AN: I might do something more with this in the future if anyone is interested. Please tell me if that is the case, and give me ideas :) LightMatt, I don't think that's a usual pair. Hope you like this. I don't own Death Note, and I think it is good that I'm not.
Flower-Market
"You don't need him." Light never thought he would say something like that with a bouquet of tulips in his hands. — Light, Matt(Mello)
AU
—
Light learned when he was fifteen that he shouldn't be so narrowed with his view of summer jobs.
Just the mere memories of a summer with nothing, absolutely nothing to do still scared him more than that day when his comb broke. There is something about the thought of just sitting away time, not using what you have, that was extremely unappealing for him.
So, Light should not complain about this, he really shouldn't. But when will people learn that not everything are fun, that there is a difference between the words 'fun' and 'necessary'? Still, he wanted—everyone wanted—things to be both. Who doesn't want a job that is entertaining and well-paid?
Spoiled humans walked on Earth today, those who had the chance. Light was not an exception, even if he wanted to state that he was.
A spoiled Light aside, there was nothing entertaining—or well-paid—about selling flowers on the street. It may suit some people but it didn't suit him. First of all, he had his dose of charm, but only if he was around people he had chosen. Or if he did something that could fill his ego's need like a balloon with air. This gave him neither.
To put all his points to this matter on the table—he didn't have many customers. Not too surprising, as people went to the beach on holidays, slept or worked like him. Light still didn't like this for two reasons; firstly, the less money he earned the less money he gained and secondly, what was the point in standing in an affair if you didn't have customers?
He was going to rot to the asphalt beneath him if not God decided to spare him from his madness.
When he actually did have customers, they were either ladies in their middle-age with too much lipstick to disapprove to a enhancing midlife-crisis, who called him "cutiepie"—he blushed once before he realized that he still (hopefully) could make a bid for people in his own age—or grumpy men with too much fantasy they used to create things to complain about.
There was no one to talk to. Really, no one. He was left in a crowd that didn't accept him.
Oh, Light, you really are spoiled.
The benefit about this, as far as he could see, was that he had a lot of time to observe people, in every age and from every culture. It was interesting—for about three days—to do this, to see the differences, to see the similarities but after a while, they all started to look the same.
Light only had one thing to do then—mulling. To miss school, where he was someone. He needed that. Here, he was no one. It was hard to think himself as addicted to his high grades, but in some aspects, he was.
Well, now was time to be lonely.
He frowned and watched the enormous truck brake at his right side, for today's deliveries. And no, it was not that business had become high like Mount Everest, but flowers did not live forever. With one million bouquets in hand, he felt his auburn hair fall in front of his eyes and made mental notes of what this day probably had in its disposal.
Not much, he decided. It was a cloudy day, very unusual in the middle of July, and he had the morning pass, which often made the money rarer to come by than exotic species of butterflies in the Artic Pole. He gently placed the flowers on the table before him and lifted up buckets, removing plastic around a bunch of tulips before realizing that a redhead in orange-tainted goggles was regarding him.
Well, this was interesting, Light mused with his finger entertained. Not the regular kind of customers, this one. He looked like someone that slept past one AM and barely got out to get tanned on that milky skin. The redhead smoked also, right now, and it was impossible to know if he just stood there or wanted something.
Light cared about fashion and he knew that he could have been less attractive, but he was also strict, not bothering too much about different image or reputation and that was why he couldn't really understand the use of goggles, of everything.
He also found that it interested him.
Now, now, do not think that he was one of those that flirted with everything that moved (or did not move)—his list of relationships wasn't as long as he was tall, the last one being with a blonde girl named Misa, which actually ended sooner than it started. But like mentioned earlier, he liked to look at people and the guy with the stupid goggles was the only one he had.
Light threw the plastic in a trash-can before realizing that his mobile was ringing. He let his fingers comb through the hair before fishing it up from his pants.
"Hello?"
"Hi, brother! Do you know who it is? It's Sayu!"
He felt the need to grin. Sayu was sweet in many ways—the adoration for Light was one of them, mind you—but sometimes she seemed to left her brain at home.
"Oh, hi. Something up?"
"Of course it is. Have you already forgot?"
Forgot what?
"—That you promised to have lunch with me today?"
He had.
"Sorry, it slipped."
"It slipped the previous week too! Don't you love me?"
Light snickered and started to work with his flowers with the hand that didn't hold on unto the phone. "You can't try to give me bad conscience every week, Sayu."
"But it worked last week!"
"It has grown old. Try something new."
"I think about it. But you don't have any excuses this time, do you?"
"Er, no."
"Good. I'll come at twelve o'clock. See you!"
That Sayu. Impossible to handle. Impossible not to love.
Light did love her, even though she was annoying.
It was at this time he realized that Goggle-Man had come to his table, looking as he was waiting for something.
It couldn't be the flowers.
He quenches the cigarette between his two fingers—didn't that hurt?—before he started talking. "Are you done talking?"
"What does it look like?" Light asked. He wasn't good at being polite with strangers that didn't have any use for him.
The redhead smiled a little. "Heh. That was funny."
Sarcasm. Light smiled. This could be fun. "Can I help you?"
The boy tugged on his striped sleeve. "Yeah. I wish. I was wondering if you could give me a tip. It is like this, I have a boyfriend with the name of Mello. He is angry. He is angry rather often and I want to, I don't know, make him happy? Less angry? Something. So, which one do you think he likes?"
That was not something Light had been waiting for. An angry boyfriend? Apologize through flowers? Wasn't that something you did with girls? Not that Light had any experience which these kind of affairs, but it sounded right enough.
"What is he like?" Light asked, playing along. Hell, this was stupid but he was bored and when he was bored he did drastic things.
"Oh, he is many things. I'm Matt by the way. Mello is very emotional, I think, rather quick to anger. He is rash and doesn't think things through, but I love him."
Light never doubted on the last one. Matt sounded just like this, even with all the evidence on the table, he could see what he had with Mello when none of these shone through.
"And you got in a fight?" If Light didn't get promoted with this flower work he could definitely think about a career in psychology.
Yes, that was sarcasm.
"Yeah."
"About what?"
Matt shrugged and reached for the packet of cigarettes again. "Dunno," he started, before realizing how that sounded. "I mean, what was it this time? Oh, right. I went out with a girl last night. No, not my girlfriend just a girl friend. And he was pissed off. He threw me out. But don't judge him, he can be very sweet, but—"
The 'but' didn't evolve into something else and Light started to know what this was about. Not that he had been in the same situation, but he wasn't stupid, there was easy to see the signs. And that was nothing flowers could change, this Mello—what kind of name what that by the way?—would remain the same.
Light didn't say it though. It was none of his affairs. Instead he asked: "Why do you think I can help you?"
Matt curved his lips a little upwards. "You look gay."
"What?"
"Nothing. But you work here."
"Oh yeah? Because I look like someone that wants to do this?"
Matt's grin got wider and he lightened the cigarette. "Maybe?"
"Very funny." Light looked down at the table, placing his hands on it. "Look, I don't know. I don't think the kind of flowers matter; just take the ones you think look pretty."
Matt moved his cigarette and the smoke disappeared in the air. "On the other hand," he said, "I don't think this is a good idea."
And you realized this now? Matt was deeper in the mud than Light thought.
Light felt sorry for him, which was not a familiar feeling. Mello didn't deserve Matt.
"Can I tell you something?" Light asked, lifting up a bunch of tulips with his hands.
Matt nodded.
"You don't need him." Rather stupid thing to say, even more with tulips in his hands, but it felt right. Right then, it felt right.
Matt's smile got milder, like Light was a cute little kid that had said something funny. "Hah, thanks. You can't know that though. But I appreciate it. Thanks!"
Light thought it was sarcasm again, but Matt sounded honest. It made him momentary stunned for a second.
"Well," Matt said and blew out smoke from his mouth, "thank you for your time. Sorry for not helping the economy. But who knows, I can come by tomorrow and concider buying something for my friend. Well, see ya."
"Uh, good luck with your boyfriend," Light stuttered out to Matt's fading image, but he couldn't tell if he had heard.
No matter. Why would Matt come back?
Why would Light want Matt to come back?
It is easy to fool yourself, Light thought for himself as he dropped the tulips in a bucket of water.
It was easy.
After all, getting to know interesting people is one of our world's more funny things.
—
the end