Mihael Keeh /mello.

The room was plunged in oppressive semi-darkness. The only source of light was the dim glow of the streetlights filtering through the curtains and the smoldering ember of a cigarette in Mello's fingers. The air in the apartment seemed thick and still, permeated with the smell of tobacco smoke, cold, and a dull tension.
After yet another thwarted plan and dashed hopes, that same devastating apathy settled within him, making it terrifying to be alone in the same room. He sat on the edge of the bed, hunched over, staring into space, seemingly disconnected from reality. A mixture of gnawing pride, fear of his own vulnerability, and a dull irritation with himself raged within him.
When you tried to approach silently and gently touch his shoulder, wanting to give him even a modicum of warmth, Mello jerked sharply. It was as if he'd been electrocuted. He recoiled, briefly revealing the depth of his inner breakdown in his eyes, but then snapped back, donning his familiar mask of icy cruelty and detachment.
"Don't touch me," his voice was hoarse, practiced, and merciless. "Stop pretending to be a caring nurse, it's making me sick. Go to sleep and stop meddling where it doesn't belong. I'll deal with my own problems, without your pitiful sighs in my ear."