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“What are you thinking, Near?”
The question rang out of nowhere inside the childlike room, cutting the silence that presented itself for the better part of a half hour, albeit a comfortable one.
If the boy was disgruntled by the interruption, he didn’t show it, Near’s line of vision downcast to a toy he’d been eyeing for what seemed an eternity and he replied, the same dull tone he uttered most his sentences, “Nothing.”
Light rolled over onto his back, the mattress dipping slightly under his shifting weight and he reached his arms out behind his head, touching Near’s face. “You and I both know you’re never thinking of just nothing.”
“Nothing direly important.” Near’s attention remained on the figure in his lap even as his cheeks were being mashed by wandering hands.
Light exhaled a breath, moving to sit up and he stared audaciously.
It was no longer careful planning for Light to wear Near down by openly checking him out, or a pastime he dabbled in purely to draw a reaction, for his own entertainment. In the beginning, it was. Successful, at that, as Near always ended up walking away first while Light tried to suppress his laughter, but since the passing years—and, well, Light wasn’t the most patient person in the world—he learned not to grow flustered over absent acknowledgement as Near learned not to react to him at all.
No, now things were different on both sides. His gazes at the younger boy were brazen and unabashed, still, but lacked any bullying intent and Near allowed them to persist without so much of a ‘what do you want?’
What did he want?
The skin underneath his fingertips was warm—soft—Light thought idly at the same time he wondered when his touch gravitated towards Near again. It trailed from the boy’s temple to the curls behind his ear and he noted with mild interest the boy quiver if ever so slightly.
“What are you thinking about now?” Light asked dreamily.
“Don’t stop.”
He paused, his ministrations freezing for a moment—ironically, exactly what he was told not to do—before snorting a chuckle. Light moved his hand so his nails grazed Near’s scalp, listening intently for the soft inhale he’d elicit from the boy, and he got his wish.
Likely, Near didn’t register the implication his statement had, how suggestive it sounded out of context. That, or he didn’t care.
It amazed Light how someone so straightforward and unfond of mincing words, could still leave Light scratching his head in puzzlement time and again. He stared at Near often because, yes, he thought the boy attractive and Father Time only blessed that allure further, but also—mostly?—because Light couldn’t figure him out. ‘What’s he thinking?’ he wondered constantly.
L was easier to read. He and L were more alike than Light could stand to dwell on sometimes. It was suffocating. Thoughts of soulmates and two people created for one another when no one else in the world was suitable. They were equals in mind, body, and soul.
Light didn’t share that same kinship with Near—
Breakfast often started around the same time for them, later than everyone else. Light suspected Near didn’t want to be bothered by the morning crowd and Light simply wasn’t willing to rise out of bed at 5 AM for food. It almost came as a stroke to Light’s ego when Near responded to his idle chit-chat with more than three words.
Almost.
Though it was quite the feet compared to Near’s interactions with most, Light could never get the boy’s attention enough for Near to actually meet his eyes, the patterns swirling in his cereal bowl always proving more interesting than Light’s leering face.
Fucking look at me.
In the library, when Light would stumble upon the boy, he’d take a seat close by and Near would lay on the ground for hours, lost in an imaginary world Light could only ponder what consisted of and only vaguely noted what a piss-poor acting job he performed in reading the upside down book in his hand.
There were things that annoyed him about Near, his bluntness and indolence, but Light didn’t hate him. He wanted little to do with Mello and couldn’t care less about the other kids, but he actually liked Near. He told him that, and Near didn’t so much entertain him a reaction.
Did he think he was joking?
—so instead it left Light with curiosity, fascination, and obsession.
A playfully accusing smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. “So that constitutes as direly important, but what you were thinking earlier doesn’t?”
He wasn’t sure if Near’s hum was in response to his query or his touch.
Light gave a moderate tug of the colorless mane and just slightly felt bad when Near winced.
“What are you doing?” He scowled.
“...I want to wash your hair. Let’s get in the shower.”
The rosy hue was impossible to miss staining porcelain skin. Light would’ve mused ‘cute’ if his mind wasn’t lingering on the oddity of it. He found Near a lot more... direct in the bedroom than he'd shown in the beginnings of their physical relationship. It was possible Light’s own assertiveness still managed to throw him off-guard every once and awhile.
Light’s lips curled, despite themselves. He scooted closer. “Yes. We haven’t in awhile. Not together, anyway. Besides, you like it when I play with your hair.”
Near’s eyes trailed to the side. His hand raised to twist in his hair, strange since Light’s own hand was already there, but the habit was as much as a nervous gesture as it was a plan old habit. He figured Near was feeling the prior.
“I suppose.”
Light laughed. “Look, Near. I’m not making you do anything you don’t want to.”
“As if you could.” Near’s eyes challenged him. “I’m answering your question. Yes.”
“Good,” Light purred and found his body tempted forward a second time, his mouth pressing against Near’s. He traced the curvature of supple lips, slipping in his tongue and stroking the roof of Near’s mouth until Light felt two hands pushing his shoulders.
“Are we getting in the shower or not?”
Perhaps Light’s pride would’ve been wounded, the small rejection, if the eyes staring back at him weren’t so impossibly dark, so impossibly telling and reflecting as if they’d already undressed and fucked Light several times over.
Light’s mouth felt dry. “L-Let’s go.” And if his voice came out hoarse, it was Near’s fault. If he allowed himself to be taken by the arm, pulled into the bathroom despite it being his idea, it was Near’s fault. If his hands clawed at the wall, scrambling to find a grip and screams coming out obscenely loud, falling asleep that night without ever having squeezed one drop of shampoo to anyone’s head, that was Near’s fault too.