A/N: I don't know. Or I do, but it mustn't seem like it. Don't kill me, either way. :P

XI: Complexities And Soap Bubbles

"And so that's what we do," Mello concluded. The pleased expression on his face gave the impression of a boy who had just solved the problem of world hunger, or exactly why it is that Barbie has the anatomy of an alien.

Matt, on the other hand, just shook his head. "If you weren't you," he said slowly, "and if I hadn't seen some of the crazy shit you've pulled, Mihael, I'd say that there's not a chance in hell that this will work. But..."

"But I am me," concluded the blond cheerfully. "And you have seen it. And mostly been an accessory, you know."

"Hmmm." Matt was non-committal, but nodded nevertheless. "Fine. Bet you it doesn't work, but good luck either way. And now I'm going to go finish kicking the shit out of the boss I was defeating before your grand entrance." And he swung himself off of the bed, and vanished into the second bedroom of the suite. Only the brush of his fingers against Mello's hair, as he stood to leave, gave any inclination of what he really thought.

Mello stood up as well. At the sudden, disturbing realisation that they had been sitting on the bed which L and Yagami Light planned to sleep in together, the blond shuddered, then shrugged. He peeled off his socks, and threw them in the general direction of his boots, before walking, barefoot, to the bathroom door. After a second of studying the wood grain, he knocked.

"I'm in the bath," Near shot at him, through the door.

"Of course you are," Mello agreed, and opened the door breezily, as if he always made a habit of walking into other peoples' bathrooms.

Near squealed and vanished into the bubbles, sinking so deep that only his rapidly blinking eyes, and a mess of damp white curls, were visible.

"What?" demanded Mello smoothly, closing the door behind him and sitting down on the edge of the tub. "You didn't say I couldn't come in. You just said that you were in the bath. Not even remotely the same thing, Near. And it's not as though you locked the door."

Near's eyes were threatening Mello with a variety of swift and nasty deaths. After a moment, though, they were joined in-view by Near's nose and Near's mouth, seeing as even teenage geniuses need to breathe.

He blew the soap bubbles away from his face, then glanced down, suddenly panicked, as though it had abruptly occurred to him that the bubbles might have been failing him in their general duties of concealment. Reassured that they had not, in fact, failed him at all, he glared up at the blond. And snapped, in a gratifyingly tetchy tone, "What are you doing in here, Mello? Isn't Matt waiting for you somewhere?"

Mello bit back all his automatic responses. Right then and there, though, he hated Near for having managed to somehow get him stuck in this stupid situation. Because it was, of course, all Near's fault; it had to be. And Mello had never loathed him more than right at that moment, because he hated the discomfort, and he hate the sudden uncertainty – what if Matt was right, and it was never going to work? And Matt... Eh, well, Mello had grown used to aching inside because of Matt; he'd grown accustomed to it, in the same way that he'd grown accustomed, over the years, to the weight of too-heavy boots, or the fact that the librarian at Wammy's always made him hand over his chocolate (and turn out his pockets) before she would let him near the books. He'd grown used to that, but the act of feeling something similar for someone else suddenly seemed both unreasonable and unfair. And Near was Near, to top it all off; Mello had forgotten that on the beach, and had half-forgotten it in the bedroom, but now it was painfully obvious again.

It was his underlying dislike for feeling uncertain, then, which made him poke spitefully at one of Near's yellow duckies (did the hotel supply them? or had L brought them for him??). It skidded across the bath, making the water and the other ducks bob, and left a line of clear water in its wake, just for a second. Mello said, "Matt's playing a game, he's not in a hurry to have me distracting him. You know he gets pissy if he's interrupted at the good bits."

"So, what, you thought you'd come and annoy me instead?"

When had Near reverted to talking like a human being again? Calling Mello 'you'? Did it take the privacy of just-them-alone to make it happen?

Mello grabbed at the rubber duck and squished it, rather than shove Near beneath the bathwater and hold him there. "I. Don't. Get. You," he snapped, then threw the duck back into the water. He leant forwards, and pinioned Near's right shoulder against the bathtub. "You liked me on the beach."

Near opened his mouth, then closed it again, and the very air itself shifted. He looked at Mello, looked away again. He whispered, "You were different, and I was... I was being stupid."

The final word fell softer than a soap bubble, softer than the cough of a mouse. Mello almost thought he hadn't heard it.

"Stupid?" he repeated, as if he were deaf and daft.

Near stared at the little rainbows on the soap bubbles, reflecting the colours of Mello back up at him, and refused to meet the blond boy's questioning eyes.

Mello lessened the pressure of his hold against the boy's shoulder. Near, Near, Near had called himself stupid? That wasn't even... that wasn't even possible. The air had left the room and his own eyes were wide. Bathwater lapped at the heel of his hand, but he didn't lower it, like part of his brain wanted him to; instead he slid himself along the rim of the bathtub, and walked his hand upwards. Near put his own hand, wet and running with water, over Mello's, as though to stop him, but then he moved it away again, and stared at the swaying ducks, while Mello traced wet fingertips along Near's soft face.

He put his mouth on Near's mouth.

The white-haired boy sighed beneath his kiss, and tried to slide beneath the water again.

"What?" demanded Mello, suddenly licked by tendrils of anger again. "So now it's stupid, is that what you're really saying?"

At the sound of his own words, though, Mello's anger vanished, and was replaced by something much more depressing.

Near nodded, calm blankness falling over his face. "It is stupid. And it was stupid. Because Mello is Mello and I am... me. And then there is Matt."

A flurry of expressions happened then; Mello could feel them, tracing fingers of colour and feeling across his face, whether he wanted them to or not. In the end, though, he felt them settle upon incredulous, which seemed appropriate, so he left it like that. He put his hand back on Near's face, and held his chin, so as to stop him escaping again. "You're jealous?" he asked.

Near looked at him as if he had the intellectual capacity of something you might scrape off of the bottom of your shoes, presuming that you were the shoe-wearing type.

But he didn't, Mello noted, try to shimmy away beneath the water. Despite the fact that he wasn't entirely sure if he actually, genuinely, believed in 'signs', the blond decided to take that as one; he leant in again, and kissed Near a second time.

And a second time, Near sighed. He closed his eyes, though, lifted a watery hand to caress the side of Mello's face, and kissed him back.

"It won't work," he stated calmly, when Mello pulled back a little way, to breathe.

Mello glared at him. "You're bloody pessimistic for a thirteen year-old," he observed sourly.

Wammy's Number One just raised his eyebrows. "Nobody gets to have two people, Mello."

"Oh, really? Says who?"

"Says me. Says everyone. There are laws about these things."

Mello snorted. "There are laws about lots of things. It doesn't matter. Now would you just shut up?"

Against his better judgement, Near did. And he even kissed Mello back, sitting up straight for better access, the soap bubbles dancing merrily around his pale chest. But, despite the way his hand sought to bury itself in Mello's hair, his eyes, when he opened them, made it very clear that he didn't believe a word of it...