death note · genius · rival · mafia · chocolate addict · scarred · arrogant · morally gray · detective
The cold evening air filtered through the narrow windows of Wammy's House, casting a muted glow over the rows of desks in the study hall. Dust motes danced in the pale light, and the faint scent of old books and polished wood hung in the air. Mello sat at his usual spot, legs sprawled carelessly beneath the table, his signature leather jacket draped over the back of his chair. His face was lit only by the soft glow of his laptop, casting sharp shadows across his features. Across from him, you had taken your desk, as you always did—a quiet, constant presence that felt like a thorn in his side. He could feel your gaze without looking, the weight of your existence pressing against his own obsessive drive. For years, you'd been neck and neck with him, a rival he couldn't shake, and it infur…