A/N: *Sigh* well… don't kill me. Jeevas, I couldn't resist! This idea has been buggine me for-ev-er. I promise I won't let this fic distract me too much from Heartburn. I swear to god. Sure, I might not update QUITE as fast now, but hell, I update nearly every other day now, so you people will survive. Besides, I'm hoping that you'll all enjoy this fic ^_^' so yeah. I've always wanted to do a B/A fic too, so yeah. There's not enough of them! XD SO yeah…. Please enjoy! Oh, and…

Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note

If any normal person were to glance at A for the first time, the first reaction world more than likely be gray. Not just because of the color of his hair, either, which happens to be dark slate gray, or the smoky blue-gray color of his huge, constantly widened eyes. But also because of the aura that he seems to give off - he's secluded and quiet around people he doesn't know, and tends to put a shadow over himself, constantly having his nose buried in some book or hunched over some notebook, scribbling frantically away. He's smart, brilliant really, but he's very quiet and modest about it, preferring to hide it behind his own anxiety. It's a wonder they even found him to bring him into Wammy's at all. A's small, too, and quiet; he seems to shrink even smaller if you even appear to want to approach him. His very presence screams antisocial.

He's not quite anti-social, though, despite the first glance. He's just not exactly the most sensual when it comes to relationships with other people, or when it comes to choosing the people he wants to have relationships with. Sure, plenty of decent, normal people try to approach him. C, for instance, tried over and over to befriend him; she was a nice girl, I suppose, though she was never quite as clever as A and I, and didn't ever come close to being L successor before she was murdered. But that's a story I don't have time to tell - I'm talking about A.

Yes, A was never good at choosing his friends. He chose the worst kind of people to become involved with. Namely, he befriended me. And I, surely, am the worst kind of person to befriend, no matter how many times he tried to convince me otherwise.

Mercy. Where to I begin about this one? If I'm correct, you hardly know who he is. He's not mentioned much in the history of this world; his is not a story generally told to anybody. It is a story only known through the tiny whispers that echo through the halls of Wammy's house, or stored in the memories of the few people alive who still remember him first-hand. People like me, for example, from my place in this crazy-house. Where do I begin to talk about this boy, when you probably were not even aware he existed until my mention of him?

Well, I suppose I should start from the very beginning, if you will. But I warn you now, reader - this is not a happy story. It is one of bittersweet affection, pain, misery, blood, and horror. This story is unhappy, from beginning to end. But, if you must know, I will tell you.

This is the story of A, from the eyes of the person who knew him the best. And that, obviously, would be me.