Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note.
Can you smell it?
I can.
It smells like chocolate.
Everything smells like chocolate now. Now that Mello's dead.
But I don't miss him.
I'm too smart to miss him.
I don't miss him.
To the rest of the world, Near smelled like denial. Cold, sharp, metallic denial.
Near woke with a start, eyes fixed on the dark ceiling above him. He had been… Oh, what was it about, he thought, his face blank when most people would have been frowning. There had been color. So much color. It had been like a blinding wave, an intense, harlequin crescendo of color. It reminded him of something, but he couldn't think what.
There had been sound. So much sound. It had been like a climactic measure in a symphony, like an epic clash of notes. Like dissonance. He remembered that dissonance needed a resolution. He remembered that his resolution had been anticlimactic. He couldn't remember what his dissonance had been.
Color.
Sound.
Chocolate.
Chocolate. That's right, there had been chocolate.
He leaned over the edge of his bed, lifting something off of his nightstand. He brought it to his face, eyes closing as he inhaled its rich, mellow scent.
Mellow, he thought. It's mellow.
He dreamed of kissing chocolatesoundcolor incarnate.
The dream wasn't mellow.
It was Mello.