Sometimes, Near dreamt of things. He dreamt of starry summer nights and his parents and his home. Usually, he woke up disturbed. He didn't want to dream. Dreaming was remembering and it hurt to do that. The dreams Near hated the most were the vivid ones. The ones where he remembered, sitting as a child, waiting for his parents to return. He waited like a good boy, and played with his puzzles and built towers with his dice. He waited, and waited. Even then he knew they were never coming home.
It made Near lonely, sometimes, to think of his past life.
Emotionless. That's what he'd been called in the past. He wasn't emotionless, just well-guarded. He had to be. For his parents sake. What would happen if he ever let the secrets slip? Surely his father would be mad if he accidently told someone how his mother cried when he hit her. Near's mother wouldn't like it either. They were a perfect family. They were. She promised. Mello just didn't understand. Maybe his family wasn't perfect like Near's was…
When the white haired boy was sure nobody was looking, he cried. He couldn't help it, sometimes the loneliness became suffocating and there was no way out. Not that crying helped solve the problem, but Near wished it would. He wished so desperately, so ardently, for it to all go away sometimes. His wish never came true.
In the end, he wished he had been killed by Kira. A small glimmer of pain shone through the boy's façade that day that his enemy was finally killed, however unnoticeable it was.
Because, after everything was all said and done, the boy learned something. He learned that once you reach the top, it's even lonelier than rock bottom.