Enigma
Mello was a mystery.
It was hard to be one, of course, when you lived somewhere like Wammy's. Everything you did or didn't do could be used to construct a psychological profile. Even the most random outbursts of rage and violence were dispassionately written down, to be analysed and recorded later.
But no. Somewhere along the line, he had eluded even their most intelligent profilers. The scar on his face helped: it was harder to analyse someone's expressions when half of their face was twisted into what seemed a permanent sneer. The file dedicated to understanding him – with the purpose of manipulating his moods by hinting at the deepest secrets, the darkest truths – was soon sealed in despair, and left forgotten where it lay catching dust.
He was a mystery. And that was power. It was obnoxiously arrogant, keeping secrets in a House dedicated to unravelling them, and it made him laugh when he thought of it. He rarely laughed out loud, but there was a mocking glitter to his eyes, a certain light of amusement in their depths, that suggested it.
But he was nothing – nothing, even with his boastful hints at secrets left kept, lies told so easily to handlers, deliberately misleading clues left scattered about his room – he was nothing, compared to Matt.
Matt, fourth on the list to become L's successor.
Matt, who loved gaming and stories in equal measure.
Matt, who wore tinted goggles that disguised eyes that were unreadable anyway.
Matt.
It should have been so easy, Mello raged to himself. He was unreadable, but he could read everyone! He had known when B.B. had let loose that thin anchor of sanity; he had known what A was thinking as he walked away; he could even read N, who spent his life curled up into a ball, expression masklike save for when he toyed with dolls.
Everyone. Except for Matt.
There was no reason for Matt to come to classes when all he did was game. No reason for him to sleep all morning when all he did was stay awake all night. No reason for him to wander the empty grounds when everyone else was asleep. And certainly no reason for him to come to Mello's room when it was raining too hard for his midnight wanders; no reason for him to sleep in his bed beside him.
And yet, he did.
Mello watched the slim redhead as he slept, his goggles hooked securely over his eyes. He knew that Matt hadn't been eating again. He had watched him at dinner, as he did every night, to see if he had. Instead he had remained in a corner, fingers stuttering over the plastic buttons of his PSP while the wind howled outside. He had known then that Matt would come to his room that night, and left the door unlocked for him.
Why, Matt? Mello wondered. Why me?
Yes, Mello was a mystery.
But Matt…
Matt was an enigma.
And, Mello decided as Matt curled more comfortably into his chest, letting out a sleepy whimper, he was more than okay with that.