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Domino Castle
Near never intended for he and Mello to become rivals. At best, it is a horrible misunderstanding on Mello's part. At worst, it is Near's dysfunctional approach to trying to make a friend. Either way, it is a rivalry that Mello keeps alive, and one that Near is simply too arrogant to put a stop to. An invigorating challenge, a race to find L's killer, before the entire world was under the complete control of a madman with asinine dreams of justice and perfection.
Near has lived in this world long enough to know that perfection is impossible; the utopia that Near had once dreamed of was nothing more than that, a dream. There is nothing that can stop the horrors of the world, and Kira's control is nothing more than another horror. Kira would never let it go, never let the people speak for themselves. Kira is ending crime because he made the villains fear him, not because he is teaching people morality, not because he is doing the right thing.
Kira is taking the easy road. Making people do what you want through scare tactics rather than helping them see reason was simple enough, especially when you were given power. But it could not last, and the empire Kira is building up will eventually crash, fall disastrously into an anarchy. Near would rather die than see a single man rule the world, and he is quite certain that death may just have to be an option.
If he got caught, that is. L had been close, so close, but even he couldn't quite cross the finish line. Near sometimes doubts he has the strength or will to follow in the footsteps of the eccentric genius, his childhood hero. He had spent his years carefully, meticulously copying L's movements. He knew one day that L would have to leave – whether it was through death, or through the necessity of going into hiding – and Near always wanted to have a small part of L to himself.
So he tried to become L. However, even with his genius, even after careful observation and years of mimicry, Near hadn't quite managed to capture that air of softness that L had. Near was cold and fragile like a snowflake, but L was different. Powerful, yet gangly and as faulted as the rest of their species. L was gluttonous, shy, and he had more bad habits than anyone Near knew – twenty-eight, to be precise. Near had neatly catalogued each and every fault in his mind within a day of meeting L.
And yet, despite all of his faults and his little quirks, L was perfection.
And Near, being as human being with his own set of faults – nineteen serious ones – had been jealous. He had obsessed over L, obsessed over how he could never quite manage to grasp hold of that aura that seemed to make L so special. While Near had been ignored and ostracized for his eccentricities, L had been rewarded with love and admiration. Everyone had flocked to him, everyone adored him with equal dreams of simply impressing this one boy, this one genius they all had the chance to someday become.
The only person who did not seem to follow this pattern was Mello, and that was perhaps what drew Near to him most. The boy was emotional, lazy, and utterly arrogant, never even trying to impress himself upon L, never once saying something positive about their mentor. He was childish, and while Near supposed he should have hated Mello for this, he actually found it interesting. Deep down, Near knew that Mello loved L just as much as the others.
And that meant that Mello was someone who pushed away the ones he loved.
This had intrigued Near, and he had tried to ask Mello what the cause for his defense mechanism was. Near had tried to be subtle for Mello's sake, but it simply wasn't in him to be so. Every time he tried to broach the subject, Mello would see through him immediately and know he was only talking to him out of that damnable curiosity and desperate desire to solve the puzzle.
But Mello had never admitted the truth, and Near had kept searching. It got to the point where Mello detested the boy and hated the unwarranted attention, but Near couldn't help himself; there was just something about Mello that felt strange, unique, and Near didn't like that. He always wants to know the reason behind every little thing in the world; why do people act the way they do, why do people say hurtful things and why do they say nice things. All of this fascinated Near, especially since he himself never seemed to feel true emotion. To him, everything was muted.
But for Mello, everything was hypersensitive. Everything affected him and Near knew that this must be a part of why he was so defensive. He was naturally attuned to what other people said and did, so much so that it was wearing him down and tearing him apart. So he became violent, unpredictable.
And Near kept wondering, had anyone ever been nice to Mello? What kind of affect would that have on the boy? Would his anger be silenced by a kind gesture, or would his defenses rise higher than before?
But Near had never gotten the chance to test his theories, because L had died, and Mello had run away.
It had been a disappointment beyond all else; Mello had turned down following in the footsteps of their mentor, and he had turned down the first real chance he had to gain Near for a friend. While Near realized he could not possibly be the ideal friend for Mello, he wanted to try anyway, wanted to learn more about the less harsh side of the fellow orphan.
And even throughout the investigation, Near had continued to hope for that. Every time he heard from Mello, a part of him was debating whether or not to attempt kindness, to attempt some kind of friendship. Near had never had a friend, not a true friend that he could share tenderness with, and Mello was the only other person he felt was worthy enough. The only person that logically seemed to counterbalance his emotionless, cold characteristics. Mello was warm, vibrant, and expressive, everything that Near could never be.
Together, Near know that they could fit, that it could be something that felt peaceful, yet interesting. Mello's unpredictable behavior would never make him boring; there would always been something new, a different emotion or feeling that would take Near off guard, something he could savor. Near wanted and still wants to know everything Mello hated and loved, wanted to see the expressive chocolate brown eyes alight with hatred, yet soften with love.
It is perhaps too much to wish for, but Near never quite managed to put his desires from mind. There are still so many questions, so many mysteries to be solved, and Near will never let them go. A part of him wants Mello so desperately, a companion, an equal, an unending mystery… It is an ache, an empty feeling somewhere deep in his chest, a hole that had been ripped away by L's death and Mello's abandonment.
So Near waits, patiently. He waits for the phone to ring, he waits to hear from Mello, to see his face. He knows that in some way, Mello is drawn to him too, and Near will not make the first move. He wants Mello to need him first, wants Mello to break down and give into the connection.
It's a mystery to see how long it will take.
Near hums softly while he works, setting up a fortress of dominoes over the table. It's a precarious balance, trying not to topple them as he adds onto the castle little by little. A puzzle of gravity, of patience, persistence. And even with infinite patience, Near knows that the slightly shudder in the table will send the entire fortress toppling to the floor.
He sighs. It's going to be a difficult challenge, perhaps take most of the night. It doesn't matter, though; he will get to the finish, and be able to destroy it, rebuild it better than before. Every time he destroys, he catalogues the weaknesses, and betters his creations the next time around.
It is not really destruction. It's teaching him, and he pays careful attention to the lessons of these toys. Most children take these objects for granted, never understanding what kind of lessons they're learning about life. Life is a balance, a precarious castle of dominoes. So easy to topple, yet with persistence, it can be maintained, and with every fall, it can be rebuilt.
There is no end to hope. With every disappoint, with every failure, there is the chance to begin again. That's what these objects whisper to Near, and he listens to their silent words with rapt attention.
He works on the castle for some time in solitude. It's late, and the others are in their homes, trying to balance out their own lives. They will sleep with their lovers, bask of the warm comfort of solitude, rest from the weary travels that chasing a God of Death imposes. And tomorrow, they will come back, ready for Near's next move.
He appreciates it, even if he is not always able to tell them so.
Near hears someone enter the premises as the alarm goes off on his computer, but Near hardly pays attention. He knows that only one person is aware of his location, only one person that could possibly have the gall to walk in while letting himself be detected from the first security sensors. Someone who has nothing to fear from Near, and that person certainly isn't Kira.
It's Mello.
Near knows he's right the moment the door opens, and slams shut with a resonating bang. Mello always makes his approach known, always lets the door slam shut behind him. Yet, Near never locks the doors, no matter how many times Mello insists on entering in such a way.
When the door slams today, the vibration causes the dominoes to topple.
Near doesn't look back, doesn't need to. He can see the reflection of Mello in the steel side of the computer console. The golden hair – more orange than yellow – is dripping, and the plastic of Mello's outfit is shinier than usual. The boy looks freezing, his skin is paler than usual, but he isn't shivering.
'Mello,' says Near is greeting, but his voice shows no emotion; just a soft, polite tone.
Mello never returns greetings. 'Did the information I gave you help?' he asks, right to the point. And yet, Near knows that this isn't really the true point; Mello would not visit in person to seek the answer for such a useless, obvious question.
'Of course,' says Near, picking up the dominoes and carefully packing them back into their box. He is too tired to rebuild now, his mind is not at its sharpest. And with Mello standing behind him, listening to the deep, wavering breaths of the boy, he cannot fully concentrate. His every sense is focused solely onto Mello.
Near stands up and sets the box on the table, turning finally to the boy standing at the door. Mello's cheeks are tinged pink from the cold, but his hand is still wrapped firmly around a chocolate bar, which is wet and smeared. Near cannot help but give a small smile at the sight; Mello changes, yet stays the same. His chocolate will always be in his hand, the one gluttonous weakness that he can never seem to shake.
Near himself loves chocolate almost as much as Mello did, yet he does not indulge. It was another puzzle, a subconscious one. The last time he had eaten chocolate was a rare moment in which Mello had offered him a piece, and Near had vowed that he would not eat pure chocolate again until Mello offered.
Near had replaced his love of chocolate with a love of vanilla, trying to forget yet simultaneously maintain the memory of sweet chocolate against his tongue.
They talk for some time, but Near does not care to remember what about. He is simply going through the motions that Mello begins, the banter that they always share. Near does not begin such debate, simply follows, remarking and rebutting with soft, matter-of-fact comments that don't quite come across as arrogant. They are simply what Mello wants to hear, and Near is strangely inclined to indulge Mello's whims.
Near moves to sit at the window, knees pulled to his chest in a mirror of L's infamous pose. He wonders if Mello notices these kind of details; he may or may not. Mello could be surprisingly dense for a genius at the best of times. Mello is an emotional creature, yet blind to the emotions of others. He is blinded by so many faults, so many that Near doesn't even want to count, yet he does anyway, in the span of a few concentrated seconds.
Fifty-seven. Fifty-seven faults spanning from everything from wrath to fear.
Mello is afraid of so many things, afraid of himself, afraid of Near. He hides behind that sick façade of power, always playing the part of a self-centered brat, always pretending he needs nothing. And yet, he needs as much as Near himself does; there were always tells, always ways of seeing that Mello was desperate for contact.
Like the fact that Mello is visiting, when it is completely unnecessary.
Near doesn't gesture for Mello to sit, just waits for Mello to give into his need to be closer, to have an intimacy to their conversation. Mello situates himself on the windowsill across from Near, his posture everything that L's hadn't been; loose, relaxed, splayed out. Almost as if he is trying to be perfectly opposite of L.
'Why do you sit like that?' asks Mello suddenly, voice harsh. 'You sit just like L.'
Perhaps he isn't quite as dense as Near believed.
'It's comfortable,' says Near lightly, a finger reaching up to twirl around a silvery lock of hair. He doesn't look Mello in the eyes – he almost never looks someone in the eyes when they're talking – but he keeps his attention firmly on the boys body language. A tightness of the jaw, a clench of the hand; Mello is holding back things he wishes to say.
'It is not!' replied Mello sulkily, posture stretching even more.
Near wonders if Mello is trying to tell him the posture is too protected, too tense; it makes Near look scared, in a way. Of course, Near is already aware of all of that; his mind is always analyzing, and instead of being in denial about his own character, he accepts it. He is as isolated as L was, and his posture shows that. It's small, as if he's trying to fit himself into a small box, a protected haven where no one can touch him.
It's not fear, just… loneliness.
'I sit like this because it makes my mind feel at ease,' says Near impassively, pulling a few small finger puppets from his pockets. He places them on his fingers; Kira, the second Kira, himself, L, and Mello. They whisper secrets to him, tell him their motives, their reasons, and his listens to his dolls. He gently waves his fingers, barely noticing or caring about Mello's eyes on the small muses.
Mello doesn't speak, just reaches out and snatches the L finger puppet. Near doesn't fight, but his heart beats faster when Mello's fingers touch his hand. It's a curious sensation, the same feeling he gets when he finishes a particularly difficult puzzle, the pride that rushes through him when he completes his work of art. He wants that touch to linger, but Mello never lingers; he's either there fully, or he's completely gone. That particular trait applies to his personality as well as his passions.
'It doesn't look anything like him,' scoffs Mello, tossing the small puppet aside. It clicks as it hits the ground, and Near winces despite himself. Mello did not throw that piece because he didn't like it, he threw it because L is gone. Mello had come to terms with that, he had mourned in the correct way. He had felt anger, he had felt sadness and pain.
Near perhaps hasn't quite let go of L, not yet. He had felt nothing, and he did not wish to feel anything. He had not cried since he was just a small child, and he did not want to start now. The world is more graceful when he does not feel, it fades seamlessly from moment to moment, not one instance standing out more than the other, no pain, no happiness.
He doesn't want to feel pain. A part of him, he knows, is just as afraid of others as Mello is. Near can open up to other people, but it is only to an extent, the only extent that he genuinely opens up to himself. He knows himself, has every trait and habit mapped out and organized in his mind, like a computer.
Yet, there is a missing component…
The storm is blowing harder now, and the rain is ringing through the metallic room. It's singing beautifully, and Near closes his eyes briefly, just listening. Mello is no longer speaking, he is listening to the music too. Mello's head is lightly pressed to the glass, the golden hair reflecting on the grayed surface, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. It's late, and Near knows he must be very weary. This entire situation is wearing Mello down; Mello knows he cannot win, he does not have the upper hand.
And Near always wins, because it is in his blood to do so. Sometimes, he wishes he could just give Mello a win, but it would be disrespectful. Mello wants to win through his own genius, not because Near is sympathetic to his plight.
So Near endures, watching the boy hate himself more and more for his failures.
Near wants to move closer, but he doesn't; he waits for Mello, hoping that this victory will be the other boys'. Near is too afraid to move closer, and yet Mello has bravery he does not even realize. Bravery to visit, bravery to be able to say and do the things that Near cannot. Sometimes, Near admires that soul, that life.
Near feels like he is only partially alive, and a part of him hopes that Mello will change that muted feeling, twist that emotionless white noise into something more, something different. He waits, barely breathing, careful not to move a single muscle, not to bat an eyelash, to do absolutely nothing. Small movements can deter a person from their actions, and Near must keep the situation the same, must not break the thoughts he knows must be going through Mello's mind.
Mello shifts closer, just a little, a gloved hand moving so it is laying on the sill, a few mere inches away from Near's fingers. Near feels something in his chest stir; his heart is beating fast, and breathing normally is becoming a trial. In a rare burst of impulsiveness, Near's fingers twitch, brushing lightly against Mello's.
It is only a few moments later that their fingers are intertwined. Near's logical mind is still trying to keep precedence over his emotions, noticing every detail of the moment in clarity that's so powerful it's almost painful. Near can hear the rain, a deafening sound that's reaching deep into the pit of his soul, yet he can also hear Mello's uneasy breathing.
Mello moves closer again. They sit together, leaning towards each other, their bangs gently brushing against each others' foreheads. Both of their eyes are tightly closed, both listening; L had always taught them to listen, that sounds could sometimes be more powerful than sight. Maybe Mello had learned more from L than he thought, because when Near sneaks a peak, Mello's eyes are still closed.
Mello's fingers shift away from Near's. For a heart stopping moment, Near thinks that he's going to pull away completely, to end this moment that seems like everything Near has been waiting for. But the hand returns, placed gently against his forearm. The gloved fingers move up his arm slowly, until they are resting on his shoulder. Near leans into the touch, but does nothing more, not reciprocating the actions.
He still lacks the capacity to do something quite like that.
Mello's other hand is suddenly tangled in Near's hair, and Near leans into the touch. It's a bit cold with the gloves, and Near takes the hand, pulling it down. His teeth bite down on the tip of the finger, slowly pulling the glove from Mello's hand. Near drops it from his mouth unheeded, and a moment later the hand is back in his hair.
It feels nice. There is no articulate way to phrase the sensation. Pleasurable could be said, certainly, but it doesn't quite capture the emotion. It is the simply the sensation that causes Near to smile, the feeling, the tenderness. He wonders if Mello has fantasized about stroking his hair, because both of Mello's hands are suddenly stroking the silver locks, tracing the back of Near's neck, the curved shells of his ears.
Almost choking with emotion, Near suddenly buries himself against Mello's body. The rush of adrenaline the action brings is suffocating, but he likes it, he likes the feel of Mello's arms settling around him. A possessive, harsh hold, but that's exactly what Near had envisioned Mello's embrace would feel like. It wouldn't be Mello if he wasn't possessive, and there's something wonderful, something intoxicating about having Mello's possessive love.
Near settles into the warmth of the other's body, listening to the heart thrumming beneath the slender chest. Ninety-two beats per minute, meaning Mello is excited. Near listens to that heart closely, eyes closed as he absorbs the closeness. It feels so exhilarating, yet peaceful. The dapple of rain on the window seems soothing now, their song; a summer storm, filled with warm, passion, mystery. Unpredictability.
He settles into the warmth of Mello sleepily. It won't last, but he knows now that Mello is ready for something more than just some self-imposed rivalry. And Near is content with that; even if Mello leaves after this embrace, they will never be able to deny that it had occurred. In time, perhaps when Kira was captured and they were no longer battling each other, they could fill the emptiness together, soothe each other's fears.
Near sleeps, and when he awakens, Mello is gone. The horrid plastic coat is laying over him like a blanket, though, and Near hugs the garment close. The plastic does not hold any of Mello's scent – plastic almost never carries scent, and especially not after being drenched in water – however, the silken interlining is soaked with the milk chocolate aroma of the other boy.
That day, it storms again, and Near builds another domino castle. He will build this castle every storm, and wait for the day that Mello comes back and knocks it over for him.
