DN -- Snow
Title: Snow
Collection: The Margins
Fandom: Death Note
Characters: Matt, Mello
Rating: G
Word Count: 415
Warnings: Tierfal is not to be held responsible for the weird metaphors her brain cooks up
Summary: Matt's birthday falls in the dead of winter, and Mello's starting to sense the depth of the snow.
Author's Note: I assume they're about thirteen, though it doesn't make much difference. Thank you to my eltea for detail help. ♥ Happy birthday, Matt, you crazy kid. XD
SNOW
There was snow on the ground, and Mello was watching new flakes fall. It was weird, watching the snow-it wasn’t like rain, which drummed on the roof and pattered at the windows and made its presence known. Snow snuck up on you and hemmed you in, changing and concealing things you’d used to know, and, to tell the much-suppressed and hidden truth, it kind of creeped him out.
He huddled a little smaller in the worn denim of his jacket, feeling the chill radiating off the windowpane. There was a mug lined with dried cocoa dregs on the desktop, and uneven footsteps had just begun to gallop up the stairs.
“Mel!” Matt panted, the single syllable carrying him from the top step of the staircase all the way across the bedroom’s threshold. “Come on!”
Mello looked over his shoulder. Matt’s hair trailed in his bright eyes, and his cheeks were shot with pink from racing up from the dining room. His shirt was wrinkled-this was the new one Roger had given him, black-and-white-striped and big enough to grow into, which meant it was sliding partway off of his shoulder now. He had a decorated envelope-Linda’s contribution-in both hands, and one of his thumbs fidgeted madly, worrying the shiny ribbon she’d wrapped around it half a dozen times.
“What flavor’s the cake?” Mello asked.
“Chocolate,” Matt said. “’Cause it’s what you like, and I don’t care.”
“I’ll be there in a minute,” Mello told him, and he meant it, and Matt could tell. The redhead smiled so that the corners of his eyes crinkled, and then he headed back down the stairs, his reckless, ungainly limbs taking them two at a time.
Mello slipped off of his bed, knelt, and started sorting through the mess of little secrets crammed beneath his bed. Shoved between the shoebox of stolen puzzle pieces and the book Wammy had given him to read on his first night here (The Wonderful Wizard of Oz) sat a poorly-wrapped bundle containing the fruit of four months’ low chocolate rations.
Mello didn’t really know why a pair of silver goggles with orange lenses had jumped out from the storefront’s window as something Matt ought to have, but he wasn’t one to argue with serendipity.
He made his way down the stairs, one hand on the railing, the other cradling his gift, and thought maybe orange goggles would keep the snow out of Matt’s eyes.
Collection: The Margins
Fandom: Death Note
Characters: Matt, Mello
Rating: G
Word Count: 415
Warnings: Tierfal is not to be held responsible for the weird metaphors her brain cooks up
Summary: Matt's birthday falls in the dead of winter, and Mello's starting to sense the depth of the snow.
Author's Note: I assume they're about thirteen, though it doesn't make much difference. Thank you to my eltea for detail help. ♥ Happy birthday, Matt, you crazy kid. XD
SNOW
There was snow on the ground, and Mello was watching new flakes fall. It was weird, watching the snow-it wasn’t like rain, which drummed on the roof and pattered at the windows and made its presence known. Snow snuck up on you and hemmed you in, changing and concealing things you’d used to know, and, to tell the much-suppressed and hidden truth, it kind of creeped him out.
He huddled a little smaller in the worn denim of his jacket, feeling the chill radiating off the windowpane. There was a mug lined with dried cocoa dregs on the desktop, and uneven footsteps had just begun to gallop up the stairs.
“Mel!” Matt panted, the single syllable carrying him from the top step of the staircase all the way across the bedroom’s threshold. “Come on!”
Mello looked over his shoulder. Matt’s hair trailed in his bright eyes, and his cheeks were shot with pink from racing up from the dining room. His shirt was wrinkled-this was the new one Roger had given him, black-and-white-striped and big enough to grow into, which meant it was sliding partway off of his shoulder now. He had a decorated envelope-Linda’s contribution-in both hands, and one of his thumbs fidgeted madly, worrying the shiny ribbon she’d wrapped around it half a dozen times.
“What flavor’s the cake?” Mello asked.
“Chocolate,” Matt said. “’Cause it’s what you like, and I don’t care.”
“I’ll be there in a minute,” Mello told him, and he meant it, and Matt could tell. The redhead smiled so that the corners of his eyes crinkled, and then he headed back down the stairs, his reckless, ungainly limbs taking them two at a time.
Mello slipped off of his bed, knelt, and started sorting through the mess of little secrets crammed beneath his bed. Shoved between the shoebox of stolen puzzle pieces and the book Wammy had given him to read on his first night here (The Wonderful Wizard of Oz) sat a poorly-wrapped bundle containing the fruit of four months’ low chocolate rations.
Mello didn’t really know why a pair of silver goggles with orange lenses had jumped out from the storefront’s window as something Matt ought to have, but he wasn’t one to argue with serendipity.
He made his way down the stairs, one hand on the railing, the other cradling his gift, and thought maybe orange goggles would keep the snow out of Matt’s eyes.