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Near wants to understand the Universe.
The universe in every sense.
The universe as in, the totality of all space, time, matter, and energy.
And the universe as in the omnipotent, conscious entity that orchestrates all of existence.
He’s studied epistemology so much that he could very well be an epistemologist himself.
He’s poured hundreds of hours over it and all of the philosophical branches it underpins: religion, metaphysics, teleology.
He finds it fairly interesting. Humanity’s greatest question is, after all, what is the meaning of life? Who brought us here, and more importantly, are they still in control? Are we truly free beings, or are our timelines predetermined, etched with certainty across an unreachable plane of existence that can never be altered?
He’s read thousands of theories, lost himself in the works of Saul Kripke and David Lewis, following their arguments and inspirations down the twisting river of humanity’s growing understanding of metaphysics, until he makes it back to Plato and Aristotle, where all branches of philosophy inevitably lead.
None of it is helpful though. None of it explains why The Universe has done what it has done to him.
Why is it Mello that he feels these feelings for? What cosmic justification is there behind that?
Mello, who kicks down his carefully stacked card towers, calls him names and torments the children who try to befriend him so that he is now forever, perpetually alone.
Mello, who loathes him.
Mello, who would prefer it if he simply dropped down dead one day, unable to bother him ever again.
Near prefers to think of himself a victim of a fate written in the stars, than somebody who has cursed himself with these feelings.
He hasn’t graced these feelings with a name, of course.
He won’t call it a crush because it can hardly be summed up by a word so childish it makes him curl in on himself with embarrassment every time it crosses his mind.
He knows it’s a little more than a desire to be friends, though.
He wants to be friends with Matt.
He wants to have a go on his Game Boy, and be allowed to laugh at his silly comments in class without it being a big deal…
So he knows he wants to be friends with Matt… but his stomach does not squirm with giddy, sickening excitement when Matt walks into the same room as him.
He does not feel hot flushes of sweaty embarrassment when Matt rolls his eyes his way.
He does not ever think about what it would feel like to touch Matt’s freshly washed hair, or get the urge to shove his face into Matt’s pillowcase before it gets sent down to the laundry room with everybody else’s.
Those feelings are exclusively centred around Mello.
And please understand, he is not disgusting for the pillowcase thing… It’s just all he has; Mello offers no scraps of himself. He is privy only to venom-laced words and angry glares, and aside from these, he is one and alone. Alone with these feelings and unbearable, crushing silence.
And so, with nothing but his own words for company, he begins to think of Mello in only superlatives. Ones tinged with hysteria, increasing in mania the longer and longer these feelings go untapped.
In Near’s head, he becomes a supernova of untapped possibilities, his emotions are a total eclipse, his skin a cosmic surface, a glittering nebula. Above all, he is uncharted territory; physically, emotionally, inevitably. Always.
So it isn’t a crush and it isn’t a yearning for friendship… and it certainly isn’t the same red-hot hatred that Mello has for him… so what is it?
The question troubles him systematically throughout the day, rearing its head whenever he’s alone, or bored, or ruminating- and he’s quite often alone, bored and ruminating… and yet still, he’s unable to come up with an answer. All he knows is that it’s Mello, and the effect that Mello has upon him, and he’s powerless to escape it.
+++++
They’re working on a fake case curated by L, which should make it easier; much lower stakes because there was no rush to save any real victims, but everybody is angsty to solve it- because if they did, it would mean they understood L’s thinking.
Well, Mello and Near are angsty to solve it; Matt is fairly indifferent. He spins around on his swivel chair, yawning loudly, complaining about his valuable gaming time being eaten up.
Near thinks Mello will tell him to shut up; he's so on edge that even the sound of the rain hammering against the window panes is clearly grating on him, but he says nothing to Matt.
The only person who’s on the receiving end of any grief tonight is, of course, Near.
“I don’t need to hear what Near has to say.” Mello slams his fist down on the table, sending Near’s neatly stacked card tower fluttering onto the floor.
He’s being unreasonable and everybody knows it. Even Mello knows it, but nobody is saying anything because, as usual, his rage is protected by a veil of feeble excuses: he’s tired because they’ve been working on this for so long; he’s frustrated because they aren’t making any progress; but most of all, he’s excused because he’s Mello, and there’s every chance he will be L’s great successor- so everybody needs to work very hard to keep him happy.
Near recognises the injustice in it, but he too is caught up in Mello’s anti-hero allure, so he assumes his position as perpetual punching bag and lets the expressions Mello shoots his way ooze into his skin like poison.
“I, for one, would really like to hear what Near has to say.” Matt pipes up, eager to leave the classroom, ignoring Mello’s exaggerated look of betrayal.
“Actually, Mello, I was inspired by something you said-“ Near begins, but Mello’s fist is slamming against the table once again.
“I don’t want you piggybacking off my hard work.”
“I thought what you said about the motive was clever-“
“It’s not yours to use!”
Near feels frustration rise in his throat. Only Mello can really get him riled up like this; he’s otherwise passive, sailing through life in an impenetrable bubble of calm.
Mello knows how to pop the bubble.
It’s frustrating mostly because he means it as a compliment, and he wishes Mello would just listen long enough to realise that, rather than assume everything is a personal attack. It seems that every time Near speaks, Mello hears it in another language; one that twists his niceties and well meaning complements into insults and jibes.
Near hates it. He hates the mischaracterisation of his own language. He does not think of Mello as somebody to be insulted or laughed at; quite the contrary.
There’s a reason they are academic rivals; Mello is intelligent on his own account, and despite how he chooses to process the rankings, Mello is not inferior to Near.
Near feels as though he is constantly the victim of how Mello decides to perceive things, not how things actually are.
Mello thinks the rankings alone are reflective of his self-worth, he ties himself to the number 2 like it is a hangman’s rope, spitting and kicking at Near as if he had been the one to put it around his neck.
Mello thinks Near is referring to his earlier hypothesis as a way to get him. As though Near has intrinsic knowledge of L’s grading system and is deliberately sabotaging it in his own favour.
“We’re supposed to be working as a team!” Near says, and his voice is much louder than he meant for it to be, rife with frustration.
He just wants Mello to listen. He thinks sometimes that if he could just get him to listen, he could explain that he isn’t a threat at all, and that he could be a friend. He could be something else.
“I don’t want to be on a team with you!”
“Why? Working together would be much more efficient, as a team we could-“
“I’m never going to work with you.”
“You’re being completely unreasonable. As usual, you’re letting your emotions get in the way, which is exactly your weakness-“
Mello slams both hands down on the table now, and stands up with dramatic vigour that sends his chair flying back into the floor.
“And this is why I can never work with you. You just think you’re sooo much better than me! Well, you can take your condescending fucking attitude and shove it right up your-“
“Guys!” Matt shouts across them, looking between them with incredulity. “You do remember this is a made-up case, right? It’s not this deep?”
Near and Mello stare at him in flustered disbelief, chests rising and falling rapidly, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
The case had not felt made up to either of them.
“Whatever. I’m going to the library.” Mello announces, and after one last scathing glare in Near's direction, he snatches up his papers and storms out of the room.
Matt sighs an exhausted sigh, and runs his hands through his hair and then over his face, like he can wipe the tiredness away. He looks over his shoulder at Near, and Near looks back.
“Great! Now I’m gonna have to deal with him being an asshole all night. Thanks, Near.”
Near blinks. It’s hardly his fault.
“I only wanted to collaborate; I can’t be blamed for that explosive reaction.”
“Yeah, well, you know you rile him up.”
Near knows how Matt means that, and it’s not in the way he’d like to rile Mello up… and yet still, the words claw at a foolish, untameable part of his heart and he is quiet for a moment.
“I wanted us to work as a team.”
Matt rolls his eyes as he stands up, gathering his up his notes in a messy stack.
“Be realistic, man. Just stay out of our way, okay? Until we’ve finished this goddamn module.”
He leaves the room, leaving Near to ponder the significance of Matt saying ‘our way’, rather than ‘Mello’s way’, and decides it’s more likely a reflection of how Matt sees himself and Mello both as a unit, rather than any feelings he has about Near.
It hurts more, somehow, and reminds him that he is nobody’s other half. He has no unit. It’s just him.
When he goes back to his room, he’s unable to focus long enough to work on the case anymore. The words on the page blend in front of his eyes, and a niggling cramp in his hand makes even just holding a pen agonising.
Above all that, he’s replaying the events of the night. Mello was angry, as usual, glaring at him. Wild, furious eyes, alight with fire, trained on him and him alone.
In Near’s sheets, the Mello from before morphs from his usual angry, terrifying self and becomes something far more soft and safe. The fire turns to passion in Near’s omnipotent hands, and his bed is warmed by the fantastical spectral that is the Mello that Near wishes existed.
He whispers to him, losing himself in the childish imagination that he’s managed to cling to throughout his time at Wammy’s. The same imagination that sees him through the long, lonely stretches of daytime in the form of robots and finger puppets and toy cars, now sees him through the longer and lonelier nights.
In the morning, Near is alone again, unable to conjure up such a convincing fantasy in the daylight.
He knew it all along, but when he walks to breakfast alone, he’s consumed by the fact that there was never anybody there.
+++++
He sits in the plush armchair that becomes his holding cell every therapy session. He’s never found therapy very helpful, but all of the orphans must come to these mandatory brain-picking appointments, and some more than others.
He’s shown pictures of spattered inkblots and of people with exaggerated facial expressions. To Near, this is just another test he has had to work hard to ace, but he’s got the hang of it now.
Turned down lips, eyebrows rising at the front, but tail end low: this emotion is sad. Bonus points if they have watery eyes, for this means very sad, and his therapist is always pleased when he uses adverbs.
Mouth opened wide in an ‘o’ shape, eyebrows raised- this is shock, though discerning between shocked and surprised is more of a challenge, but he’s working on it. He studies the faces of his classmates when they hear terrible updates from L, live from the LABB murder case (this is shock), and he thinks about how Linda had looked at Matt when he handed her back the colouring pencils Mello had stolen and snapped. (This was shock at first, when she saw the snapped crayons, but then surprise when Matt tried to fix them).
If they were being ranked on this, he was sure he would not be first at all, but he was certain he’d be climbing the rankings with all his hard work.
Now though, as he looks at the picture of a smiling girl (upturned lips, cheeks pushed upwards, causing eyes to squint), the answer does not come to him.
He knows what it means to be happy and how it feels, and he has been feeling happy a lot more lately, in Mello’s company, working on L’s cases.
Mello solved the first one long before Near did, and has basked in the glory of it ever since. They haven’t shouted at each other since that night, and have even compared notes and hypotheses. It’s been nice. Really nice.
However, he’s finding that the happiness is too much, too intense. For Near, every good moment they spend together just adds to the ever-swelling bubble of hope in his chest, and he’s really starting to run out of space.
Keeping it all in himself is chest-achingly unbearable, and all of the goodness is starting to hurt.
It’s a feeling meant to be shared, but it is certainly not being shared. It’s like a social animal locked in a solitary cage; it’s clawing at his chest, desperate to flood all of its goodness into companionship, to seek out the warmth of connection.
It isn’t going to happen, though. Mello may be playing nice in the classroom, but make no mistake, he still hates Near. He still calls him names and tries to trip him up in the hall.
Mello does not want to share any warm, gooey feelings with Near.
Near has never been taught about this before. There are no emotion cards that portray heart-crushing, confounding happiness to the point of pain. Nothing about feeling it all at once. It’s supposed to be one or the other. He does not know if that is what the woman on the card feels, because how could he know? Maybe she isn’t happy at all. Maybe he isn’t happy at all.
So he says he doesn’t know, and pushes the card away, and the therapist scribbles in her notebook before pushing an inkblot his way.
It looks like a scattering of warped constellations and planets to him, being sucked into an all-consuming black hole in the centre of the page.
But he’s done enough research into the Rorschach test to know what he’s meant to say, and so he tells her it looks like a butterfly, and she lets him go back to his room.
+++++
For his next wave of hyperfixated studies, he changes tack.
Epistemology is too abstract, too indecisive. It isn’t going to help him. The universe has already acted; he’s in the thick of it with his feelings towards Mello and nothing is going to change that.
And so, he studies the work of the romantics. He’s spoilt for choice when it comes to sonnets and religious metaphors, inextricably tied together by the theme of unrequited love.
He tries to pine along with them; thoughts of Mello are woven within every line. He is everything they have ever written about and more, the idealistic figure fulfilling the prophecies almost 900 years later.
But there’s still something wrong.
When the Troubadours write about unrequited feelings, it is unrequited because of class. Court. The complexities of 12th-century social rankings.
Mello just doesn’t like him.
Jaufré Rudel’s ‘Princesse Lointaine’ does not call him names, break his toys, and treat him with deliberate cruelty merely because he exists.
There are no great sonnets about the type of relationship he and Mello have.
It only cements the fact that he is alone in this.
Foolish to feel this way and helpless to stop.
So, studying the troubadours does not help much, and he’s neglected his class work so much that he falls to second in the rankings.
+++++
It’s half four in the morning and Near can’t sleep.
Nothing in particular is keeping him awake; it’s just one of those nights where his blanket feels too heavy, his mind too fast, and the seams of his pyjamas press uncomfortably against his skin every time he shifts on his bed.
He decides to go to the kitchens for a glass of water, which is definitely against the rules (nobody on the corridors after hours, unless it’s to use the bathroom) but he wants to stretch his legs, and the cold water pipes in the kitchens run cooler than they do upstairs.
So he slips out of bed and tiptoes out of his room and down the long, dark corridors. They look infinitely more intimidating at night, everything shrouded in ominous darkness. Couches and chairs and hat stands cast warped, twisted shadows across the walls, like terrifying deformed monsters that might snap to life if he stands on a creaky floorboard.
There’s a reason he thinks of monsters.
Kira is all anybody speaks about these days. Kira and L (Kira or L- but he mustn’t think like that), and the epic investigation that they receive daily updates about every morning.
The younger kids whisper about Kira The Monster behind grubby hands, wide eyes wary and full of conspiratorial fear. The older kids sneer about Kira The Man, and how amazing it will be when L brings him to justice.
Near says nothing to anybody, although the adults have started asking him what he thinks. He and Mello, actually. Everybody knows what this means.
It means they are worried L will die soon, and so somebody will have to take over as L’s successor, and it will be either him or Mello.
Currently, Mello has clawed his way to number one in the rankings, but Near had held that place for several months prior, and L will not be choosing based on ranks alone, and the gossip mill that governs the orphanage seems to favour Near as the most likely candidate to become Successor.
He feels a lot but also very little about this. He’s always known this was coming; it’s something he’s trained tirelessly for his whole life for; it’s his purpose, after all… but it’s still a big deal. Succeeding L is no easy task; the man is a myth within himself, always spoken about in cryptic riddles to hide his identity, but universally renowned all the same. It’s a lot to live up to, and he pictures himself at the head of a task force, clutching a beloved robot toy to his chest, trying to commandeer an army of men three times his age who have already pledged their loyalties to L.
Perhaps that’s why he couldn’t sleep tonight.
He doesn’t realise the kitchen lights are on until he’s already pushed the door open, and for a heart-stopping second he believes he’s been caught out and he freezes-
But there are no staff members in the room. No cooks or cleaners, or bakers trying to get an early start on their morning loaves.
Mello is the culprit behind the lights being on. He’s sat at a table, surrounded by what must be dozens of shiny chocolate bar wrappers.
Truly, he looks awful, even to Near, who usually finds him breathtaking in all shapes and forms throughout the day. Breathtaking when laughing, when angry, when sad. Even breathtaking when he’s so exhausted after a night of studying that he leans heavily against Matt in the dining hall, undereyes dark, eyes dull and lifeless.
Right now, the only thing that takes Near’s breath away is how terrible he looks. His eyes are redrimmed, lashes clumped together, as though he’s been crying -and Near has seen Mello cry before; everybody has, so it isn’t totally out of character, but the vulnerability still triggers a heavy feeling of dread to pool within his stomach.
He’s still eating but slowly, chewing in languish, dragged out bites at the front of his mouth as though he doesn’t want to taste the chocolate at all, which is understandable because he must feel sick after eating so much.
“Mello,” Near approaches very slowly, like he’s cornering a wounded animal that could pounce at any moment, and Mello’s eyes flick up to him, but he quickly looks down again, glassy eyes fixed on the chocolate bar in his hand.
He snaps off squares between his fingers and lines them up on the table, but the line is slightly askew and Near feels the pressuring urge to reach out and arrange them properly. He doesn’t though.
“You’re going to be sick,” Near says, trying to sound gently concerned without seeming condescending. Still, it’s Mello though, so he will probably hear it as accusatory and add it to his list of reasons to hate him.
Mello lets out a sharp, humourless laugh and puts another square of chocolate in his mouth. Near notices his knuckles are red and sore-looking, and wonders if he has already thrown up tonight, but the image is too vulnerable and too accusatory, and so he stops thinking about it.
“What are you doing here?” Mello asks.
“I came to get a glass of water.”
“Oh.”
There's a long, uncomfortable silence in which Mello chews slowly on the chocolate and Near just watches him, making no move to get a glass of water. He wants to speak to Mello, to reach out and tell him he’s here, that he wants to know what he’s thinking, and then problem-solve until his brain aches so that Mello never has to worry like this again. He fervently believes they can fix everything together if only Mello will give him a chance.
“Mello-” he begins, but loses his nerve immediately, certain that Mello will punch him if he so much as dares suggest anything could possibly be wrong.
… but he hasn’t punched him yet. He’s letting Near sit here and watch him like this, allowing him to penetrate the bulletproof bubble of pride and invulnerability that usually surrounds him. With that in mind, he braves on.
“What’s wrong?”
He braces for impact, but no blows come. Mello just shifts a little in his seat and pushes the squares of chocolate around the table, making uneven patterns with them. Again, Near has the urge to take them and arrange them properly in neat, organised rows that he would find so much easier to look at... But again, he doesn’t.
The silence that proceeds is so long and heavy that Near no longer expects an answer, and so he turns to walk towards the cupboard where the glasses are stored, prepared to go up to bed and ponder this strange little encounter in the privacy of his own bedroom… but then Mello speaks.
“I always expect being first to feel so much better.”
Near stops. Frozen. Hyper aware that this is the most personal thing Mello has ever, ever said to him, and by miles.
“Yeah..” Is all he can reply, because he understands the feeling, though probably not on the same, worth-determining level as Mello.
Mello closes his eyes and clenches his jaw, face suddenly blanching, and Near is certain he’s about to throw up. He runs around the table towards him, determined to help in some way, but he has no bucket or other vessel to catch the vomit in, so he ends up just standing uselessly in front of him, waiting for the sick to come.
Thankfully, Mello does not throw up. He opens his eyes, and Near realises just how close they are to each other. He doesn’t remember ever being this close to him before, other than in blurry intervals mid-fight, and he’s plunged into a new dimension of Mello’s appearance.
From this close, he sees the lightest, scarcest dusting of freckles he’d never before noticed, probably due to the hours Mello spends studying in the sun with Matt gaming by his side.
From this close, he sees the dimension in his eye colour; the dark, serrated blues that ring Mello’s pupils like cracks in porcelain.
From this close, he sees a universe that has always been out of reach for him, and that he’ll probably never be this close to again.
“He’s going to choose you.” He doesn’t need to elaborate. They both know what he’s talking about.
“You can’t know that.”
Mello closes his eyes again, squeezing them shut like he’s in pain.
“He is.” When he speaks, his voice is not much louder than a whisper. “He is.”
Near is uncomfortable. He pulls at a lock of his hair, twirling it round and round his finger.
There is no use trying to dissuade Mello- both because he’s extremely stubborn, and because he very well could be right. So he skips over trying to soothe and goes into question mode. Logical, analytical- things that make more sense to him than empty promises and false reassurances.
“What are you going to do if he does?” He asks.
Another pause, and then Mello’s eyes open again, and he’s looking across at Near, suddenly looking extremely serious and solemn, as though he has the entire weight of the world on his shoulders.
There is so much emotion in his gaze that Near’s breath catches. Nobody has ever looked at him with this much loaded intensity, and he feels like he’s part of something big. He is playing a major, important role in Mello’s life right now, and he senses that this will be a defining moment for both of them.
Really, this is all he’s ever wanted. For Mello to want, need and trust him. To tell him things that aren’t mean or about a case, or the all-consuming rankings that puppeteer them.
Mello’s eyes are glassy with unshed tears, which he blinks away with evident frustration, before looking straight at Near once more.
“Just- don’t let Matt kill himself, okay?” He says.
Near is frozen, crushed, wishing that Mello had said literally anything else at all… but Matt is his best friend. Of course, he would say that.
He nods, averting his gaze back to the uneven squares of chocolate on the desk. Selfishly unbothered about the premise of Matt’s suicide, or why Mello thinks that might happen.
Then Mello is grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him.
“I need you to promise.”
Near looks at him again, about to complain, expecting to see Mello looking furious and frightening- but he doesn’t. He looks… urgent. Alarmed. Possibly even… scared?
This frightens Near more than any bout of fury could, and he nods again, quicker this time.
“I promise!"
Mello releases him and nods, relief washing over his face.
“Good. Great, thanks.”
His gaze flickers to Near’s shoulders, and he pauses before putting his hands back on them, though this time, rather than shaking him, he rubs gently before dropping his hands to his side again.
“Sorry.”
Mello has never apologised to him before. Near just nods.
“That’s alright.”
“The cooks come in at half five to start breakfast. We should go.” Mello stands, shoving the chocolate wrappers into a messy pile in the centre of the table.
Near looks towards the clock nailed to the wall. It’s ten past five.
“Are you going to clean that up?” He asks, gesturing to the wrappers, but Mello just shakes his head.
“Fuck that.”
The word makes Near’s heartbeat pick up in scandalised excitement. Cursing still sounds so grown-up, so gloriously vulgar, and he loves feeling like he’s Mello’s accomplice in this rebellious act of littering and swearing.
Mello walks back to the dormitory wing in fast, practised strides; evidently used to walking around the orphanage in the dark, and Near follows him, keen to stay close in case they do get caught.
He’s never done anything he could ever really get ‘caught’ for in the past, so he doesn’t know the consequences, and though he’s sure it can’t be anything too terrible, he doesn’t want to find out.
Mello’s room is closer than Near’s, and he comes to a stop outside of it.
For a moment, Near thinks he’s going to go in without so much as a second glance in his direction, but, to his surprise (surprise: mouth opened wide in an ‘o’ shape, eyebrows raised- like Linda when Matt taped her crayons back together.), Mello turns to look at him.
His eyes are still bloodshot and there’s a smear of chocolate under his lower lip, but Near thinks he looks beautiful all the same. He looks right back, heart thumping furiously, like a baby bird trying to escape its cage.
“Night, Near.”
“Good night.”
And with that, Mello walks into his room and shuts the door.
+++++
Near is older now, and a strange phenomenon has started occurring in his bedroom…
At night, when it is so late that the orphanage is still and quiet, and Roger has stopped patrolling the corridors in search of mischievous noctivagants hoping to sneak off into the kitchens, Near’s toys have started to roleplay of their own accord…
His puppets are the culprits. It’s the little blonde boy and the little white-haired boy. They have begun to take on a new life of their own, and Near’s hands are helpless to control them, as though he now is the puppet, fingers bound by marionette strings that push and pull and ruthlessly direct.
Beneath the bedsheets, they enact titillating scenarios about fighting and cursing and kissing, and Near watches it all in squirming, scandalised delight.
Their furious battle ends the same way every time, plastic bodies smashing together in desperate, clumsy blows. But the smooth nothingness of their crotches satisfies nobody, and Near throws the puppets out of the bed, heart hammering with pent-up frustrations.
The lack of relief does nothing to assuage his guilt when he sees Mello in the breakfast hall the next day. He ducks his head when he passes and stares into his bowl of soggy, disintegrating cereal, the back of his neck burning with the weight of his crimes.
He avoids Mello all day and walks around with complete surety that somebody is going to notice. Surely, someone will sense his awkwardness and notice the way he scrambles to collect his things when Mello bursts into the room.
But nobody says anything, and he’s forced to remember his position in Mello’s life.
Of course, nobody notices.
+++++
L will die tomorrow, but of course, Near does not know this.
He does know, however, that it will happen soon. It’s an unspoken secret, and the orphanage buzzes with the question of ‘when’?
But nobody dares conspire about when it will happen, or even say aloud that it’s bound to come. They know that if they do, they will face the wrath of Mello.
Mello’s temper is worse than ever; he seems unable to accept the fact that L is just as mortal as the rest of them, and that Kira (Kira The Man, Kira The Monster- Kira The God.) might be more powerful than his favourite detective.
Near has little time to think about his feelings for Mello anymore. He’s endlessly busy. He and Mello are being pushed to their absolute limits with research, projects and tests. He assumes this is part of the Successor selection; whoever does better will win.
It seems as though Matt, despite being third, is not being considered at all for the role of Successor, which is probably for the best because if he were, Mello may have killed him.
Sometimes it feels to Near as though Mello wants to kill him, his disdain has only grown as they get closer to- closer to what? L dying?
Near’s previously warm, gooey feelings are overwhelmed by the anxiety of Succeeding and the gigantic shoes he will have to fill, and the thousands of lives that will be lost should he ever make a mistake, or should he take too long in solving the case. It’s… a lot to take on board…
But he has been trained for this. He should be prepared and unafraid. He should be grateful to have been selected.
And he is! Or rather, he will be, should he be the chosen one.
Of course, he considers what will become of him if he doesn’t succeed, too, and the thought is even more anxiety-inducing than the thought of Succeeding… for if he is not L’s successor, then what is he? What is there in being the runner-up? Will he be allowed to remain in the orphanage? Or will he be deemed useless, dried up, disposable? Because he could not live up to the expectations he is alive to live up to?
What’s funny is he feels years behind in these thoughts, and he doesn’t know why he’s never considered them before. He realises these are the thoughts that have plagued and eaten away at Mello for so many years; the reason he is so mean and angry and tightly strung all of the time. The reason why every assignment he hands in is laced with desperation, and every exam is handed in with a whispered prayer. He understood the weight of Wammy’s expectations very young.
It’s fair to say Near still thinks about Mello a lot. But now, rather than ruminating over love poems and blonde hair and blue eyes, he thinks purely about what their relationship will be when L chooses his successor.
What it will mean for him.
What it will mean for Mello.
What it will mean for him and Mello.
+++++
They’re in Roger’s office. L did not choose- which is… disappointing, in some ways, but reassuring in others. To Near, it means nobody has won, and they are both as worthy as each other. The option to work together is a good one. In Near’s mind, Mello completes him. He fills in the emotional gaps in Near’s psyche, flooding his cool, analytical ideas with the warmth and passion of human understanding; and of course, Near sees past the emotional blockages that clog Mello’s rational thinking. To him, they could be like Kintsugi; Near as the cracked, broken porcelain, and Mello as the brilliant gold lacquer that finishes him.
It is no surprise that Mello does not feel this way. He sees it as a complete failure; devastated that he could not shine bright enough that Near is completely overshadowed. He has always wanted to be the only one.
“It’ll never work, Roger! We can’t do this together. You know I don’t get along with Near; we’ve always competed against each other. Always.”
Roger says nothing. The truth in Mello’s words sits heavily upon them all.
Near is clicking puzzle pieces together on his jigsaw board, not looking at either of them. His brain is whirring; he knows now that he will be Successor, even before Roger has officially confirmed it. It’s no surprise to him when Mello storms out of the room after proclaiming he is leaving the orphanage in search of his own life; this was one of the many scenarios he has already envisioned a thousand times before. It’s why Mello told Near to look out for Matt. He does not plan on taking him along.
Roger is shocked (mouth opened wide in an ‘o’ shape, eyebrows raised- like Linda when Mello snapped her crayons-) by Mello’s dramatic exit, but he does not attempt to follow him or change his mind. He is talking to Near now about the logistics of flying to America and speaking to the President, and it dawns on Near that nobody cares at all where Mello is going, because he did not Succeed, and therefore he has failed and is no longer an asset to the orphanage at all.
He finds this entirely unsurprising (he hasn't seen the photo card for unsurprised).
He goes to his room to pack his belongings and hears raised voices coming from Matt’s room; the two of them are arguing loudly- shouting to be heard over one another.
He eavesdrops, heart pounding, but it’s not Mello’s shouts that impact him. It's Matt’s.
Matt rarely raises his voice. He rarely shows any emotion other than bemusement, boredom and impish, mischievous glee - but right now his voice is loud and angry, wrecked with devastated, complicated emotions that Near cannot even pretend to be able to identify. Matt is begging Mello to take him with him, to not abandon him in this place that he hates being in so much. Mello is refusing, voice cold, furious, and Near assumes Matt is holding him because he keeps shouting at him to ‘Let go! Get off me, Matt!’.
The door slams open, the copper handle leaving a dent where it hits the wall, and Mello exits furiously, face set in a cold, terrifying mask. He catches Near’s eye as he passes, but there is nothing in there. No glimmer of anything. He quickly looks away again, resolute in stomping down the long, spiralling staircase.
Matt follows quickly. His face is red and blotchy, fat tears streaming down his cheeks, and he doesn’t look at Near even once, just pushes past him, shouting after Mello.
The rest of the orphanage is quiet. Unchanged. Completely unaffected. He hears the front door slam shut and rushes to the window to look outside.
Mello is stampeding towards the front gates, sparing not even a glance behind him at Matt, who is following, or at the orphanage that has been his home for a decade.
Linda is there too, and she stops Matt, grabbing him around the chest and pulling him back. He thrashes and wails, the performance looking pathetic and desperate considering Mello does not look back once, but then he falls limp in her arms like a puppet that has had its strings sliced… and Near thinks that the metaphor is disturbingly apt.
It’s quiet now, and the building is still and lonely.
Just like that, the fire-spitting volcano that was Mello has left the orphanage, and the sound of Matt sobbing is the tiny crack of devastation he managed to leave in his wake. Everything else remains the same.
Near packs his things slowly; everything in its proper place. He slides domino pieces into their box in numerical order, fingers tracing every hole before he sets them down. He wraps his more fragile robots in his jumpers to protect their delicate parts, and lays his action men out in neat rows, assorted by height.
Whilst he packs, he thinks not about his new role as L’s successor, but of Mello.
Mello has gone supernova in the personal sky that is Near’s head. He is a huge, blinding, brilliant eruption; the luminous explosion marking the violent death of the gigantic star that was L.
He wonders if he will ever see him again.
He thinks about the vastness of the universe and the billions of scattered constellations of people who call this planet their home. He thinks about the likelihood of finding Mello amongst all of these people, especially if he does not want to be found, and the challenge feels as heavy and as overwhelming as finding Kira.
But…
A supernova is one of the universe’s most energetic events. It burns bright and long, lighting up the atmosphere in its grief, forcing itself to be seen. It ejects itself in layers, spitting itself across the universe in chunks; each one forming expanding, glowing, beautiful nebulae that will grow and grow and grow.
It will feed itself into the universe, sacrificing its life for the promise of new planets, of star nurseries, of cosmic rays.
Something that brilliant is hard to miss.
Near knows if he understands the universe- and he believes he does now- he will see Mello again.