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Near can really only stomach one slice of the cake. Each bite is thin and melts on his tongue and leaves his taste buds undisturbed in seconds, but still. The texture feels wrong; the fluff gives him hives. Near wishes more food came in sharp lines. Mello had the right idea with his lovingly refrigerated chocolate bars.
("He looks like he's gonna be sick," says Matt, poking idly at the back of Near's head.
Mihael's sitting cross-legged and glances up at Near's expression, evaluates. Matt likes being all handsy with Mihael's arch-something — probably to mess with Mihael, unsuccessfully — but it's been months and Mihael still can't bring himself to touch Near. It's too easy. What's the point.
"He'll be fine.")
He'd asked the rest of the former Special Provision for Kira to go home for the evening before unboxing the cake, which now strikes him as a misstep. They could have shared it. He'd thought of this beforehand, but it felt too juvenile an idea; he's L now and L hardly shares. L would blow out the candles shaped like a 1 and a 9 by himself, and so Near did too. The room was illuminated at the time (it shut off a few minutes ago at the strike of midnight), so the loss of two flames was hardly noticeable in the drowning light. Near had watched the smoke filter up and up and up until it dissipated.
But now he is left with seven-eighths of a cake.
What to do with this? Force himself through it? Smash it into a wall? Order a flight to Japan and dig a hole in the middle of a burnt scrap of land in Karuizawa and bury it there? Kill himself?
Near slides the bulk of it back into its box and then stands, cycles his aching legs to deliver him to the garbage disposal chute, and drops the box in.
("What a waste," Matt sighs, sticking his head through the wall to watch it fall. "Weird. He never asked for birthday cake back in the House."
Mihael watches how Near's legs shake and thinks, He picked chocolate.)
Clang.
They all fall.
Near kicks a nearby card tower over before returning to his spot in the center of the floor. It's late. The thermostat has already adjusted to the temperature that allows him to lie down, curl in on himself, and sleep.
(Mihael almost reaches for the smear of chocolate left on the corner of his mouth. It's a close thing. He doesn't.)