Sometimes Mello felt like an old rag doll that had been tossed into a closet and forgotten, left to feel dust collecting on his body until he got thrown into a box and put in the attic. Sometimes he felt like he would never have any real value, because he wasn't Near, and he wasn't, and would never be, smart enough. He would never be calm enough. He would never be good enough. He would never be anything but the ragdoll in the box that nobody loves, gazing enviously through a crack at the beautiful new toy that everyone wanted to play with. And Near would always be the beautiful new toy.
Sometimes Mello felt like a baby left on the doorstep on an abandoned house, always hoping that someone would answer the door but being crushed by the knowledge that nobody would ever pick him up out of his basket and love him like their own. L was supposed to open that door for Mello and take him inside and teach him all he knew, but L never came.
Sometimes Mello felt like a masterpiece an artist never had time to finish. He was ready to become something amazing, but nobody took the time to show him the way, so he would wait until he fell down off his easel and onto the floor, when someone would put him in a basement forever. Then the artist would come back and frame the painting that was Near, and he would be hailed forever as a masterpiece, while Mello would be thrown away because he's nothing but an unwanted sketch.
Sometimes Mello felt like an old coat given away because nobody ever took the time to wash him and see how beautiful he could be. He would be covered in dirt from the outside he had seen so briefly, and he would beg to be washed so he could be worn again and taken out into the world, but nobody would bother. He would be bought and worn once, but then forgotten, left to be eaten by moths in the closet and replaced by newer, nicer things as time went on.
But sometimes Mello felt like the book that was an author's crowning achievement, the book everyone wanted to borrow from the library and show to everyone they knew. When he was with Matt; Mello felt like he was being enjoyed and appreciated, with his pages being read carefully so not a single word would be lost. When he was with Matt, he felt like he was being tucked into a bag and carried around all day so that if there was ever a single moment to spare, he could be taken out and appreciated for a while. When he was with Matt, he felt like he was being opened for the second time, he was finally the book that you couldn't stop reading; he was finally the book that you couldn't let go of. He knew that although he would always be second best to most people, to Matt, there was nothing in the world that he could ever be put before him, and to Mello, that was good enough.