Innocence (MelloxNear) (Death Note)

Epilogue

A/N - Short little thing for no reason.

26th January, 2014

The weather was bitter; a swirling pool of freezing air engulfed the area, leaving frosted trails and icy remains in it's wake. The dying chirps of starving birds, the ever so light sounds of engines combusting into roars as they sprung into action, and shaky breaths of pedestrians were the only sounds to be heard this fateful moonlit night.

A lone figure trudged through the smog, hands deeply shoved into the crevices of his pastel blue jeans, slowly moving towards his destination. Despite his jagged exhales, he didn't seem to be affected by the cold, even though his skinny figure looked like a prime suspect for illness. With a sigh, he brought one hand up, entwining it with a strand of his snow white hair, distracting himself from the task at hand.

"You'll be fine, Near..." He convinced himself, muttering those words quietly. It wasn't like anybody was going to hear his sentence, but he kept it on the down low regardless, still wary of being followed by Kira supporters. Since the fall of the 'King', the world had been released from it's tyranical ruler, yet... Somehow, it didn't seem as if anything had truly changed. Especially the hardcore believers, who had taken it upon themselves to rid the world of wasted prospect.

Near sighed, dropping his hand in defeat, holding back the urge to scream in anger. His emotions had been getting the better of him lately, especially when he thought of every being who had died to take down Kira. Was it all for nothing? Did all those people throw away their lives for a wasted idea of living without fear? It seemed that fearsome thought was a reality.

Having witnessed the true colours of Light Yagami, and his insane God complex, Near just had to wonder why anybody would idolize such a foul and worthless human- No, Light was far from anything even remotely humane. He was a wolf in sheeps clothing. The innocent, sweet college boy, turning out to be the shinigami of the human race. One that killed without hesitation nor regret.

Mihael Keehl
1992 - 2013
"I lost the game, but I still came in first."

Mail Jeevas
1993 - 2008
"Bury me with my video games and a packet of cigarettes. They might not sell that shit in Hell."

Somehow Near had managed to get Mello buried right next to his old best friend, despite the large gap between their deaths. Apparently, Roger had reserved the grave beside it just in case, and Near had to at least thankful for that. But now wasn't the time to thank that old man; the albino sighed deeply at the realization. He hated this. He hated seeing stone where their should have been him.

A cracked shoulder of cement instead of those luxuriously soft locks. The pungent arome of decay and that familiar whiff of despair that Near had become to acustomed to over the years - yet at that very moment made him want to cover his lower face and bolt - instead of the sweet aroma of chocolate and shea butter. Spurts of grass and foliage layered over the six feet length of land acted as clothing for him rather than the skintight leather that had become as natural as a second skin for the one under the ground.

The boy stood before the grave smiled lightly at himself, as if to trick himself into believing that the events that had unravelled previously were anything but something despicable. Something that would haunt him in his dreams - if they could even be counted as anything but nightmares. The upturn of his lips soon faded into nothingness, and he found himself staring blankly with his typical unemotionless gaze.

Unemotive... That's what he was assumed to be. It wasn't true; when the news of Mello's passing thanks to the tyranical rule of Light Yagami, he wanted to cry. The two had seperated after being assigned the case to keep up the Wammy's house impressions. They clashed like usual when that was done, and soon, Near wasn't hearing from him in weeks. Week turned to months, to years, and then Near realized the obvious fact he should have accounted for when they were 'together':

They were rivals. Pitted against each other by the staff in order to push them over the boundries. All of their lives, it had been a game of cat and mouse as each improved to keep the number one spot (even if Near never really studied for it). 

They were detectives. It wasn't in their nature to work together on cases; if asked to, the two boys would split without a second thought. Mello was an impulsive, impatient person: His methods all involved action with barely any thought. Near was a thoughtful, planning person: Most of the time, he didn't act until the perfect moment arose and he had a clear blueprint of what he needed to do.

They were backups. That's all they'd ever been. Replacements for the all great and powerful detective that was worth brainwashing a bunch of children to copy his every move. Clones, if you will. Not genetically modified, just mentally changed. Warped in order to become everything they weren't.

"It's not as though this wasn't expected..." Near muttered bitterly, kicking earth beneath his feet in what felt to be a toned down version of sadness. A year. Had it really been that long? Had he avoided this site for a whole 365 days? Eying the unfamiliar cobble with disgust, it seemed certain. His reasoning was petty to say the least; he simply didn't wish to show whatever came with seeing your lover's (Friend's? Rival's? Aquaintance's?) usually lifefull body covered in disgusting dirt, covered in a thin layer of ice from the biting weather.

Near knew he could do it. Join the two of them, be a part of whatever cult in Hell they had managed to become entwined with. It was easy. Just one slice of a knife that he had become so numb to, a downing of pills so sickly that it ruptured his insides (He'd be long gone before the feeling hit), one bullet through his brain. 

No. No no no no no. It wasn't right, and just witnessing the thought appear in his mind was enough to let him know that he couldn't... Near smirked, feeling the wetness of snowflakes pattern themselves onto his thin clothing. Mello was yelling at him, Matt probably was too. Or was that disrespectful towards them? Near ammended his thought. Mihael and Mail. The words were foreign upon his tongue, barely even uttered before that precise moment.

Regardless, Near realized just how long he had been stanced facing those pillars of depression. He didn't have time to stay. No... He had business to do. For L. For Mello... For himself.

The only proof he had even been there was the footprints that sunk into the pale snow, and even then, they were swept away by the harsh flakes. Almost ghostlike, he dissapeared into the fog and storm, engulfed by a swirling tornado of wind that gladly accepted him into it's embrace.