Hey Everyone!

I took a break from my Kingdom Hearts fics to play with Death Note for a while! Sorry if this disappoints anyone, but I really love this pairing a LOT.

Pairing: Mello x Near

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, nor am I making any money off this. I just want to play with them.

PASSING CIRCUMSTANCE:

Near had once heard that time heals all wounds, and for someone who barely felt his own injuries, he'd pretty much always found that cliché to be true. Each disappointment, each failure (yes, he failed, despite what others might say), each momentary lapse in his perfect control, every baseless fear; all these things were easily healed by a few months, a few years. Before he knew the time had passed he was well over the situation, finding himself thrown into some other problem or puzzle that needed his attention. The perfect medicine for someone who was so pathetically inept at dealing with his own admittedly underdeveloped emotions.

And yet there were some things that seemed to only scab over, thin and easily pulled off by some present concern, seemingly immune to the idea that time should have surely healed such a trifle. Leaving Near to ponder the inconsistency and inwardly despise it.

When he had been dropped off at the Wammy House as a child, Near had brought very little with him other than a few meager possessions and the scars that he would carry for the rest of his life, never acknowledging those demons again. One item in particular had been his favorite, the one thing he'd grabbed as he'd run for his life and into the darkness, clinging to it in the middle of the night as he shivered against the cold, even as he watched his young life go up in flames. It was a small stuffed sheep, fluffy and barely white, that he curled himself around as he tried desperately not to cry that first night at the orphanage, even though he wasn't sure why he was doing so. What harm was there in crying anyway?

"What's that?" he'd heard from the bed on the other side of the room, his tiny head popping up over the wooly sheep, the two nearly blending together until it was hard to tell where the sheep ended and Near's snowy hair began. A pair of dark eyes glared at him, rather accusingly, as they waited for the answer, his thin arms crossed over his chest. At first the younger child was confused…was this other boy talking to him? Though when the blonde head was cocked to the side, the angular face screwed up in annoyance (though why he was annoyed was beyond Near), Near knew that he was being spoken to.

"Have you lost your tongue? Say something!"

"What do you want me to say?" Near said, his voice flat, burying his nose back behind the stuffed animal and attempting to sleep. He was…bothered by this young man, could feel a rising heat in his chest that he immediately pushed down. "It's a stuffed animal."

The rustling of sheets and the hard footsteps of someone losing their temper wasn't enough to make him look up, nor was the obvious breathing that was quickly coming closer. He only looked up when he felt a hand on top of his head, not necessarily hurting him, but obviously not meant for comfort. The face that looked at him was…interesting. There was no other words for it. Not necessarily ugly, not beautiful, not anything…just interesting. Near found himself unable to stop looking, his own face emotionless and cold in response to this newcomer. Apparently that made him angrier, because the fingers that had been merely sitting on his hair dug in, holding Near's head motionless.

"You could at least introduce yourself," he huffed, his eyes narrowing. "I'm Mello…well…that's not my real name…but I'm not telling you that."

"I didn't ask," Near replied, shrugging Mello's fingers out of his hair and turning over, giving the blonde his back. "They told me I'm Near."

For a few moments they both sat in silence, Near still feeling the blonde standing over him for what seemed like a solid five minutes as he intentionally kept his breathing even and flat. Finally Mello turned (loudly…everything he did was loud ) and went back to his own bed, the rustling of sheets filling the room until the older boy found a comfortable position to sleep in. A held breath was exhaled, one that Near hadn't known he was holding, and he cuddled into the fluffy white sheep once again, determined to fall asleep.

Time passed slowly at the Wammy House, and unfortunately, like so many other things in life, the small fluffy sheep that had been his favorite possession as a child one day vanished without a trace. Though Near (and just about every adult in the entire orphanage) searched for it, they had come up empty handed, leaving the small boy a little sad, but with a pile of brand new things to play with in an attempt to make him feel better about the situation.

Only time had really made him forget about it, pushing the memory of childhood toys and bleak, sad nights in his bed into the back of his mind as the clock pushed ever onward. From time to time however, no matter how silly it was, he still wondered what had become of that stuffed creature, not liking the sensation of not knowing something. He hated things left undone, unfinished, unsorted…it went outside his safety box, though he didn't like admitting that's what it was. He preferred to think of it as order and logic, and whatever made him feel most secure was exactly how he would classify it.

Order and logic were of little use however years later as Near sat on his clean white bed, the soft sound of rain gently hitting the window to his left and rolling down the glass in endless rivers. Without thinking he stood up, walking over to it and putting his fingertips against the cool surface, feeling a shiver move down his back. Squinting, his face fell, bottom lip jutting out (thank god no one could see that) as he watched a lonely figure walking through the gates of the institution, the bars closing back behind him…leaving…forever it seemed. It was as lonely to watch that departure as it was to look over at the bed on the opposite side of the room, just as empty…just as quiet.

Since when was it ever quiet in their room?

When he couldn't see Mello anymore he slowly tore himself away from the window like a reluctant lover, making his way over to the bedroom door where he paused for a moment. The lock turned easily in between his fingertips as he pressed his palm against the wood, feeling almost guilty as he knew that there was a rule about "no locked doors" in the orphanage. However, he didn't think anyone was going to be bothering him tonight…and he just didn't feel like explaining himself on the odd chance that anyone should come to offer him comfort. He had no reason to explain anything, and he had no patience for empty and shallow gestures.

"Mello," he said softly, his fingers brushing over the smooth footboard of his rival's bed, memorizing the way it felt because he knew that the bed would soon be gone. Near would be alone in this room now, left to his own devices as he apparently became the successor of L, allowed the privacy and space that he almost always preferred. Except now. Right now, though he struggled against the feeling, he wished for nothing more than the normal sounds of the night. Mello rummaging around in the bathroom, taking his clothes off as he walked and letting them fall wherever they might land, the inevitable tossing and turning and punching of pillows as he attempted to get comfortable enough to sleep.

But there was none of that…it was silent. Near would find no rest tonight.

Frustrated at himself, though not showing it, he sat down on Mello's bed and pulled his knees up to his chest, staring blankly at the wall as his fingers found their way into his own hair. The blonde had never once made his bed, and so the sheets were still strewn around, the pillows bore the indentation of his head and there were chocolate wrappers littered about the legs of the bed frame. So damn disorganized…so very, very Mello. It had often been a source of confusion for Near (and thus a source of annoyance) as to why he even I cared /I so much about Mello's odd, messy habits. But he did, even if no one knew that.

Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he saw something poking from under the fussed-with pillow as though it was put there on purpose for him to find. Mello rarely did anything without some kind of purpose, even if his emotions might get in the way of his true objective, and so Near reached down to grab it, laying down on the bed in the process. His dark eyes widened as he blinked…a picture…a picture of Mello. It wasn't anything spectacular, just one of the yearly pictures that they always took at the institution, but the significance of it was not the actual photograph.

It was that Mello had left it behind, for reasons that Near could only guess at.

Near brought the picture close to his face, looking at it intensely before rolling over, pushing his face into Mello's pillow. The entire bed smelled of the older boy, a strange mix of sweet and musk, like sitting outside in the mud after a hard rain while licking a lollipop. Without thinking the white-haired boy found his body curling around Mello's pillow, the picture clutched firmly in his fingers as he struggled with himself to keep up the walls that had taken a lifetime to build. He wouldn't allow this to hurt for long, wouldn't allow himself to feel anything other than a vague sense of loss, a small sting instead of the gaping wound that he probably should have been feeling. It would be over, out of his heart by tomorrow when he walked out of his room and back into the orphanage to become L's successor.

But that didn't mean it didn't hurt right now…

"Mello …"

"Near."

This hurt too, hearing those footsteps that he'd never thought he'd hear again walking away from him, having come back only for that damnable photograph. It had hurt like hell to know that Mello was there, pointing that weapon at him, knowing how much the blonde desperately wanted to pull the trigger. It all hurt, but not as much as it should have. In the end his sense of self-preservation just wasn't high enough, he didn't value himself enough, didn't care enough about tomorrow, the day after that.

After the door shut, a resounding sound echoing through the room like a bell, it was the last he thought he'd ever hear from Mello. Days went by and he put it out of his mind, concentrated on the Kira case, poured every ounce of his attention and spirit into defeating the person who had killed someone he admired and adored. So it was with no small amount of surprise that Rester brought him a small grey envelope, a glob of white wax holding it together with a "M" pressed into it. Mello always had a flair for the dramatic and an odd ability to throw Near off balance.

"Should we have it checked? Perhaps there's something in it," Rester said, his voice worried. Near merely shook his head, reaching out for the letter; a silent order that he expected to see followed.

He grinned slightly as he cracked the seal of the envelope, pulling out a small piece of folded paper and running it between his fingers. When he finally opened it his eyes widened a bit cocking his head to the side as he read the gentle curving lines of Mello's handwriting. Such girly handwriting…Mello would probably get angry if Near mentioned it…he'd have to remember to do so.

Near,

Meet me at the Mandarin Oriental at 7 for drinks. Come alone. I have something I want to give you. And for the love of God get out of those pajamas! They have a dress code…

M

At first Near didn't quite know what to make of it, reading it two or three times just to be sure that he'd gotten it right. Mello and he had never been friends, never been the sort of people who would go out together and have drinks like old school-chums. So to say that this letter was suspicious was something of an understatement…and yet…he was intrigued. What could Mello possibly have to give him other than frustration? Lowering the note, he glanced over at Lester and took a deep breath. It wasn't any of their concern what he did or who he went to see, and he was an adult so he could do as he pleased without asking permission. So why then, did he feel so nervous? Looking down at the note in his hands, he slowly began to understand the nervous reaction, though that didn't make him feel any better about it.

"Commander Rester," he said suddenly, standing up and looking over at the clock on one of the computer screens. Five-Thirty. He didn't have much time. "I will be leaving this evening with Giovanni as my driver. Please don't follow me where I'm going."

"But!"

Near's eyes narrowed, the barest hints of some hidden temper. "Do not make me repeat myself. Thank you."

Forty-five minutes later he was standing in front of a mirror looking absolutely ridiculous as he studied himself with a wary eye. He didn't feel very comfortable, and once again he was struck with the curiosity of why people forced themselves to wear these sorts of things. The white pants that clung to his legs and billowed out a bit at the knee were constraining at best, the black London Fog coat that went to his thigh wasn't too bad though, appealing even…but he still felt uncomfortable. The only things about getting dressed he didn't mind were the soft white shoes with the clunky soles that he'd had for years.

It wasn't until he was in the car, Giovanni looking back at him in the rear-view mirror with a curious stare, that he realized he'd forgotten to brush his hair. Sighing inwardly, he pulled his leg up (with effort, since the pants really didn't allow for this kind of movement) and played with his hair, trying to think of what Mello might want. Whatever it happened to be, it probably wasn't worth exposing himself in public, but Near was curious nonetheless. Curious enough to go outside his safety box, curious enough to dress himself differently than normal, curious enough to put aside his better judgment…at least for a few hours.

"You're sure you'll be all right?" Giovanni asked him as he stepped out of the car, looking up at the curved glitter of the Time Warner building that the hotel was inside, shivering slightly at the feel of a cold breath of air that blew his hair back from his face gently. He glanced back at Giovanni only once, nodding slowly, and then walked into the building.

Mello had always been one to appreciate opulence, and this hotel was certainly no different from what Near had been expecting. From the floor to the ceiling, the entire place screamed expensive, gaudy, and all together much more than the younger man was accustomed to dealing with. Though he could have anything his heart desired (within reason), he was usually content with his toys and a few select things he preferred. Mello…Mello had never been like that. He wanted to be number one with everything that came with it.

Pausing in the doorway to the bar, he was stopped by a man in a suit who gave him a very appraising look up and down. It was the sort of look intended to make him think twice about coming in or make him feel inferior…and it wasn't working. He'd had people look at him like that before, and he was just as unimpressed with the performance this time as he was every other time. Without saying anything he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his fake ID, the one he'd had the foresight to remember before leaving headquarters, and handed it to the man.

With that he walked away, only slightly amused at the bartender's expression (what…didn't Near look twenty-one?), as he looked around, concerned when he didn't see the older boy anywhere. Where was Mello? For a moment Near became a little nervous, hoping that he hadn't come all this way for nothing, though not putting it past the volatile blonde to stand him up. He was just wandering by a darkened booth, all leather and expensive wooden tables with pressed nickel tops, when he felt his wrist covered up in someone's grasp, making his dark eyes snap towards the source of the personal intrusion.

"Mello," he said, his voice flatter than he was actually feeling, his face giving away nothing. What to say now? It wasn't as though he could use niceties like normal people did, it wasn't as though he could just say "well, Mello, it's nice to see you" or something ridiculous like that. Though if he were being more honest with himself, he would have been able to admit that he really was kind of glad to see him. Glad that he wasn't dead, glad that he didn't appear to be too worse for wear.

Of course…that would require him to admit some things that he wasn't ready to admit yet. Probably never.

"Near," Mello countered, sliding back into the booth, his leather pants hissing along the less soft leather of the seat. "Are you going to sit down or keep attracting attention like a dumbstruck idiot?"

It was only then that Near realized that he'd been standing around looking like a fool, quickly sliding into the booth, his eyes focusing on the table in front of him. He felt at a distinct disadvantage out here in public, attempting to use what small social skills he possessed to help him manage the situation. Eventually he found himself looking up, blinking a few times as though he couldn't possibly be seeing what he was seeing.

Mello was dressed rather normally (as normal as so much leather could possibly be), though instead of just the leather vest he normally wore, there were long black sleeves underneath, frayed at the ends and trailing over his hands a bit. Those hands were devoid of gloves, the fingernails painted as they held a tall martini glass between them. Near struggled to keep his eyes neutral as Mello looked at him over the edge of the glass, hair falling over one eye as his tongue came out to lick at the rim, coming away with chocolate syrup and then retreating back into the blonde's mouth.

Chocolate martini…how very Mello…

He leaned back, one arm leaned against the booth, spreading his legs as he slinked downward to get comfortable, all predatory grace and lean muscle. Didn't the man ever sit with his legs closed? In the end though it didn't matter, as Near's eyes were hopelessly drawn to the glass in Mello's hands, brought up to his lips again. Glancing back down at the table, Near tried to think of something other than what he knew was going on five feet away. How could such a simple action cause him to become so flustered? Is that what he was feeling? He wasn't sure…it didn't happen that often…if at all.

"Aren't you going to get something to drink?" Mello said, his voice quiet, non-threatening. "It's going to look suspicious if you don't at least pretend to get something."

"This is a suspicious situation regardless of what I do Mello," Near answered, motioning his finger to the attendant who walked over and looked down at him, glancing over at Mello in a wary way. Mello merely looked at them, his hair falling over the new scars in what Near assumed was a non-conscious effort on Mello's part to hide them. Near was about to speak when the blonde intervened, waving an airy hand in the younger man's direction.

"He wants a rum rollover," Mello said, sipping at his own drink again, dipping his tongue down further and moving the hunk of chocolate that sat near the bottom. "But go easy on him…he's a lightweight."

When the waiter had brought the drink, Near looked down at the concoction and brought it to his lips, all the while Mello smirked from the opposite side of the table. Coconut…mixed with something he couldn't identify…mixed with pineapple…not all together displeasing.

"Mello," he said finally, licking a bit of the coconut milk off his lips. "I assume you didn't ask me here to get me drunk."

"Couldn't I just want to see you?" Mello answered, sitting up straight for the moment and leaning onto his elbows a bit, his hands folded in front of him, the epitome of polite behavior. "It's not uncommon for people who grew up together to want to see each other."

"It would surprise me if that were the case," Near answered, looking down at the table. He found that all he wanted to do was fidget under Mello's intent gaze, wished he'd brought one of his gundams with him to keep his hands occupied in the face of more personal conversation than he usually had in a week. He was woefully inadequate at this, terribly uncomfortable, didn't have the slightest clue of what to say. He'd been trained to be logical and calm, to assess a situation and predict an outcome. Social situations with emotion involved never tended to end exactly as planned, and were almost impossible to predict. He loathed that, despised the inconsistency, wanted to put the pieces together but couldn't…

And why was Mello scooting across the seat to sit next to him?

"You suck at small talk, has anyone ever told you that?" Mello said, putting his chin in his hand, sipping at the martini again with the other, his tongue lapping at the syrup. "Here."

With that Mello reached down into the bag that Near hadn't noticed was sitting beneath the table and drew out a small box, placing it in front of the two of them with a small smirk. Near cocked his head to the side, glancing sideways at Mello who was contentedly reclining next to him, obviously waiting for a reaction. Mello loved to see Near react (even a small amount); it seemed to have been a hobby for the older boy when they'd both been at the Wammy House. Near wondered slightly at Mello's demeanor, the stance of someone who was perfectly at ease with themselves, even though Near knew that to be a falsehood (Mello's ever-present inferiority complex more than proved that). The other man never seemed to be even slightly out of his element, though Near would have been hard pressed to say Mello was always relaxed…because he wasn't. But he was never afraid, or at least didn't appear to be.

Near was…often afraid. Of a lot.

The box that Mello had placed in front of Near was nothing extraordinary, no brightly colored paper, nothing to mark it as exceptional other than the fact that it was there and Mello was the one who had given it to him. At first he almost wondered if it held some kind of explosive, then tossed that idea aside as being unfounded and turned to look at the blonde who was just now finishing off his drink, lifting the hunk of chocolate out of the bottom of the glass and pushing it between his lips. The way the confection smeared across Mello's mouth, the tongue darting out to catch the mess, set off reactions in Near's stomach that he hadn't been aware existed. It hadn't been this bad before…why now, when he didn't think he had the capacity to do anything about it, was his body betraying him like this?

"What's in it?"

Mello's eyebrow raised, followed by a short laugh as he shook his head, blonde hair flying in every direction, finally settling back into place (though it would never be quite like the old pageboy that he used to wear) . Near's eyes narrowed for a brief moment, not understanding what was so amusing and finding he was annoyed by the lack of knowledge. This was why he avoided social contact as much as possible, kept himself locked behind a shield of ice, always remained introverted and quietly inept. And yet, somewhere inside, he knew that he yearned for things like this. Sitting with a friend over drinks talking about old times…normal things…

"Anthrax," Mello said, raising both eyebrows as he struggled to keep a straight face. Finally he rolled his eyes and gave an exasperated sigh, giving Near a very annoyed stare. "If you want to know, open the box. I'm not telling you shit."

"It's not my birthday," Near murmured quietly, slowly removing the top to the box and looking down at its contents. For a few seconds he wasn't quite sure what he was looking at, a pile of white fluff in a box with no real discernable clues as to its origins or shape, until finally his memory clicked into place and he reached down, pulling the fluffy animal out of its confinement. "You…," he ran his fingers over the button eyes of the sheep, soft memories of childhood comfort and loss rubbing at him like warm cotton.

"You stole this…you stole this from me when we were kids…" he clutched the sheep to his body, staring accusingly at Mello, who had the decency to look at least a little embarrassed at the situation. "Why on Earth are you giving it back to me now?"

Mello scooted backwards, giving Near a little more space, though not retreating all the way to his own side of the table. Minutes went by and they sat in silence, Near waiting somewhat patiently for the answer while Mello apparently tried to think of the right thing to say. The younger man had always found Mello's 'thinking face' to be very amusing, a very intent look that just stared off into space as though he could see nothing else in the entire world other than the inside of his own head.

Near had often wondered if he had a similar face, though he sort of doubted it. That face was all Mello…

"Well," Mello said finally, drawing Near's attention again with the softness of his voice. The older boy's voice was rarely soft; it made Near instantly wary. "You gave me back my picture, and I thought I sort of owed you…I guess…"

"You already gave me information Mello, that was more than enough," Near replied, pausing and studying the man sitting next to him. There was more to this gesture than Mello was admitting to, but that was all right. Near would have been hard-pressed indeed to admit how much he really hadn't wanted to give back that photograph…a little piece of Mello that he'd kept all this time. So he didn't begrudge the blonde his secrets, only wished that they both were a little more honest and a little less cowardly.

Finally, after the silence began to stretch again, Near spoke…saying something he probably would regret, knowing that he couldn't take it back. And yet he wanted to say it anyway, to watch Mello's response, to get some kind of answer for a question that had plagued and haunted him since he'd watched Mello walk away from the orphanage years ago. And yet the words were like syrup in between his lips, heavy and hard to spit out. Afraid…he was afraid…

"Mello," he began, his intensity causing him to scoot a few inches closer to the taller boy. "Why did you leave your picture behind that night?"

Mello started to protest, his mouth falling open with automatic denials, his eyes darting in multiple directions, but Near put his hand up to silence him.

"Please don't insult me by saying you didn't leave it behind on purpose. You're not stupid Mello and neither am I. I know you meant for me to find it. Why?"

Near kept his gaze transfixed on the blonde, watching the blue eyes close as he seemed to struggle with himself. Was it really so hard to tell the truth? Was it really so life-altering, spirit-shattering that it had to be agonized over? A myriad of emotions played across Mello's sharp features, the cheek twitching in agitation (or what Near assumed was agitation), finally settling on some measure of peace. For a breathless moment it seemed that Mello was going to ignore him, get up and leave, until finally…he spoke.

"Is it so odd to want to leave a piece of yourself behind?" he said, cocking his head to the side, looking slightly sad. "I mean…was it so wrong to want you to remember me?"

The younger man found himself taken aback, feeling his fingers dig into the small stuffed animal in his grasp for comfort, not knowing how to react. In the end, he didn't react much at all, merely blinking, not able to come up with a response anywhere fast enough for what he'd just been told. He had to keep reminding himself that this was Mello, the same Mello who hated him, loathed him, would have done anything to beat him. The same boy who had tormented him as a child, taunted him, and yet…there had been times…

"I think you left an indelible impression upon me, regardless of what pieces you chose to leave behind as a memento," Near replied softly, hand reaching up to twirl his hair between two pale fingers, not able to look at the person sitting next to him. Slowly he began to hear the swishing of leather against leather again, his eyes locked on the seat in front of him until a pair of leather pants invaded his vision.

"Why are you so close?" Near questioned softly, scooting backwards again. "I don't like people being so close…"

"Because I feel like it," Mello replied with a laugh, leaning down to try to look Near in the face, which he deftly avoided. Mello weaved in and out of his vision like a cobra, Near managing to keep their eyes from meeting only through a good deal of effort, like some kind of mouse too afraid move, to breath. Mello was, unfortunately, one of the most persistent people Near had ever met. "Why…does it bother you?"

"Yes," Near said, momentary anger making him raise his eyes and look at Mello who was now only a few inches away. "It does."

"Good."

"Good." Near said, his voice giving away only the slightest hint of annoyance, a thread of indignation. "Good?"

"Yes," Mello repeated, pulling his knee up to his chest with no effort (even in those tight leather pants). "You need more people to bother you. You're frigid…thaw out."

Each word, for reasons that Near couldn't identify, stung like hot water on his skin after being out in the cold for hours. Biting and scratching at him even as he struggled to put a patch on each one in successive order. He wouldn't allow Mello to mold him this way, make Near react in any way that was outside his normal behavior. It was weak, and Near didn't like the thought of being used…

"You never asked me why I stole the doll," Mello said suddenly, as if he'd come to some kind of conclusion in his head and now wanted to get it out into the open. Near looked down at the sheep in his hands, pursing his lips slightly and then looking at Mello curiously (he was still too close, it was making Near start to worry that he'd begin to shake). It was true though, he hadn't asked why Mello had stolen the soft, fluffy creature in his hands.

"So…why did you steal it?"

Mello smiled, leaning forward until their noses were within inches of touching one another, Near's heart speeding up no matter how much he attempted to slow it down (he'd been trained at the institution to use his mind to control most physical reactions). The smile that greeted him was many things at once: teasing, playful, nasty…and vaguely seductive. Or perhaps that was simply what Near was wishing it was, his eyes blinking in more rapid successions the longer the two of them were so close together. What was this odd feeling?

Whatever it was, he sincerely hoped it stopped before he made a fool of himself in front of the one person who would never allow him to forget it. More so he wished he could name it, put some kind of label on it so that he could classify it and lock it away like every other real emotion he'd ever had. But he couldn't, and he found himself suffocating inside himself every time he drew in a breath. It was as though Mello exuded some kind of strange pheromone that drove Near to distraction.

Had it always been this bad?

"I wanted to see you cry…perfect little Near…all locked away in his self-made prison," Mello answered, his eyes blinking slowly as he slightly pulled away. "At least at first. I'm not sure why I kept it though…perhaps I wanted to reach inside the bars…"

The blonde glanced to the side, his skin flushing the tiniest amount (though the only way Near even noticed was because he was so close), and then his gaze came back to rest on the younger boy's face. When their eyes met, Near was surprised to find Mello's expression so open that he felt as though he could read him like some kind of twisted novel. It was, for that split second, like he'd lifted up the stone of his own personality and found Mello on the other side, waiting for him. Like finding his exact opposite, darker and more intense, only it wasn't as frightening as it should have been.

"I bet I'd lose a limb if I reached through your bars," Mello whispered, his long-fingered hand coming up to touch at a lock of Near's hair, pushing it to the side and brushing along the skin beneath. The physical touch instantly made the younger man jump backward, nearly falling out of the booth and onto the floor. Mello's touches were a plethora of extremes, he remembered many a violent encounter back in their Wammy House days, but they were never soft, never like this.

"Why did you call me here?"

Near inwardly awarded himself a point, his voice having betrayed none of his inner turmoil at all. Instead was the straightforward appearance that he wanted to maintain, that calm seemingly the only way for Near to get the answers that he sought. Mello's gift, it wasn't the only reason he had called Near here, it couldn't be. Nothing on earth was that simplistic, especially between the two of them…especially with the hot-headed blonde that stared at him with an intensity that nearly made him shiver. There had to be more, and Near (like always) wasn't going to stop until he had answers, until he had solved the puzzle of the man who sat before him.

"Why all these damn questions?" Mello spat, eyes narrowing dangerously, glinting in the half-light that spilled into the booth, making his eyes seem even darker than they were before. He reached forward again, grabbing Near's chin in a harsh grip and bringing their faces close together, his body thrumming with anger and frustration. "Why can't you just sit here with me without playing fucking detective?!"

Though he struggled not to, Near felt himself squirm, trying to free his face from the grasp of the older man, not knowing how to handle the close proximity that they now kept. Mello's fingers burned his skin like they were made of hot embers, made his cheeks feel feverish, made his pulse speed up. This had to be bad…right? 98 of his mind was screaming for him to get away, to break free of Mello's hand and call Giovanni to pick him up and not look back. And yet…yet there was that remaining 2, the growing minority, that was telling him to stay, to wait, and possibly to act. But he wasn't good at acting on his impulses, and therein lay the problem.

"Mello," Near said, voice cold, his own hand coming up to cover Mello's wrist, fingernails digging into the flesh he found there. "You have to admit that this is slightly suspicious…how am I supposed to react? We've never been friends, so its only natural for me to assume that you must want something."

"It wasn't enough…"

Near cocked his head to the side, feeling his hair brushing against Mello's forehead, sending physical sparks through his skin, confusion finally winning out over his calm. What was Mello talking about? Snowy locks went in multiple direction as he shook his head, indicating that he didn't understand what the blonde was getting at. This response seemed to make him angry and the grip on his chin became nearly painful, painted nails digging sharply into his pale skin.

"It wasn't enough! Those few minutes weren't enough!" Mello nearly cried out, looking confused himself. "I don't know how to explain it! We won't get this opportunity again! Can't you just take it for what it is?"

"What?!" Near questioned further, still not understanding, but feeling Mello's other arm go around his back, resting roughly at the small of his back. It was a possessive touch, meant to keep him in place, not allowing him to escape the circle of Mello's arms. "Take what? I don't understand…"

"…Stupid brat!"

And there it was…the press of warm, slightly wet, lips against his own, unexpected and chaotic…and all-together breathtaking. In the moment that Near had felt as though he'd never understand what Mello was getting at was the moment Mello explained it best. Wordless. Intense. Mello. This, this pulse of heat, the way the blonde's lips were sliding teasingly along his own, told him more than any words might have. And yet he was shocked, unable to respond, unable to process whether he should respond. Did he even want to?

He found that he did.

When they broke only a few inches apart, Mello's breathing uneven, Near simply stared for a moment into eyes that obviously feared instant rejection. The blonde's breath fanned his face, smelled of chocolate, made it hard to think past the feel of his lips tingling vaguely. If he pushed Mello away now, if he jumped out of his seat and ran, he'd hate it…Near would hate it. What harm was there in this moment? Admittedly, he was unsure of what he was doing, his head was spinning slightly , but the longer he looked into that face, the more resolute he became.

We won't get this opportunity again!

"No…we won't…," Near whispered, licking at his bottom lip and taking a deep breath. He wasn't used to this sort of thing, but he was going to try. Every thought was screaming at him to proceed, to throw aside his inhibitions for just that moment and I live . His hand left Mello's wrist and moved to the blonde's face, softly touching a warm cheek, brushing lower, down his neck, stopping at the collar of his shirt.

And with that he leaned forward, eyes closing, moving onto Mello's triumphantly smirking lips, into whatever the night had to offer.