Near looked at his shirtless reflection in his bathroom mirror, pressing his slender fingers into the flesh of his hip. He had weighed himself almost immediately after returning from the trip to the zoo. The tiny needle reached just under forty kilograms. While he had never thought much about his weight before, this number seemed to be ridiculously high. Roughly five feet tall, Near felt a strange compulsion to weigh next to nothing. He wanted to be lighter than air— to leave no footprints in the winter snow. He wanted to disappear.

Though his hip bone already protruded from the pale, scarred skin of his hip, the lamb wanted to see more. He needed perfection— for his own sake as well as L's. He reached for the small razor hidden in his porcelain bathroom.

His fingers were shaking as he pushed the elastic waistband of his trousers down, blade in hand. His face burned and he could feel the tears form on the corners of his eyes. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Near lowered the blade onto a fresh expanse of skin. Delicately, he pressed the corner into the soft white flesh and sliced.

Not feeling the relief he needed from the fix, his struck his skin again. He moved his focus to the still-healing, scabby skin of his forearm. While most of the skin was rugged and pink, Near still craved the sensation he received from the area.

Haphazardly, he slashed the skin. He was impulsive. He was sloppy. He was Death, knocking. Great gashes marked his skin, and all of his pain flowed out. He knew he was losing his edge on control— that consciousness was escaping his grasp— and so he forced himself to place the razor down onto the counter.

His vision was blurry as he took in the damages. It needed stitches, he realised, but obviously could not acquire them without raising suspicion. Instead, he settled on various butterfly bandages, which pulled the fine edges of his injuries together. Once cleaned, the site looked like a macabre game of shoots and ladders.

Still light headed, Near stripped his body of the bloody garments and wobbled into the bedroom. Still in the nude, the lamb slumped into his bed and pulled the white sheets over his body. They felt cool and soothing to his cuts, but reminded him of his soft, fat body. Sobbing and exhausted, Near fell asleep.

A week passed and the little pale boy's figure started to dwindle while the scars imbedded in it increased. Instead of eating, he would turn to his razor, reminding himself of why he needed to lose weight in the first place. While he didn't intend to lose weight this way, he found it too easy to reject his breakfasts, pick through his lunch, and enjoy a small salad for his dinner. Over all, he was living on coffee, lettuce, and tomatoes. Even then, he had to fight for the coffee, as Roger was opposed to a fourteen year old boy taking in the bitter liquid.

He stopped looking at himself in the mirror halfway through the second week of this bizarre eating pattern— partly because he was ashamed of the lack of progress, while also because he was scared of the dark circles under his eyes and dull, sagging complexion.

During this initiation period, Mello and Matt seemed to leave him alone. Occasionally, he would see them outside of the clubroom while leaving, or returning to, his room. The exchange consisted of a slight head nod from Near, a grimace from Mello, and a polite smile, from Matt. Only once did Linda ask him to play a board game, and to that he quickly rejected. He was still opposed to childish toys and activities.

A stern knock sounded, causing Near to jump. He had been doing crunches on his bedroom floor when he heard Roger's old voice call out.

"Near, this is Roger. I'm coming in."

The old man pushed the door open and stepped into the white oasis, leaving the entry way slightly ajar. He looked slightly unsettled, with eyes that mimicked the conflict in his mind. He wrung his hands over and over until he took a seat on the edge of the white quilted bed.

"Near, I'm a bit concerned" he started, still looking nervous, "the cook said you haven't been taking your meals regularly. If you're sick, you need to let us know so that we can get you the treatment you need. Has your stomach been bothering you? Or your head?"

Not in the way you're thinking, Near thought to himself.

"I think I've just been under the weather a bit," Near responded, "I will be fine in a little while. Please do not concern yourself with me."

"Are you sure, son?" Roger inquired, "We are responsible for your health. Surely there is something we can give you to make you feel better."

Near shook his head, wishing the conversation to be over, when he noticed a glimmer of beautiful blonde hair imposing on the small gap between the door and its frame. Embarrassment flooded his chest.

"I'm honestly fine," he said, ending the small chat as Roger stood up, "Thank you for your thoughts."

The old man made his way to the door as the blonde tuft disappeared from sight. Near sighed silently as Roger shut the door behind him. He reassumed his exercise position when his stomach growled, ferociously. He clinched his teeth and picked up his routine.

The next day marked the third day of a water fast. While Near knew of several benefits from fasting, which he used to justify his activity, he also knew that what he was doing was a gross exploitation of the fasts that others use for spiritual enlightenment and anatomical cleansing. He had mainly avoided the urge to eat by remaining in his room, feigning a flu, but today the very room he used to escaped seemed to trap him inside his misery to a new level. Because he cared, though very slightly, about his own life, he decided to take a walk.

Upon opening the door, he discovered a small bouquet of flowers.

'Feel better. Roger.', he read silently.

He stifled a laugh, expelling the air through his nose.

The little lamb, as delicate as a spider, made his way through the hall. The floor seemed to sway and he was not sure where he was placing his bare feet. His legs felt as though he was treading through mud. Still, he pressed on as the strange world, so distorted and foreign, closed in on him. His heart beat pounded the drums in his ears and his vision darkened. Then, just as suddenly as the augmented perception came over him, it went away. Still clutching his chest, he pursued his walk. Each step became lighter.

Near had just barely walked past the storage closet when he heard his name being called out.

"Hey," a redheaded boy said, "How are y' feeling? I've 'eard you've been sick lately."

Near blinked slowly, distracted by the bold stripes of the boy's shirt. His mind looped around the fact that Matt— the boy who hated him, who was friends with the boy who hated him— just asked him how he was feeling.

"I am feeling better now, thank you," he responded, turning away— the world turning with him.

"Oi, well alright, then. See you," Matt said, returning into the electronic cave from which he emerged.

Near took gentle steps, venturing further down the abyss-like hallway. He kept one pallor hand upon the wall so as to keep his balance. The light headed feeling returned and the lights in the ceiling began to flicker. Then again, it could have been his vision failing him once more. His knees seemed to loosen in a manner that suggested that the lower halves of his legs ceased to exist any longer.

"Oh looks who's up," a familiar voice stated, though Near could not make out his face, "Sheep. While you've been slacking off and eating chicken soup, I've been catching up to you, damn brat. I'd even say I've passed you in half of the subjects."

Near attempted to focus on the figure, and could see the smooth strands of blonde hair. The world seemed to rotate around him, however, and he was overcome by a wave of nausea. He reached out for the wall but stumbled slightly. Regaining his balance, he looked up at the still-distant figure. Though blurry, he could tell that the teenager had stacks of something in his hand. Curious, he opened his mouth to speak but fell silent.

"Near?" Mello called out, his voice flavoured with alarm.

Slowly, the world seemed to fade, turning onto its side as it did. A ringing overcame Near's ears.

A sharp pain attacked Near's torso until it was replaced by something— something soft and warm. Only blackness, however, could be seen.