Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note.
There is a certain point, a certain line that people ought not to cross. A place that no one should go, because it will alter them as irreparably as war does a soldier.
Mello has found that place, has landed on that point, has crossed that line.
A wave of beautiful color, of clashing sound and crescendo, of chocolate and emotion and anger was he. He had a purpose, and that purpose was to hate Near. He remembered that he used to have another one, one that was more important than anything else, but it had all fallen away now. All he needed to do in life was hate Near and he would be set. (He needed to be number one, needed to be L, but he didn't remember that now. That was buried.)
Near was white and hollow, soundless and emotionless, colorless (by some interpretations). Near was so, so far from Mello. That might be why he hated Near so much, why he had hated him so since the moment they had met; Near's name was just so fucking contradictory. He wasn't Near to anything; he was far. He was Far from human, Far from real, Far from… anything. Far from everything.
By now, Mello has forgotten that Near is nearer to being L than anyone.
But he had failed. Mello had failed so miserably, as he sat in that church and burned. That was all he could think; that he had failed. He had failed because all he could think was that he wanted to glare (not really glare; he wanted to stare) at that white bastard one more time. One more time. He had failed because he didn't hate Near anymore. He could understand. He could empathize. (It should be noted that Mello never realized the link between love and hate, that he never realized that the two are irrefutably linked.) He had failed in his purpose, and he felt empty as he never had before.
He felt white.
He felt hollow.
He was soundless, and he was emotionless, and he was colorless. (Light can do that, you know. Pour so much illumination onto something that it becomes bleached of color entirely, merely a figure in relief, merely a shadow of hue.) He was far from Mello as he sat in that church and burned.
He was Far.
Mello had become what he hated.
Passion became apathy, anger became hollowness.
Mello became Near.