Author's Note: Ta-da! This is the first Death Note story I've written that DOESN'T start out as a one shot. Still the possibility I'll be turning one of my one shots into a multi-chapter, but for now I've got a lot of other things I'm working on. I'm going to attempt to update Doppelgangers some time in the near future, and I've got at least two more stories coming out by the end of January. Hold me to that, please. I'm going as fast as I can with updates, but this semester began with a bang, and I doubt it plans on slowing down.

I hope everybody's second semester has been easy to ease into!

X

Near looked at the envelope in his hand. It was robin's egg blue, emblazoned with his name on the front in scrawling silver letters. The letters shimmered in an almost unearthly way. The envelope smelled faintly of chocolate, and he briefly imagined that it was a letter from the Hershey's factory for some unknown reason. Maybe they were requesting his help catching an evil Reese's Pieces thief. Near mused on its origins for a moment longer before deciding it couldn't possibly hold a threat. He slid his finger along the lining, ripping it open and freeing the letter from within. The familiar hand-writing, writing he had been absolutely positive he'd never see again, sent his mind into a tailspin.

Near,

I'm standing right behind you.

Near's heart beat sped up, and he turned around, wildly searching for the apparition he'd expected to see. There was nobody there, so he turned back to the piece of paper with trembling hands.

HA! Gotcha, you little twit. I really hope I'm watching when you open this letter. Honestly, I don't even have to be watching when you open this, since I know you'll be shitting your pants considering the possibility that ghosts are real.

Don't worry Near, you don't have to wrap your little albino brain around that concept. Ghosts aren't real, and I'm not a ghost. But I am still dead. I just recently figured out that I've got a means of communication with the living, and then I realized I couldn't really remember anybody from my 'breather days.' Except for you. For some reason, when I sat down at my desk in my apartment, prepared to write a letter to freak somebody out, your name resounded in my head.

But more on that later. I get the feeling this alone may be too much for you to handle in one sitting, so I'm going to wrap my ramblings up for now. I'll be in touch again soon, Near-est and dearest.

Mello

Near let out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding and folded the letter up.

Mello.

Mello was dead. He had been dead for over a year. So why the sudden contact?

Was this letter really from beyond the grave, or was it some clever ruse?

When would Mello write again?

Near had a lot to think about before that next letter.