A/N: Well, here I am with another fluffy Death Note fic. Yes, I know it's a Christmas fic. Yes, I know it's the middle of August. No, I don't care. Every day is Christmas in my world! :D I'm sort of worried that Mello and Matt are sort of OOC, so please tell me what you think. Also, mild MxM, but I tried to make this more cute than romantic. ^_^ I'll probably continue it at some point, but I don't know. Anyway, I'm rambling now. Enjoy the story!
Mello groaned and opened his eyes, burying his face in his pillow. The bedroom was tinted with pearly silver light, which could only mean that it had snowed.
The blond-haired boy sat bolt upright and rushed to the window, carelessly throwing the curtains aside. Snow, on Christmas Day? Mello blinked his green eyes in disbelief, trying to remember his last white Christmas.
"Matt. Matt, wake up," he whispered shaking his room-mate's shoulder. "Matt!"
Matt rolled over, still half-asleep, and murmured something along the lines of "hmphmngmph, Mello..."
"But Matt, it snowed!" Mello persisted, giving the boy a hard pinch on the arm.
"Seriously?" Matt, now wide awake, jumped up and bounded to the window. The two teenagers leaned on the windowsill with their faces pressed up against the glass, awestruck by the transformation of the Wammy's House grounds. Everything was coated in a gleaming white sheet, like icing on a Christmas cake.
"I double dare you to throw a snowball at Roger," Mello chuckled.
"No way, I'll get in so much trouble!" Matt replied. "We'd better not let Near go out in that," he murmured thoughtfully.
"Why not?"
"We might lose him."
Mello stifled his laughter at lightly punched Matt's arm. "Hey, you can't say that! As much as I wish Near would get lost in the snow, that's offensive!"
Matt rolled his eyes. "Offensive to who? It's not like he can hear us."
"I wouldn't say that," said a monotone child's voice from behind them.
Mello just stopped himself jumping into Matt's arms, Scooby-Doo style. He glared at the hunched-over boy who stood in the now-open doorway. "How the hell did you know we were up?"
Matt looked equally shocked. "Yeah, and what gives you the right to just walk in here? We could have been... I don't know, we could have—" He struggled to think of something they could have been doing that didn't sound weird.
"We could've been naked or something!" Mello interjected.
An awkward silence descended. Mello's cheeks reddened as he realised what that sounded like. "Crap... I didn't mean—"
Near smirked in an uncharacteristic display of emotion. "Yeah, because you two would be naked together."
"You shouldn't know about stuff like that, you're only ten!" Matt spluttered, feeling as embarrassed as his friend looked.
"And you're only thirteen," Near deadpanned.
"Will you keep it down!" Mello hissed. "If Near could hear us from his room or wherever he was creeping on us from, who knows who else might be listening?"
"Relax, Mello," said Matt. "It's, like, six am. Nobody else is gonna be up. Now, let's go out in the snow!"
Unfortunately, Matt was wrong in thinking they had not been overheard. As the three boys tiptoed out of Matt and Mello's room and crept down the hall, none of them noticed the two older boys crouched a few feet away at the end of the corridor.
The stockier boy with sandy hair turned to his lanky friend. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking, B?" he whispered.
Beyond Birthday studied A's face—the two were so close they could almost read each other's thoughts. "I reckon I am." As an afterthought, he added, "five pounds says they won't."
"You're on."
The boys nodded to each other, before slinking back to their shared room and beginning to iron out the finer details of their plan.
Christmas was Mello's favourite time of the year; it was one of the few occasions when he felt the pressure of beating Near lift from his shoulders, if only for a day. He was aware that Christmas at Wammy's House was far from normal—not many of the children were close enough to give each other presents, and the thought of succeeding L still hung over them like a shadow—but he enjoyed the relatively relaxed atmosphere. Besides that, Christmas was a time for fun, merriment, friendship—and chocolate.
The diehard chocoholic nibbled on his only present, savouring every bite. This year, Matt had given him an unusually large bar of cheap dark chocolate from the local supermarket, and he intended to make it last. Supermarket chocolate had a special taste all of its own.
"Hey, Matt?"
"Mmm?" His friend answered without taking his eyes off his GameBoy. Sometimes Mello wondered if the thing was superglued to his hands or something.
"Wanna go upstairs? It's getting kinda noisy in here." Mello indicated the group of primary-school kids in the room with them, all of them squabbling over something. A few older kids, including Linda and A, watched them with passive amusement. Near crouched well away from everyone on the other side of the room, painstakingly creating an impressive model of the House of Commons out of playing cards and Lego. As usual, he was diligently ignoring everyone.
Mello narrowed his eyes. A was standing on his own, which was unheard of. The ace student always, always had B with him—the two were best friends and partners in crime, just like Mello and Matt.
The boy shrugged as he and Matt traipsed out of the room. It wasn't like he cared—B was probably trying to convince Roger to let the older kids have some alcohol or something.
"Boo!" Beyond cried as he leaped out from behind the door, nearly giving Mello a heart attack.
"B! What the hell, dude?" Matt yelled, apparently having been just as startled as Mello was.
B said nothing and just stood in the doorway, a smug grin plastered on his face. Mello was suddenly aware of snickering behind him.
"What's so funny?" he demanded as he turned to the group of children, who all stopped laughing at once—except for one boy.
A stood with his hands shoved in his pockets, chuckling and gazing at the spot just above Matt and Mello's heads. Mello cautiously followed his line of sight.
"Oh, hell no," he breathed, glaring at the sprig of mistletoe dangling from B's long fingers as if it offended him.
"Hell yes, Mihael Keehl," B crooned delightedly, seeming to savour the look of pure horror on the younger boys' faces. "You know the rules—the two people under the mistletoe have to kiss—it's tradition! Now kiss!"
There was an explosion of laughter behind them. "Come on, Mello! Get into the Christmas spirit!" someone cried. Mello turned to Matt helplessly, who looked just as mortified as he did.
"It is tradition, Mello..." Matt said apologetically.
"What the hell, Matt? You're not supposed to side with them! Back me up, man!"
"Go on, Blondie, you know you want to!" B guffawed.
"Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!" the kids behind them chanted.
Mello's eyes widened. How were they going to explain this to Roger if he overheard? Quickly deciding between the lesser of two evils, he leaned in and brushed Matt's lips with his own.
An ecstatic cheer rose up from their audience, and A swaggered over to them. He held his hand out to B. "I believe you owe me £5.00, my friend," he said cockily.
It was a bet, the bastards! Mello looked down at the floor, unable to meet Matt's eyes. "God I hate you, B," he muttered, before storming off to his room.
He flopped down on his bed and buried his face in his pillow, as he had done earlier that morning. Why did his first kiss have to be with his best friend, dammit?
The door to their room creaked open, and Mello didn't have to look up to know who it was.
"Mello, are you OK?" Matt whispered, sitting down on his own bed. Mello turned his head to look at him, and couldn't help blushing at the memory of Matt's lips on his own.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little embarrassed, I guess."
"More like a lot embarrassed."
"Why do A and B have to be such assholes?" Mello groaned into his pillow.
"I guess that's just how they are. We don't have to stand for it, though," Matt said pensively. He got up and gazed out of the window at the still-falling snow.
Mello frowned. "What do you mean? What are you planning, Matt?"
Matt pulled his beloved goggles down over his eyes—a sure sign that he meant business. A sly smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Have you ever heard the saying," he grinned, the smile rapidly spreading and evolving into a smirk, "that 'revenge is a dish best served cold?'"