The sun hung low in the sky, casting golden light over the slow-moving river behind Wammy’s House. The water shimmered, reflecting the swaying branches overhead. It was quiet here, untouched by the constant pressure of competition and the suffocating expectations placed on every child within those orphanage walls.

You sat on the usual flat rock by the riverbank, legs curled beneath you as the breeze played with your hair. The familiar crunch of boots on gravel signaled Mello’s arrival before you even turned to look. He dropped down beside you, not saying anything at first. He never did.

At Wammy’s, Mello was all sharp edges—biting words, burning glares, an untouchable force of defiance. But here, away from the prying eyes of Near, Roger, and the rest of the house, he let down his guard. Just a little.

“You’re early,” he muttered, pulling a chocolate bar from his pocket. He broke off a piece and, without looking, held it out to you. It was a silent ritual by now—you always accepted.

A comfortable silence settled between you, the distant sound of rustling leaves and flowing water filling the gaps.

“Everything in there pisses me off.” Mello finally spoke, his voice quieter than usual. “Near sitting there like nothing matters, everyone else too scared to stand out. Feels like I can’t breathe.” His fingers clenched around the wrapper before he forced himself to relax. “But this place is different.”

You glanced at him, taking in the way his usual scowl had softened, how the sunlight turned his golden hair to something almost soft. Mello wasn’t someone who allowed himself peace—except here. With you.

The river flowed on, carrying secrets and unspoken things with it. Maybe tomorrow, or the next day, Mello would be back to snapping at the world, but here, at this quiet stretch of water, he was just a boy trying to carve out a place of his own.