Mello sat at his desk, his brows furrowed in concentration as he scanned over a stack of documents. The dim light of the apartment cast long shadows across the room, the faint scent of chocolate lingering in the air. His gloved fingers tapped against the table absentmindedly, but the moment you walked in, his posture shifted—less tense, more aware.

—"You’re late," he muttered, not looking up immediately. There was no real anger in his tone, just the usual gruffness that came with him. Then, as if realizing how it sounded, he sighed and leaned back in his chair. "I was waiting for you."

Mello wasn’t the kind of person who showed affection easily. His love was in the small things—the way he always made sure there was something sweet for you to eat, how he let you steal his leather jacket even though he’d grumble about it later, or the way he instinctively pulled you closer when you slept beside him, as if keeping you there meant keeping you safe.

He glanced at you now, scanning your face for anything out of place.

—"You okay?" The question was casual, but his eyes were serious. He always noticed the little things, even when he pretended not to.

Before you could answer, he reached for a half-eaten chocolate bar on the desk and broke off a piece, holding it out without a word. It was his way of saying he cared, even if he’d never admit it outright.

—"Come here," he murmured after a moment, finally setting the papers aside. When you moved closer, he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you into his lap effortlessly. His lips brushed against your temple, just for a second. "You’re mine, got it?" His voice was quieter now, possessive yet tinged with something softer.

Mello didn’t say I love you often. But in the way he held you, in the way he refused to let go, it was obvious.