MSN Log || Never Let You Go [Complete]

[black-gloved.livejournal.com]

Who: Near [white_puzzles], Mello [black_gloved]
Where: Room 213 - 2nd Floor
When: Backdated; Saturday, August 18th - One hour after this conversation.
Rating: PG/PG-13ish?
Summary: Unspoken truths are always the ones that hurt the most.
the Story:

Room 213. Mello was waiting for him there. The feeling of dejavu was pulsing in Near's mind. Same situation and same outcome. Then why was he repeating the same steps, walking the same path he'd already walked? The answer was actually very obvious and well acknowledged. Easy to guess, difficult to admit. For once, Near had come in terms with his own feelings, deciding that lying to himself was a mistake. Then again, admitting his weakness and following Mello's desires was, too. But he missed Mello. He always did. Any attempt to break his bond with the blond had been futile. He'd walk to him again and again, a masochistic and self-tortuous way to give some meaning to a life that was starting to lose any. And those times he wouldn't walk, Mello would come to him, staining him with his addictive presence and demanding no less from him. Perhaps that was why it was so perfect. Lost in thought, Near was about to knock on the door before he realized that it was, for once, open for him. The open door was an outstretched hand, a misleading gesture, offering entry but no promise of return. C'mon, c'mere, I'll grab you by the wrist and break your bones. Those who enter here: I'll never let you go. Never let you go. Mello could feel Near's presence, but he didn't look back, eyes instead flickering to the window pane, glimpsing at the reflection there. Testing, testing. One. Two. Three. Mello could feel the beginnings of a headache settling in the base of his skull, but no other reaction surfaced. No power struggle; no voice in the back of his head; no wave of thick and cloying blackness to drown him. Nothing. It almost sent a shiver up his spine. Left hand met window glass, palm pressed against the smooth surface. The touch branched out, spread warmth to the crystal, and left the perfect outline of fingers and flesh when pulled away. I'm still here. The trigger (bang bang, you're dead) hadn't worked. And he could only begin to wonder why. Perhaps the bullet wounds had yet to show. "Near," voice detached and devoid of sin, there was only truth here "we both waited, in the end." Near stood quietly for a moment, motionless, not taking a step forward nor backwards, simply not moving in any direction. Torn between point A and point B, between the eternal struggle of must and want. It felt like forever from the last time he'd seen Mello. Mello. And the sight felt like a ghost, a mesmerizing apparition - ephemeral like the sand slipping through your fingers and taken far away by the unfair wind. Mello himself knew how fragile his existence had become, he hadn't turned to look at Near. He didn't dare to -- it was likely he was afraid to disappear as soon as his eyes meet dark, vacant ones. There was nothing Near could do to prevent Mello from leaving; Mello was always out of his reach, always half-there, half-gone. There was nothing he could do, except perhaps find a meaning for the short time they might be able to exchange words. Because every word could be the last one. Something moved, something happened. The next moment, pale, thin arms were wrapped tightly around Mello from behind. Near buried his face in the boy's back, hiding from everyone but him. Tired of pretending, of running away. Of waiting. He said nothing. And Mello choked on the silence, suffocated on feelings that shouldn't have been, and leaned forward, resting his forehead on the cool sheet of glass before him. He closed his eyes for a moment, a split second, and focused on the splinter-thin arms that twined around him, that were trying to keep him here. Never let you go. Mello cracked a grin, and it was crooked, haphazard, fleeting - everything that he was. "I never pegged you as one to display sudden bouts of affection, Near." This isn't like you, Near. Fuck. This isn't like me, either. I hate you, don't I? But I'm not going to stop you, either. Not when I can't even begin to look you in the eyes. It was clear, then, what his rival felt. It was clear as glass and just as transparent. Mello's left hand came to rest atop of Near's, enveloping it with a foreign sort of warmth. He hated Near. He always had. But he hated this more than anything else. It was like he was dying, it was like he had no time left. Pathetic. The headache was getting worse, it pulsed in his temples and caused his vision to blur. (The bullet wounds had been visible all along.) Mello faltered, gripping Near's hand with more force than he should have, more force than Near could take. (Was that the sound of knuckles cracking?) "Look at who's talking," was the calm reply. "The one who answers my questions with stolen kisses." Had his arms not been around Mello's waist, it'd have been hard to recognize any kind of affection just from his neutral tone. Though affection was definitely there, enduring the slight pain Mello's grip was causing, refusing to let go. Near feared that he'd be back as soon as he separated from the other boy -- just the way Mello was holding his hand was enough for Near to notice the struggle taking place inside the blond's mind, and perhaps also his body. Near accepted and embraced it as something inevitable. Mello would never stop hating him. Mello would never cry for him. Mello would never take his hand for the both of them not to be lost ever again. And Near had resolved to live without regrets, even if he only had a minute of his life to show Mello that he had truly meant something – that he always will. Near brushed his cheek against the boy's back like a kitten, something surprising in someone so averse to touching like he was. He breathed deeply, taking in the boy's scent and warmth, keeping them locked in his memory like everything else about him. Almost as if it were the last time they'd meet. But this meeting, this tryst, was no different from the last and no different from the first. There had never been pretense of salvation, no false promise of you'll never be lost again - there had only been the hard truth of competition, a slaughterhouse brand in all force of conjecture. They were always running out of time. And Mello was always the first to leave. The sharp air, his rapid heartbeat, even his hand and its quiet plea to never let go, all became muffled by the echoes of Near's movements, reverberating through his mind - it hurt. (but then again, the truth always does) "The kisses weren't stolen, you've always given them willingly." Mello laughed, a deep rumble of sound, and resisted the urge to drive his fist through the window pane. (Would broken glass scare you off, Mihael, would it?) But the process that had begun was irreversible, complete in its putrefaction. He was already being severed off, and in Near's arms Mello stilled, dizzy and evaporating, but fighting just the same. I won't leave yet, I won't. I refuse. It was true that he could never stop inbred hate, it was true that he could never shed tears for a rival, it was true that he could never follow the path for two, but that didn't change his addiction. There would always be blood that wasn't his own flowing through his veins. The manacle over Near's hand fell away, and the spider-touch of fingers trailed across the boy's arm, stroking gently, as if to make up for the harsh action. The lull before the storm. He took a chance, ignored the stab of pinprick needles dredging through his mind, and looked over his shoulder at the small form behind him. "I'll come back, I will." i n e v i t a b i l i t y in more ways than one. Enough. There was only so much that someone so averse to touching was able to take. Near was close to that limit and decided that it was simply enough. Slowly, ever so slowly, Near pulled back. Arms leaving the place where they truly belonged (though not the place the should be, it already had a different owner), setting the other boy free. But never free, right? None of them were. Not from each other. Near slightly raised his eyes to look at Mello once more, at the image of Mello struggling to not fade away. Those words already revealed his defeat -- he was truly going to fade away; the test had already brought him the so awaited results, and results spoke by themselves. The only thing Mello could leave for now was a promise that meant everything, but that was reserved for someone else. Mello wouldn't come back for him, Near was the reason for his disappearance - this time and all the previous ones. But Near had always liked knowing that Mello was alive somewhere in the world, so everything would be all right as long as the boy had a reason to come back. The emptiness of his dark eyes met Mello's as pale lips parted to say something in return. No voice came from them. I will be waiting for you. Mello answered that unspoken statement, that undeniable truth, with a 180 degree turn and a kiss that wasn't, and never would be, stolen. The crushing, mind-numbing, open-mouthed kiss was a brutal way to say I know, thank you, and a million other things that Mello didn't know if he meant. Breathless seconds ticked away and the kiss continued, violent and torrid, ripping them both apart from the seams. One final thought, one final answer, one final truth, before his strings were cut; I'll come back because I'll never let you go. fade & burn away.