[Mello has spent almost an entire day processing what's to come, here. So much that the need to process it now is non-existent. He'd already calmed himself to acceptable levels, albeit with the help of liquor. He's assured himself that this means nothing regarding L's strength — or lack thereof — or his absolute figurehead of authority. He's told himself that they all fall — fuck knows Mello was at a low point before and immediately after hitting the States — and that the deity he'd created in his mind at a child is at its core: human.]

[Human as Mello, who needs to drown his anxieties in alcohol in order to appear strong, these days.]

No, I didn't know.

[Regarding the bacon. A small furrow presses at his brow; he'd gone out of his way to find the sweetest hickory this town had to offer. It's all right. Noted for next time. With a lift of one shoulder, he picks a piece from the detective's plate, takes a sizeable bite. It's an act of — something. Forgiveness. Understanding. Apathy.]

[And Mello knows he should eat something — his days of living on pure carob are long-gone with the use of magic. It drains him in a way that remains even when he's not actively casting; he finishes the first piece, picks up the second. Holds it between his fingers before indulging.]

I want a promise from you.

[L might deny him; he knows.]

Don't make this more than it is. You need a place; I have a place. There's no reason for this to be a difficult situation.

[A hearty sip before he goes to work on the second piece of bacon.]