Mello sighed, his breath creating tiny jets of translucent vapor in the dry winter air. He'd always gotten roped into these ridiculous errands he had to run ever since Roger thought it would be a good idea for him to take on more "adult responsibilities," and now he was stuck doing it with Near. He had a feeling Near had never so much as stepped outside of Wammy House with the way he furiously twirled his white curls, his barely-touched sneaker riding up his calf nervously. Had he ever even worn sneakers outside before?
Mello sighed again, his voice laced with contempt. This was beyond ridiculous, it was practically embarrassing. Here he was, dragging around this rice puff - in an almost literal sense; Near was decked out in an overly fluffy white wind-breaker, pajamas no doubt tucked beneath - in the middle of winter, to go buy books they would need for an up-coming project. Mello shuddered at the thought of working with Near on something again. The last time had been a fiasco and he was hoping Roger would learn from his mistakes.
Sharp wind cut through them both as they made their way up to a cross in the road, and Mello shivered. Near too was shivering, but Mello couldn't find a single damn to give. The crossing light was red. He guessed they would be waiting.
It was only when Near's hand, soft and light and untouched by any kind of manual labor or sunlight, slipped into his that his brain decided to knock itself out of gear for a second before he sputtered and recovered himself.
"Near, what the HELL are you doing?" He whirled as much as he could in their close proximity to face the smaller boy, but didn't remove his hand. Near looked up almost expectantly at Mello, his face, as always, inscrutable.
"Mello must try not to yell in public. It's quite rude."
God he was insolent. Mello rolled his eyes violently, a hateful smirk curling his lips.
"Oh, excuse me for being rude. Now why the hell are you touching me, cottonball."
It was a demand, not a question. He would soon be readying himself for a royal fit if Near didn't stop being completely infuriating and just answered the damn question.
Near seemed to sense the looming fit and paused to answer. Mello thought he might have seen a twitch in Near's eyes that hinted toward something like a roll. Did he just roll his eyes? He just rolled his fucking eyes. Mello had to clench his fist so his palm wouldn't make contact with Near's face.
"I apologize if it makes Mello uncomfortable. I'm simply not used to..." his nose scrunched slightly, "running errands like this."
He shifted a little, his leg still rubbing anxiously against his pants. "It makes me nervous."
Near's admission of discomfort quickly diffused Mello's anger by providing an irrational sense of smug satisfaction, so he shrugged, turning back toward the street.
"Fine, you can hold my hand. You look like a damn kindergartener anyway, even if you are thirteen."
They stood quietly together for a moment longer before the crossing light flicked to green. Quietly, Near muttered, "Thank you, Mello."
Mello snorted and pulled out one chocolate bar of several he had stashed away in his coat. He couldn't ignore the faint pang of something he wasn't used to at the back of his mind, however. Guilt? He shifted uncomfortably and muttered back awkwardly, "You're welcome."
Then the light turned green and they made their way across the street.
Near was not used to going outside. Not outside as in outdoors, but outside as in... out there. Where there were civilians everywhere and the high, wrought iron gates of Wammy House were left far in the distance where they couldn't protect him. He had reluctantly pulled on his sneakers, two strange apparatuses he never saw a need to use, wrapped himself up in his puffy white coat, and stared forlornly across the grounds with dim eyes to the road that would lead him into the city.
But, he was going with Mello. That proved to be some comfort, since he knew that Mello was more than familiar with the streets of adjacent cities. Near waited on the blustering blond as Mello strapped himself in ridiculous leather and a feather-lined quilted coat. He topped it off with a record-breakingly tacky pewter skull buckle perched on a studded belt. It was utterly preposterous what Mello always decided to wear, but Near's disapproval was a fleeting spark lost in his endless stream of calm observation and calculation. He forgot soon enough that he ever cared how Mello seemed to act and dress in ways that barked, "I DARE YOU TO DISAPPROVE OF ME" to everyone around him. Smart, but completely impetuous. If Near hadn't known any better, he'd have pegged Mello as a moron miscreant long ago.
He could also appreciate the elegant way their negative opinions of each other stacked up to being exactly the same thing on opposite ends of a spectrum. It was only Near, however, who held any genuine, open respect for Mello's ingenuity. Mello would tend to misconstrue everything Near did as some kind of facetious jab, but that was just Mello's nature. Near had a hard time trying to find a way to respond to Mello that would please him, and so he had given up trying long ago.
Near thought about all of this as they made their way down to the sidewalk. They made it a few blocks without stopping before hitting a red crossing light. Near wondered when they would get to the bookstore, and why the library couldn't just order the books itself. Because Roger had set this up on purpose, obviously. He shivered and twirled his hair nervously.
Once they had stopped walking and his mind slowly emptied of distracting reflections, he was becoming increasingly aware of how uncomfortable he was standing out in the open like this.
Mello seemed to be lost in his own world, his hand hung loosely at his side. Near did the first thing his instincts told him to, and grabbed onto Mello's hand and held it tightly. His body reflexively sank closer to Mello and he could feel his anxiety slowly unwinding.
Of course, Mello could only overreact to something so simple. It was like his special talent. The fiery blond whirled on him, demanding to know why Near was touching him with more of his insulting comparisons to white, fluffy things. Near just barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes, then quietly apologized. This was the routine. Usually his apologies only further incensed Mello, but thankfully he was turning to sarcasm instead of heightened anger.
Near honestly did not want to lose the one comfort he could find in holding Mello's hand, so he admitted his nervousness. Mello's mood dissipated, to Near's relief.
"Thank you, Mello," he said, his voice low.
Mello shifted his stance and replied, "You're welcome."
Near caught a faint hint of guilt in Mello's jet colored eyes as he looked the other way and pulled out one his chocolate bars. He always carried at least five of them on his person at all times, so it was more like a reflexive action than anything on Mello's part.
Some strange emotion he couldn't label stirred somewhere in Near's mind, but instead of lingering on it, he focused on the task of getting to the bookstore while keeping a firm grip on Mello's hand as they hurried across the street.
He was not used to going outside like this.