[Insatiable. That's the word for it. That's what this is. Near has the object of his affections close at hand, and it still isn't enough for him. This is Mello's fault, of course. Near didn't know what he was missing out on until Mello showed him what it was. That goes for so many things, like the beach he wants to go back to. Without Mello, he never would have known that he likes--not loves, but he does like it a lot--the feeling of wet sand on his bare feet. The first time he took off his shoes and socks was terrifying; he was convinced something would bite him, sting him, or come up and snip off his toes. Mello patiently set aside his shoes, then his socks, and then helped him to stand back up again. The dry sand was weird and alarming, too messy, getting stuck all between his toes. It reminded of him of baby powder with more grit and zero comfort. The wet sand, though... that had no real comparison. Silky, almost-sticky, really dense yet could be compressed further, with a cool quality not unlike strict metal flooring. He liked it. A lot. He doesn't want to say he loved it, even though Mello poked at his cheek and said he was smiling, for once. He did like it. He likes having Mello hold on to him, too. It feels good. Lately, it seems, he has been in the business of finding ways to feel better.

And he didn't know what it meant to go without affection until Mello kissed him for the first time. Actually, it was more like he kissed Mello for the first time, taking initiative in ways he didn't know he could, but they were kissing each other and it was enjoyable. It's enjoyable even when Mello kisses his cheek, as he does now, in his especially perfunctory way. Near squirms in response. He wants to be closer and more comfortable. He wants more of whatever this is. Mello's hands settle at the backs of his thighs, and they feel like the start of something rather than the ending point. After going days without sleep, Near wasn't expecting to feel anything akin to anticipation.

He sighs to himself.] I like it, [he says, such a simple thing. They can go on a pilgrimage to Appleton together, by train, by car, whatever, so he can find out why Mello preferred it over him.] I want to see where you lived, and the places you frequented every day... where your interests may have taken you, or your appetites... just all the things that contributed to who you are today. That sounds agreeable to me. [Without Mello, he never would have known just how soft and unsteady he is. How impressionable, or how persuadable. Mentally, emotionally, even physically. The backs of his thighs are very soft, like vanilla pudding, with only Mello's hands to give them form and function. The constant aching of his lower back isn't such a big deal when it's Mello holding on to him.

He sighs again, and this time it's out of luxury instead of relief.]

I don't think there is anything I would like more.

[His archives. They'll fill them in, and keep them current.]