Nothing Left
Like an empty glass, Mello was only an empty void, laced with danger and passion, desperately trying to achieve something that would fill him in even the slightest way. It was something he could barely admit to himself: only fools lived for others, after all. (But he hadn't specifically lived for someone, Mello argued with himself -- it was all an accident. It wasn't planned.) But what was planned? The scar certainly wasn't. It became the stinging proof of Mello's second-rate status.
If Mello had been first -- like Near, who he hated more and more with every passing second -- this wouldn't have happened. They'd be together, plotting against both Kira and Near; they'd be sharing meaningful stares and sly smirks that promised of things to come.
But there was nothing left. He'd catch Kira -- he swore, to the high heavens and depths of hell, that he'd never let Near win -- and for the first time in his life, he'd be first: But what then? Where would he go? What would he do? There was nobody waiting for him, and he would aimlessly wander the streets, gnawing on chocolate and seeing nothing but smoking ghosts, casually leaning against brick walls as they watched Mello through goggled eyes.