Dear Near,

If you're reading this, you're eighteen. In England and the Americas, it makes you an adult. Imagine that, the little twerp I tend to pick on is now old enough to walk into a porn shop and buy something. In Japan, however, you'd still be considered a child. I suppose, for all intense purposes, both describe you.

You're probably tall enough to get that book on the top shelf you used to ask for, but you probably still play with those stupid toys of yours. You can still argue your side and make your opponent feel stupid, but still look like a naïve child throughout the entire ordeal.

You're a complex person. Which, I suppose, is your defence.

You puzzle me. Even as I write this, I'm not sure what to say, or even how to say it, without offending you too badly.

Although, I highly doubt you'll comment on the sarcastic comments or the snide jabs at you.

I have to say, though, I don't know the new you well enough to know for sure.

What am I saying? I didn't know you well enough to begin with.

You've always been Near to me-- sometimes even Albino-twit or, if I'm ever in a bad enough mood, Fucking Bastard. However, that's it.

I don't know your favorite colour, or your favourite toy.

I don't know all that much about you, and I doubt you'll ever tell me.

I'm not exactly the most trustworthy person in the world. But this letter isn't about me. It's about you.

There's not a lot to say.

I could say 'you're doing well for yourself', but I wouldn't know for sure. For all I know, from the last time I saw you to where you are in the future-- in your case in the 'right now'-- you could be a drug-addict, a hermit, maybe even dead.

I could say I miss you, but I wouldn't know that either. In the time between now and then, you and I could have become friends and I could be sitting beside you laughing about how hard this assignment was.

I could say that I envy you. And, I will. It's true. I envy you.

The odd man out is the one I truly envy. You can do what I never can. You can sit back and think rationally about things before you act.

I could never do that. It would be far too difficult for an attempt even.

Also, I like you. You're a good person. If you weren't such a nerd, if I didn't have such a reputation to uphold, you and I could have been friends, possibly more because I would like that. We could still become friends, however, I don't want to. We have a game going now, and I like it.

I like the way things are now.

I know they won't stay like this forever, but I like them as they are now.

I believe that now is the time to wish you a 'happy birthday'.

I haven't been told which year you'll receive this letter, but when you do, I want you to know that I don't truly hate you. If it makes you happy, you can ring me when you get this and thank me if you'd like. Maybe then we can get to know one another. Or, if we're already friends and, by chance, I'm sitting beside you, tell me I say hi, and whack me one.

I could go on and explain this lack of hate and this awkward 'I like you', but I won't.

We have to drop our pencils in a few moments, and I don't want another A- because I put my pencil down too soon or too late. Maybe we'll get a chance to type our papers, or hopefully, you can read this scrawled writing.

Just know whether I'm in your life or I'm gone completely, I do like you.

And, happy birthday, Near. Congratulations on turning eighteen and whatever accomplishments you've made from now till then.

Sincerely,
Mello

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This idea popped into my head as I was baking cupcakes. In the fourth grade, I was forced to write a letter to the 'future' version of my partner. Said partner wasn't allowed to read it until she turned sixteen, so by now, she's probably read it. I figured that even Mello and Near's teacher forced them to write letters of the sort. There shall be more. Such as a reply from Near and, of course, letter from a young Near to the 'future' Mello, complete with reply. Stay tuned.