1. something that has aspects that are illogical or inconsistent with each other
2. a statement, or the making of a statement, that opposes or disagrees with somebody or something

What Mello thinks versus what he says and/or does.


Near's hair is platinum.

It usually depended on the light that hit it. Sometimes it was eerily silver. Sometimes it was a cloudy kind of gray. If you caught him illuminated by a setting or rising sun, you would see his hair as orange or even pink. If a person preferred to remain simple about it, he would just call it white, and that would be that.

But Mello was never simple about anything. Everything he came across, every piece of information that crossed his mind; it had to be precise and concise. That's why when he saw the small pale boy for the first time, he made one precise and concise observation. And it's been stuck inside his head ever since.

Near's hair is platinum.

Nothing should contradict it, and besides, nothing ever could. Well, except himself. Mello was the only thing that could contradict Mello.

Near's hair is platinum as Mello's is blonde. But blonde doesn't change color the way platinum can. It can't reflect light like platinum can. It can never shine like platinum can.


Near's eyes are onyx.

No, it wasn't just the color. If Mello had to describe the color, he would call them ebony black. But it wasn't a matter of color. Those eyes were onyx; the actual crystal that went by that name. Why? Because those eyes were hard and cold. Unemotional and vague. Sometimes, they even seemed lifeless. Mello once wondered if they were really nothing more but rocks.

Near's eyes are onyx as Mello's are ice. Both are solid. Both are hard. But ice can melt. Onyx can't melt like ice can.


Near's hair is platinum.

But today... It was scarlet.

The sudden ambiguity was shocking. Uncalled for. And nothing was left for Mello to do except stare at it and try to take it in, but everything felt extremely surreal.

Near's hair is scarlet. No, it's platinum! No, it's scarlet.

How could you deny solid fact? That's just it. You can't.

Near's eyes are onyx.

But today, they were more than just stones. They were alive and full of feeling. They were alive and full of pain. Today, Near's eyes were eyes.

They are eyes. No, onyx! No, eyes.

Then, a voice.

"...Mello, why?"

The two words jolted him. How long had he been standing there, just standing there?

He had expected the voice to be accusing, condemning. It was everything but. If Mello had to use one word to describe it, it was... sad.

The voice was nothing but pure, heartbreaking sadness.

"Why?" it whispered again, barely audible.

"Because I hate you."

Even Mello was surprised by his own answer. It didn't even take a second to think before he had replied. Is that how natural hate was to him now; so natural that it glided from his lips as though it were the easiest thing to say in the world?


"Why what?"

"Why does Mello hate me?"

It was one of those rare moments that Mello didn't answer back.

Mello knew that he hated Near. Mello knew that he despised every single fiber of the boy's existence. But the reason for that?

At first glance, a person could say that it was a case of inferiority complex. Mello, who had always been the best, suddenly trumped by this boy who just came up out of nowhere, like a mushroom after a rainy night. He couldn't believe he was constantly beaten by a person who, superficially, seemed every bit inferior to Mello. A person who always struck Mello as weak was the one who always managed to outdo him. At first glance, one could say that that's the reason why he hated Near.

But it's much, much more than that.

Mello never let it cross his mind, but he was well aware of it. The truth was that he hated Near so much because he had dared to come into the life he had so carefully begun to mend. That Near. Somehow, he had managed to shatter every single barrier that Mello had put up. He had managed to chip and break the very foundations that Mello had worked so hard to be able to stand on.

And Mello let him.

That was why he hated Near. Because Near was the only one he had ever let into his little world. Near was the only one who could make him succumb and forget his pride. And Near was probably the only one that he would ruin his perfect little world for, again and again. Dreams, ambitions, lifeā€¦ Mello would let everything fall to ruin for the pathetic creature with the onyx eyes and platinum hair.

But a fourteen year-old boy has no way of verbalizing these things. He could only pass it off as hate.

This is hate.

And so...


The voice said his name again-softly-and Mello was only faintly conscious that he was now kneeling in front of the boy.

He took in everything once again.

The eyes were still eyes behind those closing lids. The hair was still scarlet like blood. Scarlet because of blood-the blood that was on the stairs, the blood that was steadily pooling around Near's head and turning platinum into red. The blood that was on Mello's hands.

And reality returned with a force that knocked Mello's mind back into place.


"... Mello."


The hospital was where they were, and they were alone. For some reason, Mello just couldn't leave. After he had yelled Wammy's House down and finally got someone to help him, he stayed at Near's side and didn't let anyone but the doctors and the paramedics touch him. He was there through the terror, the stitches, and Roger's furious reprimanding.

But now that Near was awake again, things were rapidly returning to their usual awkward state.

"I suppose you remember what I did to you," Mello began sullenly.

"I believe I do," Near deadpanned. "If memory serves me right, I had just come out of the playroom after playing with my Lego blocks as I do every afternoon. That was when Mello suddenly barreled down the hallway with a deranged expression on his face, yelling something about me beating his score on the quarterly exams for the last time... Before proceeding to knock me down two flights of stairs."

Mello winced involuntarily.

Near looked as though he didn't notice and tried to lift his right hand to twirl a lock of hair around his finger. Then he realized that his whole arm was in a cast. Not to be deterred, he used his left hand.

"Mello never did answer my question."


"About why you did that."

"I thought I told you already. I did it because I hate you."

For a moment, Near stopped twirling his hair. "Mello hates me?"

This is not hate. Yes, it is! No, it's not.


He clenched his fists. "I do. I absolutely hate you, Near."

"I see." The twirling resumed. "Mello hates me, and yet...He's here in this room with me."

Mello was stunned. The truth was as solid as a bag full of bricks in his face.

"So..." Near went on, the faintest trace of a smile barely visible on pale lips. "Since Mello hates me, will he be leaving soon?"

The blonde wanted nothing more than to wipe that smug smirk of that brat's face... He hated the way Near could manipulate him; he detested it, hated it...

And yet...

This is not hate. Yes, it is! No, it's not. It is! Not.

"...No," he mumbled. "No. I'm staying."

Mello was the only thing that could contradict Mello.

A/N: Messing with Mello's head is fun. Hope I didn't confuse you too much, LOL! xD

A five year old Near is making a puppy face.
Say no to that face. Go on, I dare you.