D – Dangerous
Disastrous.
Deranged.
Dangerous.
Each of these words could describe Mello in some way or another. And yet, despite the intensity and clear warning inside of these words, I can't help but want to reach out to the blonde time and time again. I do so in minor ways, so not to be too obvious. It might be a grab at his wrist as he's walking away, it might be one or two whispered words, it might be his name. Whatever works at the time is that I'll try in order to catch his attention.
I don't know why I want so much from him. I pretend that I don't – especially back when we were children – but, somehow, he sees through the façade. He knows that I hold forbidden feelings for him, and he detests that fact.
So then why does he give me what I want? It's dangerous to trust in him. It's dangerous to leave myself open for attack, my guard down and mask off, to his deranged mind. It'll turn into a disaster; it never failed to turn into one in the past.
But I can't stop it. One moment he's at my throat, about to tear open my major arteries and spill my blood, and then the next he's tearing at my clothes instead, his heated skin coming into contact with mine as he lines my paler skin with bruises from his lips and teeth and tongue.
I'm helpless against his force. Mello is like a tornado, wild and free and wreaking havoc with every breath he takes and step he makes. In the process, I'm a lone field mouse caught in his path, frozen with fear and draw with sympathy. Naturally, I get caught up in his whirlwinds and taken along for the ride, my little paws unable to steer the tornado in a different direction or order it to put me down.
"I don't understand you, Near," he said huskily to me one day not too long ago. "You know that I'm a hazard to you, yet you never hide from me."
"Because I can't," I told him quietly as I stood pinned against the wall. "You will simply find me again."
"I don't mean literally," Mello told me with a twisted smile. "I mean figuratively. You never run, you never push me away, you never fully conceal your emotions when you're around me. After I broke the ice surrounding you, you haven't bothered to put it back. Why is that, Near? Why do you make an exception when it comes to me?"
"I don't know," I lied. But he caught it in seconds.
"You're lying," he hissed in my ear. "You do know why. Tell me. I need to hear it, or else I might go insane. I need to know that my suspicions are correct."
He didn't say 'if they are correct', he said 'that they are correct'. Mello already knew that I loved him, but he wanted to hear me say it. Even through all the pleasure and pain, good times and grief, I never said it aloud. I admitted it to myself years ago, but I never wanted to say it.
Yet with him staring at me like that, searching my eyes for the truth before I even said it, I couldn't oppose him. He's dangerous like that; his mood swings and unyielding glare convinces me of anything. I am merely a thin wire which he bends to his will over and over again.
So, on that day, I confessed. I told him: "You're the exception because… because I love you."
He smirked. He released me and started to walk away. Just like that. He didn't ask how or why, he didn't force a kiss on me like I had hoped, and he didn't say a word. He merely smiled, pleased with himself and what he was told, and then began to walk away.
At the time, I didn't know what to do. I had slipped to the floor, sitting with my back on the wall, my mouth open. I had spilled my secret, and for what? For nothing but a cocky grin.
In retrospect, I should have stopped him. I should have demanded that he tell me in exchange what it was he felt for me, since to this day I don't know what it is he feels. He acts as though he hates me, but I know that can't be it. You wouldn't touch someone the way he does to me if you hated them. He's rough, it's true, but he's also gentle at the same time. I don't know how to explain it. Still… I should have done something back then.
Everything about Mello is dangerous, right down to his deranged method of thinking and disastrous actions.
So why do I love him?
L's successor or not, even I'm not intelligent enough to figure it out. Love is fickle that way; it can make you fall for what hurts you most, for what is labeled as perilous.
Love sure has a cruel sense of humor.