Black and white. Like pieces on a chessboard. Like two players pitted against one another in battle of wits. Black and white was how I saw my life. It was always how I saw the two of them. Growing up at Wammy's you were either on one side or the other. Black or white. White always has the first move and black second. Always second…
Mello…
After leaving Wammy's I let him drag me along wherever he wanted… wherever he thought he needed to go. I was fine with that as long as we were free. I let him pull me down into the abyss and there we reveled in the darkened, trash-strewn alleyways of New York. The snapping of his chocolate bars echoed off the blackened walls, sounding louder and more chaotic than the gunfire from our entourage. We were reckless and all the happier for it.
I can still feel his lips on the scars of my wrists, biting them, sucking them, as if to tell me he loved them. As if to tell me he wanted to see more of them. The inch-long half-moon shapes which mucked-up my translucent skin. Skin so pale, so thin, you couldn't even call it a color anymore.
He did not care about the dope or the guns or how I'd roll for days in our room. He loved me. And as long as he could wrap me up in his favorite black, hold me close, and say that he loved me, he was fine with anything I did. He was blind… I was blind… but we thought we were happy. So, I never thought about waking up.
And then, the unthinkable happened. Black had fallen… burnt to ashes until all that remained was the smell of char on the wind.
Then I ran. I ran until all I saw was white.
Near…
I hated having to face his disapproving gaze. To stare into those cold rabbit-like eyes and try to guess what he was thinking. But I knew I needed this. And afterwards… afterwards… he began to look at me like he did everyone else. That look, those eyes, they were better than any therapy.
He had once asked Mello if he thought by telling me "I love you" that it would save me. His words sent chills down my spine. It was the first time I thought of my frail mortality. It was the first time I ever truly contemplated Near. And afterward, I began to think of him more and more. Every time I saw black I would think of it's counterpart, white.
He never kissed my scars with reverence like Mello did. No. He would touch them lightly, sometimes running his soft thumbs over them, before pressing his lips to mine. They were a part of my past and he did not expect to see them multiply in the future. This is what should be expected of a fellow Wammy child. Expectation. It was the unspoken desire not to disappoint him that kept me from tumbling back down into the darkness. It kept me clean. It kept me wrapped up in his white.
The thought of leaving him terrified me. Being on my own terrified me. So I clung to him as he would a toy or a lock of his hair. Silly of me to ever think I was ever once the adult in the situation.
Mello and Near… black and white…
I have played on both sides of the board and, in the end, I landed on the winning side. It was for no other reason than luck. But in truth, I have always been grey. I've always needed them to tug me to one side of the board or the other. I suppose this is what being a pawn is... what being just like everyone else is like… staring up at those letters on a screen (L, M, N) in admiration and wondering if you'll ever get close enough to touch greatness.
AN: review, favor, follow. I will admit, it is not my best work. However, it is a drabble so go easy on me lol. If you liked it then, yay!