[Part of Mello wonders if this is maybe the biggest mistake he's ever made in his long and varied history of making mistakes. It isn't his habit to return to a place once he's so suddenly and violently left it behind. And he thought he knew Near, just as Near knows him; they've always been too close, despite the wide gulf that separates them. For all that distance, Near is still the one person who knows Mello best, and Mello thought he knew Near well too - he was sure of it.
He doesn't though. The earlier revelation proved that, and if he doesn't know Near as well as he thought, Mello also cannot predict what his actions will be. Mello doesn't know if Near will ignore his call, refuse to meet him, refuse to let him back in - hell, maybe he'll even come out of the front door swinging at him. Anything, he supposes, is possible at this point. Mello just doesn't know.
He's surprised at how relieved he feels when Near both answers his call and agrees to his request.
The wait between when Near hangs up and the front door opens feels like a stretch into infinity. Mello has parked himself on the front steps, his back against the handrail, one knee bent. His gloves are off, and he chews nervously on the nail of his index finger. The hood of his jacket is pulled up over his head - unnecessarily, perhaps, given his location, but it makes him feel better to sit underneath it, as if that piece of fabric can protect him from the disaster he feels has been raining down on him since he started putting the pieces together to make a picture that he should have seen years ago.
Mello doesn't bother looking up when Near walks through the door; he knows the unmistakable cadence of his footsteps well enough by now. He hesitates for a moment before speaking, quashing the impulse to get up and get running before the next wave of disaster can catch up with him. He wraps his arms around himself and takes in a deep breath.]
What do you want from me?
[For once, there's no hostility - it's an honest, uncomplicated question.]
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Date: 2016-09-03 03:38 am (UTC)He doesn't though. The earlier revelation proved that, and if he doesn't know Near as well as he thought, Mello also cannot predict what his actions will be. Mello doesn't know if Near will ignore his call, refuse to meet him, refuse to let him back in - hell, maybe he'll even come out of the front door swinging at him. Anything, he supposes, is possible at this point. Mello just doesn't know.
He's surprised at how relieved he feels when Near both answers his call and agrees to his request.
The wait between when Near hangs up and the front door opens feels like a stretch into infinity. Mello has parked himself on the front steps, his back against the handrail, one knee bent. His gloves are off, and he chews nervously on the nail of his index finger. The hood of his jacket is pulled up over his head - unnecessarily, perhaps, given his location, but it makes him feel better to sit underneath it, as if that piece of fabric can protect him from the disaster he feels has been raining down on him since he started putting the pieces together to make a picture that he should have seen years ago.
Mello doesn't bother looking up when Near walks through the door; he knows the unmistakable cadence of his footsteps well enough by now. He hesitates for a moment before speaking, quashing the impulse to get up and get running before the next wave of disaster can catch up with him. He wraps his arms around himself and takes in a deep breath.]
What do you want from me?
[For once, there's no hostility - it's an honest, uncomplicated question.]