He'd only gone into Mello and Matt's room to drop off Matt's laundry. Matt was in Cambridge, on an advanced technology course. Roger had seen Near was on his way upstairs and asked him to take the pile. Near had looked at Mello uncertainly, who was reading a magazine well within earshot, but he said nothing.
So Near had let himself in their room, dutifully let the pile drop onto Matt's bed, and turned to go. But then he found himself unable to. How many times had he been in here? A handful, to borrow or give something to Matt, to deliver a message from Roger. Never alone. Mello would kill him, if he lingered.
He looked at the messier side of the room, scattered with CDs and jewellery and shiny, foreign looking things to Near. He found himself treading carefully over the CDs on the floor, and fingered the jewellery and books on his shelves. He even opened the closet and stroked the black clothes, breathing in the leather.
He must have lost track of the time, for the next thing he knew, he heard footsteps in the corridor. He froze where he was. He knew those footsteps. He dropped to his knees and crawled into the closet, pulling it closed just in time.
He could just see Mello through the slats. He looked displeased, as usual. He chucked his magazine towards the bin, not seeming to care that he missed. Near's heart beat so hard that he was sure Mello would hear it. He prayed Mello wouldn't need anything from the closet. He was so nervous, he didn't notice anything strange at first about Mello pushed his bedside table against the door, effectively locking it.
Near watched him with interest. He was in front of his mirror now, going through his drawers. He very nearly stopped breathing as Mello found what he was looking for. Lipstick. Mello wore eyeliner sometimes, just a little, when he was going out, but never anything more. Mello applied it now with obvious ease. It looked almost natural, like it was made for him. Then he moved on to eyeliner. Near's mouth was hanging open, and his heart had doubled in size. Mello was stunning.
The older teen stared at himself for a few more moments, then sighed, extracted a packet of wipes and began to scrub himself clean.
Near sat back a little. He was so lost in thought that he didn't even realise what was happening until Mello opened the door. They stared at each other almost comically for a second. Then Mello's eyes darkened and Near tried to make a run for it. Mello hauled him back by his shirt and slammed him against the wall.
"What the fuck are you doing in my room?" he hissed.
"I was dropping off Matt's laundry," he stammered.
"In my closet?" he said contemptuously. "You obviously wanted to spy- " his eyes widened then, as he realised what Near had seen.
He put his whole arm into the blow, and sent Near halfway across the room.
Near tried to talk, but Mello kicked him in the stomach. Then he did it again, and again, and Near doubled up in pain. He hung onto himself and bit through his lip to keep from crying out. Mello himself, for all his fury, managed to keep the volume down. Though he knew it was frustration rather than actual malice, Near sensed it was only the effort of this that was keeping Mello from actually knocking him out.
When it finally seemed to cease, Near opened his eyes, unmoving, thinking Mello might just be catching his breath. He prayed he wouldn't vomit. He saw a rapidly expanding pool of blood on the carpet, realised it was coming from himself. When he held a hand to his face, and it was covered in red almost instantly.
"Fuck," he heard Mello say, somewhere above him.
He flinched back as Mello dropped to his knees. He pulled Near's hand away from his face and swore again. "Fuck. Near? Are you all right?"
He tugged him up into a sitting position and started mopping at him with whatever he could get his hands on; clothes, the wipes he'd been using a minute ago, a scarf that looked like it could be Matt's. Near couldn't help it; he began to cry.
Mello hauled him into his lap and let him, cleaning him more carefully, being so gentle with him that it was almost worth it.
He was practically hyperventilating. It scared him but he didn't know how to stop.
Mello started rubbing his back soothingly, and Near forced himself to try and breathe with the motion of his hand, closing his eyes and leaning into him.
"Fuck," Mello said, stroking his hair. He drew Near back and held him at arms' length. He looked really scared. "You look like one of those kids from the NSPCC ads," he said. "Are you OK?"
Near nodded. How could he not nod?
Then Mello actually hugged him. Near could feel him trembling. "Sorry, sheep." Near closed his eyes. He wished he could just sleep here, despite the pain, avoid Roger and dinner and everything that was coming.
"What were you doing in there?" Mello said now, wearily, and Near kept his head down.
"I got scared when I heard you," he mumbled.
"Before then, I mean. It doesn't take 15 minutes to drop off some laundry."
Near pressed his face into Mello's shirt, forgetting about the blood, and didn't say anything.
Mello sighed. He moved Near from his lap and started going through his closet, discarding his bloody shirt over his shirt. Near watched the muscles in his back, momentarily forgetting his pain. Mello donned another shirt at random and went to the door, shoving the bedside table out of the way. He didn't bother with the mess of cloths and blood surrounding Near. "Come on," he said.
Near didn't move.
Mello sighed impatiently, strode over and tugged Near up by his arm. "Have you looked in the mirror? You might need stitches. It's not like I can get away with this."
"It was my fault," Near kept saying indistinctly, but neither Roger or Mello took any notice of him. he knew it would be useless; Mello had been given warnings about bullying Near before.
Roger dismissed Near after pulling him into the light and examining him gently.
"It was my fault," he said again.
Somewhere behind him, Mello sighed. "Yeah, he provoked me. But I went too far, obviously."
Roger just guided Near to the door. "We'll talk later," he said, firmly.
Near skipped dinner. Everyone would stare and whisper, and his jaw hurt. He also didn't trust his churning stomach to hold food. He took one of his robots and went to bed, although the sunlight through the curtains made him too hot. He refused the sandwiches Roger brought him, and to tell him what happened.
"Mello won't be kicked out, will he?"
"This is more serious than fighting, Near," was all he said. "Mello's older and stronger than you. Even if you provoked him, he should know better."
Around midnight, he was still worrying, unable to solve the puzzle, until finally he couldn't stand it any more and kicked off the covers. He knew he was pushing it, but considering the circumstances, Mello wouldn't hurt him, would at worst shut the door in his face. Near could live with that. He padded downstairs to Mello's room in his slippers, robot under his arm out of habit.
Mello's lamp was off, but rock music was playing faintly through the door. He knocked, and waited. The music was turned off and a light appeared under the door. Mello opened the door halfway, and didn't move aside when he saw who it was. "What?" he said warily.
"Do you have a paracetamol?" He'd thought of this hours ago.
"Ask Roger."
"I don't want him to worry."
Mello sighed, but pulled him inside.
Near was relieved to see the floor had been cleaned up, and there was no sign of his blood anywhere, except for a faint wet patch on the carpet.
"Your head hurts?" Mello asked him, breaking into his thoughts. He was digging around in his closet for something.
"My stomach."
"Paracetamol's for your head, you idiot." He pulled out an old fluffy dressing gown, and to Near's delight, wrapped him up in it and deposited him on his bed. "Wait here."
Near burrowed himself into the pillows more firmly, looking all around. His eyes landed on the drawer were Mello kept his make-up, and he had to look away, feeling sick with guilt.
Mello came back with not paracetamol but a hot water bottle and a steaming cup. Hot water with lemon and honey. Mello must have known he didn't like milk. "It's got Calpol in it," Mello told him. "That's for your stomach." Near sipped it happily and hung on to the hot water bottle. Mello got into bed beside him, turned the radio back on and ignored him completely. He lay on his back with his hands behind his head and his eyes closed.
Near kept quiet for as long as he could.
"Are you in trouble?" he asked, when the guitars finally gave way to adverts.
Mello snorted. "Obviously."
"How much?"
"I have to see someone," he said, and he actually laughed. "A therapist," he clarified, when Near just looked at him. "For anger management."
"That's not fair."
"I thought it was pretty decent, actually."
"But people are always fighting here."
"That's not a good thing," he retorted. "And anyway, it wasn't fighting, Near. You're 12, and you're about the size of an eight year old girl."
An ironic insult, considering the circumstances, but Near decided not to point this out. "I didn't tell anyone," he said instead.
"I don't care if you do," Mello said, with contempt. "I've got nothing to be ashamed of. I just – I just got so mad because you're…you're always pushing me, and I'm sick of it."
Near absorbed this in silence. "I'm not," he said eventually. "I wasn't. I mean, I don't mean to."
Mello snorted, but he said nothing. He avoided Near's eye. It was easy to forget that, despite all his infuriating accomplishments, Near was just a little boy. They didn't speak again.
A little later, the music went off and Mello was shaking him.
"Do you want to go back to bed?"
"No."
"I'll carry you."
"No."
He almost growled in frustration. In normal circumstances, he would have shoved Near out without a second thought. What was he saying. In normal circumstances, Near wouldn't set one foot in his room, let alone his bed.
Eventually, he settled for picking Near up and putting him in Matt's bed. He whined a bit, but then he rolled over and went back to sleep. Mello, on the other hand, thinking not for the first time of Beyond Birthday and his temper, barely slept at all.
The next morning, Mello slept late. Near crept out of his room and hoped everything would be back to normal, even if it meant Mello ignoring him. It wasn't until after breakfast that he realised he had left his robot in Mello's room. He sat frozen over his cereal. Matt wouldn't be back for another night. He didn't dare creep up there without permission. He tried to remember whether he'd taken it into Matt's bed with him or not. Matt would only be away another night. He could wait and ask then. But how could he explain a robot being in his bed? Or Mello's, for that matter.
He was puzzling this out in his head when Mello stalked over, seething, and dropped the robot in question in Near's lap.
"This nearly took my eye out, you little brat."
Near held it reverently, straightening one of the arms.
Mello left him with it, shaking his head in exasperation. He didn't even slap him.
"Yo. Sheep."
Near went very still. Mello hadn't spoken to him for several days, since it happened. His bruises were healing up, and he had been keeping out of Mello's way.
"Apparently I have to make amends with you. Buy you a robot, or something. So do you want to, like, pick one from a catalogue, or do I have to take you somewhere?"
Near looked up at him timidly. He seemed completely serious. "I don't really want anything," he said, when Mello began to look impatient.
"Well, just pick something, will you? Or I'll get into trouble." He stalked away.
Near looked down at his current favourite robot. L actually made them for him, but he didn't think telling Mello this would go down very well. He pondered the situation. It was a chance to spend time with Mello, at least, if he played it right. He could ask Mello to take him to the cinema. He didn't like films, but he knew Mello went with Matt sometimes, and he wouldn't have to talk to Near much, so maybe it could work.
He wished L was here. He hated L, simply because L was the reason Mello hated him, but L was slightly better with people than Near was, and had good ideas. Plus, he got on well with Mello and knew him better.
Near was almost considering breaking into Roger's office to dig up L's number, when it came to him. He waited until next weekend, when Matt was in Cambridge again, to approach Mello with his idea. He took a robot for his nerves, and found Mello lounging on his bed with a magazine. He climbed onto the end of the bed. He'd become bolder with Mello lately, seeing as he couldn't do a thing about it but glare.
"I was thinking," he said, perched on the end of his bed. "I don't want to go to the cinema any more?"
"Oh?" Mello looked annoyed, but he always looked annoyed, so Near was unphased. He double checked he'd shut the door behind him.
"I want you to put make up on me."
There was a little silence. Mello's eyes darkened so suddenly they practically changed colour. Near was beginning to regret his position, realising that the first thing to hit the floor would be his skull.
"Are you taking the piss?" he said at last.
"No." Near somehow scrambled off the bed and backed up to the door. "I just wanted to see how it looked," he stammered. He felt himself growing hot. "I'd do it myself, but I'd mess it up. You looked – good."
Mello was just sitting there watching him, unmoving, like a snake. Near began to feel behind him for the door handle.
"Put something against the door."
Near's eyes went very wide.
Mello stood and went through one of his drawers. He looked over his shoulder at Near, who hadn't moved. "Now, Near."
He jumped and dragged the bedside table over to the door, the way Mello had.
"If there's a fire, we'll just have to burn and die," he drawled. "Come here."
Mello pushed him into his desk chair and handed him a folded back magazine. "You look kind of like him," he said, tapping a photo of a blonde guitarist, made up with dark eyeliner and pale pink lips. The whole band were made up and looked not quite feminine, not quite masculine. They looked wonderful. "I'll give it a go. I've never done it to someone else before, though. It might just look like shit."
Near held his breath as Mello's deft fingers worked on him. He was so scared, he almost wished he hadn't suggested it. He counted the seconds of the clock on the bedside table. He heard the boiler switch itself on, and someone called Roger from the garden. After a while, however, he began to relax and enjoy the experience. Being so close to Mello, he almost had to fight back a little shiver of pleasure.
"Done." Mello eventually drew back. Near could tell he was pleased. He looked into the mirror while Mello began to put things away. Oh. He looked so different. He was thrilled. He could have sat there looking at himself for hours. After laughing at the expression on his face, Mello dropped something into his lap, and he looked down; facial wipes. "Take it off."
He wiped it all off regretfully, looking much younger again, much less interesting. He caught Mello's eye in the mirror.
"Does Matt know?"
He snorted in reply.
Nnear fingered one of the eye liners. "Do you go out like this?" he asked, a little shyly.
"Yep. After your bedtime." He dropped onto the bed again with his magazine and crossed his legs. Then met Near's adoring stare and looked uncomfortable. "Beat it."
Near sighed, made a show of how much effort it took to push the bedside table back. Mello took no notice of him. He turned a page in his magazine.
"Oh, and Near?"
He'd been taking one last forlorn look at his reflection, and now turned to Mello hopefully.
"This is a one off. I'm not your fucking stylist."
"OK." He was getting used to Mello swearing when he was uncomfortable. "Thank you, Mello."
He grunted in response.
"Can I keep the magazine?"
Mello hesitated, and just as Near thought he would say no, he leaned over to pick it up from the desk, chucked it at Near. Near picked it up and darted out of the room before he could change his mind. It was only once he was back in his room that he realised he had forgotten his robot again.