It was a long day. I stayed in my room until dinner, at which point Roger came up to get me. I, Matt, and Near had to return to his office with him, where we sat and listened to a lecture he'd surely been planning out the entire day. It seemed to be aimed mostly at me.

"Your curiosity was understandable," he said, in what I hoped was a conclusion. "However that does not excuse such behavior. A's tragic fate was one of great shame to Mr. Wammy, and he no doubt feels the guilt of it to this day. He did not want knowledge of that, his very greatest mistake, to be spread. Though he honored A's last wishes in not having the room destroyed, it secrets must remain just that: secrets. I'm sure you understand me?"

All three of us replied in the affirmative. Matt was fidgeting in his seat, rubbing his hands restlessly. Video game withdrawal, surely. Near, as usual, seemed unaffected by it all, and I was just eager to move on. There was something I had to try, a test. I had to know for sure.

We were dismissed, but before I left, I suddenly thought of something. "Roger," I said, turning back to his desk, "Do you have a picture of A?"

He thought a moment. "Not anymore. I saw one of him once however, when I first began working here. He had the widest eyes I'd ever seen. Brown hair, and if I recall correctly, very pale skin. Quite a thin boy."

I nodded, turning to leave the office. It wasn't a very unusual description, was it? Surely something my mind could have come up with on its own. Perhaps while going through his medical records I had glimpsed something that mentioned weight or hair color.

The dining hall was already full when I entered. Matt and Near had gotten seats beside each other on the very end of a row, and next to them was the only available place for me as well. That was fine. In this case, it worked out perfectly.

I sat down quickly, right next to Near, and shook his shoulder to get his attention. "Near, what is it you're pretending when you play with your toys?"

"Many things," he said, his finger beginning to curl his hair as he thought. "I prefer political-mystery storylines the best, but those take a bit longer to think up than others."

Hm. Political-mystery storylines indeed. Coincidence, surely. I turned to my food, beginning to eat slowly. I didn't know Near's personality, therefore it wouldn't make sense for me to think up accurate reactions in my memories. What would prove it had all been false, all a dream?

There's was one last test I had to try, however it couldn't be done here. It would have to wait until I could get Near alone. I may have changed from who I was yesterday, but I wasn't going to let everyone else know that.

So I waited and fussed until dinner was over, then paced through the halls and up to my room, anxious and thinking hard, waiting until lights out was called and I could sneak about safely. When 9:30 at last came, I turned my lights out, waited several minutes, then left and crept down the hall, heading toward Near's room. I opened his door as carefully and quietly as I could, entering without knocking, to find him in bed and apparently asleep. He'd left his curtains open, so the moonlight lit the room, which was fortunate. Otherwise, I probably would have gotten hurt on the numerous toys scattered all over his floor. It was a good thing he was asleep too. Luck was on my side tonight.

I went over to his bedside, hesitated briefly, then reached out, touching his hair lightly. Gaining a little bravery, I stroked it, and found it to be baby-soft. Just like it had been in my…dream. A dream…surely…

It was not the very oddest thing I'd ever done, but it was close. I knelt down, leaning close, just close enough to get a scent. It was soft, but it was there. A familiar scent, something I'd smelled before.

I rested my head on the bed. What now? The only conclusion I could come to was one that wasn't logical. But how could I have known these things if I hadn't already experienced them? Could a dream be that strangely accurate?

"Mello."

I tensed up all over, drawing in my breath sharply.

"Is Mello alright?"

I didn't know. Was I alright? Was I crazy? Had the stress of life finally gotten to me and I'd lost it? But all this anxiety now was only due to my own refusal to accept what seemed to be truth. Beneath that, there was nothing more. Where was the hatred? There was a void within me without it. What was to drive me? I still wanted to be the next L, I still wanted to be better, yet somehow I didn't feel afraid. I no longer felt that desperate envy.

I raised my head, meeting Near's gaze. He'd turned over on to his other side to watch me, his eyes half-lidded with sleepiness.

"I'm fine I suppose," I said. "It's been a long day."

He put his hand on mine, a strange action for him to take. But it was child-like, innocent. Harmless.

"Mello may stay in here. Perhaps you will sleep better."

I huffed, getting to my feet. "By what logic can you assume I'd sleep better in here than in my own bed?"

"Sometimes things are not logical. However, it doesn't mean they aren't true."

I glanced at him sharply. Did he mean something by that? Did he know something? Or was he simply talking? I went back to the bed, folding my arms upon it and laying my head on them. Near went on, "Mello has been thinking about 259 all day, yes?"

"Yeah. So?"

"We saw all the room could show us Mello. All that A wanted us to see. That room was his will and testament, an inheritance he left behind to those who were willing to claim it. We went to claim what was ours. However, we each received something different, yes? What did Mello receive?"

My eyes widened. An inheritance given to me by A. I had received…

"Understanding," I said softly.

Near nodded. "Ah. It is very valuable." Calm. As if this was logical. As if we were speaking of a porcelain vase, or something of the sort. Yet somehow it made sense.

"And you?" I said. "What did he give you?"

Near didn't answer for several moments, and he no longer held my gaze. "I'm not sure yet. It was not a gift he gave me directly. But it was…the feeling of what friendship can be like."

"What was it like then?"

He leaned closer to me a moment, took hold of my sleeve and held it to his nose. "It smells rather like someone who hasn't used soap for several days," he said. "And like chocolate."

I grinned before I could stop myself. "I suppose that's rather valuable too."

…

A and I were more alike than I would have cared to think back then; I realize that now. Especially in my later years, as I developed a liking for writing and took to scrawling down my thoughts on anything I could – though I avoided writing in any odd places, like a bathtub. What exactly happened in 259 I continued to wonder about for years, but certainly not worry over. To this day I have the occasional doubt, but that little adventure is a matter of the past. I've moved on.

Perhaps if A had the power to turn back time, things would have been different between Near and I. However, A had only the power to give gifts for the future, not for the past. He was like me in that as well. Look forward, not backward. I'm not sure how greatly what he gave me affected my youth, for in some ways we were indeed different. As he'd said, he always knew his own mind. He may have seen his suicide coming far before it happened, but had been unable to stop it. That wasn't me. I can rarely see around the next corner, no matter how much I look ahead. My distance sight is about as good as a bat's in most cases. Therefore, I cannot say for certain that something terrible would have happened had A not done what he did. I cannot say for sure that I would have killed Near, or even myself.

At any rate, I did neither of those things.

Still, the past could not be changed. Near and I were distant, even though we had gained some understanding of each other. We couldn't achieve friendship, but what we did achieve was something more than tolerance. More than 1st and 2nd. More than a title.

I'll leave it at that. My hand is beginning to cramp, my chocolate is gone, and it's time to stop dwelling in my past.

These words are my memories.

This room can burn.

Far from being the only works of my life, and probably some of the most insignificant things I've created.

I'll shoot you if you don't let them stand.

Mello

…

That, my dear reader, is the end. Mello developing a liking for writing was something else inspired by Another Note, considering that it was supposed to be he who wrote it.

Thank you very much for reading!