NEAR POV:

There's a bang on the door and I'm not expecting it. It explodes through the stillness of my room. I'm seldom visited because there's simply no need to visit me. I'd be surprised if I couldn't deduce who it was. But I can. All to well.

It's Mello.

I glance up from my puzzle when the brass doorknob hits the wall, and, as I estimated, a certain leather-clad blonde slouches sloppily in the doorway. And I know why he's here as my eyes rake over his expression. His cobalt eyes are dull and bleary, and his thin lips are tilted down in an indignant frown. He's gotten into another fight with Matt—tried to drink his hurt/angry feelings away. When that didn't work, he winds up at my door, expecting to be relieved of that stress by taking advantage of me.

This has happened before. Many times (thirty-four to be exact). He won't kiss me or saying anything that might imply any motive other than the relief he'll get, just cuts straight to the chase. In the blink of an eye, my clothes are torn off and I'm shoved onto a convenient surface. I don't resist—it isn't rape. He isn't forcing himself on me because I'm not trying to repel him off of me. I have no emotional reaction to this. My arms lay limply at my sides as he ravishes my body.

When it's over, he promptly passes out and I'm left to lie awake and think about what's happened. It's not like I'm powerless to stop it, there are plenty of ways to resist. But I won't. Maybe I'm conflicted, since I'm unsure of the reasoning behind that statement. Confliction is an emotional response, and I expel it. I return to my puzzle with no feeling, no attachment, no concern. What's done is done.

The night wares on. With little of pressing importance to do at this time, I watch Mello sleep from my perch on a seat close to the couch. He's lying on his stomach, at an angle that looks as if he's at danger of tumbling off. His mouth is slightly open, his eyes are clamped shut. He's got an arm dangling over the side, fingers pressed into the carpet. Compared to resentful expression he displayed in my doorway, now he looks…peaceful.

If you think these encounters between us are peace treaties, you couldn't be more wrong. We're still rivals, or so Mello thinks. I let him believe want he wants, as it really isn't for me to say, though I can tell you I don't agree. We get along—as he hasn't killed me or I haven't ordered his death—but that doesn't mean that I don't make his life challenging. Puzzles that are too easily solvable aren't entertaining for long. I'm uncertain if I will ever truly understand what's going through his mind. Though I assume most of it is false logic and hasty, unlawful solutions.

Mello stirs by the time half of the day has gone by. One cobalt eye opens before the other; he blinks, and looks around, yawning. He sniffs, rises to a sitting position, coughs and stretches.

I'm still watching him from my chair, but it isn't as obvious since now I've got cards to make a card tower. He doesn't acknowledge me.

He sits there silently for 7 minutes and 43 seconds. Some fog clears from his bleary, tired eyes and he finally looks in my direction. As my way of acknowledging him, my slate eyes meet his for 79 milliseconds, then I shift my gaze back to my card tower.

He disappears in my bathroom for 8 minutes, then emerges, ready to raid my kitchen. I don't retain him, knowing that he won't find what he's looking for. It isn't long before he barks, "I can't believe I drive all the fucking way out here and you haven't got any fucking chocolate! Talk about a damn shame!"

He says this because he perpetually forgets that I'm one to eat little, and I don't care for sweets. Especially his favorite. Does he think I look forward to and prepare for this visits? Why would I stock my cabinets with chocolate power for his milk? Go out of my way to purchase chocolate bars? Just for his satisfaction? What can be gained from that?

Nothing.

In 22 seconds, he reenters the living room so he can glower at me full-on.

I respond to him in a more significant manor. Peering at him evenly, I ask a question that I'd like to hear his answer to. "Why do you come here, then?"

This catches him off guard. His baffled expression is quickly replaced by one of dismissing indifference. "What's it to you?" He sniffs.

"Call it curiosity if you wish."

Condescending tone: "Since when the hell have you been curious?"

"Why do you come here?" I repeat, keeping my voice even, just posing the question.

A shrug, as it mutters a curt, "Dunno." Then a smirk, "S'cheaper than a motel."

"..." I'm still piling cards high.

"What?"

"I expected a more thorough answer than that."

"I'll say it again: what's it to you?" He snorts, leaves for the kitchen, returns 57 seconds later with a bowl of cereal, then adds in a muttered afterthought, "Don't tell me you think I come here because I actually give a damn about you." His voice rises purposefully, so he knows I'm listening, "I'll say it straight up, right here and now, Near—I don't give two shits about you, and no one ever will. Obviously I come here for a fuckin' free place to crash so I don't have to feel so shitty about…" He pauses, a pained expression washing over his flippant, if not smug, features and I know he's thinking about Matt. "Whatever."

I know he'll say more, so I don't respond. As expected, he sighs and continues, "I mean, seriously, Near, 'you' and 'emotions' aren't something you'd find in the same sentence. You've got no feelings for me, and I sure as hell don't have any feelings for your sorry ass." He stands to walk back to the kitchen, where he refills his bowl of cereal.

"An interesting thought to propose, Mello. You say I don't have feelings for you, and I think I do."

He isn't fully paying attention. "Hmm? Have what?"

"I think I've developed feelings for you, Mello."

A disturbed quietness follows my latest statement. Mello stands completely still at the counter, his hand paused in mid-motion in its path to grasp the spoon he's using. After 7 seconds and 45 milliseconds, Mello finally turns to look at me. The smile his lips are turned up in is forced, and his bleary eyes are staring at me in dull fear, questioning insecurity. He manages a chuckle, "You're shitting me, aren't you?"

"No, though next time, would you refrain from using that vernacular to express your doubt?"

"Why? Does it annoy you?" He mocks.

"Mello…" I cut eye contact from him and focus on my card tower. "Can we not stray from the conversation we've started?"

He throws his head back and laughs. It isn't over until 45 seconds and 13 milliseconds later. Then, with an amused light lingering in his eyes, he says, "You said something earlier?"

"Yes, Mello, I told you of my feelings for you."

The hardened look he gives me resembles that of stone. "That's what I thought."

But I continue, "I don't see why I have to repeat myself, you heard me the first time. Tell me, Mello, are you in denial?"

"Are. You. Serious?" He challenges, settling back into the couch.

"Yes." I say, and he tenses. The cards from my tower come flittering down. My eyes don't leave Mello even as they cloud my view of him. "I'd like to know what love is. If there was anything I'd let myself feel, I wanted it to be love."

"GODDAMMIT!" In addition to the loud and foul exclamation, he's up on his feet, raging. His breakfast is cast in my direction repulsively, and my arms instinctively raise. The appliances on my counter are sent crashing to the floor, the piercing sound of metal scraping the ceramic tiles quiet against Mello's rage. "I thought coming here would mean not getting tangled up in emotions! What the fuck's your deal, Near?" He shouts, practically roaring, "You pick RIGHT NOW to decide you've got feelings? And worse, of all times, you've fucking developed feelings for me!" He backs away from me, horrified and agitated at the same time. He rakes hands through his golden hair as he mutters, "Oh God, I'm so stupid! I'm so stupid!"

"It went unplanned…" I venture, face and voice an even mask of nothingness.

I'm cut off by my table clattering to the floor and the loud exclamation of: "Goddammit! That's the greatest fucking understatement of the entire fuckin' year!"

"My confession of an emotional attachment to you is an understatement?"

He pauses, setting down the chair he's holding. "Wait, wait…you think you've got an attachment or you feel one?"

"Is there a difference?" I ask, voice devoid of sarcasm.

"God, yes!" He lets out an exasperated breath so he can slowly and deliberately utter each of his words, "Thinking and feeling is what separates us, Near, you and me. It makes our outlooks so extreme to each side of the scale. Metaphorically speaking, of course. See…you think and don't feel, I feel and don't think. With you telling me you're feeling something the whole goddamn scale isn't balanced anymore!"

I chose my words carefully. "I feel something when you're here, Mello. I'm unsure of what exactly it is, but I surmise loving you is the best answer."

"You love me?" He's approaching me, his voice rising in volume, his features bent in fury, "You fucking love me?"

"Yes." My tone doesn't waver, isn't adamant. I simply say 'yes,' like I would if someone asked me if one centimeter cubed is the same as one milliliter.

"Oh, FUCK! Do you know what this means? FUCK! Do you know what this means?"

"You don't need to repeat yourself. Yes, I know what you mean."

"Shut up, Near, don't tell me what I can't do!" His icy cobalt eyes narrow as he points an accusing finger at me. "I don't think you know how big this is! I don't think you know what this means! No. I. DON'T!"

"Don't what?"

He lets out an exasperated breath, his agitated features softening slightly. "I don't know anything anymore…everything is just so fucked up…"

"Don't be so overdramatic, Mello," I say calmly. "How can you possibly not know anything?"

At my latest inquiry, he's riled angry again. "QUIT CONDESENDING ME!"

"An apology would be pointless, ill-deserved, and insincere. Would you like one?"

"NO! I don't want anything to do with you anymore!"

"Does this mean you're rejecting me?"

"YES!"

"…"

"Whatever we were, it's over. You're time as my fuckin' rag doll or whatever, DONE. It's done, DO YOU HEAR ME? WE'RE FINISHED! I DO NOT REQUIRE YOUR FUCKIN' CHEAP SERVICES ANYMORE!"

The impact of the door being slammed shut explodes through the stillness of my room. I start rebuilding my card tower, as if none of this happened. But my hands are shaking, so I stop, letting the cards come crumbling down again. I'm unsure of my why my hands are doing this. I sit still for a while, and like before, think about all that's happened.

Retrospectively, I come to the conclusion that my confession of love was a test. I got Mello to explain his reason for coming here, however brief and vague. I got Mello to admit he didn't feel anything by coming here. I even got him to admit Matt was the problem. My confession of love was unnecessary, unaccounted for, unimportant. How could I have uttered those words? How was it possible to lie like that? To myself, or to him?

Simple: I got Mello. I got him.

I knock the cards to the floor and don't bother cleaning them up. The sleek surface they create is pressed into my carpet as I trudge over the cards on my way to the kitchen.

He'll be back, I resolve. He's all I got.

But…I pause in mid-step, eyes surveying the damage of Mello's tirade on my appliances. The impact of his destruction lingers here. Does that mean I love him? Isn't that a feeling?

It can't be. Like he said, no one will ever give two shits about me.

My hands still shaking, I collapse on the cool tiled floor. My arms lock around my knees as I try to lock down all the emotions swirling around inside of me, like a tornado threatening to steal everything I have learned to control and leave me with nothing. What I feel is devastating, overwhelming, revitalizing and I struggle to contain it.

I won't cry or throw a fit. I simply won't do anything. I'm completely still as I manage to make all feeling fade—it's swept away by rationality, resistance, restriction. I amount to hollowness, which is what I am accustomed to feeling.

Then I remember I'm curled into a ball in the midst of my messed up kitchen, my messed outlooks, my messed up life. And I think, for once, I level with Mello completely. No will ever love me, and I won't ever try to love again.