Well, this is the first thing I wrote about B, and I'd apologize for him being out of character, but…Really, there's not much to go off of, aside from the LABB book, and that's not technically 'canon,' in my opinion. Okay, I just didn't wanna go through the book and get his character down completely like I did with everyone else. And there's nothing to go off of for what he really looks like, and there's nothing for A, so I kinda just made it up. . Sorry that B seems like Mello, btw. XD

Also, this is short 'cause it's just the first part. The next should be up soon. (:

Nobody ever paid attention to B. He was always second-best, out of two. A came first, and was well-liked, unlike B.

Though there were only two students at Wammy's, two possibly successors, nobody paid much attention to B. Nothing more than necessary. A was well-liked; if he went to a normal school, with other students and cliques, A would be the popular one. Liked by everyone.

And B? He'd be the social outcast, just observing his surroundings, plotting deaths and glaring at A in a silent fury. Always glaring at A.

Because no matter what, no matter how he grew up, B would always hate A.

All the teachers thought he was perfect—golden-haired with light blue eyes, and the face of an angel. Nobody liked B as much as him, with his brown hair and eyes. With his glasses. He was average, and A was exceptional.

How he longed to destroy his perfect, angelic body… To make his teachers see only him, the truly exceptional one.

But he couldn't. They were under constant surveillance, and even if Wammy's had its own rules, he was still expected to follow the law. Since he didn't exist, after joining Wammy's, they could make him disappear with no questions asked. Nobody would even miss him…

And A wouldn't die a natural death anytime soon; he could tell from the numbers it was at least 50 years away, without interference.

Yet another reason the teachers preferred A; nobody liked the freaky kid obsessed by death, who claimed to predict it. Who could predict it.

But B could see the cracks in A's perfection. The pressure was starting to get to him, and with the right words at the right time, he could make the counter above his head count down to zero.

And he wouldn't even feel guilty.

A would likely come to him to talk to—most teenagers would rather confide in each other, if possible, than an adult. A didn't have a grudge against B; instead, he saw him as a colleague, a childhood acquaintance. B's grudge wasn't shared, and it would be A's downfall.

Sure enough, a few days later, there was a knock at B's door after their—separate, of course, probably so the teachers could dote on A all the damn time—tutor sessions that replaced school. He opened it, holding in the smirk that longed to get out, and saw A, with messy blonde hair, his "perfect" blue eyes blotchy from crying.

B wanted to laugh. He wasn't so perfect now, when he couldn't keep it all together, now was he? But of course, he had to act like a friend… At least, until he left. It'd be the last time he'd have to see A's damn stupid face.

He gestured for him to step inside, mentally making a not to burn the carpet he walked on later. What a waste of matches…

As A took a seat on his unmade bed, B shut the door. None of the teachers needed to see or hear what would take place here, in A's final moments. He'd have to pretend he tried to stop this, anyway. It wouldn't do to have evidence proving the contrary.

"I can't take it anymore…" A said. His voice was weak; he'd definitely cried recently.

Serves him right. The spotlight was as good as his, now.

"Oh?" B said, sitting near A on the edge of the bed and wrapping an arm around his shoulder. His voice held a mildly curious tone. "You can tell me about it."

Since A wasn't looking at him, B was free to smirk. No doubt, A thought he was being a "good friend," not someone plotting to drive him to suicide.

A looked at his hands, folded in his lap, and fidgeted with his fingers as he talked.

"They're…Putting me through tests. To see if I'm really capable of succeeding L."

"What kind of tests?" B asked, though he really didn't care. It was just part of the charade. He could tell A was on the verge of failing, if he wasn't already, just from the way he worked.

Actually, it could be helpful to see just what he would have to deal with when A was gone. Since would, inevitably, become the next in line to succeed L after A's death.

"It's…They're giving me real cases, B. Current ones. And I… Can't do them all. They… People have died. Did… Did I kill them?"

He kept stammering, unable to form sentences correctly. Now, this was most unlike A. It was perfection, in B's opinion.

B was about to say "yes," hopefully finally putting an end to this—the sooner A killed himself, the better—but A began speaking again. Just how long was he going to keep talking, anyway?

"I can't sleep, or eat. I've seen… There are pictures. People who've died… Because I couldn't save them in time! I've lost weight because of it…"

A pulled his shirt up, allowing B to clearly see his ribs. He also looked paler, as if he hadn't gone outside in over a week; A was usually tanned. He looked like he really was sick, really dying.

That was just fine with B.

"I'm a skeleton, B…" His tone pleaded with B to help, but he was far past sympathy. All he could think was, you will be.

But of course, he had to do his job subtly. If he was too overt, A might start to have doubts.

"Have you told anyone?" B asked. He needed to know if anyone would suspect him—if it was known A was cracking, and he talked to B shortly before killing himself…Things wouldn't look good for B at all.

A shook his head, filling B with relief. "No. But… The teachers don't like me as much anymore. They aren't trying to help. It could be part of the testing, but… I think they know I can't do it."

Oh, such glorious words! A knew he had to give up, that he'd only fail if he kept trying.

B had to hear it again.

"Of course you can!" The words made B sick. "But what are you going to do?"

A shook his head. "I can't. I'm… Not cut out for it. Out cases, the ones we solved—they gave us the same ones, I'm sure, that's why they kept us separate—we had no time limit."

Bullshit. That wasn't why they kept A and B separate—they liked A, and they wanted to give him more personalized time.

But A continued speaking, giving B no time to complain. "But… What I'm doing now, people die if I don't figure it out in time. I… I'm desperate, B. Their faces… I see them when I try to sleep. The ones I didn't save."

"That's called guilt." Of course, B had never experienced such a useless emotion himself. But he knew enough about it to pretend he did, to pretend he really cared when all he felt was jealousy and loathing.

"From what I heard, it follows you around for the rest of your life," B continued.

"The rest of my life, huh?" A mused, giving a bitter laugh. "The way this is going, that won't be long."

Perfect.

B decided the right response was to play dumb. Maybe A would admit he was killing himself; getting him to think those thoughts was good. "What do you mean?"

"This stress… And the guilt… I think I should end it the only way I know how."

B hadn't ever seen anyone try to talk someone out of suicide before, but it didn't matter—if his argument was too convincing, A might actually decide not to do it. But it was too early to be overt, to make A realize the person he came to for help in his weakest moment hated him.

"Are you sure?"

"I… Think I will. I haven't done anything worthwhile, and nobody would miss me, anyway."

"Neither of us have, and neither of us would be missed." But I will, and you won't. I'll do things nobody would believe.

"Do you… Do you think I should?" A looked to B, his last hope, with his eyes glistening with tears.

"Yes," B said, smirking at A freely; he had won. "You should."

Silently, A walked to the door of B's room, and opened it, hesitating for only a moment. B saw a flash of silver as he, the so-called perfect one, pulled out a blade from his pocket.

"I don't want you to see it."

B could see it clearly, now—the numbers above his head were ticking down at a faster rate, towards zero, the sadistic timer indicating death.

And then he was gone.