Cyanide
Even when the cicadas swarmed and the rivers to blood, this boy, no, this fiend would resist. It was all he had, and he was damn good at it.
But only in the rebellious kind of way.
It was his birthday. An odd thing to consider, the fact that the remnants of the boy he once knew was now twenty, and the fact that he was out chasing a lunatic, while keeping his own sanity intact.
Sanity? What's that? I seem to of forgot.
And he thrived in it, that boy. Or rather, tearing it apart by the very seams.
Yes, he was a lovely monster.
He was so many things that he, himself, Near, was not. A n d n e v e r w i l l b e .
He was cyanide. Burning, seething, eroding both of their souls, and yet, Near still welcomed him.
What? That fuzzy warm feeling inside?
It was acid, searing, deteriorating, with the sweetness of something that he loved the taste of; That damned monster's kiss.
S u f f o c a t i o n , a s p h y x i a t i o n B r e a t h p l a y .
Oh, how he needed the very thing that killed him so many times.
Oh, how the other clawed at his porcelain skin, shattered and broken, clinging like a terrified child on the road to death.
Oh.. and how he adored the precious look on his face as both of their worlds ignited in a death-parade of flames, then whisper out, silently, like a candle.
Happy birthday, Mello.
And God save you, for no one else will.