Note for all of you who don't read my notes at the beginning- this has spoilers for Mello's name. From this point on in the story- expect spoilers.

Wow. So here I am. I haven't died.

(That's always a good.)

I'd give an excuse- but I can't. The truth is, I was going to take my time on this, and on the very day that I decided I would finish this (I'm typing this in pretty much the middle of the story.) my friend RJ gave me Pokemon: Diamond, which he said he'd buy for me. Not to mention, a week later, when I decided to finally finish the story and post it- a storm hit and we had the power out for an entire day (7:30 PM to 2:00 PM) and hindered me from finishing it. (At 2:00 I was playing Pokemon, and never got off until 11 at night. n.n;

Anyhoo. You might notice that I'm not in italics this time around. That's because the majority of this story is a flashback- BUT not all of it is. (Hence why it's still going to be in italics)

I got four more lovely reviews. Thank you. Apparently my reviews aren't being sent to my e-mail. So. It's hard to keep up with them.

It took me a while of planning for this. A lot of planning. Tons upon tons.

Because it's hard to decide on Mello's nationality.

Mihael is a Slovenian name- so he's going to be from Slovenia. Joy. It was a pain in the ass to research. I hope to God at least someone takes an interest in my reasoning for this- which to keep this short will go in the Appendix, of Sorts section. (I might just end up making it a regular, just like these little notes here.)

As a side note, Keehl is more German than Slavic, but whatever. Slovenia is closer to Rome and the Vatican than Germany is. And Catholicism is something I like- even if I'm not Catholic. n.n;

Ah. For you to read it better:

Janez- sounds like Yah-nez

Melanija – sounds like Mel-ah-nia

Anja- sounds like Anya

Sorry the note is already so long, but I need to mention that Anja's development seems off. She shouldn't actually be able to think that rationally quite yet (from where you see her in the story). I know it's a stretch, but please deal with it.

Cake-chan (Protestant)

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Mihael was born to the Keehl family on a snowy day in December, the year the Berlin Wall came down. Both of his parents were Roman Catholic- like the other 98 of the population of his home country. Even though it was still part of Yugoslavia until he turned three.

His father, Janez Keehl, was a prominent doctor- with a brilliant mind to match. He was very kind and polite in both words and actions. As opposed to charging what was right according to resources, he charged according to the customer. If they were financially stable, he would charge the regular price, and for those who could not normally afford treatment, he fixed the price to meet what they could pay. He was well-loved by the community and, while not the richest family, they were always provided for when they needed it.

Mihael's mother, Melanija Keehl, was a lovely woman who was devoted to her husband. Her strawberry-blonde hair was long and wavy, and she had a delicate constitution as well as fragile-looking features. Her eyes were perfectly grey and lively, except when she looked at Mihael. She was sorely disappointed and had wanted a daughter. Her sister Anja died when she was young, and she wanted a daughter to carry on her sister's name.

A boy. He resembled her- and she manipulated herself to believe that. His mother had a complex for her husband, and felt inferior to him, therefore her unwanted son became more like herself in her eyes.

As Mihael grew, he resembled his father more and more. His hair was a golden blonde like his father's, while his eyes were bluish green- closer to turquoise than anything else- as were his father's. He learned at a quicker pace than the other children his age, and by the age of six he had a fairly accurate- yet still somewhat childish- view of the world around him. The only things he had gotten from his mother were her thin wrists and pale skin.

The first memory of his mother hating him occurred when he was four. One of Mama's friends had exclaimed how he looked just like his father. However, Mama looked down at him and frowned.

"No, he takes after me…"

She turned to her friend and gave a nervous laugh, curled her hair behind her ear- something she only did when she was agitated, and Mihael knew it- replied that she was worried because he might turn out like her- relying on someone more intelligent. Mama's friend chided her, of course, saying he would become a fine young man, and left. Mama looked back down at him and sighed, giving a forced smile and pulled him along.

"You're nothing like Papa…"

About a month later, Mama changed. When she felt depressed about her little sister, she would dress him up like a girl. She stopped cutting his hair, so that she would be able to put it up in curls. His hair grew fast, and it was already past his shoulders. Mama would put make-up all over his face, take pictures and fawn over him.

On Mihael's fifth birthday, after a particularly tense, but brief, argument between Papa and Mama about being able to support another child, she curled Mihael's hair twice as tight. She put the frilliest dress on him; put twice as much make-up on him so it ended up caked in. He usually didn't like this, although he never minded how much she fawned over him, but this time he became irritable and grumpy.

As she walked out of the room to wash off the excess make-up on her hands, he thought back to the argument, and on the numerous hints that she didn't like him. Mama wanted a girl. Had she wanted him to be a girl? Was that why she did this? What about Papa? Didn't he want a son? He was just like Papa, so why wasn't Papa proud? He never disagreed with Mama when she said he looked more like her than Papa, but it was obvious he looked nothing like Mama. Was he not important enough to be as smart and handsome as Papa?

What gave her the right to decide how he turned out!? He closed the door of his room and stood there, his chest heavy.

How dare she do this!? How dare she not love her own child!?

He grabbed a pair of scissors and snipped wildly at his hair. The curls fell, the remaining hair a mere two inches in length. He ripped at the lace, the sleeves, the skirt and all the other garbage that decorated the abomination. He dipped his hands into his fishbowl and scrubbed at his face to get the cream and gritty mush off his face- making his face turn red and sting.

But he didn't care.

When Mama came back in with the camera, she froze and the camera fell from her hands. Mihael was a mess! So much destruction in only a few minutes! The words were stuck in her throat, but eventually she managed to choke them out, her voice gradually becoming more angry.

"Wh-What did you do?? Mihael, you ungrateful child!!"

She rushed over and grabbed him by the wrist, lashed out at him. She struck him across the face. Once. Twice. Five times. He lost count. He didn't care, only thinking about one thing- this was the first time Mama was honest. It made him smile and break all at once. Papa came in and pulled her away, giving him a lecture on how to behave and respect authority. That night, Mihael fell asleep to his own bitter laughter and hot tears.

From that point on, Mama was never fake. She never smiled at him or pretended to laugh on his account. When Mama's friends said he looked just like his father, Mama would look at him with bitter eyes and reply, "No. He's much too rebellious to be his father."

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Nine months later, his younger sister Anja was born. She looked just like Mama, Mihael noted, as he peeked over the lace and frills of the bassinet. Her hair was extremely curly, and Mihael reached down with his small hands and curled one of the locks. It was soft, like down. Anja reached out, all bubbly and chubby, for his finger and grabbed it in her tiny hands. Mihael smiled, until he heard a noise from the door of the room.

"Mihael! Stop it! You'll hurt her!!"

Mama rushed over and shoved Mihael away, causing the baby to cry. She picked Anja up and bounced her a bit, glaring at Mihael and scolding him.

"Look at what you did! Such a naughty boy!"

He paused and felt tears welling up in his eyes, his ears growing warm. "B-But Mama…"

The baby had finally stopped crying, her face resting on Mama's shoulder, peering at Mihael as he stared at Mama's back. Anja cooed and Papa came in, smiling and taking her. He looked at her, eyes full of love. Love. Oh, how Mihael wished they would look at him like that.

Mama smiled and kissed Papa on the cheek. "Janez, she looks just like you!" He smiled and nodded. That was a lie! She looked just like Mama! Not Papa. It was Mihael who looked like Papa. It wasn't fair. Not fair, not fair. At all.

As Anja grew, she grew to look more and more like Mama. However, she also began to learn at a quick pace, just as Mihael had done. And, like always, she was the one fawned over. Praised. Anja loved to dance. She loved to dance with Mama. And with Papa. She wasn't allowed to play with Mihael, but she would feign sleepiness to sneak out to the yard to play with her brother and his friends.

She was only three and already followed him around everywhere. He would watch her too. Like a hawk. Every face she made, every laugh, every fall and stumble. He loved it all. When he looked at her, he saw Mama. A mama who loved him. Like with Mama, he picked up on every little habit Anja had.

When she laughed, she would cover her face with her hands. When she cried, she curled up to feel invisible. When she taunted his friends, she would curl her hair around her pinky, looking at them with a hint of amusement in her eyes.

At night, she would sneak into his room, push the door open- he always left it part of the way open, since she could not reach the door knob- and wake him up, asking him to dance. Eventually, he had figured out her pattern enough to stay up until she would come in, so she wouldn't have to make much noise in order to wake him up. Before she would go back to bed, she would always wait until he got in bed before kissing his pinky and wishing him good night. And pleasant dreams.

She called it her magic sleeping spell.

Eventually, she began to wonder why Mihael was never allowed to play with her, and why Mama and Papa never held him. "Mama," she said one day. "Brother is very smart. May he come over and help me learn how to read this?"

Mama looked at her and shook her head. "Of course not. Your brother is too busy to teach you. Mama will show you how to read this!" She smiled, but the answer didn't satisfy Anja's curiosity.

"But Mama… Brother is in here, sitting on the floor and playing with magnets. Why can't he come over and teach me?" She lifted her hand and smiled at Mama, feigning innocence, and curled her hair. Mihael looked up and saw it, realizing what Anja was up to.

Mama smiled and tried her best to be patient. "Anja, your brother is playing. We shouldn't bother him…" As she herself curled her hair behind her ear, Mihael caught Anja's attention and shook his head, but Anja wasn't ready to stop.

"Mama! Why do you hate Brother so much? You won't let me dance with him or play with him. Why do you always tuck me in when Brother has to do it himself? I go in every night and when I ask, he always says you will remember to do it tomorrow!"

Mama's face turned red and she stiffened, sitting up straight and glancing over at Mihael. "Anja, you should stop sleeping during the day so often. Then you won't be so restless at night."

Anja, in impish delight, giggled. "Mama, I don't take naps during the day! I sneak out the window and play with Brother and his friends!"

Mama stood up, her eyes cold, and raised her arm.

"You dreadful little-!!"

Mihael stumbled to his feet and caught Mama's arm. "Mama! It's not Anja's fault! I always go into her room and wake her up when she takes naps! I'm always telling her to come in and play before bedtime!" He grimaced and choked out the last words, fighting the urge to cry. "I… I told her to ask you all that so you would get mad and hate her instead…"

Mama pulled her arm out of his grasp and hit him across the face. "You disrespectful child! Now you want to get Anja in trouble!? You're just a cruel-hearted little boy! Haven't Papa and I taught you better!? And yet you still act like this! You should be ashamed of yourself! Apologize to her, right now!"

Mihael rubbed his eye, already feeling a bruise starting to form. His nose was runny and he sniffled, wiping it with his hand, yet not even a tear followed. He smiled a bit- just one corner of his mouth tugged upward- and turned to his sister. "I… I'm sorry Anja…"

He wanted to kiss her cheek and hug her, tell her he didn't blame her, but Mama pushed him away before he could. "Go to your room and don't come out until I bring you dinner tonight!"

That night, he looked at the clock by his bed, which read nine o'clock. He sighed. Of course. Mama had no intention of bringing him dinner. However, he heard the pitter patter of little footsteps and came to the door, opening it slightly. Anja burst in, looking somewhat sad. Mihael looked at her.

"A-Anja?"

She looked up and smiled, handed him a small loaf of bread. "I snuck it from the table, Mihael."

"How'd you-? Mama watches you like a hawk!"

She gave an impish laugh, quietly. "Your friends say I have a talent for filching things."

He smirked a bit and ate the bread eagerly.

After a moment, she sat down, and he frowned, a few pieces falling from his mouth as he spoke.. "Anja, you shouldn't be here. You'll get in trouble."

She was quiet for a long time, and he grew more concerned, pressing her until she told him what was wrong.

"Mama and Papa got into an argument. Mama says that either she and I go, or you do."

Mihael smiled a bit, laughing. Nervous, denying it. "B-But Papa would never-"

She burst into tears. "He said that if that's what it would take for Mama to stay, that he'd allow it!"

Mihael's eyes widened and it felt like he had gotten the wind knocked out of him. "Wh-Where will I go? It's not like… they'd…"

Anja was still crying and she was curled up, wiping the tears from her eyes. "Mama said she'd be willing to give you to the church, and they'd be able to find a home for you…"

Mihael felt completely numb. He felt nothing. Couldn't feel anything. As Anja cried, he slowly wrapped his arms around her in a loving hug, kissed her forehead and wiped the tears from her eyes. "It's okay Anja. It's not your fault." His words were empty, and he shooed Anja out of the room. In truth, part of him felt like it was her fault. Part of him felt it was all his fault. He would never be good enough to be loved by Mama or Papa. He could still hear Anja outside his door until he fell asleep.

Over the next two weeks, it was difficult. Mama brought Mihael to the church. One of the sisters refused to take him. Mama said they were going through some financial trouble and couldn't take care of him anymore. The community began to provide for them, just as they always had before.

Mama grew restless and argued with Papa constantly. Mihael spent the days in his room in a somewhat catatonic state. He couldn't do anything. He felt weak, he felt nothing. He just sat in the corner staring off into space, and even Anja couldn't bring him out of it.

Finally, at the end of the first week, Papa said he knew a place that would take him. Mama played with Anja, who entertained her so she wouldn't get mad at Mihael, as Papa called the Wammy's House in Winchester, England.

They would provide a good environment for his son to have an opportunity to get farther in life than he normally would, being an orphan. He spoke with a man who spoke some Slovenian, and they made the arrangements. He himself had to speak some English, at least as much he knew.

The next week, a man arrived. He looked very kind, and looked at Mihael with a sort-of fatherly compassion. Papa picked Mihael up- the first time since he had been an infant- and walked over to the man. He gripped him tightly, so Mello wouldn't try to run away.

"Mihael, you see this man? His name is Quilsh Wammy. He's going to take you to England... You remember where that is? It's a pretty place that's just as green as Slovenia. I think you'll like it there." He looked at Mihael, frowned when the boy's expression remained the same- distant. "Mihael, don't be like this. You know I love you very much. I just have to keep this family together, you know?"

Mihael's insides twisted, and he felt sick. Papa was lying. He couldn't love him. Keeping the family together? How was Papa doing that, if he had allowed Mama to get rid of him? He was just as much a part of their family as Anja was. But no. That wasn't good enough. He wasn't Anja. Mama didn't love him. Papa only loved Mama. Anja was the only one who loved him, but it was her fault. It was Mama's fault. It was Papa's fault. It was even his own fault.

So he didn't care anymore. He'd rather have them dead. They were dead- and as the man named Mr. Wammy took him out of Papa's arms, walked him out the door, as he heard Mama ask Papa why he was crying, as he heard Anja crying- he told himself that.

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(AN: This next section refers to the time four months before the story takes place. Therefore, Near is brought to Wammy's House four months after Mello arrived.)

Mihael was brought to Wammy's House four months ago. He didn't know the language, and he didn't know anyone who knew his language. Thus, he was forced to learn theirs. He was placed in a room with a boy named Matt. Matt was very kind, even though the two could not communicate.

Whether the boy had been instructed to talk to him or not, it didn't matter, for Matt did it regardless. This helped Mihael learn the language immensely. During the first two months, he sat to himself, quiet and somewhat numb. He never spoke, and never interacted with the other children. He was like a time bomb ready to go off at any moment.

By nature, he was not passive-aggressive, so Matt could tell he was always on the edge and intense, when he looked him in the eye. Eventually, Mihael heard others saying the word 'mellow', over and over again, when they looked to him. By this point, he knew fragmented English and one day Mihael interrupted his forced-friend in the middle of a lengthy "conversation".

"Why is everyone saying 'mellow' to me?"

Matt paused and looked at him. "Oh. That's what everyone's calling you."

Mihael was puzzled. He didn't know this word yet.

"What does it mean? Explain it.."

Matt scratched the side of his head and pondered, searching for words. "Well… Mellow means… easy-going and calm. I think they call you that because you're so quiet and never really argue or yell."

Mihael stood up abruptly. "Why are they calling me that!?" He was infuriated. That wasn't like him at all! Back in Slovenia, he was loud and rambunctious! Just because his parents had disowned him, it didn't mean he had changed as a person! If anything, it meant he had become less mellow!

Matt stared at him, a slight smile on his face. "Now you show your true nature. I was wondering when all that tension would bubble over…"

Mihael grabbed a pencil off his desk and a sheet of paper, shoving it in Matt's face. "Write it." His voice was demanding, and Matt felt obligated to do what Mihael told him.

Matt jotted the word down on the paper. His writing was chicken scratch, but he didn't mind- as long as Mihael could read it.

Mihael spoke the letters out loud. "M-E-L-L-O-W…" He gave Matt a look, grimacing. "It looks…" He paused, searching for the word." "weird… on paper…"

Matt blushed a bit. "That's probably just because of my handwriting. Mine's not that great…"

Mihael shook his head furiously. "No. The spelling looks weird." He stumbled over that word- weird-; it was a hard sound to make.

This didn't make Matt feel any better, Mihael noticed, so he continued speaking. "The W looks odd." However, all it stirred in Matt was the desire to perfect his W's so they looked less funny.

Mihael erased the W and showed it to Matt. "This is how it should be spelled. Now it looks perfect."

Matt frowned a moment. "Well-"

"If I spell it like this, no one will be able to call me mellow!"

After a pause, Matt burst out laughing. Mihael frowned and stared at him; waited until he was done.

Matt wiped a tear from his eye. "I don't think it works that way, Micky. It's still going to mean the same thing…"

"No. I will make it mean something else! And stop calling me Micky! From now on you have to call me Mello! M-E-L-L-O!"

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Matt and Mello had now moved to Mello's bed. Mello's sobs had finally quieted, and his hair was sticking to his face, just as his hands were sticky with tears, snot, and whatever else was caused by his crying.

His throat was sore, and sounded more like he was croaking. "Matt…"

Matt looked at him. "What is it, Micky?"

Mello could hardly speak without his throat feeling like fire, but he did anyway, voice soft and all the energy seemed drained from him. "Near… he said…"

Matt frowned and patted Mello's head. Mello sat up, out of Matt's arms and rubbed the tear-stained cheeks, pulled the hair away from his face, and took a deep breath. "He said they were…"

Matt frowned. He hated seeing Mello like this. It made him sad, too. "Mello, you don't have to say it…"

Mello looked at him, looking cranky and tired. "Say what? That they're dead!? They're not dead, Matt! They're alive!" He was angry now. Bitter. This gave him some energy and he decided that anger was the best way to motivate himself.

Matt blinked and looked at him. "What? But you said they were- You told everyone that they were dead!"

Mello stood up and kicked the wall. "They aren't! But they abandoned me, because they never loved me! I'd rather think of them as dead!" He made a move to kick the wall again, but stumbled and fell backwards off the bed.

Matt's eyes widened and he went to the end of the bed. "Mello!? You okay!?"

Mello said nothing for a while, but looked back up at the redhead, with a bitter smile on his face. "I hate him Matt. I hate everything. I want to get back at him! You will help me get back at him!"

Matt thought about it for a moment, before mumbling a quiet, "Yes."

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Appendix, of Sorts:

Mello's mother was named Melanija because of Melania Knauss. Yes. Donald Trump and all that jazz. (The difference in the name is because over here in the States the J was dropped for it to be easier to pronounce. – Concerning her real name Fun Fact #1)

As for why- Melania Knauss is married to Donald Trump- a very rich man. Now, I'm not saying that she herself is the type of person to marry someone for the money- but Mello's mother seems like the type of woman to do something like that. (In my version of his past, of course.) Hence, how the name stuck.

Mello's father was named Janez because it's a fairly common name, and he strikes me as a common type of person. (This would also add to Mello's complex of being extremely elaborate, but not much- since he's also that way by nature.)

Mello's sister was named Anja because of Anja Rupel, who sang for the Beatles' (80's) Across the Universe. And I'm a Beatles freak. (Fun Fact #2- Listen to Paperback Writer. By the Beatles. Just listen to it. It mentions a little someone special. xD)

Below is an excerpt of how Mello earned the nickname Micky from Matt. I decided not to put it in the story, due to how it didn't quite give anything to the story, and it can really only be told in Matt's perspective. (In fact, the only reason why that section of the four months before the story takes place stayed is because I think it's the most appropriate place to stick it.)

Matt looked up and stared at the woman standing in front of his door. "Matt, I'm here to tell you that you finally have a roommate. Please be kind to him- I know that won't be hard for you. Also, whenever you get bored, I'd rather you talk to Mihael instead of zone off and play with your Gameboy…"

He had stopped listening. Instead, he dropped the Gameboy, letting his character die, and padded over to inspect his new roommate. Short blonde hair. Blue eyes. Thin frame. Pretty face. He blushed.

"Wh-Why do I get a girl as my roommate?"

The woman frowned. "Matty! Are you even listening??"

He ignored her and asked again.

She sighed. "Mihael is a boy. He has a boy's name after all…"

Matt's eyes widened. "Wh-What!?" He mentally kicked himself for thinking a boy was pretty. He took the glasses off and rubbed his eyes. He knew he shouldn't have gotten glasses. They were making him see funny. Even though they weren't prescription.

"Mihael is the Slovenian equivalent of Michael. Do you understand now?"

"Oh. So his name's Michael?"

The woman smiled a bit, looking like he had just made a joke. "N-No. That's not exactly what his name-"

Matt felt funny. His stomach felt queasy, so he nodded. Then he perked up and smiled. He wanted her to leave. She was gross and annoying. Making him sick.

"I'll make him feel welcome! You can count on me!"

"O-Oh? G-Good. You two will get along."

As she walked off, Matt grumbled to himself. "Christ, lady. Maybe I'd pay attention more if your boobs were bigger." He looked up and realized Mihael was no longer in front of him. He peeked out in the hallway. Nothing. When he turned around, he came face to face with his new almost-friend.

That nearly sent him through the roof. "How'd you appear behind me, Micky!?" Mihael cocked his head to the side, a dull expression on his face, unsure of what the other had said, much less knowing that the boy was referring to him.

However, Matt could see the liveliness in his eyes. He was like a time bomb ready to go off. Like the ocean, he looked calm on the outside, but below the surface there was anger rushing like a current, and Matt felt like he was about to be swept away.

After a moment, Matt took a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He spoke quietly, in awe of this new kid.

"You're something else, aren't you?"

So he grinned.

"Things are about to get a whole lot more interesting with you around, Micky."

Well, that's it. n.n; This chapter ended up being so long. I hope I didn't end up putting so much information in that it ended up being confusing. Again, sorry for the late update.