TRISKAIDEKAPHILIA

(A B/Mello fic)

Part two of thirteen. I don't own Deathnote. Enjoy. Spoilers for the end of the LABB novel, and for L's real name.

Magnetic- (adj) Having the power or ability to attract

Beyond watched him come in with only vague interest, because it was more than likely he was just another amateur fascinated by the elaborate setup in B's murders. There had been many of them at first- reporters, or newbie detectives, or just supposed intellectuals with a taste for the macabre. As the days went on, they trickled to a close. Sometimes, however, one still came, a pilgrim to an all but unknown murderer, begging for information, insight.

But as B paid more attention to him, he became more fascinated. There was an air about him- something tangibly familiar. Something about him just FELT… comfortable. B wondered if they had met before. With a name like Mihael Keehl… But B saw so many names each day, it was impossible that he would remember any given one besides THE ONE, the name that Beyond's life had revolved around.

(But today was not the day to think about L Lawliet- nor was any other day, not anymore.)

Perhaps B was just attracted to him. While he considered himself open with his attractions- (B was for Bisexual, hee hee ha ha huh huh huh) –he had never been fond of younger boys, most especially not this much younger. It could have been prison's influence on him. But there WAS no denying that the boy was beautiful- almost like a girl. His slender hips and large aqua eyes were almost as pretty as that long, shining golden hair.

The child- Mihael- came and sat in front of B's cell, holding a tape recorder and a pristine white notepad. "Are you Beyond Birthday?" he asked in a strangely firm voice. (Beyond had expected something higher, more effeminate, but the tone was undeniably masculine.)

"That depends who's asking," B said softly. He saw Mihael's eyes rake over his scars. How ugly he probably looked to this golden boy, with his Burnt and Blistered flesh.

"You can call me M," the boy offered.

Things clicked into place- B realized what was familiar about him. Wammy's House gave all its children a certain FEEL- the sense that these were more than children, that these idiosyncrasies and oddities added up to some incomprehensible, unknowable solution.

"I knew an M once," B purred. "First generation. She was good with trajectories. Are they just recycling letters at the House now?"

Mihael drew a chocolate bar out of his pocket and bit into it with a SNAP. It was reminiscent of someone else, and the imagined taste of chocolate made B's stomach lurch with desire.

"Around there, they call me Mello," the child said nonchalantly. "You can too, if you please. Doesn't bother me." He smiled wickedly. "Has the House changed since you were there, I wonder?"

He wasn't fazed in the least. He was a little smart-ass, coolly defiant, confident…

Charming.

B wondered how old the boy was. Had they, perhaps, crossed paths when this child was just toddling around on stumpy legs and B was already planning his masterpiece? Or perhaps the boy was younger, had been brought in under the heavy shadows of B and A, A and B, the failures, the experiments gone wrong.

"Why don't you tell me?" B purred. "Tell me, how is our home, sweet home looking these days?"

"I'll tell you," that oddly firm voice began, "if you'll answer questions for me."

B smiled, off-kilter. (It was hard to smile on the burned parts of his face, so all his grins were off-kilter these days.)

"Ask away."

Mihael- no, Mello- launched into his question straight away.

"You did it all for L- the murders, everything. Did… you love him?"

It was like he had reached through the bars and slapped B right across his scarred and twisted cheek.

Did he love him? Did he love him?

He tried to play it cool. "What are you talking about? He was just a featureless letter, a computer screen. I never met him, how could I love someone I didn't know?"

"Don't play dumb. I've met him, and I know you did too."

"How do you KNOW?" B hissed.

"He told me."

B wanted to reach through the walls and strangle the little cherub, wanted to crush out those pretty aqua eyes like he had Quarter Queen's.

"Get out," he snapped.

"Don't you want to know about Wammy's?" Mihael reasoned. So calm, so confident. Really, he was so charming. It made B sick.

"Get out," B repeated, but there was enough leeway in his voice for it to be an option rather than a demand.

" I know you want to know."

B went over and laid on his cot. It was so empty in here, so lonely. He was suddenly very tired. "Maybe tomorrow. We'll talk tomorrow."

Mihael had stood up, and now he was walking away. He paused to look back over his shoulder at the burned wretch in the cell. (How lovely he was.)

"I'm coming back tomorrow," he purred. "And the day after. And the day after, until you answer me."

Beyond turned to ignore him. He wasn't affected, he wasn't.

So why did the words "Hurry back, Mihael Keehl" keep echoing through his head?