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There weren’t many things Near was not good at. He wasn’t good at cooking, for example. He could never remember where to put the softener when he had to do laundry, and he couldn’t iron his shirts for the life of him. He was terrible at any physical activity (especially basketball, he despised basketball).
He was fine with not being good at that kind of things, it wasn’t particularly relevant to him in order to live his life and do his job. He didn’t have to cook for himself, he wrote down where to put the softener, the wrinkles on his shirt weren’t that noticeable, and nobody forced him to do physical activity, since he was the best.
But he was also terrible at Mello. And he was not fine with it.
To Near, even just breathing around Mello was like walking on eggshells. To him specifically, it had always been like that. Since he could remember, Mello was annoyed or mad at him by default. When he was reading in the library and Mello walked in to study, he could hear him sigh and groan loudly and right after, stomp away and slam the door. When at lunch Near dared to sit near Mello and Matt, Mello purposefully knocked over his figurines that he brought along so he would leave. Near could hear him calling him a childish idiot every single time as he walked away from the table after collecting his so called toys.
One time he had asked him not to say that anymore, and Mello got so mad that he snapped one of Near’s figurines. It was the first time he saw something twist Mello’s features, a different shade, nothing like what painted his expression when he looked at Near.
He was used to indifference (the days he was indifferent, Near considered it the days in which Mello liked him), annoyance or anger. But when his figurine snapped Mello looked like he was lost in thought, as if he didn’t expect it, even though he fully intended to break it.
He still looked annoyed and angry, but lost in thought for a second. Maybe saying he was forcing himself to stay mad was an exaggeration, but it did look like it.
Near was so surprised he didnt even think about the figurine, he just stared back with a face he couldn’t begin to imagine. Maybe it reflected Mello’s, he probably looked lost in thought too. He was just better at pretending he wasn’t. And Mello was too, of course, but Near just felt it.
Near did know what Mello was thinking about almost all of the time, like he was born with the special abilty to read his mind and no one else’s. His problem wasn’t understanding Mello on the inside, but trying to understand the way he was on the outside. Why Near was the scapegoat, the destination of his anger outbursts, it could be attributed to his inferiority complex (Near had always been careful to never call it that out loud) but it couldn’t stop there. He did nothing to make Mello feel a step back behind him, and even if he knew he was a step ahead anyone else in the Wammy’s House, he only saw Mello as his equal. And when you’re equals, there is no reason why competition should matter. When you’re at that level you don’t really have anyone to understand you deeply, to build a worthy connection with. He could only ever feel the need of a connection when he looked at Mello.
He surely couldn’t change other people’s point of view: if he was the smartest in their eyes, that didn’t matter. Mello was just as smart as him in his: why would it matter if people below them thought differently?
Near still kept the broken pieces of the figurines on his nightstand, as if it was a newly acquired, prized possession, instead of old and ruined pieces broken out of anger. As if Mello gave it a new meaning.
Near marked it as the one time he thought he’d hear him ask for forgiveness, and even though he didn’t, he still forgave.
___
He decided to avoid Mello for a while, since he thought that was probably what he’d appreciate. Or want. It had been hard to avoid running into him since they did most things together whether they liked it or not. So when they stepped out of their rooms, unconveniently next to each other, instead of glancing up at Mello like he always did he simply kept his head down, turned his back at him and left.
He did not try sitting at his table again. Matt probably felt bad about it, so one evening he stopped in front of Near’s table and asked him if he wanted to join them, swearing he’d keep Mello quiet. Near thanked and refused without looking at him once and pretended to focus on his book.
“Don’t worry, I’ll keep him quiet.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll keep him quiet.”
Near lost all of his appetite. He stood up and left, feeling eyes on him the whole time.
How did Matt so easily get in Mello’s good graces? He could tease him, he could lay his forehead on his shoulder in the morning when he was too tired and the bright light from the cafeteria’s windows hurt his eyes. He could talk to him for hours. He could get better grades than Mello (only ever happened three times in informatics) and not get screamed at. He could get Mello to smile and laugh, or to whisper jokes in his ear. And he made him laugh a lot, Near heard it through the thin walls at night. He could keep him quiet. He could keep him from being mean to Near. His affection towards Matt was stronger than his hate for Near and this was the realization that got on his nerves more than anything else.
He locked himself in his room and got so lost in thought that by the time he gained consciousness of his surroundings, half of his puzzles were solved and he was completing his third card house. His legs had gone numb from being in the same exact position for hours. He realized his head was pounding and felt so heavy he immediately rested it back on his own shoulder.
He stood up, carefully removed the cards from the floor and put the puzzles back into their boxes.
He gave his temples a rub before opening the door, headed towards the kitchen to get a glass of water that would have maybe helped his headache.
But Mello opened the door at the same time and just as Near was about to keep his promise and act like he wasn’t there, Mello spoke.
“Hey, listen. I’m sorry about the toy.”
Near stopped and just looked at him. Clearly waiting for more.
“You’re obviously mad about it, alright? So there you go, I’m sorry.” There was something very similar to desperation in his voice. Like he was begging more than apologizing. It was more like a plead.
“Did you hear me?”
Near nodded. “Yes. I heard you, Mello.”
Mello rested his hand on the door, nervously tapping his fingers.
“I wasn’t mad about my figurine. Things break all the time.”
“Did you fucking read that sentence in your idiot depressing books or”
“What do you need me to say?” Asked Near, tilting his head.
Mello scrunched his nose. “Nothing. Fuck.” He slammed his door.
Near smiled until his head hurt too much to stay awake.
___
So, ignoring Mello made him interested. So, Mello missed their back and forth just as much as Near did, because if he didn’t, he wouldn’t have destroyed his own ego by apologizing to Near of all people. Near guessed the apology itself was probably killing him, he could only imagine how mad the lack of care in his answer must have gotten him.
He kept not looking at him and sitting as far as possible from him, both because he was trying to make him talk to him again, and because he felt like if he went back to normal he’d break this kind of balance he created.
Anytime he was close to Mello, his fingertips buzzed. Not enough to keep him from balancing cards, he noted, but enough to feel like all of his blood was concentrating in his fingers and not enough was reaching his head. It wasn’t exactly comfortable to him, he was used to his brain’s flawless performance at any time of night and day, but he didn’t mind his train of thought being derailed by Mello.
He enjoyed thinking of him as he put the pieces of his puzzle together, or as he re painted his figurines. Many of them now looked like Mello, and he made sure those ones always stayed in his room, hidden in his closet.
And he could always feel eyes burning in the back of his neck. When he turned around pretending to check the time on the clock and caught Mello’s stare from the other side of the room, his fingertips buzzed.
___
There was only one cross hanging on a wall at Wammy’s House. It was situated pretty far from the dorms, all the way to the library, the quietest place in the building. Near wasn’t sure why it was even there, since no one spared it a glance most of the time. Everyone was too caught up in anything else to have time for faith. Near himself relied on what was concrete, tangible, something he could be sure of and that he didn’t need to have faith in for it to exist. He never understood religion, or at least, he did know about it but faith was a concept that just did not reason with who he was. It was more of a fable to him. To make humans feel better about having to live.
So when he finished his book and wasn’t nearly tired enough to go to bed and he decided to go pick another one, he was somewhat surprised to see Mello with his hands clasped, eyes shut and kneeling under the old, small cross hanging on the wall of the library.
A necklace made out of beads and a cross charm hugged one of his hands, and he was tightly holding one of the beads between his thumb and pointer finger. He was holding it so tight that Near thought his fingertips might start bleeding. His mouth was moving quickly, his whispers so quiet Near could not make out any word. Thankful for his socks that did not make any kind of noise, he hid behind a wall and watched Mello pray. Anytime he stopped reciting the prayer, he changed the bead he was holding and repeated the action.
Hail Marys. Near only knew because on his fifth time repeating it, Mello’s voice broke from crying, and he wasn’t able to keep quiet anymore. Near had never heard someone as sad as Mello reciting a prayer.
He saw tears quickly running down Mello’s cheeks, a sight he’d never erase. The same feeling he got when his room was too dark when he was younger, or when he felt like he was going to vomit. He was scared and unsettled, mostly, seeing a part of Mello he didn’t think would exist. Stupid of him, because everyone cried, once in a while. His heart started aching and beating faster.
Then, after some more muffled sobs and choked words, Near turned to the cross. He clasped his hands together and closed his eyes. He didn’t know all of the prayers by heart like Mello did, nor he owned a rosary, not that he was aware Mello owned one. He didn’t believe in God, Jesus, Mary.
He kneeled and kept his hands together as tight as he could, and prayed for Mello to not cry anymore.
___
That night he learned the Hail Mary. Pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.
___
His routine included praying with Mello now. He tried keeping up learning all of the prayers, some days he knew what Mello was saying, other days he did not, so he just kept his eyes closed and his hands clasped. Other days Mello didn’t speak at all, he just cried. So Near prayed for him.
He had figured out the time when Mello would leave his room and go downstairs. Near would hear the door open (he suspected that was how Mello intercepted him when he went to get a glass of water to apologize, his fingertips buzzed when he thought about it), he’d hear some footsteps and wait five minutes, enough to be able to follow him quietly.
There were two possibilities: if Mello noticed, he did not yell at him. If Mello did not notice, Near had been good at following him. It was still positive for him.
Like every time, he kneeled facing the cross, behind a shelf, far enough so Mello can’t spot him in the dark.
Clasped his hands together, closed his eyes.
“Please, I don’t wanna go to hell.” He heard him whisper.
He couldn’t think of a reason Mello could go to hell for.
___
When he heard a knock on his door he thought it could’ve been God himself outside of his room to thank him for the prayers before he thought of the possibility of it being Mello drunk out of his mind. What are the odds?
He stumbled inside, and Near immediately shut the door, scared of somebody noticing Mello drunk in the middle of the hallway. He knew it was Matt’s idea. He heard the door slam open against the wall and heavy footsteps followed by giggling. He guessed. It was ten minutes before Mello knocked at his door, more or less. Near never tried drinking before in his life, but he was sure that having so much on a tuesday night probably wasn’t the smartest move. Matt was careless about his behavior in class, but Mello was always perfect. He wouldn’t let these stupid activities ruin his reputation.
“Mello. Mello.” He tried calling and Mello fell on his knees. Near sighed and kneeled in front of him.
“Near” he said. A plead. Near’s fingertips felt weird. “Near,” Mello grabbed his hands and held them together, just like when he prayed.
“Yes?”
“You know everything, don’t you, Near?” Mello looked up at him holding his hands tight. His eyes were puffy and glassy, and Near didn’t know what to do with such honesty. It was too sincere and it felt like he was wronging Mello by just looking at him. Like he didnt deserve that kind of sight.
“You know everything so then what’s sin supposed to look like?”
Soundless words escaped from Near’s lips when he let his mouth slightly drop open. Mello’s rosary had slipped out of the shirt he concealed it with.
“Isn’t sin supposed to make me miserable, Near?”
“Mello.” He tried.
“Why am I happier sinning?”
Near’s whole hands where buzzing as he put them on Mello’s shoulders, trying to snap him back.
“You need to drink some water.”
“Why am I happier praying if you do it with me?”
He panicked internally and wondered how?, but he was relieved he wasn’t being picked on about it. He was now painfully aware of the broken figure laying on his nightstand, though.
“Why do you make me feel more loved than God does?”
Those were a lot of questions for someone who never tried speaking to him without absolute hatred poisoning his voice. A lot for Near who didn’t have a single answer. He never thought he was making Mello feel loved, he never thought of describing him and Mello with that word. He decided he had priorities and brushed the drunk words off, dragging Mello towards his own bed. It was weird seeing him in his usual space. Too intimate for Near and Mello.
He helped Mello hold and drink a whole glass of water as slowly as he could, and made sure to lay him down safely. He wanted to pray for Mello not to vomit.
“You don’t even know any prayer.”
“But I do.”
“You don’t. Shut up, Near.”
“You are in my room and yet you expect me not to talk?”
Mello groaned.
“Near, please. My head hurts.”
“That is your own fault.”
Near sat with his shoulders against the mattress, and felt Mello’s eyes on him, but this time neither of them tried covering up the way they were looking at each other.
“I wish this was hell.”
“It will be tomorrow morning.”
“No, Near. I meant I wish looking at you was hell.”
His whole body buzzed. Thankfully he was sitting. He had no idea what to say to that.
“I don’t like it when you don’t answer because I think you’re mad at me.”
“I am not.”
“I know you aren’t but you act like you are.”
“I am distant because I thought you’d like it.”
Mello stayed silent. He closed his eyes.
“I’m sorry for breaking your figurine. I had Matt sneak superglue to fix it.”
“No, I like it how it is.”
“It’s broken.”
Near looked back at Mello and at the rosary that laid on the bed, the cross hanging from the mattress.
“I know.”