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Near thought he looked like a prince.
His hair was something out of a fairy tale; neatly cropped, golden-blonde, framing his face perfectly like a crown. He had eyes like icebergs - not white like the peaks, but that striking glacial blue where the eaves cast shadows over the crevices - and sharp around the edges, similar to those of a cat.
They reminded him somewhat of the blue and white lights display that always adorned his house and the surrounding trees throughout December, radiant and sophisticated. The display was mostly white, as was his preference, but the blue accents dotted among them tied the aesthetic together. Only a small touch, but the star of the show, the uniting feature of the display. Much like the eyes of that gorgeous, regal stranger.
Near had been the one to establish the tradition of lights in their neighbourhood. From the outside, his house appeared to be the biggest spectacle. In truth, though, it was never his efforts alone. He would set up a chair on the street for him to reside while he directed his much taller, more athletic neighbours to hang lights and erect the standing decorations just as he liked them - curtain lights draped down the walls and the fence, string lights wrapped around the trees and the roof, blue-and-white plastic candy canes lined up along the front pathway.
Aside from the lights and the unique aesthetic, two main features captured the attention of onlookers. Mistletoe hung from the archway at the front of his garden, where couples would kiss as per the classic Norse tradition. Among children, the preferred choice was the three tall, animated snowmen that sang carols for the whole street to enjoy - but those had to be specially ordered each year, so they always went up later than the others.
He took pride in the way his house drew attention. It made people happy. He never talked to his visitors, not one for frivolous socialisation, but he watched on from his window with satisfaction. He was never motivated by the idea of hosting the biggest display, the brightest display, the most impressive display.
He was purely driven by the joy of crafting something unique and intricate and pretty, something he could be proud of and that brought a new buzz of excitement to a famously upbeat season. He had always been largely neutral towards the idea of Christmas and all it represented, but partaking in the festivities was something to look forward to, something fun and fulfilling like decorating the tree and wrapping presents for the few close acquaintances he had to celebrate with.
It was, in fact, Christmas lights that had drawn his attention to the mysterious man in the first place. He had moved into the house next door in mid-November, which was, in itself, worthy of Near’s attention. Their street was small, a little cul-de-sac branching off the side of a larger strip, and the houses were tightly held, his group of neighbours close-knit and stable.
For the most part, living in a place that hardly ever changed was ideal for Near. He liked routine, predictability; liked having the freedom to live alone, but with trusted people living close by to rely on when he needed the support. But a part of him was bored by the monotony, and a new source of interest was more than welcome.
As far as Near knew, the attractive stranger had made no effort to introduce himself to anyone else on the street. His neighbours viewed this as rudeness. Near viewed it as a challenge.
His goal was never to approach the man. It was simply to observe. There was a lot to be learned from mere observation. This was how he learned that Stephen enjoyed bottled ships, and that Anthony spent his Saturday mornings writing short form poetry, and that Halle preferred red wine over white.
So, when the stranger set up a ladder outside and began to put up a display of his own, Near watched. He watched for hours, perched on the reading nook carved into the wall by his upstairs window and fidgeting idly with a robot as the stranger started from scratch to arrange a spectacle of his own.
His frustration waxed and waned as the afternoon progressed, bouts of it lasting longer as the sun slipped further from its apex in the sky, but still, he refused to take a single break. He worked himself to the edge of his sanity until he was finally satisfied, and even Near felt a blossoming sense of secondhand pride when the stranger grinned at his finished design.
Near’s surveillance proved highly successful. He had taken several mental notes about the stranger’s personality. The most obvious of his observations was that he was highly dedicated. Perhaps overly dedicated, depending on one’s standards. He was clearly particular about his work - hanging the lights, taking them down and repositioning them several times before the furrow in his brow would vanish.
By Near’s standards, the intense dedication was respectable; refreshing. Christmas lights were, as Near had inferred based on the efforts of his neighbours, not typically an activity others took seriously. The stranger’s tenacity, however, much more closely resembled Near’s. It seemed his goal was to make a statement. Near read it easily like bold lettering on the front cover of a book.
He was also clearly talented. Near had never been especially fond of the red and green colour scheme himself, but he could acknowledge that it was fitting for the holiday, and had been crafted such that the lights complemented each other rather than competed. His neighbour clearly knew how to prevent the two equally dominant shades from clashing, and to keep the design relatively pleasing to the eye. Not overkill, just enough.
In addition to the lights was an inflatable Santa, standing proudly in the centre of the lawn with a billboard counting down to Christmas. Near liked the idea of having one main feature among the lights. It was smart, he thought; let the lights be the backdrop and the statue take centre stage. The man had clearly put thought into his design, and it had paid off.
On the whole, Near was impressed. He had learned enough to have an idea of the man’s personality, but not enough that he was satisfied, either. He had only read the first page, only the foreword introducing the most basic and foundational features of a leather bound novel, and it would take some further effort to fill in the rest.
~~~
Ten days later, Near acquired a name.
During those ten days, he had gathered little new information to fill in the gaps. He knew that the stranger liked chocolate - really liked chocolate, if the sizable delivery of dark chocolate bars ordered to his house was anything to go by - and that he had a reading nook much like Near’s where he would often fall asleep while reading, in the hours approaching midnight.
He had also noticed that the man had added to his display, around a week after Near put up his own. He had added lights to the fence and the trees, creative decisions markedly similar to Near’s own. Perhaps he had been inspired by Near’s choices, or perhaps he was independently motivated by some alternative catalyst, overcome by some new vision fuelled by the desire for constant improvement. Near didn’t mind either way, but it raised new questions about the motivations of this overachieving neighbour.
Regardless, those questions were quickly trumped by greater ones when a new mystery appeared. He arrived in the late evening of December 12th, a second question mark in an old-fashioned red car that reeked of powerful exhaust fumes and a pair of bright orange goggles. He didn’t appear to be a permanent fixture, judging by the size of his suitcase, but he did seem to be on very familiar terms with Near’s neighbour. A friend, presumably. Near thought it too invasive to speculate beyond that.
The stranger referred to him as Matt. Matt referred to the stranger as Mello.
He couldn’t decide if it would have been more strange to assume that the name was an alias, or to assume that it was real, and simply happened to be slightly bizarre. At the very least, he could be sure it wasn’t a nickname. At first, Matt had addressed him as Mells, and it wasn’t until Near heard Mello that he put the pieces together. Mello, he reasoned, must have been the complete version.
Snow descended upon the street in the days that followed. A new decoration appeared in Mello’s front yard, its assembly aided by Matt - not long after Near’s singing snowmen had arrived and Rester had stood them up on his lawn for crowds to marvel at. It was a tall Christmas tree, decked in lights of its own.
Near thought nothing of the addition in terms of Mello’s intentions - by this point, he had come to accept that Mello was simply the kind of person who was never satisfied, and needed to keep one-upping himself to an excessive degree. On that basis, Near decided it was ugly. The inflatable Santa was more than enough. He didn’t need anything else. He was trying too hard, and ruining things by his compulsion.
It wasn’t until the evening that he noticed it. An ear-splitting sound, a chaotic symphony, as Jingle Bells competed to be heard over the soft sound of the 12 Days of Christmas playing from the speakers inside Near’s snowmen. The Christmas tree was designed to sing. This was the event that tipped Near off about Mello’s true intentions. There was no way this was simply a misguided attempt at being inspired by Near. He felt threatened by Near.
He was trying to outdo him.
The crowds steadily shrunk. Two nights came and went, Mello and Near’s gardens hosting only a few sparse groups of visitors who dared step closer than a few houses away. Most were unwilling to witness the monstrosity that had become their end of the street. Near himself began wearing headphones as he worked in the evenings, preferring to avoid having his ears assaulted and his brain scrambled trying to distinguish the conflicting tunes as they battled for dominance in the cold December air.
Anthony had been the one to approach Near about it.
“What are you going to do, Near?”
This had lasted for two nights already. Based on previous patterns of behaviour, it probably wouldn’t stop.
“I suppose I have no choice but to speak with him.”
At least it would be another chance to fit more pieces of the puzzle into place.
He knocked twice on the door before it opened, and Near was met with those sharp, arctic eyes, cold as the winter as they stared expectantly at him. He had been studying this gorgeous specimen for several weeks, but he hadn’t seen him so close, hadn’t been within range to reach out and touch him, to inhale the fresh scent of his shampoo and breathe the same air.
Mello’s eyebrow quirked.
“Can I help you?”
Near lifted his head somewhat, eyes falling around Mello’s neck.
“Yes,” Near said. “My name is Near. I live in this neighbourhood.”
Mello slowly nodded. “Right. I’m Mello.”
“I know.” Near peered around Mello’s frame, catching a glimpse of the living room down the hallway. It looked very clean; no boxes, no clutter. He had settled in well. “May I come inside?”
Mello looked mildly horrified.
“What for?”
Near didn’t want to talk out here. This was the kind of conversation that could happen once he had made it inside and had the chance to look around a little more. He wasn’t sure how Mello would react to his questions, but he had a feeling the conversation might not end up particularly long.
“I have something I’d like to discuss with you.”
Mello’s eyes narrowed, but after a pause, he stepped aside, opening up a space for Near to enter through which he immediately took. Mello shut the door behind and began to walk down the hallway towards the living room. Near took that as his cue to follow.
“Your house is very clean,” he commented, perhaps to himself, or perhaps as a means of softening the palpable tension. “Do you live alone?”
Near hadn’t seen Matt’s car around for a few days, nor had he seen anyone else hanging around Mello’s place, but he thought it courteous to at least ask.
“Yeah. Do you?”
“Yes.”
Mello sat on the couch, crossing his legs at the ankles. Near stood for a moment, undecided on whether it was acceptable for him to follow suit, until Mello patted the cushion beside him and shuffled over to invite Near in. Near sat, one knee to his chest and a hand in his hair. Vague small talk out of the way, he decided to get straight to the point.
“Myself and several of our other neighbours had concerns about the music coming from this house.”
Several of our other neighbours was not necessarily a verifiable statement given he had only discussed the matter with one, but he suspected the displeasure was widespread. At the very least, the crowds attracted from nearby were not pleased by it.
Mello scoffed.
“From this house?” He leaned back, arms crossing against his chest. “Blame the asshole next door. He did it first.”
Exactly as Near had suspected. Mello’s choice in decoration had been a deliberate attempt to annoy him; to compete with him. Fascinating…
“The ‘asshole next door’ is me.”
Near read the subtle changes in Mello’s expression as he processed this revelation - his brow shooting up, his lips pursing, his eyes widening to expose the full expanse of iceberg-shadow blue.
“Hang on- you, the guy who put up singing snowmen in your garden, are trying to tell me I can’t play music?”
“I’ve been living here for years. The snowmen are a long-held tradition.”
“Right. So it’s fine when you do it but because I’m the new guy, I can’t.”
Near exhaled. His grip on his hair tightened.
“No, that’s not how it works. The display is a well-known attraction in the neighbourhood. There are many people I would disappoint if I took it down.”
As things stood, no one could enjoy either of the attractions. He was sure Mello was aware of that.
“Well, you’re disappointing me by keeping it up.” Mello scowled. “I know what you’re doing, Near. You want your house to be the best one in the street, and you think the only way to beat me is to have snowmen put on a whole song and dance in your front yard.
Ah. As it seemed, Mello had conducted an investigation of his own - or at least, a psychological analysis of sorts, attempting to interpret Near’s personality from his design choices and make sense of his intentions. He hadn’t done a particularly good job.
“You’re mistaken,” Near said. “All I’m doing is carrying on a beloved tradition.”
Mello gritted his teeth and glared at Near. Near kept watching the floor, perceiving Mello only in his peripheral vision. Several beats of silence passed, before Near realised he would have to be the one to break it.
“If you continue to play music, I will have to file a formal complaint against you.”
Mello’s eyes shot open wider. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“I would rather not have to do that, of course. I am simply asking out of respect for the people who live here. It would be nice if you could share that respect.”
It was an honest statement; if Mello’s decorative Christmas tree continued to perform at such a grating volume, Near’s neighbours would arc up about the disturbance, and Near would be the one to file a complaint. It was not ideal by any means, but he was prepared to resort to that if the problem persisted.
“I will never respect you. Never in a million damn years.” Mello flicked his wrist. “Get out of my house.”
Near stood up with a sigh. He wasn’t disappointed; it had gone about as well as he had expected.
“I hope you will at least think about what I said.”
He spared one last glance at Mello’s torso, then turned and headed for the door. No other words were exchanged. Mello didn’t even bother to walk him out.
~~~
The dancing reindeer were, he could admit, a sly move.
He happened to stumble across them on the front page of a catalogue that had been slipped into his mail, in blatant disregard for the No Junk Mail sign clearly plastered on the front. Rather than responding with annoyance, Near viewed this as an act of poetic serendipity - not fate, he wouldn’t have said, but a kind coincidence that the universe happened to drop into his lap.
Mello’s behaviour had intrigued him; he had given up, presumably threatened by the notion of having a complaint filed against him just a month after he had moved in, and no new displays had been added to his garden. Yet, Near did not want this to be over. He wanted to see how far he could push Mello, how far his competitiveness stretched, and putting up a new, prominent feature was the perfect way to go about it.
It was inflammatory - undeniably so - but nevertheless, it was effective.
Near happened to be outside, readjusting a fallen candy cane that had half-buried itself in wet soil, when they reunited. Mello weaved his way through the relatively sparse crowd - or, not weaved, because that implied a delicacy that was notably absent from his movements, but rather pushed past the few people who were trying to photograph themselves beneath the decorative arch.
“There you are,” Mello announced as he approached, footsteps heavy and careless.
Near winced at the new boot prints forming in the dirt, before tearing his eyes away to stare at Mello, watching his chest to avoid meeting his eye.
“Listen here, asshole,” Mello snarled. “You don’t get to prance around, telling me to get rid of my singing Christmas tree, just to turn around and put up fucking dancing reindeer.”
Mello stepped towards him, and Near stepped back, like they were engaging in a dance of sorts. He wasn’t afraid, by any means; rather, he was calculating. Calculating how many steps it would take him to plant himself directly beneath the mistletoe.
“You think you’re so much better than me, don’t you? Why, just because you’ve been here longer? Just because everyone else here is on your side? Because they’re all fine with you hosting a damn musical in your front yard but they’d all run at me with pitchforks if I did the same?”
Near paused just as he reached the faint shadow of the archway and the hanging plant, cast by the lights adorning his fence, and he stayed still once he was in prime position, even when Mello moved close enough to place their noses millimetres away from one another. Near tilted his head towards the sky, hoping Mello might follow his eyes and take the hint. He did not. Instead, he grasped Near’s shoulders and shook him slightly, tunnelled on his one clear goal.
“Say something, damn it!”
Near’s mouth remained closed, and it was only then that Mello caught on, a familiar look of horror crossing his face as he looked up. His jaw clamped shut.
“You can’t be serious.”
Near shrugged, noting the wideness of Mello’s eyes as their stares finally, finally met.
“You know the rules.”
“No fucking way. I’m not going to kiss you.”
Mello turned to his right, where the crowd stood, three times larger than it had been last time Near looked. Several of his neighbours had their phones out to film, the flash brightness eclipsing that of Near’s lights. Mello huffed, the coldness of the air rendering it visible in the form of a cloud, and that was the only warning Near received before he was yanked towards Mello.
Their lips collided like the crashing of waves, like the collision of two cars barreling towards one another at top speed. Calculated as the union had been, the abruptness of it shocked Near, and his eyes stayed open for the full twenty seconds, his mind wiped blank by the movement of Mello’s mouth against his and the bruising grip Mello still had on his shoulders.
After what felt like both too long and not long enough, Mello pulled away, arms folded against his chest and pretty lips twisted into a smirk.
“This is the biggest crowd you’ve had at your display, all because of me,” Mello said. “Looks like I’m the most popular attraction after all.”
He left before Near could respond, his movements much more adequately described as weaving as he manoeuvred his way around the lingering crowd of spectators. Near let the tiniest of smiles dance upon his lips.
Fascinating.