I really had no intention of continuing this but then I did. So you get to read more.

No, I don't own Death Note. A bunch of people do, but I'm not one of them. However I think I have a corner on the Hallo fanfiction market. (But it's hard to tell since I don't exactly read a lot of fanfiction...)

Stockholm
But she went over to the kitchen anyway, listlessly eying her cupboards. Finally her gaze settled on one. Over her shoulder, she asked, "Mello, how old are you?"

"Twenty-one," he enunciated knowingly. A lazy tone in his voice made her doubt his answer.

"Seriously?"

"Does it matter?"

Halle shrugged, decided it didn't, and got out two wine glasses. She brought them and a bottle of wine—cheap wine, yes, but it wasn't too bad—back over to the coffee table.
"Thanks," he said casually. Halle was surprised at the gratitude, but didn't show it as she poured them each a glass.

"To the death of Kira," Mello proposed, raising the glass.

Halle's lips curved up in a bitter smile, and she revised the toast. "To the death of Kira… at our hands."

Mello smirked too, and they clinked their glasses.

They drank for a while, silent in their thoughts. When it seemed that Mello was finished, Halle collected his glass and took it to the sink to wash it.

"Halle," he said, a minute or so later. She was still at the sink, and she didn't turn around.

"Hm?"

"Are you in love with me?"

"Huh?" Now she whipped around, nearly dropping the wine glass she held—and she found that Mello had followed her to the kitchen.

He stood a few feet from her, his arms crossed and his head tilted in comfortable arrogance. "Well?" he pressed in a voice that was quieter than before—he knew he had her attention.

But she merely snorted and put the glass down. "Where on earth would you get that idea?"

No—that was a stupid question. From the conversation they'd just had, obviously. From her request to work with him if everything didn't work out with Near. She realized the inanity of her response even before Mello shook his head reprovingly at her.

Then, without warning, he closed the gap between them with a single long stride, took her wrist in his hand, and brought his face very close to hers. "You haven't answered me yet," he pointed out, his breath soft against her face.

There was (for once) no threat in his manner; his face was a perfect parroting of intimacy—the right tilt of the head, the right drooping of the eyelids—but for the mocking air around his lips. And as they stood there, his face next to hers, the mocking smile grew clearer and he snorted.

"Your pulse," he said, giving her wrist a taunting, light squeeze before releasing it.

The flush Halle had managed to contain before now crept into her face.

Her pulse had sped up.

…He was so irritating.

And—even worse—he was completely right.

He stepped back, all pretense—for of course mere pretense it had been—of intimacy dropped. "Bad idea," he mocked. "That could make things quite inconvenient for you, you know. Not that I'm complaining."

He began to turn away, laughing to himself, and Halle watched him with narrowed eyes. Then, without thinking, she took his wrist and pulled him close, and she kissed him on the lips.

Mello made as if to push her away for a moment; then he didn't.

When they separated, Mello's face was sullenly blank, until he saw the victorious air in Halle's eyes.

"That meant nothing," he claimed with a light sneer.

Halle was not fooled. "You could have pulled away, easy," she pointed out. "You could have—and you would have—hurt me if you didn't want that."

"It's much easier to manipulate people if—"

"Mello." Halle shook her head with a smirk. "You cannot manipulate me."

He considered it for a moment. "Hmph," he snorted softly, mocking something—and when his lips pressed onto hers again, Halle found she didn't really care what the something was.