A/N: I do not own Death Note or any of its characters...however:
Anna is my OC; she is the granddaughter of Quillish and helps him to run the orphanage. She obviously shares a very special relationship with the orphans.
Mello timidly approached the door, head bowed beneath that solid curtain of flaxen hair and intense, blue eyes staring at the floor. Typically, Mello would try to announce his presence to the world with a fiery proud stride that made his boots clack on the floor or the chains on his hips jingle. Typically, he would be yelling at the top of his lungs, calling out for whomever he was seeking and delighting in the way his booming voice echoed through the stone halls of the orphanage. But at the moment, he was content to merely tiptoe up to the doorway and peek through the small open sliver that led into the room, a diminished ghost of his typical self.
Inside, Anna was busily folding and putting away a fresh load of laundry. For a moment Mello watched her pace from the mess of clothes on the bed to the drawer, walk back to the bed, hang up something in her closet, back to the bed. Pushing open the door a little more, he nudged his way into the room. Glancing briefly over her shoulder, Anna gave him a little smile and watched as he threw himself onto top of the pile of clean clothes.
"Hey, Mello."
The teenager rolled onto his back, hands folded behind his head and stared up at the ceiling. The small cotton mound beneath him was still warm from the dryer. Anna waited for the boy to say something, eyeing him as she bundled up fresh pairs of socks. When he stayed silent, she said,
"Wanna help me fold clothes?" She tossed a shirt towards him.
He looked at the blouse lying inches beside his head. "Not really," he said dryly and went back to staring up at the raised bumps on the ceiling.
With a small sparkle in her blue eyes, Anna smiled. So blunt.
A few more moments passed in silence, save for the soft shuffling of clothes as Anna folded and tidied them, sometimes having to grab the jeans or shirt imprisoned beneath Mello. After a while, she assumed Mello was just seeking refuge; it was rare, but sometimes the boy simply wanted a place of quiet solitude where Roger couldn't question or scold him and where he couldn't see Near, who simply annoyed him with his presence. She was honored that he sought her as sanctuary.
"Anna, can I ask you something?"
"Absolutely not." Mello snapped his head around, relieved to see the twitching grin on her face that said she was playing. "Of course, Mello. You know me, I'll answer anything." Then as an afterthought, "For better or worse."
He paused, face as solid as stone, and she could tell by the way his mouth was set in a straight line that he was contemplating. Hard.
"Do you love L?"
Anna almost dropped the hangar she was replacing. This would be easier since she was half-buried in the closet, facing away from him.
"Of course," she said simply. "I love all of you."
Stupid answer. She should've known better than to think she could avoid this by misconstruing Mello's question.
"No, that's not what I meant," he snapped, obviously irritated at having to explain himself. "I don't mean like a brother or a friend or anything. Are you in love with L?"
Anna walked back over to the bed, leaned onto the mattress and sighed heavily. "You know, Mello, I've been trying to answer that question myself for years."
"…and? It's not that complicated. Either you love him or you don't."
She grinned tiredly. "This is true. In which case I would say yes. I love him very much."
Mello turned his head to look at her, scrutinizing her with those cold blue eyes as if she were some kind of a Rubik's cube.
"Why?"
"I dunno. I've heard it said somewhere that love has reasons that reason cannot understand. And it's true. There's really no way to explain how or why you fall in love with the person that you do. It just happens."
She could see him sucking in every word she spilled, like a little sponge absorbing water.
"What does it feel like?"
Anna felt her cheeks flush. Absentmindedly, she plucked at one of the socks lying by Mello's shoulder. "Well, I suppose it's different for everyone. But…for me…it's empowering. Like I could take a bullet for him and never think twice about it. It's like feeling as if I can push mountains aside and laugh and cry all at the same time. And it's the silly little things that I could watch him do forever...like the way he holds his books or puts sugar cubes in his coffee. It makes me happy just to watch him be himself." She looked up at the boy and quirked an eyebrow. "Mushy enough for you?"
Mello blinked and rolled back onto his back. "No, it's not that. I mean, people say stuff like that all the time, but it must be true if you're saying it."
Anna snorted. "Oh, what, it's not true unless it comes from my mouth? Is that it?"
"Yeah," he said simply, as if it were obvious. "I just know you wouldn't lie."
Now it was Anna's turn to blink dumbly, until she realized what he was saying. Here was Mello—guarded, distant, volatile Mello—calmly admitting to himself that he trusted someone enough to believe their every word; her every word.
"That's quite a compliment," she almost whispered.
"I bet it hurts, too." Mello kept his gaze away from her and lowered his voice, speaking softly as though he didn't want to be heard. "I bet it sucks that he never seems to feel the same way."
Anna let out a strange, nervous giggle. "Where is all this coming from, Mello? It's not that I mind telling you, but I can't help but wonder what's going on in that head of yours. Did L say something to you? Or was Matt being—?"
The words died off in her mouth, which was now hanging slightly open as the idea dawned on her. For a moment she floundered between the ridiculousness of the notion and her common sense telling her it was impossible, until Mello himself confirmed her suspicions.
"I know what you mean," he said quietly, "about being able to take a bullet for someone. And you're right—I'd never think twice about it."
His hand slid down to his chest, where his long fingers delicately toyed with the cross and chain hanging around his neck.
I bet it sucks that he never seems to feel the same way.
She almost reached out for him, overwhelmed by the urge to hug him close. Instead, knowing he would probably do anything short of killing her if she tried, she looked down at the crumpled sock in her hands and asked,
"Do you…do you think Matt would ever love you back?"
Mello shrugged. "It doesn't matter. There's no rule that says it has to go both ways."
Anna smiled sadly. "Yeah," she murmured. "And it does suck."
The almost fifteen-year old turned his head to look at her, vivid azure eyes suddenly ruthless again.
"You sure as hell better not tell anybody about this."
"Of course not, Mello."
He sat up, revealing the squashed pile of clothes that were compressed into a wrinkled mess. She'd have to iron those now.
"Not even L," he said sternly.
She couldn't but grin at the boy's intensity; it was as if he had fire pounding through his veins and a wild ocean raging in those eyes of his. Since his infancy, Anna had watched him live his life as one giant storm with his powerful and passionate heart beating at the center. Destructive and unpredictable as he was, Mello always reminded her of the respect such a wild and beautiful spirit demanded.
"Not even L," she agreed. "I promise."
Satisfied, he jumped off the bed and headed for the door, golden hair bobbing just above the neckline of his shirt.
"Wait, Mello."
Anna frowned as something caught her eye in the pile of laundry. She plucked a pair of boxer shorts from the heap, held them out in front of her face and chuckled—there was only one person in the entire orphanage that wore Pac-Man underwear.
"Take these back to Matt," she tossed the garment towards Mello, "and tell him to quit trying to sneak his clothes into my basket to get me to do his laundry for him."
A faint blush surfaced to Mello's cheeks. He glanced down at the boxers in his hands and then looked back up at Anna, uncertainty plaguing his girlish face. Against her better judgment, she winked at him and said,
"May as well try and break the ice somehow."
Mello left the room looking less than thrilled, but kept Matt's drawers clutched in his fist. No doubt they would probably end up being affectionately thrown at Matt's head, accompanied by a well-implemented swear word or two. With a small smile in place, Anna returned to her laundry and wondered why after having heard Mello's most sacred confession—and professing the intimate secrets of her own bleeding heart—all she could think of was a certain redhead, who was probably sitting in his room in front of the TV, controller in hand, and completely ignorant of just how lucky he was.
A/N: It's funny to think that when I first watched Deathnote, I couldn't stand Mello. Now here I am writing a fic about him. Go figure. Anyways, just a kind of pointless scene that's been floating around in my head. Now that it's out of my brain and on paper...back to my "real" stories =)