Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/75554.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Death_Note
  Relationship:
      Mello/Matt/Near, Matt/Near, Mello/Matt, Mello/Near
  Character:
      Mello_(Death_Note), Near_(Death_Note), Matt_(Mail_Jeevas)
  Additional Tags:
      Community:_dn_challenge
  Stats:
      Published: 2009-04-29 Words: 9509
****** Triptych ******
by Moontyger
Summary
     Three lives, once connected, could never be completely separated
     again.
Two years ago
Matt opened Mello's bedroom door without knocking, just as he always did, only
to suddenly stop and stare in shock at the sight that greeted him. Mello was
there, all right, but he wasn't alone. He was... on his bed. With Near. And...
he closed his eyes and opened them again, sure he must be dreaming. Because
Near's shirt was unbuttoned and half off and he was flushed and moaning softly
as Mello appeared to be sucking on his neck and... Matt made himself look away,
telling himself he didn't really want to see what Mello's hands were doing.
"Well, come in and shut the door if you're going to," Mello said, his tone
irritated, and Matt jumped. Evidently he had hesitated too long. "Don't just
stand there so anyone and everyone can look in."
He didn't know what else to do, so he stepped inside the room and closed the
door, standing there awkwardly. Near appeared to be trying to hide underneath
Mello, his face now even more red. It was the first time Matt had ever seen him
so clearly embarrassed. Only Mello seemed relaxed and perfectly comfortable
with the situation, completely unbothered by both what he had been doing with
Near and the fact that Matt had seen. He wasn't sure how he felt about that; he
was still so shocked from that first sight of them that everything around him
seemed distant, unreal and strange, like he were underwater or somehow
floating.
Matt struggled to find his voice. "I had just been coming by to see you and
your door was unlocked and..." he trailed off, sure he had just sounded like a
total idiot. He didn't know what he thought about what he had just seen. Mello
didn't even like Near! And Matt wasn't jealous; he wasn't, but... ok, maybe he
was jealous.
Mello was smiling at him and there was somehow something incredibly seductive
about that smile. It was a smile that said he had a bad reputation and he knew
it and was determined to live up to it and enjoy it every step of the way.
"You'd think you'd never seen me before, the way you're staring!" He laughed,
while Matt continued to stare. "Did you want to come join us?"
Near made a small sound of protest at the invitation and that made up Matt's
mind. He had no desire to sleep with Near whatsoever, but if Near objected,
than maybe he wanted to after all. For just a moment, he understood Mello's
hatred of Near perfectly. He'd just never felt it before because Near had never
had anything Matt had wanted. Now that he did, however... "Sure," he said as he
approached the bed, pleased that his tone was far more casual than he felt,
sliding onto it beside Mello, his back pressed against the wall.
"Just let me go lock the door this time; I don't need the whole place in here."
Mello got up, leaving Matt and Near to stare at each other in mutual confusion.
They had never even spoken to each other; Matt doubted Near really noticed he
was alive other than as a sort of accessory to Mello. How had they ended up in
a bed together? Well, if it were the price of fooling around with Mello
tonight, Matt supposed he could do it. He took a deep breath and reached for
him, pulling Near closer and kissing him. It wasn't bad; he was warmer than
Matt would have expected (he always seemed so cold, like he were carved from
ice rather than a living, breathing person) and his lips were soft. His
response was tentative, but he didn't resist, even though Matt suspected he had
even less sexual interest in him than Matt had in Near.
The bed creaked as Mello got back on it, but he said nothing, though Matt and
Near both stopped what they were doing and looked at him expectantly. It was
obvious who they were both here for, Matt thought with a mental laugh at the
ridiculousness of the situation. As for which of them Mello wanted, he wasn't
sure, but he doubted it was him, not really. He might be Mello's best friend,
but Near was his obsession.
The next thing he knew, though, Mello was kissing him. He thought he was
caressing Near at the same time and he had no idea what Near was doing and
wasn't sure he cared. At least, he didn't care until he heard Mello's sigh, a
soft sound of pleasure that he immediately felt jealous that Near could evoke,
his mouth on one of Mello's nipples while his hands caressed his thighs. Near
was pressed tightly against Mello, sandwiched between him and Matt, and it
seemed monstrously unfair, even though he was the one who had created this
situation by kissing Near while Mello was locking the door.
Perhaps he could distract him. With this in mind, Matt concentrated on Near,
moving his silver curls out of the way so he could nibble on his ears and that
pale, sensitive neck, sliding a hand around so he could cup him through his
pants. Near tensed, but he didn't try to stop him and soon he relaxed into it
with a moan, letting Matt pull him closer. Mello met his eyes over Near's head
and, in that instant of contact, Matt knew that he understood what he was doing
and why. Yet he still said nothing, merely smiled knowingly, and moved to pull
Near's pants off. As they both concentrated on pleasuring Near, Mello between
his legs sucking his cock while Matt played with his ears, his nipples,
anything he could reach, Matt began to understand why Mello was doing this.
Watching this boy who always kept himself so tightly controlled that he didn't
even seem human lose that control completely was a heady sensation, a shot of
pure adrenaline at the feeling of power. He'd never been obsessed with beating
Near but he still felt a sense of victory; how much stronger must it be for
Mello? Here, right now, Near wasn't dominant, wasn't the best; he was just a
teenage boy coming hard, helpless to resist the reactions of his body.
Near was panting, struggling to catch his breath, his hair damp with sweat; he
was nearly entirely unrecognizable as the boy who ignored everyone and reacted
to nothing. Matt had never seen him like this; he had always avoided physical
contact, much less exertion, and he was smart enough that Roger let him get
away with it. He would never have even imagined Near in this situation, but why
would he have wanted to?
Mello was stroking Near's hair now, caressing him, and Matt watched, concealing
his impatience, before finally reaching for him, burying his hands in blond
hair and pulling him close enough to kiss him. It meant they were practically
on top of Near, but Matt didn't care; all he wanted right now was to touch
Mello, to feel a connection to him, to feel that Mello wanted him here, too. He
pulled Mello's shirt off and went back to kissing him, making a sound low in
his throat that was somewhere between a purr and a growl.
Matt felt hands on him, exploring and caressing hesitantly, trying to remove
his clothes, and he knew these must be Near's hands: Mello would never touch
him so timidly! He wasn't entirely sure how he felt about it, but he could
hardly complain now. He wondered why Near had chosen to touch him rather than
Mello and suspected it was meant to be a kindness. Or maybe he was just
curious; for all Matt knew, Mello and Near could have been fooling around for
months now and he had just never caught them at it before.
The idea annoyed him and Matt wanted to ask, but instead he reached over Near
to unfasten Mello's jeans, shoving them off him roughly with Near's help. He
slid a hand down to stroke Mello's erection, smiled as he gasped. Somehow he
found himself jerking Mello off while Near sucked him, trying to concentrate
through how good it felt and fearing he wasn't doing a very good job, though
Mello seemed to be enjoying it anyway, thrusting into his hand and moaning, his
evident pleasure nearly as arousing as the direct stimulation. It was
incredibly awkward and embarrassing yet Matt didn't want it to end; though of
course it did, far too soon. It ended in the only appropriate way, considering,
with both Matt and Near doing their best to make Mello come, watching his
flushed face and listening to the sounds he made. For just this short while,
they agreed on something, had the same goal. At least for this moment, they
shared Mello without rivalry.
Near awoke in the dark, confused. He was too hot, sweating, and crowded.
Where... oh. Even though he was already overheated, he could feel himself
blushing and he was glad no one else could see it. He had fallen asleep in
Mello's bed, tangled in the sheets between Mello and Matt, after... he was too
embarrassed to even think the words, but his brain obliged him with a barrage
of images: a blond head between his legs, Matt's naked body, Mello's face as he
moaned in pleasure. He felt so uncomfortable that he wanted to disappear.
It was a small bed for three adolescent boys; it wasn't too surprising that he
had awakened. Near felt strange. No one had touched him (unless the times Mello
hit him counted, which he didn't think they did, as violent touch born from
anger was a completely different matter from being touched out of affection or
sexual desire) since before he had come here, to Wammy House. His parents had
been almost newly dead and he had still been confused and numb. Truthfully,
he'd been numb ever since that day, when he learned that his entire family was
dead but he was somehow alive. He didn't cry; he couldn't, and no one around
him had understood.
He still wondered how Watari, or L, had found him so soon after, how they had
known where to look. However they had found him, he didn't expect that the aunt
who had inherited custody of him had required much convincing to give him up.
Because he was quiet, people seemed to forget he was there, or to think it
meant he was deaf, too. So he had heard her as she told her friends repeatedly
that she "just didn't know what to do with Nate; he's so quiet and withdrawn!
Not like her boys at all!"
And he wasn't. He didn't want to be. Near didn't want to play sports or video
games or watch television. He was content to read, play with puzzles or other
quiet toys, indoors, often actively hiding from the cousins who seemed too loud
and intimidating. No one in that house understood him at all and they quickly
gave up trying. Soon enough, they would have mostly forgotten he was there and
he had been content to be invisible. Instead, he was sent to England, to Wammy
House. And there, no matter how he tried, he could never be invisible.
Six years and four months ago
Mello told himself (and anyone who was fool enough to ask) that he remembered
nothing before Wammy House. It wasn't strictly true, but it was close enough.
Just nightmares, he told himself, nothing from before was real. None of it had
ever happened; it had nothing to do with him.
He did, however, remember Wammy House before either Near or Matt came. He was
the first of them to arrive and, until Near came, he was unquestionably the
best, the brightest, and recognized and respected as such, even at only six
years old. By the time he was nine, he was not only the best, but also the
leader of the other boys his age. He was used to winning everything and he was
even happy. He was completely unprepared for Near.
When he first saw him, he seemed a boy like any other. Shy and quiet, yes, but
many new arrivals reacted like that. Mello went out of his way to be friendly
to him, only to be rebuffed. Even that didn't bother him too much; if he wanted
to be a loner, whatever. It wasn't his problem. What bothered him was when Near
not only continued to reject his overtures but also started regularly outdoing
Mello; even worse, seemingly doing it effortlessly. Near didn't even seem to
care about whether he was the best or not! It drove Mello crazy. Suddenly, he
was no longer first in everything and he had no idea how to handle it. At least
Near showed no interest in taking Mello's position as the leader of the others
there, but that was small comfort. Everyone treated him differently after that
and he always noticed, repeated small slights accumulating into rage.
Their first fight was both simple and inevitable. Mello finally had had enough,
both of Near outdoing him and of his arrogant way of completely ignoring him.
He was determined to make him pay attention to him. How dare he act as though
he were so much better than Mello? If it took hitting him to make him stop his
condescension, so be it. Even the punishment afterward, Roger's speech about
being disappointed in him, didn't dent his anger or his determination. Near
still didn't care and that made Mello furious. It would be years before he
found a way to make a real impression on Near.
Two years ago, the next day
It was mid-afternoon and lessons were over. Mello was sitting in a window seat
eating a chocolate bar in the library and Matt was standing beside him. Mello
stared outside at the grounds, but Matt looked only at Mello: it was a perfect
illustration of their friendship in microcosm.
Matt took a deep breath before he asked the question he had been thinking about
all day. "What was that about yesterday?"
Mello didn't look at him but continued to stare out the window, absently
tracing the metal frames of the individual panes with a finger. "I didn't
originally intend to do that," he said softly. "It just sort of happened. But
it made him notice me, finally. The only thing that ever has." His voice was
thoughtful, almost wistful, and he seemed more subdued than usual. Matt watched
him, his unusually light-sensitive eyes watering slightly from the bright
sunlight streaming in, turning Mello's hair to gold, and wondered what he was
thinking.
"I've always noticed you, from the very first," he said, and immediately felt
stupid. Of course Mello knew that. Everyone noticed Mello; everyone except
Near, who alone of all those at Wammy House seemed to feel Mello wasn't worth
bothering with. And of course it was the one person who didn't care about him
at all that Mello couldn't resist. Matt supposed it only made sense: Mello
hated not being in control, so when presented with someone indifferent to him,
of course he would be unable to rest until he succeeded in breaking through
that indifference. But even knowing that was the case, Matt couldn't ignore
him. At least he was his best friend, the person Mello always knew he could
count on. It wasn't the same, but maybe it was good enough. After all, it meant
Mello needed him. Matt rather liked being needed.
He looked around the library and saw Near on the floor in a corner, ostensibly
reading but really watching them. He hadn't said anything to either of them
today, hadn't acted any differently. Matt wondered if he ever would. He could
tell he wanted to approach them, maybe just to ask the same question he had.
Maybe to ask the question even Matt didn't quite have the nerve to ask: will we
do it again?
Three months ago
Mello woke up alone, sweaty and breathing hard, cock erect and dripping. Damn,
he hadn't dreamed of that night in a long time, tried not to remember it. It
hadn't meant anything, of course, just hormones and curiosity and unfocused,
confused adolescent emotions. But he had won that night. Near could never
really treat him the same again after that. Even as he tried to pretend to his
former coldness, Mello could feel that it wasn't real, saw the way he kept
sneaking glances at him when he thought no one was looking, the way he stared.
He had taught Near desire, made him feel desire for him, and no one else had
been able to do that.
He was thinking of Near and the way he watched him, all the signs of his sudden
awareness of Mello's presence, as he slid his boxers down and grasped his
erection, his other hand pinching a nipple lightly. He moaned and arched his
back, moving his hand in long smooth strokes. He spread his legs farther apart
and twisted his palm over the head of his cock, biting his lip. He wished, now,
that any of the three of them had had more of an idea what they were doing back
then. Now that he was older and had some grounds for comparison, it was far too
obvious that they hadn't. Yet it had still been good, good enough that dreaming
of it now, years later, could make him wake up all hot and bothered. Mello
closed his eyes and let himself remember; he could almost feel Matt's hands,
Near's mouth, on his body again. He fucked his hand harder, faster, grateful
that he was alone in his apartment tonight, free to make all the noise he
wanted. If only it had happened again. If only one of them were here now. If
only... and his thoughts broke off as he came with a soft noise in his throat
that was almost a name, though even he couldn't have said for certain whose.
Now
"Hey, man, what are you smiling about?" Matt came back to himself with a start
and looked up at his co-worker with a grin, gave the name of his latest
girlfriend after a moment's pause to remember it. They never lasted long, were
almost interchangeable really. Matt was too distant, too hard to get to know,
far too undemonstrative when it came to affection, and eventually they'd get
tired of it and leave. He didn't care much; they were more accessories than
anything else, something he did because it was expected of him. He'd yet to
date a girl he really cared about. It was better not to; he had too many
secrets to really get close to anyone.
He'd never tell the truth. The guys here thought he was one of them, just a
normal guy with a normal childhood. Not that he ever talked about it, but then
he didn't have to for them to assume that. They'd be shocked if he told them he
was thinking of the time he slept with two other guys in the secretive
orphanage for geniuses where he had grown up. They might not even believe him.
They'd be more shocked if he told them he'd give everything up, just walk away,
if he thought there was the slightest chance of it happening again.
He turned his eyes back to the screen in front of him, tried to be here in the
present, tried to care about his job, about the life he had built so
painstakingly. But he didn't, not really. Matt wondered if Mello ever thought
about him, was ever curious where he was and what he was doing. Did he even
miss him? Oh, he was sure Mello was busy chasing after Kira and even if he
missed Matt he probably had his reasons for not contacting him, maybe even good
ones. But they had been nearly inseparable for years; it was hardly strange
that he missed him, thought about him every day, wondered where he'd gone.
Matt thought about looking for him, as he often did, but once again he decided
against it. He might be able to find him, but the mere act of looking could be
dangerous, could call the wrong sorts of attention down on Mello, and he didn't
want to do that, not ever. Not to mention that he didn't even know if Mello
would be glad to hear from him. He wasn't sure he wanted to know for sure if he
wouldn't be; at least this way he could pretend that Mello missed him.
Near, he might be able to find; if he asked Roger, he might tell him. But Mello
would never look for him with Near and might feel betrayed if he found him
there, no matter what had happened between the three of them. For just a
moment, he thought of Near, of the way they had tried to be friends after Mello
left, tried to pretend that that tenuous connection of being the two who missed
Mello most was enough for a friendship, maybe more. He wondered if Near ever
thought of him and almost laughed. If he did, he was sure it was only in
connection with Mello. Still, he even missed the weird little brat sometimes,
thought about him at the strangest of times.
One month ago
Near looked around his now-empty room blankly, wondering why he couldn't feel
any attachment or nostalgia. Today was the day he was leaving Wammy House for
good; after six years in residence, he should feel something, but he didn't.
Mello had left nearly six months before and L had died and it seemed it had
ceased feeling like home after that. Maybe it never had been home, not for him.
He doubted he would ever return; all the reasons he might once have had were
gone now.
All his toys were packed up; he had nothing to do but wait. He sat on the bed
and pulled his knees to his chest, thinking as he did that it that sitting like
that reminded him of L. The physical reminder was comforting and he was
surprised to find he needed comfort. Maybe he was a bit scared about leaving,
about his future, even if he wasn't sorry to leave. After all, L had left and
he had died, leaving Kira still uncaught. And now Near was going to try to
finish the job, catch the criminal who had outwitted and murdered L, despite
knowing he wasn't as good and definitely lacked L's experience. Was it even
possible for him to succeed?
Apparently Roger thought so, as did the agents of the American government who
would be working with him. But that didn't make it true and it was entirely
possible it was merely wishful thinking on their parts. Near didn't actively
fear many things, but he had to admit he didn't really want to die. And this
case, this game of death, was played for keeps. Near didn't care for either the
odds of success nor the stakes, but he felt he had no choice. As L's successor,
he was honor-bound to try to finish L's last case to the best of his ability.
Moreover, L was one of the few people he had really cared about and respected;
he had to admit that the idea of his killer going unpunished rankled, even for
him. He wasn't the kind of person to say, "this time, it's personal," as though
he were a character in one of the action movies some of the others here liked
so much, but on some level it was true. Not that Near would ever make the
mistake of letting those feelings interfere with his investigation, of course.
That was something Mello would do, but Near knew better.
Yes, afraid or not, he was committed to this course. He just wished Mello
hadn't left. At one time, he had preferred working alone and would have been
glad Mello was gone; he was too noisy, too distracting. Near wasn't meant to
work in groups, was terrible at partnership. But that had been before Mello had
won the war between them, had made himself into Near's weakness. Now, he felt
loneliness and knew he didn't want to do this alone.
Three months ago
Mello padded into his bedroom on bare feet, running fingers through hair still
wet from the shower and with a towel tied loosely around his waist. He had
given up on getting back to sleep and decided he might as well take a shower if
he were going to be awake anyway. Now he sat back on his bed (one of the only
pieces of furniture in his small apartment), leaning against the wall with his
laptop in his lap, watching it boot, eating chocolate, and remembering.
He wished sometimes that he could forget or that he had Near's knack of
deliberately cutting mental and emotional ties, but somehow he didn't work that
way no matter how hard he tried. So since he was thinking of them anyway, he
started looking online for traces of Matt and Near, trying to find them, learn
what they were doing now.
Matt wasn't that hard to find, probably deliberately, although Mello was
secretly impressed at the quality of the documentation and paper trail he had
forged for himself. He probably shouldn't be surprised; while he wasn't
anywhere near the top of the students at Wammy House, even being there at all
meant he was special, brighter than the majority of people It wouldn't be
difficult at all for Mello to do as Matt had done if he wanted to, after all.
He stared at the contact information for a long time and thought about calling
just to hear a familiar voice or maybe showing up on his doorstep or something.
He knew Matt would still welcome him without hesitation, would do anything he
asked and not make demands of his own. He smiled momentarily as he thought of
Matt's smile if Mello contacted him, the pleased note in his voice, but the
smile faded as he considered the issue more. Matt had gone to a lot of effort
to build a life for himself; Mello didn't really want to make him throw it away
if he didn't have to. It wouldn't be fair. He didn't need Matt right now, after
all; merely missed him, and that was not a good enough reason to disrupt his
life, a life he was presumably at least content with.
Near was much harder to find and he suspected he could only do it because he
allowed it: either actively, somehow knowing it was Mello seeking him, or
passively, building programs and hints that would let only Mello find him. His
smile this time was different, almost predatory. Either way, it was proof that
Near hadn't forgotten him, had been unable to cut his ties to Mello like he cut
them to so many others. It was practically an engraved invitation to find him,
a statement that Mello could contact him at any time and say he had changed his
mind about being his partner. Which, of course, was exactly why he wouldn't do
it. So what if he were lonely? So what if times were a little hard for him
right now? He'd be damned before he'd do anything that Near expected or wanted
him to do. And if Near missed him and wanted to see him, he could damn well
find and contact Mello himself. Not that he'd made it easy, but he still
suspected Near could do it if he really wanted to. Let him be the one to make
the first move for once!
One year and seven months ago
Matt knelt on the floor beside Near, who was assembling a puzzle the same as
always. Like nothing had changed, though everything had. As though he were
still one of them instead of L's recognized successor and they now merely
contenders to succeed Near in turn. And Matt, well, he had been abandoned, just
something discarded when Mello didn't need him anymore. Matt belonged to
Mello's childhood, but Mello had decided it was time to put away childish
things, including his best friend.
"He hurt you, didn't he?" Near's voice was quiet and he wasn't even looking at
Matt as he said it.
"Yeah." No point in denying what everyone knew. He'd been moping around all
day; without Mello, he wasn't sure what to do with himself. Everyone else
avoided him because they didn't know what to say. Hell, he wouldn't know what
to say either! He shifted to a more comfortable sitting position uneasily.
"But you miss him more than you're angry."
Matt gave him an odd look, but Near still wasn't looking at him. "Why are you
telling me what I already know?" He poked at the floor unhappily, wanting to
fiddle absently with one of Near's puzzle pieces but knowing that would be
rude. They sat in awkward silence for a time and he wished he had a video game
or something to do. "You only know that because you feel the same way," he said
finally, suddenly certain it was true. Near wasn't acting any differently,
didn't show it at all, but he was missing Mello all the same.
"Is that why you're here? Now that he's gone, you want to be my friend
instead?" Near stopped what he was doing, actually looked up to meet Matt's
eyes.
Matt was the first to look away. Now that Near said it aloud, it sounded so
stupid. "You're right; it was a stupid idea. Sorry to bother you." He got up
and walked away, not looking back to see if Near watched him go.
But that night, as Matt lay in bed with a Gameboy in his hands even though it
was technically after lights out, wondering if it would be too pathetic if he
went and tried to sleep in Mello's old room, there was a quiet knock on his
door. For just a moment, he hoped it was Mello, improbably returned for him,
but he knew it wasn't when whomever it was didn't immediately enter after
knocking. He paused his game with a sigh and went to see who was there. Was
someone actually worried enough to come check on him?
He was more surprised to see Near standing there, looking almost shy and
twisting his hair absently, than he perhaps should have been. Matt hadn't even
thought Near knew where his room was and would never have expected him to
visit. "May I come in?" Near asked politely.
"Sure. Knock yourself out." Matt retreated back to the bed and picked up his
game, watching Near close the door neatly behind him before perching uneasily
on the very edge of the bed and looking around Matt's room curiously. Seeing
Near looking, Matt flushed and wished for a moment that his room were neater
before wondering why he cared. So Near knew he had a messy room, so what? So
did most of those here and Mello's had been far worse than his. Of course, he
had spent more time in Mello's room than he had in his own, so that was perhaps
unsurprising. But even though he'd never been in it, he suspected Near's room
was completely and utterly neat and that he probably disapproved of Matt's
casual attitudes towards the proper storage of books and clothing.
Finally Near turned and looked at him. "I thought about it and maybe you were
right. We don't seem to have much in common, but we're both lonely now and...
If you are still willing, we can try to be friends."
Matt eyed him consideringly and set down the game he wasn't playing anyway,
watching as Near began his habitual toying with his hair. He was right that
they didn't have much in common. Being friends with Near would be very
different than being friends with Mello and he suspected it would be a lot more
boring. But it was worth a try and it was the only connection to his vanished
best friend he had left. "You couldn't sleep either," he observed aloud and
sighed. "But yes, I'm still willing and yes, you can sleep in here if you
want."
"Thank you." Nothing in that voice at all, not a single shred of emotion, but
Matt suspected he was sincere nonetheless. It was oddly comforting to curl up
with Near in his bed, to feel the warmth of another body next to his. He
wondered what Mello would think if he could see them: his best friend and his
rival sharing a bed the first night after he had left, even platonically. The
truth was, Matt still didn't like Near that much and deep down he blamed him
for Mello leaving. But at least for tonight, while he was still hurt and
lonely, it was better than sleeping alone.
Mello leaned his head against the window of the plane, left hand balled into a
tight fist around a crumpled chocolate wrapper as he looked out at the night
sky and wondered what Matt was doing now. Did he miss him? He felt suddenly
lonely and wondered if he had made a mistake. He didn't want to merely be
Near's partner and if he had lost at last, there was no reason to stay and
yet... right now he felt lonely and afraid. He had been so angry, so self-
righteous, saying he would leave and doing it, leaving the country, even, so he
couldn't change his mind. But now it was late and he felt very young to be on
his own. What was he going to do? Where was he going to sleep? Oh well, surely
he'd find a way; he always did. Even if things would be hard for awhile, it
would be worth it to be away from Near and the constant comparisons between
them.
He closed his eyes and felt the movement of the plane around him, the first
plane he had been on since coming to Wammy House. He wondered if plane flights
would always mark the major changes in his life or if this would be the last
one. Somehow, either way, he didn't think Wammy House would be as easy to
forget as what had come before.
One month ago
Near tried to meet the gazes of the FBI agents staring at him, tried not to
feel self-conscious under the weight of their doubtful stares. He knew he was
an unprepossessing figure and probably seemed a highly unlikely successor to L,
especially for those who had never seen the previous one. The fact that an
imposter had taken over the name and reputation surely didn't help. Near
wondered how Roger had convinced them of the truth.
He knew the other agents must think him far too young to be working with them
and he was sure some of them resented him, a mere kid whom they were expected
to listen to and obey. He twisted a lock of hair around a finger and wondered
how much difficulty this would cause. Hopefully they would learn to respect him
sooner rather than later. He didn't want to have to waste time and energy
dealing with pettiness.
"We have arranged a place for you to stay and one of our agents will be at your
disposal at all times," the director of the American FBI was saying and Near
tried to look interested. Not that he really cared very much about his living
arrangements. Had it been up to him, he would have just lived where he worked;
it was both easier and safer. At least Roger had made sure proper arrangements
were made for him. Not only was Near yet too young for a driver's license, he
neither wanted to drive nor to go on the records he would have to in order to
obtain one. Much better to have another form of transport. Nor did he have any
knowledge of cooking or other household tasks; the development of the minds of
the residents of Wammy House was considered much more important and thus none
of them were required to do chores. He was certain the agents assigned to do
these tasks for him would see this as yet another reason to despise him. But
Near couldn't risk someone without a security clearance seeing his face; if
they thought about it, they would know that.
He lifted his bag to his shoulder and followed the director out without looking
back for one last glimpse of the place that had been his home for the last six
years. He had no idea if anyone came to watch him go and didn't really care.
This phase of his life was over and there was no point in dwelling on the past.
He turned his thoughts deliberately towards the future, towards America and the
cases he would solve in tandem with the FBI before they trusted him enough to
go after Kira. Near didn't think it would take too long.
One year and seven months ago, the previous afternoon
"Do you really have to go?" Matt asked, desperate to make Mello reconsider his
decision. He knew Mello was impulsive and he never doubted his competence, but
this just seemed stupid. He had made no arrangements; what was he going to do?
Where was he going to go? No matter how smart he was, he still needed to eat, a
place to sleep. He could still be hurt.
Mello stopped packing to give him a disdainful look. "Didn't you hear me, Matt?
It's over; I've lost. L isn't coming back."
"I heard you." Matt flopped back onto Mello's bed and stared at the ceiling
blankly, its blankness merely an echo of how empty his life here would be
without Mello. He knew all that. He even understood why Mello felt he had to
leave. What he didn't understand was why he had to leave right now, like this,
with no real preparations. Why he wanted to leave alone.
Mello fastened his backpack shut and set it on the floor next to the bed before
sitting beside Matt and unwrapping his usual chocolate bar. "It's not
necessarily goodbye forever, you know," he said through a mouthful of
chocolate, though Matt heard the faint tremor in his voice anyway. Mello really
was scared, maybe more reluctant to leave than he admitted. Matt sat up and
reached for him, stroked his back, slid his hand down to caress his thigh.
Mello almost collapsed against him and he saw tears trickling from his tightly-
closed eyes, tears he would rather die than admit to, so Matt said nothing to
indicate he noticed them. He wondered if they were tears for L or because he
had finally lost. He wondered if even Mello could tell the difference right
now.
Either way, it didn't really matter at the moment. The important thing was that
Mello needed comfort and was looking to Matt to provide it. So he held and
caressed him in silence; made no protest when Mello kissed him and shoved him
back on the bed, pawing impatiently at his clothes; said nothing about the
salty taste of his tears. Mello still needed him, wanted him; nothing else
existed.
But in the morning, when Mello left him behind, he knew he had been wrong.
However much Mello needed him, it wasn't enough to keep him here now, wasn't
enough for him to take Matt with him. At that moment, he began to plan for his
own departure.
Three months ago
Mello made coffee and a vague attempt at breakfast, and then returned to his
bed and laptop, mug in one hand and chocolate in the other, this time to work.
He worked from his apartment, doing online investigation and selling
information. Clients found and contacted him only via cell phone or online. He
went out as little as possible, used stolen identities when needed, and made
sure to destroy or distort into illegibility any photos or security camera
images of himself.
All these precautions might be paranoid and were definitely premature. Kira
didn't even know who he was to look for him; had no motive to kill him. While
Mello had done some investigation into the Kira case, he wasn't ready to make a
real move yet. Until he did, going out was probably safe. But he was going to
do something eventually; he had plans in motion even if sometimes it felt like
they were taking forever. He was going to beat Kira, make him pay for what he
did to L, to all of them. When he did, he couldn't afford to have any
inconvenient loose ends, people who might remember him and reveal things he
didn't want known. It was best if he were completely untraceable and he made
every effort in that direction. The fact that some of his business was illegal
and could be dangerous if anyone knew who he was or how to find him only made
caution more compelling.
Of course, he had to go out sometimes. Not only for necessities, either; he was
almost sixteen years old, sometimes he had to get out and live a little, when
it felt like the walls were closing in on him and he couldn't breathe.
Sometimes he wondered what would happen if he saw someone he knew when he went
out, if by some strange chance he ran into Near or Matt or any of the others.
Some days he was lonely enough, bored enough, that he even wanted it to happen,
no matter what the outcome. Not knowing what would happen would be part of the
fun; at least it might be a source of excitement in his life. Of course, he
also knew it was highly unlikely; they weren't even living in the same cities,
though it was almost funny that all three of them had somehow come to the
States. Had they followed him, consciously or unconsciously? Mello wasn't sure,
but he had his suspicions.
The phone rang at promptly 6 am. He glared at it, checking the caller ID, and
took a deep breath, composing himself before answering, ensuring he was all
business despite the hour. Mello had a living to make and a plan to be in a
position to challenge Kira to work towards; he had no more time for nostalgia.
29 days ago
The trip to New York had been long and tiring and there was nothing wrong with
his new bed, but Near couldn't sleep. He lay awake, staring into the dark and
thinking. If he were alone here, or if the agent sleeping in the other room
were more used to him, he would get up and do something, play with toys or
start researching cases, anything to occupy his mind and keep him from dwelling
on things he didn't want to think about.
As it was, however, he suspected the agent in the other room (Gevanni, wasn't
it?) would wake if he turned on a light and he didn't want to disturb him with
his insomnia, not on his first night here. There were enough reasons for
Gevanni to hate him already; Near didn't want to add to them unnecessarily. The
end result, however, was that he couldn't seem to stop thinking about Mello,
maybe because he was finally on his own and he felt uncertain. Maybe just
because they were in the same country again, even though he had no idea where
in this huge nation Mello was. It would be easy for one genius boy to hide in
the sea of humanity here, particularly in a large city. For all he knew, Mello
might be living a block away and he would never see him. It could even be
because he wasn't that far from where he'd been born and it brought back too
many bad memories, a part of himself he thought buried with his parents and
older sister, and he wanted comfort, a reminder of the person he was now, the
logical detective Wammy House had encouraged him to be. Strange, though, that
he should associate Mello with any kind of comfort, when he was usually the
least comforting person imaginable, at least when dealing with Near.
Two years ago
Near was working on a puzzle in a corner of the common room when Mello
approached him. That in itself wasn't necessarily unusual; ever since Near had
rejected his initial offers of friendship, Mello alternated between ignoring
him completely and going out of his way to harass him. His polite, almost
nervous tone when he spoke to him was new, however, as was his request for Near
to accompany him to his room.
Near knew going off alone with Mello could be something he'd regret, but he was
more curious than afraid. He was sure someone would hear him if he screamed.
And after all, Mello had never felt the need to be sneaky about fighting with
Near, so why would he start now? It wasn't like everyone wouldn't assume he was
the culprit if they saw Near obviously injured anyway.
But Mello's odd behavior continued even after that. It took Near several
minutes to discern what he wanted, why he had asked Near for a private
conversation. Contrary to his usual straightforwardness, Mello nervously danced
around the issue at hand, eating chocolate at a rapid pace and seemingly
talking about almost nothing. Gradually he realized that Mello was worried
about L because he had been working on the Kira case far longer than was usual,
and that he thought Near might know something he didn't.
It was a startling realization. Mello was worried? And he came to Near for
help? It didn't fit his mental image of Mello at all. He had always seemed
reckless: fearless and far too proud to ever ask anyone for help, especially
Near, even in this roundabout fashion. He must really be afraid. It seemed
wrong somehow. Near thought he should do something, try to comfort Mello, but
he hadn't the slightest idea how to do so. None of the well-meaning attempts to
comfort him after his family's death had helped at all, which left him with no
experience to guide him as to what he should do. But as he listened to Mello,
heard the distress in his voice, he increasingly felt that he had to do
something.
So he tried. He made himself reach out and actually lay his hand on Mello's
arm, overcoming all his instincts against touching, because he had observed
that, unlike him, Mello was often comforted by it. "I don't think I know
anything you don't," he said, softly. "But maybe we could work together and
figure something out. I'm worried, too."
Mello stopped talking mid-sentence and just stared at Near's hand. Near looked
at it, too, and thought that it was the first non-violent contact they had ever
exchanged that hadn't been forced by adults. "You're worried," he repeated
numbly. Near nodded. And then Mello looked at him and he thought that he really
saw him for the first time in years, saw him without the veil of his anger and
resentment, for just a moment. And everything changed.
For just a fleeting instant, he saw an expression flash in Mello's dark eyes
that he had never seen before. Before he could study it, try to identify it, it
was too late. Mello was moving closer and then he was kissing him.
He froze, his mind a complete blank. What... was Mello doing? Why? This was
something he had never anticipated, an eventuality he had made no plans for
because it was impossible. Impossible and yet... Mello pulled him closer,
deepened the kiss, his arms around Near, and he had to admit this was really
happening. And it felt... good, good enough that it was hard to think, but he
thought... he might... want it to continue.
Near had been busily proceeding as he meant to go on: ignoring his body,
puberty, and sexuality altogether, or at least as much as possible. He'd make
concessions to biology, but as few as possible and by all means he had no
desire to think about sex. He had certainly never considered attraction or the
specifics of whom he might find attractive, such things were distracting, not
to mention frivolous, and he had no time for them. But now Mello was kissing
him and he was disturbed to find he was kissing back, his arms somehow having
wrapped around him of their own accord. He was forced to admit that he must be
attracted to Mello, though whether he had been before this moment, he couldn't
say. Now, though, his breathing had quickened, he felt hot all over, and he
never wanted this to stop.
28 days ago, 3 am
Near forced himself to stop remembering, tried to stifle his arousal at the
memories. There was someone else in the next room; he was not going to touch
himself. Why did his thoughts always come back to that? Why could he never
forget? He wanted to, had wanted to almost from the beginning, and he never
could.
It had never happened again. Mello didn't harass him anymore and he sometimes
saw him watching him, but nothing else had changed outwardly. He admitted to
himself that he had been (was) disappointed. Perhaps it was even partly his
fault; maybe Mello had been waiting for him to do or say something. He had
wanted to, but he just couldn't do it. He was too used to hiding to change that
now; had no idea how to approach Mello about it. What was he supposed to say:
something crass and all boy, like he could imagine Matt saying? He blushed even
thinking about it. So instead he sat in corners and watched Mello whenever he
could; even though it made him remember things he'd rather forget, made him
feel things he didn't want to feel, somehow he couldn't look away for long. But
all either of them did was look.
And then it was too late. L was dead and Mello was leaving. Near made the
unprecedented move (for him) of skipping class the morning of Mello's departure
(a mere day after they had learned of L's death and far too soon for Near to
have accepted Mello's plans to leave, much less feel mentally prepared for his
absence) so he could go to his room and see him one last time. He had wanted to
tell him not to go, talk him into being his partner to catch Kira, into at
least letting Roger make arrangements for him rather than running off to make
his own way in the world like this. He didn't have to do it alone, completely
without help! But words had never come easy to Near, especially words about
emotions, and now was no exception. He stared at Mello, mute, twisting his hair
nervously, and almost thought he was going to cry. He wondered even now what
would have happened if he had.
At last he found his voice. "I'll miss you," he said. It was inadequate, didn't
even begin to cover all he felt, but it was all he could think to say.
Maybe it was almost enough, even if it didn't keep him there. Because Mello
gave him an indecipherable look and kissed him again, just once. Near was
starved for his touch, maybe starved for touch in general, and he wanted to
cling to him, to kiss him again, maybe even to never let him go, but of course,
he did none of those things. Would it have made a difference if he had tried?
Instead, he let Mello end the kiss and move away, beyond his reach once more.
What choice did he have?
For an instant, Mello seemed back to his old self and he gave him one of his
usual cocky grins. "I know," he said, and turned and left, leaving Near to
stare after him. He never looked back.
And that had led to this, to sleeping alone in this apartment in New York City,
with a stranger in the other room. Mello had chosen separate paths for them and
Near was just beginning to walk his. This had to be the last time he dwelled on
this. He couldn't afford to look back either.
7 years and 11 months ago
Matt didn't understand why this strange older man with the accent wanted him to
go to England. Why would he want to go somewhere so far away? He didn't feel
that he understood anything anymore and he didn't want to. Because if he
understood, then he had to really admit to himself that he was alone now and he
was frightened to be alone.
Not that he hadn't been almost alone the past few months as it was, with his
mother so sick. He came to her hospital room every day after school and the
nurses brought him dinner along with her. He had gotten used to sleeping all
alone in their apartment and he never told her about the nights when he was
afraid and slept with all the lights on. He didn't want to worry her, after
all, and being afraid of the dark seemed awfully childish for someone who was
nearly eight years old. It wasn't her fault that his dad had died when he was
three and that there was no one to stay with him now that she had to be in the
hospital.
Matt used to make plans for when she would come home, but he had gradually
realized that wasn't going to happen. He couldn't say exactly when or how, but
something in the way the nurses looked at and treated him, the way his teachers
talked about him when they thought he couldn't hear, let him know that his
mother was never coming home. Matt hated the pity in their glances, the worry
for him in their voices. He had been fine so far; he didn't need their pity!
He didn't know what was going to happen to him, but it seemed no one else did
either. Which was perhaps why, now that the worst had happened and his mother
had died, too, this man was here, telling him about a place for children like
him (and what did "children like him" mean anyway?) and asking if he were
willing to go. Matt wondered how he knew to be here, if he had known his mother
or another adult who knew of him somehow.
Well, it didn't really matter, did it? He looked up at him, straight in the
eyes, and said calmly, "I don't really have anywhere else to go, do I?"
The old man looked sad, but he nodded, acknowledging the truth of his
statement. Then why had he bothered asking; did he think he would be fooled by
a choice that wasn't really a choice?
Now
Near tried working without his toys for all of a week before he gave in. He
just couldn't think as well with his hands unoccupied and they would just have
to learn to deal with his eccentricities. Surely they wanted him to be at his
best, didn't they? He still noticed the occasional odd looks, but mostly the
agents seemed to be adjusting fairly well. At least they had never tried to
make him follow their dress code, though even the agents working directly under
him insisting on abiding by it themselves, despite the fact that he thought it
unnecessary and wouldn't have minded at all if they hadn't. But if it made them
more comfortable, Near supposed he didn't mind.
He didn't have complete autonomy yet, anyway. Despite the success he had
already had with cases that would have taken much longer without his help, the
director of the FBI wasn't fully convinced and nor were many of the agents.
Near sometimes wished he were able to work with them solely via computer or an
intermediary, as L had. It would be safer and it would also avoid some of the
issues brought about merely due to his age and appearance. Perhaps in another
month he would be able to make arrangements more to his liking; being
essentially smuggled into the building every morning and working from a hidden
office was getting rather old. Yet no amount of inconvenience would convince
him that these security precautions were unnecessary; he felt as though there
were a target on his back every time he went outside. There probably wasn't,
not yet, but there would be someday and he had to plan for that day now. Kira
had defeated L; he didn't dare underestimate him. There could be no mistakes.
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