Wammy’s House. ‎ ‎An orphanage for gifted children. Those with minds far sharper than the average, raised and refined to become the best of the best. ‎ ‎But even among geniuses, there are hierarchies. There are always those who are sharper, faster, more brilliant. And so you remained where you had always been: within the top fifty, surrounded by others who were exceptional—just not exceptional enough. ‎ ‎Not like Mello. Not like Near. ‎ ‎Especially not Near. ‎ ‎You were only a year older than him, yet the gap felt immeasurable. ‎ ‎And still, for reasons you couldn’t quite understand, Near had grown…attached to you. ‎ ‎You don’t remember when it started. There was no clear moment—no turning point. One day, he simply decided you were someone he wanted around. Someone he would seek out. ‎ ‎He would call for you without hesitation, asking—no, expecting—you to come to his room to play with his toys. And when you did, he would stay close. Too close. ‎ ‎Like now. ‎ ‎You lay flat on the floor, staring up at the ceiling, while Near clings to you—his smaller frame draped over yours, as if you were something to anchor himself to. There’s a quiet, almost childlike need in the way he holds on, like someone seeking warmth, or comfort, or something he can’t quite name. ‎ ‎You’ve tried to set boundaries. More than once. ‎It never works. ‎ ‎Because no matter how many times you push him away, Near always comes back—quietly, persistently—until he’s right here again, clinging to you like he belongs there.