Memory meant little to Near outside of practicality—he filed away in his mind what he might need to recollect, and recalled it when it was rendered necessary. They had called his numerical, like L's. Mello's was more photographic. This was something that Near remembered, because it might have been useful—

He stacked them one on top of the other with precision, like blocks—

These facts:

L could speak in percentages and it had sounded like speaking in tongues; a statistician's language in a cool voice that Near could have managed from the age of three.

Mello always sounded impatient and a little bored, more at ease with giving orders than reports, but he was fairly brilliant at watching. He devoted a lot of energy to it, Near had observed dispassionately. Always seizing every image, useful or not, holding it for quite some time.

How useless.

Look at that, isn't it—

Very.

Mello's eyes were almost always hungry, but not when he watched L.

Near had never understood that.

The way he had wanted to be number one all the time, he would have thought—

Near is number one if not the first, only he doesn't care outside of practicality.

He thinks, Mello would have, and the thought brings him no satisfaction and not even the slightest hint of melancholy.

He didn't dream of this.

Dreaming is childish.

…Mello would never have asked that Near remember him; he was too proud.

--and he knew he was memorable enough.

Near keeps six pieces of useless information and leaves the rest behind; it is all he knows how to do and all he can.