Canvas of Flowers

Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note or any of the character used within this piece.

Chapter 1: Prologue

'This was a bad idea…' Near thought to himself from where he stood on the edge of the sidewalk, his eyes fixated upon the sign hanging over his new shop; his very first tattoo parlor. He had worked so hard to get himself to this moment, and yet seeing its physicality made every part of his being reconsider all that effort.

Written in a fancy black script against a stark white background were the words, 'The Black Sheep,' positioned on the building's brick façade just above the large glass that covered nearly the entire bottom half of the building, its presence giving the old building a more approachable atmosphere.

The shop itself looked good. It wasn't a bad setup, its general location in the city was in no way awful, and if Near were perfectly honest the name itself was ironically perfect, given his circumstances, for all he had ever felt like was a black sheep in the greater scheme of this industry.

But standing there in the shadow of the product to all of those conditions… it suddenly almost felt too much to handle. If he had any less pride in himself, or perhaps arrogance, he would have immediately backed out of this deal and admitted defeat to L.

That familiar, low somber voice played through his head, "You're not ready, yet." He had told Near without hardly bothering to cast him even the slightest of glances. "You have more to learn if you want to truly carry my name and legacy behind your work."

Near had been a diligent apprentice to L, one of the best realist tattoo artists in the world, and had always made a concerted effort not to second guess the individual who had spent the last three years training him to do the same. But in this decision L had been wrong. What did it matter if Near wasn't able to recreate that same realistic style when tattooing flowers, of all things, if he was able to with every other subject matter? Why should that matter alone keep him from venturing on his own to start his own career?

It had seemed like such a negligible point back when he'd decided to leave, but standing there now… he truly did feel like a black sheep; as though somehow L had gotten the last laugh. Like always…

"Near?" His assistant, and currently the only other employee of the establishment, Rester, said with his light blue eyes trained on him.

The younger released the breath he'd been unconsciously holding tight in his lungs, savoring that pain over the consuming sensation of defeat. 'Whya flowershop?' He questioned with a small shake of his head, his gaze flicking over to the store built against his own, daring so far as to share a wall between the two premises. 'Why did it have to be a flower shop…'

He wasn't an idiot, nor was he ignorant to the unconscious subliminal effects peoples surroundings had on the decisions they made in their daily lives. By having Near's shop located immediately next to a flower show, the likelihood that people would pass by, see the blossoms, and be influenced to walk into his premises and request flowers to be incorporated into their piece was significantly increased. Theoretically this would be fine… But Near was not in the habit of agreeing to take pieces he didn't think he could complete to absolute precision.

Near called it being a perfectionist. L called it 'creating a financial stranglehold.'

Near had never been one to give much weight to religion, but the notion of karma was beginning to look pretty convincing…

"This will have to work." He finally responded to both Rester as well as himself, for of course this would have to work. He had already signed the lease for the space. "Let's set things up. I'd like to open within the next few days."

Rester nodded, seeming to pick up on the artist's tension, yet remaining silent as they both proceeded from their rooted spots on the sidewalk inside the shop.

As their location was situated relatively close to the center of the city the amount of physical space allocated was smaller than what Near had come to be used to, the area consisting of an almost entirely open floor plan for him to make use of. Though, a tall wooden counter stood parallel to the entrance with only a few feet separating the two, its presence acting as a natural barrier between what would be their waiting area and the rest of the space. By the back of the shop there was a single dividing wall at the back left side of the room, blocking off the sight of a set of stairs leading to the floor above, where a simple one bedroom apartment was to become Near's new living accommodations.

What relatively few things Near did have were all still in boxes scattered around the room, yet already the space seemed to hold a good feeling to it; something the outside seemed to lack. It was the feeling of ownership, and of possessing something that could be manipulated to his will as he saw fit, rather than living beneath L's overshadowing wing that had obscured his view of the sky. This was freedom, and he had every intention of proving that he knew how to soar.

"Let's get started." He said with a low exhale, moving to one of the unlabeled boxes awaiting his attention on the counter.

-:-

'What am I possibly going to do with all of this? It seems hardly fitting to hang everything around the space.' Near thought to himself from where he sat on the floor in the center of the shop surrounded by a chaotic organization of loose papers consisting of an array of drawings and paintings he'd collected during his time as an apprentice, the subject matter ranging from simple still lifes, portraits, and all variations between. What, if anything, was worth putting up for everyone who passed through his door to see?

'Perhaps I should organize by theme… organic life versus inorganic.' He considered as his analytical stare meticulously surveyed each piece while in the background Rester worked moving the larger furniture around to its proper position. He sat up, pushing all the pages back into one pile, ultimately deciding against hanging any of it.

Suddenly the front glass door was pulled open, sending a chiming ring throughout the quiet area from the bell that hung on the top of the door. Both sets of eyes looked up from their respective positions, coming to land upon a blonde male who looked curiously around the room.

Near's eyes immediately narrowed on him, at once painfully aware of the black clothes adorned by the blonde that popped with color by a single faded red apron, his nearly shoulder length locks of hair tamed by a matching red bandana situated on top of his head.

"I'm sorry but we're not open for business yet." Rester broke the silence, setting down the large mirror he'd only just begun moving to instead go to the front counter.

Near's fingers moved up to twirl a strand of white hair as he stood from his pile of papers to cautiously approach the unfolding scene as well; slate eyes locked upon the small, bright orange object held between the intruder's fingers.

Blue eyes shot to Rester, "I know you're not." He stated, his tone entirely confident in himself and lacking even the slightest hint of nervousness about having just knowingly entered into a closed establishment. "I'm looking for the owner."

"That would be me." Near stated, finally stepping directly up to the counter area and pausing only momentarily before proceeding through the gap to fully stand before the other.

"You?" The blonde asked incredulously, obviously taken aback by the statement as his azure eyes immediately scanned over Near's relatively plain form, clad in what was his own conventional white outfit.

He sighed with an internal roll of his eyes, knowing that this would be the first of an ongoing string of surprised responses to that statement in his establishment. Generally speaking it wasn't the first time someone had reacted in this manner to knowing he was a tattoo artist, either, and how could he blame them considering that he in no way looked like the traditional depiction of someone of his occupation. Even someone like Rester, with his older form and a few select visible tattoos displaying his old military service made him come across as a much more fitting candidate for an owner, let alone a tattoo artist.

Still, that didn't mean the general reaction didn't get old all the same.

"Is there a problem with that?" Near questioned, to all appearances seeming entirely unfazed by the scrupulous look the other had offered him.

"No, I…" The words caught in the blonde's throat. But within a second it had been swallowed down and was replaced with his hardened composure once more. "My name is Mello. I own The English Garden, the flower shop next door."

"You?" Near couldn't help let the childish retort slip, only afterwards half-heartedly chiding himself that this was no way to establish solid ground with his neighbor.

"Yes, me!" Mello said, the annoyance showing as he clearly picked up on Near's intention. "I came over to welcome you here." He continued, his tone acquiring a strained level of evenness that Near couldn't help finding particularly interesting.

Suddenly the blonde's right hand was extended, offering out the single, small orange blossom of a flower that he'd been holding, his look flicked from Near to the flower, the feeling of nervousness finally seeming to arise within his energy. "It's a Marigold." He stated. "Contrary to what they used to mean, more recently a lot of people consider them representative of a desire for success and wealth."

Near took the offered flower, gingerly holding the stem between his fingers and for a moment he contemplated telling this abrasive blonde, Mello, that he didn't need to be given a drive for success and wealth, and that he was more than capable of generating it for himself. After all, if he wasn't then there was no way he would have gotten to this point to begin with. Still, he recognized the social ineptitude such a response would show. "Thank you, Mello. I apologize for my initial rudeness, you can call me Near."

"Near. Right." Mello said quietly, as though trying the name out. "Well, look," His arms shifted from where they had hung at his sides to instead fold together over his chest defensively. "The people who owned this before you ran some sort of vintage clothing store, but they used to play music loud enough that my customers could hear it. I know what the culture is, behind you and businesses like yours."

"My culture?"

"I'm not saying you can't play music if you want to, or anything else you want to do. But be conscientious of those of us around you, alright? I have a business to run, too, and if profits go down because you decide to ignore my warning, well… let's just say there's a reason for the Marigold's old, original meaning." He concluded, his arms remaining crossed over his chest as he turned on his heels to go to the exit once more.

Near had just enough time to give the flower in his hand a quick, skeptical glance, "And that meaning is?"

Mello stopped with the glass door pushed halfway open, turning back to him. "Cruelty and grief, usually in association with death." With that he was gone, the jingling of the bell suddenly the only sound between the two remaining occupants.

Near's eyes moved back to the Marigold in his fingers, a heavy weight seeming to flow into his being through his contact with it. He turned to Rester, finding his own hesitant look watching him, waiting for him to make a judgment call, of which Near was more than willing to oblige, "I'd say that went rather well, wouldn't you?"

Rester blanched, "That's… Not quit the word I would have used."

"What would your word choice be, then?"

The older man's lip tightened into a confused line, "Abrasive, perhaps."

Near shook his head, "Not at all. It's not abrasive so much as it is passion. I can respect passion." He stated, turning to return to his pile of papers and placing the single Marigold down on the smooth wooden countertop as he passed by. Though as he lowered himself to the floor that his attention remained perfectly trained upon the flower seeming to hang over him, and the intriguing blonde that came attached to it.

Indeed, Near could respect passion, for it was something he understood down to the very marrow of his bones. He could workwith passion. And as far as Near was concerned, the way it seemed to stand now, Mello had made the first move, but if Near could play the game well enough then he could indeed prove to L that he didn't need to be cooped up in order to learn; that he could learn through his own means. He would prove that he had what it took to carry on L's name and legacy, and that fiery blonde was Near's ticket to doing so.

Suddenly The Black Sheep's location didn't quite seem so bad after all.

A/N: Welcome to the first installment of this new story! I've talked elsewhere about where the idea came from so instead allow me to merely say that I hope this first part has intrigued you as much as the general idea did for me when I stumbled across it last year. Since beginning to write this I've hardly been able to put it down, and I am so excited to write this and to share it with all of you. I know this is basically the same piece I posted on Tumblr before, but I would greatly appreciate hearing any thoughts or comments you have thus far!

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-Forbiddensoul562