Dreams of Silver and Red

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Every night, his mind would fill  with imitations of the world. The universe was almost the same, but with a skewed view... With a sick focus on what really got under his skin. Mello walked down seemingly endless halls, his dream creating the effect of freezing air. He wrapped his dark sleeved arms around his small middle, trying to conserve an imaginary warmth. He held onto himself as he walked more and more slowly down the twisting corridors. If he couldn't make it to where ever he was headed, he'd become a Mihasicle. Along with each step came a thudding, glowing red heartbeat, which went rapid by the time Mello could see a silver light up ahead. Where this led to, he didn't know. Well, his conscious self did. How could he ever forget what tormented him every time he closed his eyes? His sleepy self foolishly let in a sense of hope. The light, it directed him just where he needed to go. As he sped after it, his body contorted and reformed, leaving a trail of clothes in his wake. In what seemed like seconds years went by, and he was in his feathered black jacket, along with his nasty splattered burn across his face. He could feel the exact instant of agony when he'd gotten stuck in the building explosion. Little Mello, well, bigger Mello, had tried to make it out, but a certain light was on his mind. It practically reflected in his eyes as the flames burst around him. Next thing he knew, he was sprawled across the floor of Matt's apartment with an ugly mark. A terrible reminder.

Shaking to the bone, limping, and gasping for air that was not there, Mello made it to the light he so craved.

He let it embrace him with all of it's fiery warmth. Ah, much better. It hurt, but it was better than being cold. It was better than being alone. Abandoned.

The light lifted him up by his underarms

"Thank you."

It raised a shimmery hand and pressed it onto Mello's chest ever so gently, but with a kind force.

Silver ran through him, warmed and chilled him. This healing light lent him the strength to walk past a tall awning and into a strange, pristine room. Mello's heart shone a silvery red as he faced his enemy.

"Hello, Mello."

"N..Near!"

"Hm, where to start..." The white haired idiot sat cross-legged on an elevated white floor, twirling a piece of hair in his pointer finger. "Ah, I know." he looked up to the ceiling, which was also the same color white. Everything in the room melded together. Mihael could barely see Near through the brightness. He focused on the other's grey eyes that glared at him across the void.
"You always know." Mello grumbled, but with a sort of fondness.

"Dear Mello, why would you try to compete with me even though our cooperation would have greatly benefited the world?"

His throat become dry and tightened as he gulped. He hated that question.

"I..." He could not answer. It was as if something tugged at his vocal cords. Shadowy hands wrapped around his throat. He wondered if he was losing his mind, but did not have long to linger on the thought.

"Your pride swallowed you whole, as it always has."

His pride made his ears flush red and he stomped forward, dark hands pushing him.

"How dare you even TRY to play this game with me!" He jabbed a dark finger right at Near, directly between his piercing eyes, like he was aiming. His pointing hand formed into a fist, which he pulled in and knocked into his thigh.

"I'm not one of your toys. I'm not one of your dominoes that you can knock over whenever you please with a touch of a finger. I'm not even that damned finger puppet you made.You can't get to me. As much as you dislike it, the truth is that you cannot control me. I'm stronger than you'll ever be!"

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