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Mello is half-asleep when it happens.
He’s half-asleep, and he thinks Near is totally asleep, but then the younger boy wriggles in his arms, burrowing closer under the covers, and murmurs:
“I love you.”
Three little words. Each one is more or less harmless alone, but when they’re stitched-together and said to him, by Near, they’re powerful enough to jolt Mello wide-awake. He is frozen at first, completely fucking panicked as he tries to puzzle through what to do. He could pretend he didn’t hear it— could act like he was sound asleep, or perhaps temporarily deaf, if Near presses the issue.
But then, of course, Near would just say it again, probably while looking Mello in the eye, since he seems hellbent on doing that specifically in the moments Mello most wants him to look away, and then that would be worse, because Near would see his reaction, and Mello is not at all sure what that reaction would tell him. Something damning, probably.
It’s smarter to acknowledge it, then.
Except.
What the hell is he supposed to say?
Thank you.
No, that’s terrible.
That’s nice.
Ugh. Somehow worse.
Haha, good one.
That’ll buy him five seconds of peace at most. Near isn’t someone who backs down from embarrassment.
I love you, too.
Fuck.
No, he— he can’t say that.
Or can he?
No. Definitely not. It’s out of the question.
Except— shit.
Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.
It’s kind of the truth.
Not that Mello is overly-committed to telling the truth at all times. He isn’t. But he doesn’t like lying to Near unless he’s got a good reason for it, because it makes him feel like an asshole, and also because Near has this way of looking at him like he can see his fucking soul or something, which is very unnerving and which caused him to totally spoil the surprise for Near’s birthday gift this year.
So maybe he should say it. Near said it first, anyway, so it’s not like Mello has any reason to be embarrassed. In fact, it’s kind of mean to not say it back, because Near will be totally sad and humiliated, probably, and it makes Mello kind of nauseous when Near looks sad.
Gathering his courage, Mello clears his throat and pats Near’s back.
“Near.” He puts his lips to the top of Near’s head, breathing in the smell of his shampoo: nectarine and honey. “I love you, too.”
Near inhales, sharp— it’s not quite a gasp, but it’s not a normal breath, either. “You do?”
Mello swallows hard. “Yes.” He squeezes Near, holding him tighter. “Sorry I didn’t say it back right away. I didn’t mean to make you sad.”
“Say it back…?” Near asks, sounding drowsy and confused.
“Yeah.” Mello is a little annoyed, now, but tries to be patient. “You said it first.”
“Ah.” A pause. “I was asleep, actually.”
The blood in Mello’s veins turns to ice. “What?”
“I was sleeping until you woke me. You’ve heard me talk in my sleep before.”
And, okay, he has, but Near has always been rambling incoherently about something stupid like Bionicles, not delivering a fucking fakeout love confession.
“Oh— uh. Oh, that’s— that’s good, actually,” Mello says, now mortified and scrambling to backpedal, “’cause— I didn’t mean it! Yeah. I just— I felt bad for you. I was trying to be nice, because it was— it was so, so embarrassing for you, and— well, I’m really glad we cleared this—”
His speech cuts off abruptly as Near reaches up and, without warning, grabs a fistful of Mello’s hair.
“Stop that,” he says quietly. “I do love you. Obviously. And, for the record, I am not making a joke. I mean it.”
“Oh.” Mello’s shoulders relax. “Right. Yeah. Yeah, of course you do.”
“You are,” Near continues, very solemn, “my favorite person in the world.”
Mello’s heart clenches, aching fondly at the words. He has to bite down on his lip to stop himself from saying something dumb, like how holding Near makes him feel warm and safe and complete, like drinking a mug of hot tea but a million times better.
“You’re— I guess you’re not so bad,” he manages after a few moments. “I… like you. Even though you’re, like, super annoying.”
Near makes a sound that implies irritation, definitely, and hurt feelings, possibly. Mello winces.
“Sorry. Fuck. I— I love you, too. For real.” He gulps, throat raw. “And, uh. Don’t, like, tell Matt, ‘cause he’d probably be all busted-up about it, but you’re… you’re my favorite, too.”
Near’s hand curls into the fabric of his shirt, and he tilts his face up, gazing at Mello in the darkness. Mello gazes back.
“Kiss, please,” Near prompts, tugging on his collar.
“Brat,” Mello says.
He obliges anyway.