Archive of Our Own

The umpire’s hand shoots into the sky, her index finger lifted straight up while the other fingers remain folded. It’s an out. There are cheers erupting from all over the field, and some boys run to each other and hug the unsuspecting bowler, who then, due to the sudden weight, falls to the ground amidst the damp grass. The other boys fall over him, still hugging him tightly.

After all, it’s not always that the opposing team’s captain, one Mihael Keehl, gets out on duck.

“This is bullshit!” Aforementioned captain yells, stubbornly standing in front of the wicket, bat clutched tightly in hand. He reaches with one hand to lift his helmet, dramatically shaking his head. “I wasn’t ready!”

“Don’t be such a sore loser, Mello!” The umpire, who goes by the name Ellie, calls out.

Mello’s eyes narrow at her. “You’re the umpire. You’re meant to be impartial. Keep out of this!”

“We’re not playing a professional game of cricket, you complete wanker!” Ellie shoots back, hands on her hips now. She’s glaring at him. “Just leave the strike, Mello. Pat’s going to take the strike now.”

It’s like a Sunday tradition at Wammy’s Boarding School, where the students—those interested, anyway—come together to play a friendly (which is bullshit, according to Mello) game of cricket, just to wind down from the stresses of the previous week. It doesn’t matter that school’s just begun two weeks ago; a tradition is a tradition and so it must be followed. Of course, usually there’s never much conflict this early in the game, but then again, Mello usually is the one who never gets out, scores the maximum runs and so it is understandable that he’s pissed.

Getting out on the first ball, with no runs to his name, must be a huge insult to his pride.

Mello stubbornly remains standing. “No, I want one more chance. I told you, I wasn’t ready! I didn’t even know he was bowling the first ball!”

The bowler, George, who’s no longer being fiercely hugged by his teammates, dusts his clothes. Then, he says, “It’s alright, guys! Let’s give him another chance.” A slow smile spreads across his face. “I’ll get him out again.”

“We’ll see,” Mello huffs, putting his helmet back on. Behind him, Ellie rolls her eyes. Mello then positions himself in front of the strike once more, bending over and adjusting the bat in his hands, trying to get a good grip. He then looks straight at George and gives a slight nod of his head.

George glances at his teammates and nods at them. They get into position on the field. George shifts the ball from one hand to the other, observing the player in front of him. He moves back a few paces, then with a slight run and the swing of his arm, throws the ball.

Mello lifts his bat, fully intending to hit the approaching ball with all his strength. And misses. The ball collides straight with the three stumps, making them fall at the impact. Mello stares in horror at the fallen wicket.

Ellie lifts her hand in much the same way she did a few minutes ago, an amused grin on her face. George smirks.

Mello angrily removes his helmet and throws it to the ground. He does the same with his bat. “Whatever. Cricket’s a stupid game anyway!” He snaps and storms away from the pitch.

“Told ya he’s a sore loser!” Ellie yells after him. Then there’s the sound of laughter. Mello scowls, and without turning around to look at them, he sticks his middle finger up at them. That just makes the laughter grow louder.

“Don’t worry, mate! This won’t affect your popularity! Chicks still dig ya!”

Mello scowls harder.

Today’s just not his lucky day.

-x-

It is the fact that Mello is popular that makes the incident from a few hours ago that much worse.

After having moped in the shower for a little over an hour, Mello slowly makes his way to the common room of the boys’ boarding house. He braces himself for the mockery that is bound to come his way, but when he does step into the common room, he’s surprised to note that the attention of its inhabitants is not, in fact, directed at him. It takes Mello a moment to figure out who everyone is looking at.

His eyes fall on a pale boy, sitting on the floor in a very peculiar way. One of his knees is folded against his chest, the other sprawled horizontally across the wooden floor. There are four decks of cards next to him, and he picks up two cards from the deck closest to him, leaning them against one another on the wooden floor. He picks up two more cards, does the same with them. He’s building a tower of cards.

Mello blinks. He’s never seen this kid before. He has white, mussed up hair that curls along the edges. Mello has never seen hair so white before. Or a person so white, for that matter. His pajamas are white, the jumper he wears is white, and the socks he wears are white. Mello glances down at his own attire, which are basically loose black pants and a black sweatshirt. Well, he contrasts perfectly with the kid, that’s for certain.

“You think he’s one of the teachers’ kid?” Someone murmurs, close enough for Mello to hear.

“Could be,” comes the response.

Mello clears his throat. The two boys in front of him—George unfortunately happens to be one of them—turn around. Mello inclines his head in the boy’s direction and arches his brow in question. “Who’s he?” He asks.

George shrugs. “No clue. When we got back from our game, he was just sitting here. He was playing with robots back then. Now he’s switched to cards, apparently.”

Mello directs his gaze at the boy once again. He wonders if he’s aware of the attention he seems to be garnering. If he’s aware, he doesn’t show it. He calmly continues constructing his tower.

“Eh,” Mello finally says, addressing the rest of the boys in the room, “Who’s up for a game of snooker?”

And just like that, the attention shifts from the strange boy sitting on the floor to Mello. No one pays attention to the boy for the rest of the time that they’re there, except Mello, who keeps sneaking occasional glances at him. At one point, their eyes meet and Mello immediately looks away, embarrassed at having been caught looking.

Fortunately, no one else notices this slight exchange, and the game continues uninterrupted.

-x-

It is with no small amount of shock that Mello discovers the strange new kid, that he’d seen the day before, is a student at Wammy’s.

He discovers this while he’s running past classrooms to make it to his own and comes to a screeching halt in front of one. It’s the Year 12 classroom. Mello’s eyes widen at that. He peers into the classroom through the glass screen of the closed door.

There, he sees the boy, sitting with a look of clear disinterest in one of the back benches, idly twirling his hair. He doesn’t seem to be listening to what the teacher’s saying. He’s either in the same clothes from the previous day, or white pajamas are all this boy owns for clothes.

A look at the blackboard shows Mello that it’s a Maths class. Mello watches as the teacher calls on the boy, and he slowly rises from his seat, fingers still twirling white hair. Mello can’t hear what he says, but he assumes it’s the right answer because with a smile, the teacher nods and gestures for him to sit down. The boy does. Throughout the exchange, his expression never once changes.

Mello finds that somewhat perplexing and a little arrogant. He shakes his head, glances down at his watch and swears. He’s incredibly late for his own class. He hurries past, thoughts of the strange boy still in the back of his mind.

-x-

“Did you guys know that strange kid is a student at Wammy’s?” Mello says as he makes his way over his table at the cafeteria, sitting down next to a red-headed boy. “What’s up, Matt?” Mello adds, patting him on the back roughly.

Matt jumps, having been too engrossed in one of his videogames to have taken notice of Mello’s presence. He pauses his game, looks at Mello, nods and goes back to his game. Mello scowls at him.

“What are you talking about, mate?” George asks, chewing on his food. Mello shoots him a disgusted look but George doesn’t pay him mind. “What strange kid?”

“The one from yesterday, that boy dressed in all white? He’s a Year 12.” Mello answers.

George nearly chokes on his food at that. Coughing, he asks, “R-really?” After calming down somewhat, he adds, “I’d have pegged him for a Year 7. He looks no older than twelve.”

Mello laughs. “No matter how brilliant, you can’t give your A levels at age twelve.” He reconsiders that. “Actually, I could do that, because I am that brilliant.” He corrects.

“Cocky, aren’t you?” A female voice pipes up, and Mello doesn’t even have to turn around to see who it is. Sure enough, a moment later, Ellie walks up to them and takes a seat opposite him. “His name’s Near. He’s in Year 12, but he’s not twelve years old. At least, I don’t think he is. He’s kind of strange, doesn’t talk to anyone. It’s strange because it doesn’t look like he minds. He sort of goes out of his way to avoid talking to people, actually. I’d know, because we have Psychology together and I tried interacting with him, offered to show him around since he’s obviously new, but he just brushed me off. He’s rude and arrogant, thinks he’s above me. I don’t like him much.” Ellie then smirks at Mello. “He actually reminds me of you.”

“Shut up, you definitely like me,” Mello snaps just as George exclaims, “What the fuck kind of name is Near?”

“Must be a nickname,” Matt says unexpectedly, eyes still glued to his game.

This answer seems to make sense to George, for he doesn’t speak after that and goes back to eating his food.

“He takes Psychology,” Mello muses, “Just like me.”

Something seems to strike Ellie then. She suddenly has a huge smile on her face as she says, “Oh, here’s something you’ll find interesting! Mrs. Moore, the Psych Professor, made a statement. You know what that was?”

Mello’s eyes narrow suspiciously. “What?”

“You know how she’s been going on and on about how you’re the best student she’s taught in all her years at Wammy’s since term’s started?” Ellie asks, her smile more mocking than usual. Mello nods slowly, indicating for her to go on. “You aren’t anymore. It’s Near now. She actually said it in class.”

Mello’s eyes are practically slits now. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not,” Ellie says brightly. “She said, ‘When I taught Mello in Year 12, he was brilliant and I didn’t think I’d find a student as bright and brilliant as him. You’ve proved me wrong, Near.’ Those were her words when he answered a question in class.”

“It’s awfully quick for her to judge, isn’t it?” Mello grits out. “It’s just been a day. It could’ve been a lucky guess.”

“It didn’t sound like a lucky guess,” Ellie says, shrugging, “He sounded like he knew his shit.”

Mello huffs and folds his arms across his chest. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter. I’m a year ahead of him anyway.”

“Right,” Ellie scoffs, “You’re older so you’re better, right?” She does nothing to conceal her sarcasm.

“This is turning out to be a not so good week for you, isn’t it?” George chuckles. “First you got out on duck, now you’ve been snubbed by the new kid.”

“Shut it,” Mello snaps and pulls out a bar of chocolate from the pocket of his too-tight leather pants. Ever since he entered Sixth form, he was no longer obligated to wear the school uniform (not like he’d followed school protocol even before that). So being Mello, he obviously picked the most sensible (not really) choice of clothing: Leather.

Once he has the chocolate bar in his hand, he makes short work of unwrapping it and loudly snaps a piece from it. He remains silent as he chews on the piece thoughtfully. Swallowing, he asks, “How many subjects is he taking d’you reckon?”

“Oh, he’s taking five subjects.” Ellie answers promptly.

“For someone who didn’t even talk to him, you sure do know a lot about him.” George points out.

“I like to remain informed,” Ellie says dismissively. “Anyway, he’s the only one in our year who’s taken five.”

Mello groans in irritation and snaps another piece off his chocolate. “I don’t like him.”

“You’re no longer the only one with five subjects. You don’t stand out anymore,” Ellie laughs and George accompanies her in the laughing.

Only Matt remains silent through it all and so Mello drapes an arm around his shoulders and says, “Matt’s my only friend. You guys are dicks.” He squeezes lightly.

Matt shrugs, scoots his chair away from Mello and snaps, “I’m playing my game. Stop annoying me.”

Ellie and George laugh harder and Mello scowls.

-x-

It comes as no surprise to everyone that Mello doesn’t like Near.

It’s only been weeks since he’s joined Wammy’s, but already, the Psychology professor, Mrs. Moore, seems to be gushing over how smart Near is, when before, it used to be Mello. It’s not just that, however. It’s also the fact that every single Professor in school, regardless of whether or not they’re teaching him, can’t seem to stop talking about how ‘impressive that Near kid is’, how he’s one of Wammy’s best students ever, and ‘he’ll definitely do us proud, you’ll see’.

It annoys Mello, because right until a few weeks ago, Mello used to be the object of said gushing.

Now he’s not, and that pinches his ego and so Mello is, by principle, obligated to dislike Near. Mello knows that, the Professors know it, and so do all the students at Wammy’s.

So, when Mello publicly announces in the boy’s common room—when Near’s not around, obviously, but not like that would’ve stopped him from making his announcement anyway—that he does not like the new boy, it isn’t a shocking revelation.

What is surprising to Mello, however, is that no one else seems to like Near either and it has nothing to do with Mello’s influence on the general public opinion and more to do with their own personal experiences with the boy. The general consensus is that the new boy is not very nice, his responses to well-meaning questions comprising of one word and no small amounts of sarcasm. He’s also someone who prefers the company of inanimate objects over actual human interaction.

He fits the definition of weird down to a T.

But despite his claims of not liking the new boy, Mello finds himself blatantly staring at him whenever he happens to pass by his classes. Which happens all too often, and Mello may or may not have deliberately been taking longer routes to his classes just to get a glimpse of him. He feels a personal sense of satisfaction when he sees other students go out of their way to avoid Near, though. He, however, refuses to do the same.

God, he’s such a goddamn hypocrite.

Still, even if he does acknowledge his hypocrisy, he makes no move to put an end to it. He simply continues with the routine he’s managed to establish for himself. He keeps telling himself that he’s just trying to keep an eye on the new boy, trying to figure him out, see what he does so differently that has Professors liking him better than they do Mello.

But when September turns to mid-October, and then eventually leads to the beginning of December, Mello thinks he might have a slight problem.

-x-

It’s the first weekend of December and the students of Wammy’s find themselves in the Boy’s common room, sitting in a huge circle on the floor, coming together to discuss what is one of Wammy’s many traditions, the most beloved one, even: Secret Santa.

No one quite knows who put the tradition in place, but each year, the students organize a school-wide Secret Santa. It’s usually the Sixth formers who organize it, and the younger ones join in on the fun. It’s not something that’s a compulsion, but everyone likes to be a part of it regardless. After all, everyone likes receiving gifts. It’s also a fun way for people to make friends, get to know one another better. It makes for a fun relationship building activity, and so, the school faculty professes no qualms over this particular tradition, either. (Unlike Wammy’s many other traditions that have to be kept a secret by all students participating in it.)

Ellie sits in the middle of the circle (it’s a weekend and so Wammy’s permits boys and girls to visit one another, though it’s mostly the girls who show up at the boy’s common room), a book and pen in hand. She flips open the book, tears countless pages off of it, then glances around at every single face. “Right, so, chits.” She gestures at the torn sheets of paper. “Everyone write down their respective names.”

“Matt, write mine too!” Mello calls out from one of the couches. He doesn’t sit on the floor like the rest of the students. He claims it’s because his leather pants are too tight, but almost everyone knows it’s because somewhere, Mello considers himself above them.

Matt flips him off from the floor, regardless tearing out two chits and writing down his name along with Mello’s. Mello grins.

“What about the new kid?” Someone asks loudly.

Almost suddenly, everyone is made aware of the fact that not every student is a part of their tradition. Their eyes fall on the white figure sitting in one corner of the room, silently solving a puzzle. When he feels their eyes on him, Near slowly lifts his head up from his puzzle and blinks at them.

“Yes?” He asks calmly.

Mello nearly jumps in surprise. He’s never heard Near speak before. He has been observing him for over a month, yes, but he’s never once spoken to him directly. His voice is cool, sharp, and monotonous.

The other students look at one another with slight unease. It is evident from the looks on their faces that they’d rather not have Near be a part of the tradition. He wouldn’t want to be a part of the tradition anyway. He’d think it’s a stupid tradition and he wouldn’t hesitate to say so.

“Is there anything you all need from me? You’re staring and it’s making me uneasy.” Near states, breaking the silence that has settled in the room.

“Er,” one girl starts, then bites her lip when her friend nudges her from the side. She quickly shakes her head. “Nothing.” She looks away.

“I think we should ask him, it’d be impolite not to,” someone whispers.

“I don’t think he’d want to be a part of this,” another whispers.

“Yeah, he’s made it pretty evident that he’d rather not interact with us, so there’s really no point asking,” yet another reasons.

“I don’t know...I think we should still ask. You know, just out of courtesy? I mean, even if he says no, at least we know we did our part.” The voice is hesitant.

Everyone seems to consider this. Then there’s another round of whispers. ‘I don’t know, I mean he was very rude to me, what if he agrees and I get his name?’ ‘She’s right. If he agrees, one of us will be obligated to gift him something, but we don’t even like him’...

“Near, do you want to be a part of the Secret Santa?” Matt asks loudly. Everyone goes quiet.

Near, who’d gone back to his puzzle amidst all the whispered arguments, looks up once more. He stares at Matt, considering. Then he shrugs. “Sure.”

“Cool,” Matt says. He grabs another piece of paper, tears out a chit, scribbles a name and folds it. He dumps it into the growing pile of chits.

“Matt,” Mello snaps. Matt raises an eyebrow at him. “What the hell?”

“It’s just a stupid tradition,” Matt says dismissively. “And besides, I just wanted to get this done with so that I can go back to my game.” As if to emphasize, he picks up his handheld and waves it out for Mello to see. “I’m on an important level and it’s paused.”

Mello rolls his eyes and leans back against the couch. “Whatever,” he says. “Let’s all pick up the chits now.”

Ellie picks up all the chits and moves them around in her cupped hands. She drops them. With a grin, she says, “Alright, guys. Pick.”

Everyone does and Mello, once again, asks Matt to pick his for him. Matt does so with a sigh, handing over the folded chit to Mello. He hears a few sighs of disappointment emanating from the circle of students and grins smugly at that. Clearly a lot of them are disappointed they haven’t received Mello’s name. He briefly wonders who received Near’s name.

He slowly opens his chit, taking his time, smirking slightly at the sudden attention that’s been directed to him. They’re all hoping it’s their name in Mello’s chit. Mello’s smile, however, slowly fades as he reads the name on it.

Near.

He shoots a quick glance in Near’s direction. He hasn’t even gotten up from his spot on the floor. Mello thinks he’ll probably pick up the last remaining chit after everyone leaves. He looks back at his own chit, momentarily unconcerned with who Near’s got as his person.

Mello has to gift Near something.

He hasn’t even spoken to Near. Not once.

He doesn’t know what Near likes.

He’s fucked.

-x-

“What the fuck do I even get him?” Mello mutters, pacing around in his room. Matt sits on his bed, dangling his legs as he busies himself with his videogame. “I mean, I don’t even know him. Forget knowing him. I don’t even like the twit!”

“Is that why you keep staring at him?” Matt asks.

Mello shoots him a glare, which Matt obviously doesn’t catch. “I do not stare at him!”

“Whatever,” Matt says. “Just ask him or something.”

“That’s against the rules,” Mello points out.

“When have you ever cared about the rules?” Matt asks, staring pointedly at Mello’s outfit.

Mello considers that. “Yeah, you’re right.”

-x-

Mello doesn’t directly ask Near what he wants.

He comes up with a better idea. One that will be more discreet.

“Hey,” He says, walking up to where Near’s sitting in the common room, stacking dice on top of each other.

Near looks up at him curiously. “Hello.” He says.

“What’s up?” Mentally, Mello cringes at the choice of words. He doesn’t think this counts as being discreet.

“I’m building a dice tower,” Near answers (Mello’s secretly surprised Near didn’t answer with a very sarcastic ‘ceiling’).

“Oh,” Mello bites his lip. “Can I sit?”

Near blinks up at him. “Why?”

“Just.”

A long stretch of silence. Then, “Alright.”

-x-

Mello watches for an hour as Near stacks dice upon dice, building a very tall tower out of it. He doesn’t really understand what he’s accomplishing.

When he’d approached Near, he’d expected to strike up some conversation with Near, hoping Near would let something about his likes and dislikes slip, so Mello would get an idea of what to gift him. Instead, all Near did was continue on his dice tower and completely ignore Mello’s existence.

“You don’t need to sit and watch me build a dice tower,” Near suddenly says, making Mello jump. “I know you like watching me, which is strange, but I am not particularly interesting for you to keep it up.”

Mello’s eyes widen. “W-what?”

Near doesn’t look at Mello. “I’ve seen you staring a few times. It’s very strange.”

“I...I don’t stare,” Mello argues, cheeks heating up. “Your classes just happen to be on the way to my own classes. I have a habit of looking into classrooms. It’s not you in particular.”

Near looks up then. “Oh,” He says. “I’m sorry I misunderstood.”

Mello grunts and slowly stands up, dusting off imaginary dirt. “I’ll leave. You’re boring company.”

Near hums in response and goes back to building his dice tower. Mello frowns and walks away.

-x-

Mello isn’t one to give up.

He’s nothing if not incredibly persistent. He just needs Near to open up enough to reveal his likes and dislikes. That’s all Mello really needs. Just a small idea. He could just play it safe and gift Near a box of dice, but Mello wants to make a point. Every year, he gives people incredibly personalized gifts. Mello is observant. He picks up on the smallest of things people like, tries to go for something that’s different.

And so he finds himself approaching Near once again, the following day. “Hey,” He says, sitting down next to him.

Near’s playing with his robots this time. “I know what you’re doing.” He says.

Mello raises his brows. “You do?”

“You got my name. You’re trying to figure out what to get me.” Near looks at Mello with a small smirk. “I’ll make it easier on you. I like puzzles. Get me that. Now you don’t have to torture yourself by spending all your free time in my incredibly boring company.”

“T-that’s not true!” Mello sputters. How did he know?

“It’s alright, really.” Near says, shrugging. “You weren’t obvious or anything. I’m just very observant.”

Mello catches the sarcasm in Near’s voice and scowls. “You think you’re so smart, don’t you?”

“I’ve heard a lot about how smart you are too,” Near says calmly, failing to dispute Mello’s statement.

“Are you mocking me?”

“Of course not,” Near answers. “I was impressed by whatever I heard from the Professors about you.”

Mello swears and gets up. “Now I know why no one likes talking to you.” He turns around and storms away.

-x-

He’s back the next day though. He has no idea why. He keeps telling himself it’s because he wants his gift to be good, but he doesn’t think that’s the truth. If anything, it feels more like an excuse.

An excuse to spend time with the strange white haired boy who Mello, for some reason, finds very fascinating.

“I thought you wouldn’t come back,” Near points out. This time Mello doesn’t sit on the floor beside him. Instead, he sits down on the couch. Near sits in his usual posture, one knee raised to his chest.

Mello shrugs, pulling out a bar of chocolate from his jacket pocket. He unwraps it and snaps a piece off of it.

“Don’t you get bored?” Near asks, pausing in the midst of his puzzle, hand moving up to twirl his hair. When Mello shoots him a questioning look, Near adds: “You just sit there, watching me play. Don’t you find that boring?”

Mello shakes his head. “I like observing people.”

“You’re strange,” Near mutters, still twirling his hair. “And that’s something, because I’m usually the strange one.”

At that, Mello lets out a laugh. “I didn’t think you could actually be funny,” He says. “Colour me surprised.”

Near blinks up at him, pausing in the twirling. “I was serious.”

Mello stops laughing. “Oh.”

-x-

“How old are you?” Mello blurts out one fine day.

Near looks at him in surprise. “Why is my age of importance? Is the gift meant to be age specific?”

Mello knows Near’s figured out that he’s his secret Santa, so he sees no point in denying it. He shakes his head. “No, I’m just curious. When I first saw you, I thought you were a kid.”

“Technically I’m still a kid,” Near says.

“Can you stop being a smartass and just answer the question?”

“I’m sixteen.” Near answers.

Mello stares at him. “No way!”

“Yes...way,” Near says.

Mello lets out a laugh that’s a mix between genuine amusement and somewhere...relief. He isn’t sure why he’s relieved to find out Near’s sixteen and not twelve, but he decides it’s not worth pondering over.

-x-

Mello knows people are starting to talk. He doesn’t blame them.

For someone who claimed to hate Near, Mello’s been spending an awful lot of time with him. The worst part is, when Mello gives his regular excuse of, ‘I’ve got him as my person, so I’m just trying to figure out what to get him as a gift, and I’ve only got a few days left,’ he knows it’s a lie.

Truth is, Mello doesn’t give two shits about the gift anymore. He doesn’t care if it’s not the most amazing, well thought out gift ever.

Truth is, Mello is starting to like spending time with Near. All those hours spent in each other’s company, the comfortable silence, the occasional conversations, Mello’s starting to actually enjoy it.

Truth is, Mello is starting to like Near. A lot.

-x-

“Let’s go outside, the common room’s starting to get boring.” Mello announces one day. He stands above Near’s sitting form, arms crossed against his chest, foot tapping impatiently.

“I don’t like the outside,” Near argues. “The sun burns my skin.”

Mello snorts. “It’s the middle of December, Near! There’s no sun.”

Near shakes his head adamantly. “No, I’m still not going.”

Mello sighs in exasperation. Near thinks the argument’s over but lets out a small squeak when he feels Mello grabbing hold of his jumper’s sleeve, tugging on it forcefully until Near gets the hint and reluctantly stands. “Fine,” Near concedes, but is almost certain Mello isn’t listening as he drags him outside.

Once outside, the two settle down on the damp grass (Mello has to force Near into sitting, because Near repeatedly complains about how dirty his clothes are going to get, especially his white oversized jumper, which is his favourite.)

Mello turns his head sideways to look at Near. He’s once again twirling his hair with one hand, while the other busies itself with the damp grass. “Why do you do that?” Mello asks.

Near looks at him inquisitively.

“The hair thing. I’ve noticed you do it a lot. Why?”

“It feels good,” Near answers.

“It does?” Mello asks doubtfully.

Near shrugs. “It feels good to me.”

Mello goes silent, looking over in the distance at the boys playing. They’re some of the younger kids, playing a friendly game of football. Mello laughs when he sees one boy fall hard on his arse. He’s always had a mean sense of humour that way.

“Can I try it on you?” Near’s soft voice breaks the silence.

Mello’s head snaps to the side. “Try what?”

“Twirling your hair,” Near explains. “It looks very soft.”

Mello gulps. His mouth suddenly goes dry and he feels his heartbeats pick up speed. Near, on the other hand, looks very calm and composed. “Er…” Mello begins, swallowing thickly. “Sure.”

Near smiles and moves his hand away from his own hair, shifting closer to Mello. He’s aware of the fact that his pajamas are getting completely ruined, and so is his jumper, but he suddenly doesn’t care. He reaches out to Mello’s hair, catching a few strands of blond between his fingers. He rubs the pads of his fingers against them slowly, feeling the softness. He sighs almost involuntarily. He then slowly twirls the strands around his thumb and forefinger.

Mello tries to stop the sigh that threatens to escape his own lips. He also struggles to keep his eyes open and not let them close in pleasure. God, that feels incredible. Near’s fingers continue twirling and Mello unconsciously shifts closer, his knees touching Near’s. The two stare at each other as Near continues twirling.

Near stops twirling. He begins running his fingers through Mello’s hair instead. Mello struggles against yet another sigh of pleasure.
Near suddenly grips his fingers in Mello’s hair, tugging on it slightly. Mello lets out an involuntary gasp. He quickly purses his lips and moves away, as though burned. His pants suddenly feel very uncomfortably tight. Near drops his hand. “Er, yeah, that’s…” Mello starts but pauses, cheeks reddening.

Near smiles, his gaze dropping to Mello’s pants. Mello awkwardly shifts around. “That’s amusing.” Near states.

“I...well...you know…” Mello is at a complete loss. This is the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to him.

“It’s alright,” Near says calmly, “It’s a very natural reaction.” He then adds, softer, “If it’s any consolation, I find you...attractive, too.”

“I didn’t say I find you attractive, though.” Mello replies almost defensively. “It’s just...my hair’s just…”

Near lifts his hand once again, threading his fingers through Mello’s hair, gripping it tightly. Mello goes completely still, trying to focus on controlling his breathing. He doesn’t know why he’s letting Near do this again, considering the obvious physical predicament he’s presently in. Maybe that’s exactly why you want him to do that again...and more, his mind supplies helpfully. Mello inwardly cringes.

Near doesn’t stop, grips Mello’s hair tighter, and then slowly begins tugging his face down. Mello lets him, his eyes staring intently at Near’s, watching the way it burns into his own. Near slowly tilts his own face upwards, towards Mello’s, bringing them ever closer, his grip on Mello’s hair remaining constant.

And then, slowly or very suddenly, their lips meet. It’s just a brush, their eyes still open and gazing intently at one another’s. Near slowly lifts his other hand from where he’d been resting it on the grass, brings it to rest on Mello’s shoulder. He slowly moves his lips against Mello’s.

Mello’s lips almost instantly press back, moving smoothly against Near’s cold, pale lips. His arms move of their own accord, wrapping themselves around Near’s waist, pulling him closer. Near is almost on his lap now, but Mello doesn’t care. Mello’s tongue licks tentatively at Near’s bottom lip but Near doesn’t take the hint. His lips remain firmly closed. Mello gives another swipe of his tongue. Near still doesn’t understand. Or maybe he just doesn’t want tongue, Mello’s mind reasons. Mello thinks that’s fair.

They slowly part, after what could either be merely seconds or possibly minutes or even hours, Mello isn’t sure, he’s not been counting. Near’s face is flushed, his cheeks tinged a delicate pink as he gazes at Mello.

Mello is sure his face looks almost similar. “So,” He says, moving back slightly. “You’re gay.”

“As are you,” Near comments.

“I like girls too,” Mello corrects.

“And I don’t like guys at all.”

“I’m a guy,” Mello informs, “You like me.”

“Yes, you,” Near agrees, “but not any other guy. No one’s ever been good enough to like. Until now, of course.”

That goes straight to Mello’s ego, inflating it, making him soar high, high up in the sky. “What about girls?” Mello asks.

“Same as guys. Never found anyone good enough, or worth liking anyway.” Near replies.

“That’s…” Mello struggles to find a word, “Interesting.” He definitely could have picked a better word.

Near nods. “You should feel flattered, really. I don’t even let people stand close enough to invade my personal space. I let you kiss me.”

“You kissed me,” Mello points out, “I just kissed you back.”

“Yes, I don’t usually go about initiating kisses with people, however.” Near retorts.

“That’s good to know.” Mello mutters. He’s finally found someone with just as big an ego as his, and he isn’t sure how to feel about that.

“Do you want to do it again?” Near asks. His voice doesn’t sound hesitant, like you’d expect it to sound, considering the offer being made. Instead, Near sounds confident, like he’s sure Mello does want to do it again.

If the tightening of his pants is anything to go by, then Mello definitely does want to do it again.

He says, “Okay.”

-x-

Mello ends up gifting Near a puzzle, after all.

Near courteously smiles and thanks Mello for the gift, claiming he really does like it and he’s grateful.

Everyone gapes at the friendly exchange, because Near’s never bothered to be polite to any of them, but he’s being polite to Mello. Despite the fact that Mello’s claimed he doesn’t like him. They know Near knows that.

Mello can’t help but feel slightly envious when he discovers Near isn’t his secret Santa. Instead, Near softly walks over to the center, towards all the students happily opening their gifts and taps one of them on the shoulder.

The girl jumps, turns around and stares at Near. Her eyes fall on his outstretched hand, a gift wrapped box sitting on his open palm. “Oh,” she says stupidly, “That’s for me.”

Near resists the urge to roll his eyes. He’ll try to be polite just this once. “Yes, it is for you. Happy Christmas.”
The girl smiles shakily and takes the box. “T...thank you, Near.” She says.

Near nods, turns around and walks back to his little corner of the room.

-x-

“I had to give you something else,” Mello says, once everyone’s left the common room in favour of playing outside. He crouches down in front of Near, his arms behind his back.

Near is currently in the process of starting Mello’s puzzle but pauses at this admission, his hand hovering over the pieces. “Oh?”

Mello slowly brings both his arms forward, revealing another gift-wrapped article in his hand. Near reaches out and takes it from him, slowly beginning to unwrap it. Once it’s done, he stares at the soft, thick black fabric in his hand. He blinks.

“It’s a jumper,” Mello explains, “Er, it’s mine, but I’ve never worn it, I promise. I know it’s not your usual colour, and it’s definitely not your favourite, but I felt bad about ruining your favourite that day, so you know, I figured.”

Near furrows his brows in confusion. “You didn’t ruin it…” he trails off.

Then he remembers. Mello moving forward to kiss him again, Near opening his mouth to him this time, Mello slowly pushing Near on to his back, straddling his hips as he kissed him. Near frowning and complaining about how his jumper’s now ruined, and ‘did you really have to push me on my back, Mello?’

Near blushes. “Well, thank you.” He opens the garment and stares at it. He looks down at his own attire. “I do own more jumpers, though.”

“Yeah, but I told you, I felt guilty.” Mello snaps. “Just take it, Near.”

Near grins. He slowly removes the jumper he’s wearing and replaces it with the one Mello’s given him. He looks at Mello. “Happy?”

Mello smirks. “Black’s a good colour on you.”

“Black’s not a colour.”

“Shut up, Near.”

“Then again, nor is white.”

“Shut up, Near.”