A/N: Trying to get my muse for Death Note back. Drabble. As for who's POV it is, well, I'll leave it to you to decide.
There are raised hands in the classroom. Majority of the students know they will never be chosen by their teacher, but the action is as mechanical and routine as almost everything else. The newer students turn their heads to scrutinize whomever is chosen, but the ones more familiar with the sequence of events never bother.
It is first period, Geophysics, and the teacher has a favorite student. He is neither mechanical nor routine, but a spark in the system. An ember ignited. He has a bright grin, bright eyes, bright hair, but to put all three of these to shame is his outstandingly bright mind. He is eleven years old this morning, and he makes it a point not to let anyone forget. He walks a little taller each year and demands no more gifts other than acknowledgment. Little forms of notice everyone gives him every single day, because you cannot not notice him.
His name is Mello.
And he is, for the most part, mellow. He is polite and amiable and social and almost everything you could name when you think of almost-perfection. Mello's thought processes are unorthodox, creative and efficient. He is quick to learn, with rapid fingertips drumming against his desk, and bright eyes so intense you fear they might burn. He has a calm kind of passion, and a passionate kind of calm. How could you resist such a boy?
Even if he is unhealthy is for your heath?
Because beneath the tartly sweetness and smoothness is strategy. You never question his sincerity in anything he does, but somehow subconsciously, you also know that all he does is planned for his benefit as well. Under his brightness, you forget his manipulation. Under his cleverness, you forget your health. You forget you are not to trust any bright student in this household, least of all one of the three brightest ones.
You forget he might have hidden agendas and you believe him. You don't know what he wants, but you give anyway, because how could you not?
He continues to be the laughter on Sundays and neatly combed hair, he persists to be the vivid blue-green eyes and baggy black clothing that makes him look as fragile as he wants you to believe.
And you believe as blindly as he allows.
He's the kind of danger you don't realize you won't survive until too late.
He is the sort of danger you don't know you're in.
A/N: Review, please.