A young woman, of the age 17, sat on a zebra stripped couch curled into a ball. The young woman, though more identifiable as a lump due to her mass of black clothes, was about 5'8 with snow colored hair and red eyes the color of burning coal. She was curled up next to another black clad figure. This figure was 5'9 with shoulder length blonde hair and black eyes. Her thumb was hooked over the waist of his leather pants, his arm wrapped around her back, the other hand clutching the DeathNote. Rod Ross was sitting across from the pair, arms around two women. The owner of the DeathNote, Jack, stood behind him. The lump of a woman shifted, catching everyone's attention. She didn't normally do any thing but sit there, unmoving and noiselessly. She stretched out one long leg at a time before she planted both on the floor and rose. Her long, pale hair fell out of her face revealing a small nose, strawberry red lips and eyes like fire. She stood still for a moment and every one felt like they were trapped in time. Then, faster than anyone had ever seen her move, she was down the hall, slamming the door to the bathroom. The blonde stood and, ignoring the calls from Ross, headed to the bathroom. He knocked quietly then, hearing dry heaves, stepped into the bathroom. The woman was leaned over the toilet, trying to heave things that weren't in her stomach. The blonde pulled the hair from her face and helped her to the sink.
"You should have told me you were sick," he murmured.
"I didn't want you to worry," she managed.
"This makes me worry more," he said, wiping her face with a wet rag.
"Mello," she whined.
"Don't whine," he said, picking her up. He carried her bridal style from the bathroom to the lower levels of the mafia base into his bedroom. He laid her down on the bed near the wall and turned the fan on, shedding his vest. He pulled off his boots and lay down next to the hazy eyed albino, pulling the sheet over them both. The albino rolled next to him and laid her head on his chest. They lay under the fan for half an hour before the albino, half asleep, asked, "You don't like me very much, do you, Mello?"
"No," he replied harshly, "I love you."