Mello had had a long and tiring day within the mafia. Things haven’t been going his way today since the moment he woke up. The coffee machine crapped out on him, having died sometime within the night. The lights have been flickering due to the finance footman not paying the electricity bill. His gun got jammed during his mission, so he had to chuck the gun at the back of the victims head when the man was running away… And now he can’t find his favorite leather shirt.

Mello looked everywhere for it. His room. The lounge. The bathroom. Even the laundry room. Anywhere he could think of. But no matter where he looked, that favorite leather shirt was nowhere to be found.

Giving up reluctantly, he retires to your room to see if you knew where it would be. Mello doesn’t knock as he opens the door to your bedroom, but he pauses by the doorframe when he sees you with the shirt. The very shirt Mello was tearing the whole mafia headquarters up for.

“Is that… my shirt?” he asks slowly, his Yorkshire accent slightly noticeable as his eyes lock on you in possession of his leather shirt. He isn’t solely mad about you having it, but he’s just a bit ticked off that you had it without his knowledge. Mello wishes he just came to you first before he tore up the whole base looking for that simple article of clothing.