[You didn't have to go to such lengths to get my attention.
Of course Near doesn't say that out loud. It feels forbidden to even think of something as morbid as that, never mind saying it. It feels shameful. It feels irredeemably selfish. What Mello did--what he's done--doing--to himself--what he fucking went and did to himself--has nothing to do with the state of play in between the two of them. Mello would have planted those bombs with or without Near's permission. It isn't like he would have told Near about his crazy-ass idea of a contingency plan, anyway. Blowing his own hideout sky-high still seems so theatrical, so ostentatious, that it can't possibly be a thing that has really happened. Ultimately, the charbroiled texture of Mello's voice proves it's anything but a mean-spirited hoax.]
I need you to tell me where you are, right now, please. [Near just doesn't have the time to indulge in Mello's version of events. He doesn't have the time to think about all the other times he paused, paused, paused some more, twirling his hair, and then quietly asked where Mello was at that moment--] Hey, I'm asking you nicely, [he adds, his voice shifting lower, as if that's supposed to make a difference. Maybe it does make a difference, on balance.] If you do me this one favor, I'll make sure the favor is repaid, in full, and with interest. You can charge me whatever interest you like. [They haven't spoken of favors and repaying them since Near was eleven years old and Mello was thirteen.
But he can't think about that sort of thing, either.]
no subject
Of course Near doesn't say that out loud. It feels forbidden to even think of something as morbid as that, never mind saying it. It feels shameful. It feels irredeemably selfish. What Mello did--what he's done--doing--to himself--what he fucking went and did to himself--has nothing to do with the state of play in between the two of them. Mello would have planted those bombs with or without Near's permission. It isn't like he would have told Near about his crazy-ass idea of a contingency plan, anyway. Blowing his own hideout sky-high still seems so theatrical, so ostentatious, that it can't possibly be a thing that has really happened. Ultimately, the charbroiled texture of Mello's voice proves it's anything but a mean-spirited hoax.]
I need you to tell me where you are, right now, please. [Near just doesn't have the time to indulge in Mello's version of events. He doesn't have the time to think about all the other times he paused, paused, paused some more, twirling his hair, and then quietly asked where Mello was at that moment--] Hey, I'm asking you nicely, [he adds, his voice shifting lower, as if that's supposed to make a difference. Maybe it does make a difference, on balance.] If you do me this one favor, I'll make sure the favor is repaid, in full, and with interest. You can charge me whatever interest you like. [They haven't spoken of favors and repaying them since Near was eleven years old and Mello was thirteen.
But he can't think about that sort of thing, either.]
Just tell me where you are.