He smiled slightly before turning over so his back was facing me. He sighed and curled in on himself in a foetal position. I wrapped my arms around him and rested my head above his, playing absentmindedly with his hair. I like the way it glowed in the light from the ajar door-
The door was open! I looked over to see a large dark eye widen as it saw me. I turned to get a clearer view but in a flash of white, the figure was gone. I slithered from the bed, untangling myself from Mello, and ran across the room, heaving the door open. The corridor outside was bare, empty. Perhaps I had seen a ghost. Silently, I closed the door and went back to the bed.
The next morning, much to both our surprise, Mello and I were summoned to Roger's office.
"Mello, from now on you will be sleeping in room 23, next to my room. Matt, you are to stay where you are currently sleeping," Roger droned in his usual monotone.
"Why?" Mello demanded, eyes blazing.
Roger sighed. "It has come to my attention that the two of you may be engaged in some kind of romantic relationship. You know that we can't allow that."
"Why?" Mello repeated.
"The last people here to be involved with romance...well...one committed suicide and the other went insane with guilt. We've made it a rule since then to prevent such events occurring again."
"We're not in a relationship!" I protested, unsure of it myself. "We're both boys!"
"As were the last pair. That didn't stop them."
"But we aren't...what made you think we were?" Mello demanded again.
"It has been brought to my attention that you two have been sleeping in the same bed. According to my source, you were in very close physical contact." Both Mello and I blushed violently, our cheeks stained red. "You're both fourteen, boys. You must know the implications. You may leave."
As we turned and began to shuffle away sheepishly, Mello hissed, "I'm nearly fifteen."
As soon as we were out of the office, he exploded in a fit of rage.
"Who could have told him? I will kill them, I swear!"
I kept quiet, hanging my head in shame. I couldn't mention the ghost I saw, that would sound ridiculous. Mello was angry enough already. He carried on, oblivious to my silence.
"And who is he to tell us how we feel? He doesn't know anything, the stupid nosy arrogant..."
"Ssh, he'll hear you!" I laughed. Mello fumed.
The rest of the day went as normal, although Mello's cheeks were permanently blushed. I, as usual, left him alone. When I reached my room in the evening, he had already left. The spare bed was gone. The our shared wardrobe was bare without his piles of black and leather. All the remained was the faint scent of chocolate. I sighed. This was going to be a long night.
Forced out of my routine, I was useless. I had nothing to discuss, no one to talk to, nothing to do. I considered going to see Mello but it was pointless. His room was right next to Roger's and he would hear me approach. In the end, I lay, staring at the ceiling, and waited for time to pass. But no matter how long I waited, the world seemed paused, even the rain on the window slowed to a halt.
There was a light tap on the door. Probably one of the little children daring to knock on the door of the scary loner. Sighing, I dragged myself up and answered it.
It was Mello. I lurched in surprised. I was about to yelp in surprise when he stopped me. With a kiss.
It was gentle and smooth. Professionally executed, some might say, swift and clean. He drew back. My soul fluttered, staring into those curious blue eyes.
"You know, I think he's right. Maybe we are in a relationship," he said, a smile teasing the corners of his mouth.
I was stunned. All I could manage was a strangled, whispered "Yes.". This time it was me who bent my head to kiss him. I tried as best I could, but I was not an expert. I lingered a while savouring the moment.
"Can I stay here tonight?" he whispered. In reply, I kissed him on the cheek.
"Yes," I whispered against his skin.
"Thank you," he smiled.
I went and sat on the bed, my insides fizzing with emotion. This was what I had wanted all this time. Love.
Mello took off his shirt, his skinny form emphasised by the shadow of his ribs cast by the moonlight.
"I'm afraid, I didn't think far enough ahead to bring any pyjamas," he laughed, taking off his trousers and leaving him in just his pants.
"Fine by me."
"Budge up," he said, mimicking me on the first night we slept in the same bed.
I lay facing him. I kissed his neck, brushing my lips against his ear and across his cheek before reaching his mouth. He reached and put his hand around my neck. I stroked his golden blonde hair, pushing away from his face before kissing him again. He was so...perfect. More than that. He was...Mello.
We continued kissing and cuddling for a while but our tiredness soon got the better of us. We lay facing each other, nowhere touching but our noses, my eyes gazing into his.
"I love you," I whispered. He looked a little surprised.
"I...I...love you, too," he mumbled, already falling asleep.
"Night."
And for the first time I can remember, I slept through the whole night.
When my eyes finally blinked open, light was already streaming through the window. I turned towards Mello. He was gone. The sheets were bare and rumpled; there was no sign of him. Perhaps i had been dreaming? I panicked for several moments before I realised: he must have gone back to his room. Roger would be awake by now so he wouldn't want to be seen. Sleepily, I dressed and made my way down the corridors to his new room.
I knocked on the door.
No reply.
Again.
No reply.
I opened the door a crack and peered inside. It was bare, the bed unspent in, the drawers unused, the curtains undrawn. Perhaps I had got the wrong room. No, this was definitely his room. Perhaps he was already awake?
Panicked, I began down the corridors. Most children were already awake and were milling in the corridors. They were chatting loudly; clearly something of interest had happened. They shied away when he passed. Cautiously, he began calling Mello's name, quietly at first but with increasing desperation. Where could he be? He opened doors to different rooms, either abandoned or filled with groups of mulling children. At each he would call for Mello, and the children would stare. Eventually he reached a room unlike the others. This room contained a single boy.
"Mello?" I called.
"He's gone," the figure replied.
I recognised him instantly. The ghost boy. His messy white curls fell over storm grey eyes, his face was pale and featureless. He did not smile or frown, nearly looked upon him in expression somewhere between pity, sorrow and cold indifference.
"Matt, isn't it?" he asked in his icy, even voice. "I'm truly sorry. I feel I may have driven him away. He is too stubborn to return."
"What?"
"Mello's gone. He packed and left in the early hours of this morning. I believe that I may have had a part in causing the rage which made him feel that he must leave."
"He left? No, he wouldn't leave without saying goodbye...why would he tell you and not me?"
"It's simple: I'm the person he has the strongest emotions for." I stared, wide eyed, confused. "He despises me. Does he despise you? No? What about the opposite: does he love you?" Yes, I thought, he does. "You think he does?" he laughed in a mocking tone. "Are you sure?" The memory of Mello's hesitation surface unwillingly to the front of my mind. "How many times has he lied to you? Do you even know his real name?"
To that he had no answer. For as the inevitable tide destroys a child's sandcastle, I saw my dreams crumble before me and swept away with the waves.