neallo

hi there! i have been intending to start using dreamwidth more often, and now that i have a new computer, it's a bit easier for me to actually do that :-) this piece is a oneshot prequel to my current main work-in-progress, i want to hold you (hostage), which at some point i will try to cross-post here as well. i would rate this particular piece as teen with no particularly large warnings but with notes for possessive behavior, mentions of bullying, and jealousy.

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“You like that,” Mello whispers, his face just centimeters from Near’s, his hands cupping the younger boy’s cheeks. “How I kiss you. You like it, don’t you?”

Near stares into his half-lidded eyes, gripping the back of Mello’s shirt and breathing heavy.

“Yes,” he says, dutiful. “I like it a lot.”

Mello kisses him again, twice in quick succession.

“Cute,” Mello says. “You wouldn’t let anyone else kiss you. Right?”

They’ve been through this routine enough times that Near’s answer is waiting on his tongue before Mello even finishes the question.

“Of course not.”

“Only me.” Mello claims Near’s mouth again, nipping at his lips gently.

“Only Mello,” Near agrees when the older boy allows him the space to speak.

“Yeah.” A shuddery breath and a soft curse, then fingers sliding into Near’s hair. “You’re mine.”

“I’m yours.”

“My Near. Îngerașul meu.” Mello pecks him on the nose. “No one else is allowed to do this. Not ever. Okay?”

“Okay,” Near says. “Are you going to…?”

Mello shushes him. “I’ve got you,” he says, and pulls Near in again.

Near isn’t oblivious.

He knows Mello’s possessiveness isn’t exactly healthy.

But really, there’s very little about their situation that could be called healthy.

Mello was abandoned at an orphanage in Bucharest when he was seven years old; Near found his mother’s lifeless body when he was six. With the way Wammy’s House operates, they’ve never had any chance of finding new families or living normal lives, and instead spent much of their childhoods locked in competition with one another to replace a man that is now dead. At ages thirteen and almost-fifteen, Near and Mello began working around the clock to try and catch the person who killed him, the world’s most prolific serial killer, fighting against a faceless and terrifying entity who seems to gain more power with every passing day.

It’s a miracle, he thinks, that their relationship isn’t worse.

Before L died, it was worse. Mello kissed him for the first time in May of that year, and they found out about his death in December. For seven months, Mello’s behavior was dizzyingly inconsistent. He would drag Near into an abandoned hallway and kiss him senseless before breakfast, then knock over his card tower and hiss insults at him after lunch, and completely ignore him through dinner.

The news of L’s death devastated Mello: he was barely able to eat or sleep, cried until he dehydrated himself, nauseous with anguish over it. Near refused to leave his side for days, and by the time Mello’s tears finally dried, something had changed. Quiet, tired, Mello looked him in the eye, stared like he’d never really seen Near before that moment, and wordlessly pulled him close.

He hasn’t hurt Near since.

Not on purpose, anyway. He doesn’t hit Near anymore, or push him around, but Mello is bigger than he is, and stronger, and he isn’t used to treating anyone gently. He doesn’t realize when he’s holding Near too tight or kissing him too hard, and Near isn’t going to tell him.

Near likes being held. He likes being kissed. He doesn’t mind if it hurts a little— sometimes he even likes that, too, because it feels like proof. The fingertip bruises along his shoulders and hips are evidence that Mello wanted to keep him close, enough that he clung harder than he should have.

The pain is a physical manifestation of Near being wanted. Maybe even loved.

Mello hasn’t told Near he loves him, but he says Near belongs to him, and Near suspects that might mean the same thing to Mello. A handful of times, Near has said it, but he doesn’t do it regularly. He can’t tell if it makes Mello very happy or very uncomfortable, and he doesn’t want to make Mello feel like he has to say it back.

Near doesn’t need to hear it. Mello being by his side is enough.

Though Near doesn’t really mind Mello’s tendency towards jealousy, he also doesn’t understand it. There’s no one in the world Near wants the way he wants Mello, no one who matters the way Mello does— he’s everything to Near. There’s no reason for him to feel jealous of anyone else. Near doesn’t get jealous of anyone else.

Until, one day, he does.

It’s dinnertime, and a girl Mello’s age is sitting too-close to him, leaning in more than necessary to talk and acting like Near isn’t even there. He’s lost track of what on earth they’re discussing— it was something about Laplace transforms at first, then they moved on to Riemann surfaces, and then Near’s blood started rushing loud enough in his ears to mostly drown out the conversation. Nails digging into his palms, he stares desperately at Mello from across the table, mentally pleading with him to recoil when the girl touches his arm.

He doesn’t.

He doesn’t, and Near sits there thinking about how attractive Mello is, and how this girl looks better next to Mello than he does, and how it’s never really made sense for him to want Near when he could have anyone.

Maybe he just didn’t know.

Maybe he’s figuring it out right now.

Maybe he’ll start doing the things he does to Near to someone else instead.

Near doesn’t mean to stand at all, and he definitely doesn’t mean to stand up as suddenly as he does. Mello’s gaze finally— finally— returns to him, expression worried, and Near wants to say something about not being hungry or about wanting to get something from the library but instead he turns, movements jerky, and leaves without a word.

It’s less than a minute before Mello catches up to him, grabs Near before he even reaches the stairs and puts both hands on his shoulders, leaning down to look him in the eye.

“What’s wrong with you?” He says it so nice, so soft, that it sounds like he’s talking to a little kid.

It’s humiliating, and it hurts, stinging sharp like a cut wiped over with alcohol.

“Nothing.” He bites the side of his tongue hard. “I’m fine. I want to get back to work.”

“Bullshit,” Mello says. “Don’t lie to me.”

Lips pressed into a tight line, Near remains silent.

“Are you pissed at me?” Mello asks, almost incredulous.

“I said I’m fine.”

“Fine,” Mello snaps. “Have your little tantrum or whatever the fuck.”

He stalks off and leaves Near alone in the hallway, wondering if the last time Mello kissed him was the last time he ever will.

Mello doesn’t come back to their room until late. Him coming back is a relief in and of itself— if he wanted to, he could’ve slept in his old bed, in Matt’s room— but Near still wonders where he’s been, who he was with, what he was doing. It was only a few hours, but that’s the longest they’ve been apart from each other in over a year.

He enters the room quietly, toes off his shoes, and doesn’t look at Near.

“Hello,” Near says. He sounds miserable even to himself.

“Hi.” Mello sits down on his own bed, the one he hasn’t actually slept in for months now, choosing instead to cradle Near each night. “You wanna tell me what the hell that was earlier?”

Near reaches his right hand up to wind a strand of hair around his index finger.

“It was foolish,” he says. “I apologize.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“I’d prefer not to discuss it.”

Mello huffs. “Are you fucking serious?”

Lowering his gaze to the floor, Near nods.

“Alright. I— whatever,” Mello says, standing again. “If you’re not gonna talk to me, I’ll just fuck off.”

“Wait,” Near blurts. “Don’t— please don’t go.”

The begging works; Mello freezes in place, seemingly taken aback by the small outburst.

“Okay,” he says.

Near tries his luck again. “Could you come here?”

The cool, even tone he’s normally able to maintain has worn thin, fragility and neediness peeking through the cracks.

Mello’s expression is one of hesitant curiosity, but after a few seconds of consideration, he gives in and moves to sit beside Near on the bed they actually sleep in.

He doesn’t say anything else, and for a long moment, neither does Near. They both just stare.

“Mello,” he finally tries, cautious. “I’m— I’m yours. Right?”

It’s been days since the last time Mello told him. Near doesn’t care if he sounds pathetic— he needs to hear it right now.

“Of course.” Mello says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, like there’s never been any question, and like there never will be.

“And you?” He leans closer to Mello.

“What about me?”

His fingers find Mello’s sleeve, pinching the fabric there.

“You’re mine,” Near breathes. “Aren’t you?”

The older boy’s face softens, his mouth curving into a smile. “You were jealous.”

“She was pretty,” Near mentions.

“You’re pretty.” Mello gathers him in his arms and kisses him, slow but not-gentle. He sucks on Near’s bottom lip, pushes his tongue into Near’s mouth, and holds him too-tight, the way Near likes best.

“I don’t want you to kiss anyone else.”

Mello tugs on his hair. “Don’t be stupid. I’m not going to.”

“You wouldn’t,” Near says, mostly to himself. “You wouldn’t.”

“Hush. I’m yours. Okay?”

Near smiles, contented.

“Mine.”