Boys Don't Cry

Master of the House

Roger prided himself on running the orphanage while Quillish was chasing the invalid train wreck known as L as he turned human evil into a toy.

He prided himself particularly on the Exodus track that sent boys into intellectually powerful positions, including the successors to L himself. Most of these boys were taken off the adoption registry, all boys had this done with L's situation. Boys needed to stay where they were growing thickly and readily, not blighted by movement and having to re-root.

Smugly, he'd take out L's records, and read over the quandary that the man-child manifested. Undiagnosed mental issues springing everywhere, character flaws and tiny breakdowns that only Roger saw (for specific reasons) dotting the page like vowels. He would chuckle, he was running a house of pure energy for the passage of time: innovation.

Yes, he'd attend to the boys as one would attend to dogs, out of pity and duty, taking virtue into senseless pleasure. Every time Mihael cried, and every angry fit Mello had after, the surge of correctness was intoxicating. Matt would try to calm him, removing the two was a special topping on the desert. Every boy who asked to play was a burden not left unrewarded once satisfied.

Virtue sounds like a worthy cause?

It was fueled by Roger's perverse sense of duty and happiness, taking madness, elated evils, from kindness, twisting his grin around underneath shielding glasses.

Near never indulged Roger's whims.

There was no indulgence with the stoic, the mute quadriplegic that Near was.

Seeing, Watching, Inquiring, Pondering, Thinking, Listening, Hearing. The ebb and flo of the breathing beast.

L was nearly the same, able to hold a thick screen to his face. Roger only witnessed once the removal of this mental device, and it wasn't removed, it was flung aside. The monster held a degree of affection, thick and disgusting against the thin fabric of his countenance.

In truth, it wasn't meant for anyone, nor did Roger physically see it. Just guttural noise that managed to be heard. Not even words.

Roger heard the open window and the street below, and walked away, leaving L undisturbed.

He'd smile to himself when he saw Matt attempt to play a good game with Mello, who was easily frustrated and generally short circuited, unsuitable for good temperament.

Oh, what kindness he catalyzed for such poor souls.

As a man working with children, he knew the smallest coffins are the heaviest. Every time a child dies, they take the future and everything wonderful that it would have produced. Twenty years of growth gone.

Silently, he wanted to pity the dead. And what a prize the Exodus students were to pity...

Such is the far-reaching omnipotent generosity of the Master of the house.

[I tried to imply most of the key points here, so, if you're staring at the screen like "What the heck?", ask yourself these questions:
"What could the noise be?"
"Why would L open the window after making that noise?" (He's not physically sick, mind.)
"Why would children's coffins be mentioned?"
"Why would 'it' bring positive experiences to Ruvie?"]