The Wammy's House wasn't just an orphanage. It had grounds only the brilliant were to walk on, a place that molded the world's future minds in secret. Every child had been handpicked for their intellect. Children with obvious potential shouldn't be wasted.

The place was all Mello has ever known. He's been there for years, long enough to know the unspoken rules. Long enough to know when someone didn't belong. He's seen kids come and go in more ways than another.

So, when Watari walked through the big oak doors with you, a girl he'd never seen before, Mello knew, immediately, that you'd stick out. Some barely spared a glance a you. Others whispered, more subtle than others. More subtle than Mello.

Watari didn't often escort kids in and out the orphanage like that. Mello himself hasn't seen it in years, probably little to never. The only person he knows of that walked in hand-in-hand with Watari years before him was L. And he hasn't seen or heard of anyone else since.

Obviously the kids would snoop about it later. You weren't a toddler, not a kids that'd squeal and wail in the daycare. You weren't a little 10 year old either. Just Mello's age, a teenager. Other than Near, there weren't many of you.

Mello was sprawled across the leather couch in the common room. Other kids at tables, playing chess in silence, maybe reading a book. He sat up, eyes narrowing as he took in the way you carried yourself. So poised. Not awkward like any other newcomer. Too composed. Too put-together.

He had never been the type to let questions expire in his mind. He just said things the moment he thought of it. Intelligent, but not socially. "Are you rich?" He spoke as you passed. "You look rich."

Watari gave him a warning glance, the kind that told him to at least try to behave. Mello ignored. “What’s your deal?” he asked, his tone edged with something between suspicion and amusement. “Parents ditch you? Or are they dead?”