Matt:
My one friend in this place (and even then, not really 'friend'), Linda, skipped and caught up with me, falling into step beside me on my way to the cafeteria. She grabbed my arm and immediately began speaking a million miles an hour, which was fine by me because it meant I didn't have to actually come up with anything to say. Linda was always good for that, if nothing else- drowning out your thoughts and replacing them with any that ran through her head. It could be exhausting, but sometimes it was just good to not think.

She blathered on about nothing all the way to the huge cafeteria. Students were already up and about- early risers in perpetual imitation of L. Anything to be like him, right? I swear, for some of these people it was like they had sold their soul. Not that I believed in that stuff.

Suddenly, I said, "I got a roommate."

More than what I had said, Linda was surprised that I'd said something. I didn't usually talk around her (she never gave me a chance), so my volunteering information without her extortion probably came as something of a shock.

"Uh... really?" she asked, blinking.

"Yeah."

"Oh... um..." She liked that I was talking, but she didn't know how to get me to continue. "Cool! What's he like?"

"I dunno," I mused as we fought our way through the dinner line. Normal dinner food, but mounds of sweets and pastries, as well. One more way to be like L.

I got some food and we sat. "He's quiet," I said finally.

Linda laughed. "Then he got the perfect roommate, didn't he!"

Ignoring this, I inhaled my dinner, thinking. She kept talking.

What did I know about Mello? I knew what he looked like. I knew he was really upset and I could assume that it was because he'd lost his parents. I'd know tonight, assuming he slept; the new kids always cry in their sleep when they had liked their parents. Scream at nightmares. So I'd be able to tell.

Randomly, Linda asked me what he looked like.

"Um... our age, about my height, thin but not skinny like me... lots of black clothes... long, blond hair... blue eyes..." I frowned, searching for any more details, but I didn't have anything.

Well, nothing that I could find words for. I didn't know how to explain the intensity that I could feel radiating off of him. How I was sure that, no matter what he was feeling, he was feeling it more intensely than I had ever felt anything. How beneath that there was a kind of sharp, terrifying intelligence and clearness of thought. And determination that he hadn't had to develop yet, but was there.

This guy was gonna be something incredible.

But how can you really explain that?

"Ooh!" Linda squealed. "He sounds cute! Is he cute!"

"I dunno." I shifted uncomfortably. After a pause, I blurted suddenly, "He's gay." Then I wondered why I'd said it.

"What?" she shrieked. "What do you mean?! How can you know that? Did he tell you?!"

"Well, no," I admitted. "But you just need to look at him." Why had I said that so defensively? Why had the thought of a Mello/Linda deal freaked me out so much?

"That much of a queen?" she whined.

I smiled a little. "Not exactly."

She sighed but I shrugged it off, like I shrugged off so many things about my life. Linda rambled about that for a while, but I definitely wasn't listening anymore. Remarkably ADD for a genius artist, though, she forgot all about Mello and began to talk about shoes or something.

As I threw out my tray, some chocolate cake that remained on the buffet table caught my eye. Mello hadn't had dinner, and it looked like chocolate was a comfort-type thing to him, judging by how he had clutched at it as he ate it. Plus, chocolate is just good. Who doesn't like chocolate? Chocolate almost made me believe in God.

So I got him a good thick piece on a bit of paper towel, ignored Linda as she asked me what it was for, and headed back to my- our- room.

I snuck back in, in case he was sleeping, but I was not surprised to find him standing in the exact place I had left him. He hid some necklace under his shirt.

"I brought you something, in case you feel hungry later..." I told him, putting it on his bedside table.

He looked at me for a moment that felt like an hour, and I was struck once again by those eyes. That energy. So blue, stark against his black clothes and yellow hair. I was captivated, and glad when he turned away to look back out the window. It was dark out there; I knew he couldn't see anything. He was just staring. Thinking hard, but trying to stop. Trying not to cry, maybe?

Not wanting to make him uncomfortable (and also feeling a bit of gamer's withdrawal, having not played anything at all during dinner), I hunkered down in front of my game again.

Two hours passed in a pixilated blur. He hadn't moved, and I was feeling a strange combination of admiration towards him and worry for his mental state. Admiration because of the attention span he was displaying, worry because he still wasn't moving.

But I enjoyed his silent company. The one thing about having a video game obsession is that it gets lonely. Everyone else in the House was too busy to play with me. I mean, I liked and needed (a lot of) time alone, but I didn't like always being alone.

Anyway, I liked him being there, despite the fact that he never said a word.

Very, very late that night, I saw him make a quick pass through the bathroom and then go to bed. I watched him out of the corner of my eye, beating the level I was on and barely noticing as I did. Before I even thought about it I was going to bed, too. It was strange; like a reflex action.

I found myself watching him and I burrowed into my covers. His blond hair was spread out over his pillow where he curled up on his bed. I couldn't help but wonder if he was still awake. If not, why wasn't he crying? Was he like me? Had his parents thrown him around, too, so he didn't mind them being dead? But why, then, had he spent hours staring at nothing through a dark window?

Maybe he was just stronger than most of the other kids here.

Or maybe he was just awake, still. But what would I do if he was? Have a conversation with Silent Boy? Funny thought.

I wondered what his voice was like, then wondered why I wondered it.

As a self-imposed insomniac, I had no trouble staying awake to watch him. At about 2 A.M., though, when I knew I should have been getting at least a little sleepy because that was usually when I turned in, I was wide-awake.

Sleep was impossible, and Mello's breathing had evened out so I'd lost my chance to talk to him.

- - -

The sun rose hours later, illuminating his hair and skin and making him unbearably lovely. I wanted to touch his face, but the thought of those bright blue eyes snapping open and glaring at me terrified me. That would certainly be a great way to start off with a roommate.

I rolled onto my back, my neck muscles appreciating the change, and rubbed my eyes. When I next looked over, he was sitting up.

I was so glad he hadn't woken to find me staring.