[It's been a long time since they last held hands. It must have been in autumn. The weather was neither too nor too cold, and there was a nice, neutral breeze, thankfully. Pollen counts were low. The sky was kind of overcast, indecisive about rain. Near was getting ready for one of his rare excursions into the orphanage's backyard, and Mello held his hand to make sure he wouldn't lose his footing. Back then, Mello's hand was ludicrously huge compared to his own. It was an engulfment. Hot, broad, a little too tight, a little too intense. Tanned, tough, roughened by calluses, totally unlike Near's unfired ceramic. It's obvious that Mello is trying to be more careful with him today. Their hands aren't so mismatched, at least when it comes to the size. They're fitting together. Sharing, like Mello said. Near doesn't know what's going on with his mouth, with his face, but it can't be anything good between the heat and the prickle. It's almost too much to watch Mello lean in and accept the mouthful of pudding, his victory made complete. It's definitely too much to have Mello's blue eyes on him the entire time, the furthest thing from muddy and overcast. If Mello would just start gloating about his victory, like a lion over a fresh kill, that would be so much easier to deal with. That would be well-deserved. Near wouldn't have to learn all these new contours and colors.
Their hands move apart, and Mello sits back, breaking the spell woven between them. He claims the seat without saying he's intending to claim it. Near's hand, meanwhile, stays hovering in the air, hesitant, uncertain, an embarrassment he doesn't want to deal with. It takes him a second or two to remember what he's doing and to bring it back down. He gathers some pudding for himself. He takes it into his mouth. It's good, very good, even though it's unexpectedly heavy on his tongue. It tastes very good. Better than one of those one-dollar Snack Packs from Target. Rich chocolate coats the back of his throat, making him swallow a few times, making him notice his throat is tighter than it was a minute ago. God damn it. He wishes it could blame it on anaphylactic shock.]
Mm, but credit where credit is due. I'm not the only one who's responsible for my miraculous recovery.
[Doctors. Medicine. Mello himself. He's out of practice when it comes to Mello's unmalicious attention. The more Mello looks upon him, appraising him, the more Near wants to hide behind the veil of his own hair. Mello doesn't have to be here, and he doesn't have to be doing this. He doesn't have to hold Near's hand to make sure he doesn't lose his footing.
Near scoops up more of the treat, but he doesn't offer it or eat it just yet.] Mello... [He has a voice like a pile of dry spices, all this potential here in one place.] I'm wondering... did you enjoy yourself? [he asks, at last. His gaze is tired and unsteady, but it never quite leaves Mello's face. The question is just vague enough that Mello, a clever man, should know an escape route when he's given one. He can talk about the fancy pudding. He can talk about where he's been for the past several years. Or he can answer the question that Near is actually asking him:
How did it feel to be L? And does he want to keep doing it?]
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Their hands move apart, and Mello sits back, breaking the spell woven between them. He claims the seat without saying he's intending to claim it. Near's hand, meanwhile, stays hovering in the air, hesitant, uncertain, an embarrassment he doesn't want to deal with. It takes him a second or two to remember what he's doing and to bring it back down. He gathers some pudding for himself. He takes it into his mouth. It's good, very good, even though it's unexpectedly heavy on his tongue. It tastes very good. Better than one of those one-dollar Snack Packs from Target. Rich chocolate coats the back of his throat, making him swallow a few times, making him notice his throat is tighter than it was a minute ago. God damn it. He wishes it could blame it on anaphylactic shock.]
Mm, but credit where credit is due. I'm not the only one who's responsible for my miraculous recovery.
[Doctors. Medicine. Mello himself. He's out of practice when it comes to Mello's unmalicious attention. The more Mello looks upon him, appraising him, the more Near wants to hide behind the veil of his own hair. Mello doesn't have to be here, and he doesn't have to be doing this. He doesn't have to hold Near's hand to make sure he doesn't lose his footing.
Near scoops up more of the treat, but he doesn't offer it or eat it just yet.] Mello... [He has a voice like a pile of dry spices, all this potential here in one place.] I'm wondering... did you enjoy yourself? [he asks, at last. His gaze is tired and unsteady, but it never quite leaves Mello's face. The question is just vague enough that Mello, a clever man, should know an escape route when he's given one. He can talk about the fancy pudding. He can talk about where he's been for the past several years. Or he can answer the question that Near is actually asking him:
How did it feel to be L? And does he want to keep doing it?]