It was too late to be up, but then again, it was too late for him to be asleep. He existed in some primordial witching hour between wakefulness and slumber, a place where only deep thought existed. Deep, troubling thought.
Next to him on the bed lay his… Light. Well, not his exactly, but his in the abstract sense. He didn't own Light. And yet… If it were not for Light being Kira and needing to remain under his watchful eye, even after all memories of his wrongdoings had been erased, Light would be gone. He had a family, after all, a broken family far off in Japan. A family that needed him.
Was he a monster? The thought plagued him, a parasite gnawing at the furthest depths of his consciousness, slowly eating away at his sanity.
But… Light had said that he loved him, with shining amber eyes so bright that Near knew he was being truthful. He knew it from the way Light looked at him, too; softly, with a touch of teasing in his eyes at Near's more embarrassing moments. And the way he touched him, so hesitant, like he was afraid to hurt him.
Near could still remember when Light looked in his eyes and whispered, "I'm afraid. I'm afraid that I'll hurt you. Because I've hurt so many people I love and I don't know how to stop." There were tears in his eyes then, real tears that slipped down his cheeks and pooled in his lap as Light stopped looking at him, turned his head away with his eyes brimmed with shame. And if that wasn't real, what Near had seen and touched and felt then he didn't know what was. What counted.
But… he could still be a monster. Because even if Light thought he loved him, so much so that he would do just about anything to be with him, even if he would stay if Near told him he could leave, it could still all. Be. Near's. Fault.
"Stockholm Syndrome." The words flashed, red and bold like a neon sign, behind his eyes. Because even if he loved Light and Light thought he loved him, it could still not be Light's choice. Something he was forced into, some hollow emotion. Because once the death note had been destroyed, once Light knew he was safe but also there forever, he had started to care about him. About Near.
But… He shouldn't have. By all rights, Near should have been his enemy. He had locked Light up. He had taken Light away from his family. He had made Light lose. And yet, Light still met him with that small smile. Had waited patiently for Near to visit every day,. Had bombarded Rester with questions the one day Near had felt too sick to visit, until Rester begged him to come and Near realized feeling too sick and being too sick were two very different feelings.
Because Light was his, whether Near wanted to take responsibility for that ownership or not, and what happened to him, what he had done to him, was all his fault. He had made Light dependent and craving the attention and affection that only Near could bring him, he had isolated and boxed in Light until he had nowhere else to turn and he was a monst-
"Are you still awake?" Light's soft voice, muffled by sleep, grounded him. The doubts slipped away, until Near was back sitting on the bed, raised on his elbows above his now not sleeping Light.
"Yes."
"Then go to sleep, silly. What is it, past three am? Do you really expect to get anything done tomorrow if you're feeling awful?" A hand crept to massage Near's.
"I do, actually. The human body is full of miracles."
Light sighed. His head tilted prettily, long lashes flicking as he let the breath out. "You're going to sleep. Here, put your arms around me like this, and get closer." Light's hands manipulated his so Near was clutching Light to his chest. Wriggling, Light positioned his head so it rested under Near's. "Now, doesn't this feel nice?"
"Yes. It really does." Near clutched Light tighter. "I love you. You know that, right?"
"I do, yes." Light hummed contentedly.
"But do you love me back? Really and truly?"
Light laughed. "Of course. Why else would I be in your arms?"
Near held him tighter. Light's heart beat evenly, and it felt like the truth. Near held onto it, that tiny fragment of peace, as he slipped into oblivion.