Disclaimer: This is a slashing sword.
Rating: M
Warnings: The usual: Cursing, weirdness, sex, and references to death, suicide, and necrophilia...
Spoilers: La mer (:
AN: Wow. You wouldn't believe how surprised I am about how many people seem to like reading this piece. I always thought that BxNear was quite an unpopular fandom...
So this is one big, fat thanks to everyone who has reviewed this story, put it on their favourites list, or put it on their story alert list.
I'm extremely impressed with myself.
-----
Not quite;
By Azar-Apocalypse
---
Chapter Ten:
And my daddy said, "Stay away from Juliet." But you were everything to me: I was begging you, "Please don't go..."
-----
Every few years or so at Wammy's House, there was a particularly bad injury or even a death, and every student was required to sign either a 'get well' card or a remembrance scrapbook, regardless or whether or not they were sincere.
Near had witnessed eight children fall so ill or injury themselves so badly that they had to be hospitalised, during his stay at Wammy's House, and only three of those had died - one was from leukaemia, one was from a fall from the balcony on the third floor and broken their neck, while the other was from a particularly bad bout of the measles.
As was customary, Near politely signed the book for Alex, though he lingered for a moment over the page.
What was he supposed to say?
He had liked Alex well enough: they had gotten along well. Alex was just as smart as Near was, and simply conversing civilly had been fun.
Was he supposed to apologise?
He felt guilty enough to. Though he knew that, realistically, he could have done nothing, he had been mere metres away from where Alex had hanged himself. If he had just turned around and let his curiosity get the better of him only minutes earlier, he could have saved Alex's life.
But he had not.
Even worse, he had inspected Alex's body as if it was nothing more than a scientific specimen to be poked and prodded. He had stood by and watched as B had defiled the cadaver.
He could not stop thinking about the expression that B had worn when he'd kissed Alex, and didn't that make him a horrible person? He could not stop thinking about whether B looked quite as ecstatic when they were kissing.
His mind wandered further: he could not stop thinking about what would have happened if he had not stopped B when he had.
Guilt weighed down on his shoulders like lead.
What could he possibly say?
Near did not like these times, where he had to write something that was ultimately insincere and false. His apology would look cheap in comparison to his feelings, and he did not want to patronise Alex in death.
After many moments' contemplation, Near wrote neatly, 'I hope that you're happier in death than you were in life,' regardless of how ridiculously empty it sounded, and passed the scrapbook along to the next unfortunate soul who had to sign it.
Linda cringed as she took the book from Near's hands, her eyes wet and her make-up running.
For a second, Near wanted to hold her. He wanted to comfort her with lies that they both knew would change nothing.
It was almost as if Linda expected him to, as well, as she held her hand over his for a second too long.
He did not move.
The moment passed: Linda turned away and Near's heart-beat was loud in his ears.
When every child had signed the book, they were all free to go. The student body left the large hall, a sombre mood following them like a black storm cloud.
Students gathered together in clusters, most of them reminiscing between sobs.
Near had no one to turn to. Mello would mock him, Roger had no time for him, and he had not seen B all day, though he wasn't quite sure as to whether or not he actually wanted to see B.
The library was cold and smelled strongly of harsh cleaning products. Near sat at his table, feeling distinctly out of place next to the red, blue, and white police-tape that blocked him off from half of the library's resources.
Though he was by no means comfortable, he felt relatively at peace and found that if he could focus on the pages in front of him, he need not think about Alex any more than he had to.
He could have spent hours in the library, reading mindlessly and, in his own way, grieving.
But something was not right.
The library was not a place that many students chose to grieve in - indeed, barely thirty students were willing to enter the library at all, and only a fraction of those wanted to see the place where Alex had hanged himself; the library, in which Near's guilt made his gut churn and bile rise in his throat, where the sounds of whispering and crying, dulled by the ringing in Near's ears, made Near feel uncomfortable.
The library was as populated as Near had ever wanted it to be; it was perfect.
But he could not relax.
He did not feel at ease. He could not concentrate.
He shifted his gaze to one of the tables on the other side of the police-tape.
It had happened there: not there, exactly, but on top of the table. B had kissed Alex. Near had watched. He had watched and daydreamt about it for hours.
Students were whispering amongst themselves only metres away from him.
He had never felt so alienated in his life.
Linda stood in front of him, wringing her shirt between her hands. "I know that you don't want to talk to me, Near," she said nervously, "but I just..." She choked and wiped at her eyes quickly. "I just miss talking to you."
He watched her for a few seconds. She closed her eyes and took several deep gulps of air, her eyes brimming with yet more tears.
Near turned away from her when he murmured in a way that he hoped was soothing, "I... don't mind." He hesitantly met her eyes.
In a matter of a few, silent moments, they seemed reach some kind of understanding.
Linda sat down in his lap and hugged him, weeping into his shirt disjointed phrases that made no sense to him.
He pretended to listen, and petted her back occasionally.
"G-God, I h-hate you," she hiccupped suddenly. "You're n-not upset at a-all."
He did not tell her that he spent most of the previous nights in his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling and making himself sick with guilt, or the fact that he spent the majority of Alex's death-date vomiting and pitying himself.
Instead, he nodded and asked, "Why would I be upset?"
Linda shuddered but said nothing.
They sat there, holding one another, for what might have been an eternity, or maybe only a few minutes, before Linda stood up and brushed imaginary dirt from her clothes.
"I'm going to bed," she stated.
"Okay," Near responded. He wasn't entirely sure as to what she wanted him to say.
With a deliberate glance at his shirt, she suggested, "Maybe you should come with me. I got make-up on your clothes."
Upon realising that black smudges were streaked across his chest, Near wondered why Linda insisted on wearing so much of the stuff, and said, "I'm sure I can live with it."
Linda left quickly, her cheeks a bright pink. Near felt a distinct sense of loss.
Though he itched to take off the dirty garments and bathe, Near did not want to leave to his room; he wanted to stare at the noose that still hung from the roof for a while longer.
He tried to ignore it for as long as he could, but, eventually, he was overcome by the urge to take in deep breaths of fresh air, and chose to sit at a table closer to the windows.
The make-up on his shirt made him feel anxious.
It wasn't clean.
He gazed at the table's reflection behind him, in the window. Near could still see Alex's body hanging from the ceiling, its face tinged blue: the most obvious sign of livor mortis.
How could he not have noticed Alex walking into the library with a noose in-hand? How could he have possibly missed that?
It wasn't entirely his fault - he was well-aware of the fact that blaming himself completely would be arrogant and presumptuous of him - but he could have done something.
He could have done anything.
But he had not.
In fact, he had stood by and watched B defile Alex's body.
For a moment, he could have sworn that someone else took Alex's place, hanging from the ceiling, completely still in death. Maybe it was a trick of the light; Near looked back at the noose, and it was empty.
Near shivered and wrapped his arms around himself.
B's face suddenly appeared in the window in front of him, and Near jumped in his chair, startled.
He cracked opened the window and asked quietly, "What are you doing?"
B shrugged dismissively and touched the glass of the window. "I've missed you," he murmured. "How have you been?"
The anger seemed to come from nowhere. Near balled his hands into fists, his mouth set in a thin line.
He felt sick.
B's lips were pressed to Alex's.
"Don't give me that bullshit," Near hissed. "Where have you been?" He scowled and curled his hair almost violently.
It seemed to upset B; he chewed on his bottom lip hesitantly. "You don't want me around anymore," he replied after a lengthy pause.
Near's scowl deepened when he said angrily, "Don't screw with me. Give me a straight answer or leave me alone."
B recoiled slightly. "So you do want me, then?" he asked, clearly confused.
Near found that he could not answer B's question, and that he didn't care to at all.
B moaned; his fingers crept up the edges of Alex's shirt.
Bile rose in Near's throat.
He wanted to see B. He had missed B almost as much as he was scared to see him.
"Look, it doesn't matter," B said, pressing his hand more firmly against the window. "Will you come outside and see me?"
Laughter bubbled in Near's throat unexpectedly. It hurt when he giggled quietly into his hand and asked incredulously, "Meet you outside? Why don't you just come in here? Am I really that repulsive to you?" His laughter stopped just as suddenly as it had started.
Was that why B had not visited him?
Near's heart ached. He felt as if he was going to vomit.
B looked slightly shocked. "You think that's it?" he enquired. "You think that you're repulsive?"
Near nodded curtly. His chest felt tight and he just wanted to leave.
He wondered if B would follow him if he did.
"Are you stupid?" B exclaimed. "You think that's why I didn't come and see you? You're such an idiot!"
Near glared at B. He did not appreciate being called unintelligent, when it was obvious that he was anything but that.
"Well, you're not shedding any light on the situation," he replied, his voice shaking slightly.
B seemed to calm down suddenly, and said softly, "Oh, you're so upset... God, I should've come to see you..."
"Yes, you should have," Near agreed, his voice tight, "but you didn't."
Looking appropriately ashamed of himself, B refused to meet Near's eyes when he mumbled, "I was scared. The cops came to talk to me. They think I killed Alex or something. They told me not to talk to associate with anyone so that I couldn't get anyone to cover for me, or something. I was in isolation."
Near did not like to admit that the police obviously shared his most private thoughts.
"But I didn't do it!" B reassured quickly. "I didn't do anything to him! He was just... He was sad and I asked him what was wrong and he said, 'Everything is wrong,' and I told him, 'Maybe you should take a break.' Then he said, 'I can't afford a break,' so I said, 'Sounds like it's a lot of work,' and he said, 'Yeah,' and- and what could I have done?!" B tugged at his hair, his eyes wide and reflected every bit of the guilt and shame that had kept Near awake lately at night, and Near felt all of the anger leave him.
Near felt as if he was belittling Alex's death and the disgusting things that B had done to the boy's body when he said softly, "I didn't know..." He did not forgive B, but he pressed his hand against B's through the glass. "You should've said something..."
He did not feel entirely at ease around B - how could he? - but his anger and the sense of betrayal that had plagued him for days seemed to drain out of him.
He had been wrong. B had not left him, after all.
He wondered if he had ever hated himself more and decided that it didn't matter: he had missed a boy who had touched a dead body.
Or perhaps B had left: B stepped away from the window and shook his head. "Didn't you hear me before?" he asked.
B was thrusting against Alex's body. Awful, gurgling noises were escaping Alex's lips as the built up saliva and oxygen in his lungs rattled.
Near's irritation seemed to return to him all at once. "Where are you going?" he demanded. "You're not leaving."
He did not want B to stay with him for some kind of desire to spend time with the boy; Near just didn't trust B around anyone else.
"What do you want me to do, Near?" B asked, sounding frustrated and trapped. "What do you want me to say?"
Near stood up and shot back, "Oh, I don't know. An apology would be nice." He didn't want to argue, but the words would not stop coming. "Four days, B - four days! I found a dead body! Why can't you just-..." He stopped himself before he could say something stupid. "Doesn't it matter what I want?" he asked, sounding far calmer.
B frowned. "You just don't get it, do you? I don't need you! There's no reason for me to stick around at all - you won't even let me fuck you!"
Near's cheeks burned. Though he knew that what B said was true, he had been expecting something more. He didn't know what, but that he was being flat-out rejected made him ashamed of himself.
He had no right to expect anything from B: B had made his intentions quite clear.
"If you don't need me, then leave me the fuck alone!" Near spat.
His gut churned. He didn't want this. He didn't want to argue. He didn't mean anything that he'd said.
B's was kissing Alex's throat almost violently, his teeth leaving indents in Alex's skin.
Near's neck burned. He wished that he could just forget everything.
"What would make this easier for you to understand?" B asked quietly. "I want to fuck you. That's it. I don't care about your feelings. I don't care about what you think. I don't care if you're upset or angry or whatever. Say it whatever way you want to, but this is it, really: I want to have sex with you."
Near knew exactly what would make this easier for him to understand whatever twisted relationship he and B shared - he was just reluctant to admit it.
B did not sneer. Near was more appreciative of that than he could express.
"It'll be good for you, too. Roger said that you don't talk to people enough, but we'll obviously have to talk if we're going to fuck-"
"Do you think that's all I care about?!" Near interjected, feeling flushed with his frustration. "Having sex?!"
B quirked a brow, looking genuinely curious. "What else could you care about?"
Near stared at B incredulously, his heart pounding in his ears.
What could he say?
He couldn't lie: it would be wasted on both of them.
His first sexual experience had satisfied him, but made him just as disgusted. He was too ashamed to think about it. His second had been with B, and had left him feeling empty.
How could he explain to B that this - whatever 'this' was - meant more to him than any amount of sex ever could, when it meant nothing to B at all?
Regardless of what he had thought before he was actually faced with the concept, Near meaningless sex.
Shit, Near cursed inwardly.
His mouth opened and closed soundlessly for a few moments, and B asked expectantly, "Well?"
Near gathered his things far too quickly, his hands shaking. "If you can't figure it out for yourself, it's not worth me saying it," he said lamely, before quickly leaving the library.
His breathing sounded far too loud and harsh to his own ears.
What had he been about to say?
When he reached his room, he placed his things haphazardly on his desk, walked to his bathroom, stripped out of his dirty clothes, and stepped into the shower, turning the water's temperature up until it scalded his skin.
He slumped against one of the shower's tiled walls and breathed in deeply.
"Shit," he muttered to himself. "Holy shit." He sank to the floor, letting the water wash over him, and buried his face in his hands. "Shit," he repeated. "Oh, God. What am I thinking?"
It was obvious that he meant nothing to B.
He knew that.
He just hadn't expected it to hurt as much as it did.
Near pressed his fists into his eyes so hard that his head ached.
After twenty or so minutes, he left the bathroom feeling upset and confused and annoyingly refreshed.
There was a note on his pillow. He wondered if B was trying to establish this as a habit.
He didn't know whether he hoped so or not.
'Near,' it read,
'I don't know what you want from me.
Would it make things better for you if we called each other boyfriends or something?
Fine. Be my boyfriend, Near, or I won't have sex with you.
Just stop being angry at me. I haven't done anything wrong.
If you understood my position right now, you wouldn't be so quick to assume.
From,
B.'
Near lay down on his bed and traced the familiar hand-writing with the tip of his finger.
He had a boyfriend.
A boyfriend.
Never mind the fact that his boyfriend was suspected of murder and had displayed perverse liking toward corpses - Near had a boyfriend.
He wondered if it was sensible of him to feel this ill about something that would have made anyone else his age quite pleased.
He didn't know what to do with himself, so he stared at the ceiling until well after nightfall.
He could not sleep: when he closed his eyes, the only thing that he could see was B's body moving against Alex's.
Near's jealousy made him sick.
-----
I'm bored. The update sucks. This chapter is crap. Bite me.
Long story short: I was going to Europe this year and paying for my own trip, but my father just cancelled it because he 'can't walk around the UK with me all day'.
And now I'm 'ruining his trip' by not wanting to go.
HIS trip, I ask you.
As you can probably tell, I am very frustrated.
So don't like the chapter? Fuck off. I don't feel like dealing with people's shit right now.
(Yes, I'm in a bad mood. I'm entitled to it.)
The lyrics don't necessarily coincide with the content of this chapter. It takes a stretch of the imagination, but if you don't get there, the lyrics mean nothing.