Wow. I haven't written fanfiction in a long while now. It's all the fictionpress stuff I've been doing... hmmmm...

Summary: Near has secluded himself from the world after SPK HQ was destroyed in the public rampage. Who else comes to cure his boredom, but Mello? And oh my, in what way:)

Enjoy

0oO0NearXMello0Oo0

Near thoughtfully pressed a Lego piece down onto his model of the House of Parliament, two pieces away from completing the image. It was 5:12am, much to Near's surprise. He hadn't noticed the time go by. Unfortunately, since the public had tried to raid SPK headquarters, Near had had to hole himself away with what little information they had obtained, building intricate, detailed models to occupy himself. The current L couldn't contact him because his voice changer and untraceable number were still in headquarters, so he couldn't contact L either.

He placed the last two pieces down on the table, the energy to click them into place dissipating. He hadn't realised he was tired until now, and his body was numb from being stuck in one position for so long.

He gazed around his hideaway sullenly. He found himself wondering if Mello was revelling in his misery, wondering if Mello even knew he was miserable or if he was even alive, and wondering why he was wondering.

With a small sigh, he clicked the last two pieces into place. He stood up uneasily, stretching out the ache in his bones...

An uncontrollable recklessness coursed through his entire being. The boredom and the silence – he couldn't stand it any more. He whirled on his heel, drew back his fist and smashed it into the structure, blowing the pieces apart from their links with a spectacular bang.

"Damnit!" he yelled. He was going insane with the dullness! He needed –

With a harsh, deep breath, he centred on his anger and boxed it up in the back of his mind. He didn't need this right now. He needed his detachment. He couldn't remember the last time he'd vented out his anger, but it felt painfully good. He detached himself when he needed to solve out his problems… but this wasn't a problem he could so easily find the answer to. How to find a cure for his own boredom, but keep himself safe?

He gazed at the ruined structure on the table, idly wondering why Mello never seemed to achieve the intellectual advantage of detachment, or even care to achieve it. It was something that both intrigued and irritated him about the blond.

The very thought of Mello was making him even more tired. He really should stop. Yet he found he couldn't. This whole… rivalry L's two protégés had mutually developed was always a disadvantage to the both of them, and yet neither attempted to understand the other.

He knew that there had been a sort of comradeship between them when they exchanged Mello's photo and the murder notebook. Mello had even been so kind as to inform Near of the fake rule. Now that, Near realised, blocking out the stinging in his fist to a dull throb behind one knuckle, was not something Mello would usually have done. Sure, Mello had the morality to give something to Near in return for the only photo Near had of him, but he would never overpay. He wasn't that sort of person. If he could find a way, he would give back as little as possible. Something of lesser value than what was traded to him.

The fact that Mello had overpaid, Near found, made him feel quite warm inside. It was a strange; comforting feeling he didn't recognise, and did not feel deserved a place in such a drab situation.

He sighed again, sinking back into his usual neutral, mellow frame of mind.

Ha. Mellow. What a coincidental choice of words. Or maybe not so coincidental after all. Was this a subconscious sign of his fixation on Mello?

He groaned. He really, really didn't need this right now. He walked (stumbled) to bed, changed into his white pyjamas – identical to the clothes he wore during the day – lay down on the bed and curled up on his side.

Sleep came quickly.

0oO0NearXMello0Oo0

Near spent the next day building a matchstick model of Taipei 101, and re-enacting World War I with what little toys he had left.

Bored. He was incredibly, mind-numbingly bored again. He had nothing to challenge or stimulate his intellect. As he had no contact with the few members of SPK or L for the sake of his traceable bunker phone-line; the data he had was just a jumble of useless words and numbers. He had statistics of deaths – the person, situation, crime and time – but there was no visible pattern, thus practically no understanding of Kira's thought process. Sure, Kira mostly killed the most dangerous of criminals – murderers and serial rapists high on the list – but this was what most people with the gift of death would probably do.

All Near knew was that the new L could be Kira, and that Kira was horribly close to winning.

Near wouldn't – couldn't – let that happen.

The old bunker phone on the far wall began to ring loudly, breaking Near out of his reverie. He walked over to it and quickly pressed the button to cut off the call in a fit of shock/panic unbecoming of him.

He couldn't believe it. Someone knew he was here. Even the SPK members didn't know his whereabouts.

He hoped – prayed – it was simply a misdialled number, but the phone began to ring again, shaking its rusted holder noisily.

Near stared. He didn't pick it up.

It didn't stop ringing.

He walked away.

0oO0NearXMello0Oo0

Tada. Part 1. Unfortunately no action for poor, bored Near. I think you can guess who's calling, huh?

No reviews, no action :) Please review for the sake of poor Near!

Luv, hugs and jelly babies from Hug-in-a-box

PS - apologies for typos, if there are any...