WARNING: Matt/Near, cursing

Candles and Lego

"If this is a holiday then I'm the king of France."

Matt throws another stone into the ocean and sighs. No matter how much optimism he dredges up from the depths of his soul, it is all immediately squashed by his surroundings. The sky is grey, the sea is grey, and the beach is grey with black bits. A few children- the hardier or more energetic ones- are still splashing around in the water in a slightly desultory fashion, but the vast majority of them are huddled on the shore, hunching their shoulders against the wind and wondering when the sky will give up and at last make good its promise of rain. He himself is sitting cross-legged on a sandy towel, staring mournfully at the portable games console in his hands and willing the life back into it. The machine has been his faithful companion for some years now, but recently it has grown temperamental and sulky, and prone to freezing or suddenly running out of power at crucial moments. The baptism of sea water it received earlier, while they were all still under strict instructions to enjoy themselves in the sea, appears to have sealed the deal.

Matt jiggles the power switch in forlorn hope.

"Hey, are you listening?"

Matt jumps, and casts his mind back to what has been said. "I don't think France has a king," is all he can think to say.

"Then it definitely isn't a holiday."

Matt sighs again. When people are angry, Mello is the angriest. When the mood is cheerful, Mello is the cheeriest. And when they are sitting in unconvincing drizzle on some rocky coast, Mello is determined to be the most miserable of all.

Then again, Mello had not exactly soared with joy when he learned that their long-awaited holiday would consist of a trip to the beach. "Not really the best idea, is it?" he had said to Matt as they trailed up the stairs. "And by that, I mean it's shit."

"At least the sun's out," Matt had replied. "Ow!" he added as Mello swiped at his shoulder with a fist.

"You moron, don't say that! It's going to be shitty weather now!"

Matt had blinked but let it go. It wasn't worth the ridiculous fight that would doubtless ensue. A good move, especially as Mello had turned out to be right.

"I'm not going to swim," Mello had said after this outburst, as if someone wanted him to. "I'll just bring some work, probably. The beach. Fuck that."

"What's the point of going to the beach if you just sit on the shore and work?" Matt had wanted to know.

"What's the point in going to the beach at all?"

"For the change?" Matt says feebly. Then, throwing up his hands in surrender as Mello rounds on him, eyes flashing, he says, "Look, I'm not going in the water either. But at least try."

Mello's idea of trying, as it emerged a few minutes later when they were preparing to leave, was to bring along a towel and to don the grimmest pair of patterned beach shorts the world had ever known. Matt had needed the support of a brick wall to keep himself upright throughout the fit of hysterical laughter than seized him when he saw them. It was like a disco of undertakers.

Mello, hugging his knees to his chest on the towel beside Matt and bristling with goosebumps and indignation, appears to be regretting it even more now that they have been here for a few hours. "It's fucking freezing," he says through chattering teeth. "I should have brought a coat." He extracts a bar of chocolate from his pocket and tears off the top of the foil like it is a limb of somebody he is angry at- which would at the moment appear to be everyone.

And then, out of nowhere, "Ah, shit."

Before Matt can comment on Mello's ever-freer use of foul language- it is like punctuation to him by now- the blond boy has hauled himself to his feet, hurled away his shoes and stalked defiantly into the sea.

Matt stares at his back, speechless.

"It's nothing. He just saw me," says a voice from behind him; Matt jumps and spins around to see Near standing two feet away, still clad in the same old pyjamas and socks and thus able to move across the sand utterly soundlessly. What with that, added to his monochrome clothing, the overall impression is of a cloud that took a wrong turning in the stratosphere and ended up stuck at ground level.

"Is your console damaged?" he says, looking at the soggy machine in Matt's lap.

"No, I've just been giving it a bath," Matt replies with a heavy dose of sarcasm, shoving the machine into his back pocket. He normally doesn't mind Near; he doesn't exactly enjoy his company- the pale boy is practically impossible to have a conversation with and gives the disturbing impression of not quite being human- but he has no real objection to him either. However, he knows that trying to be friendly will get him nowhere, and could easily lead to an argument with Mello. Besides, his console is a touchy subject.

"Have you checked that it hasn't short-circuited?"

Matt looks at Near blankly. "No. I don't want to get sand in it. And why do you care?"

Near shrugs delicately. "I was just wondering."

He seats himself on Mello's vacated towel. Matt is surprised by his confidence: Near has always struck him as a cripplingly shy individual, avoiding social contact like the plague so as not to be drawn into conversation.

"I just don't want to have to talk to people if there is nothing to say to them," Near says.

Matt stiffens. Oh yes, now I remember why I don't like Near's company. He freaks me out big time.

"I know that," he says, trying not to let Near see how accurately he read his thoughts.

Near says nothing, continuing to stare at the horizon as if he disapproves of it. Matt sighs. This conversation was dead before it began.

In the lack of anything better to do, he follows Near's gaze. He blinks, and frowns as he realises that the younger boy is watching Mello, who is stamping grimly about in the water like an impoverished cowboy twenty years after the end of the gold rush.

"He seems to be having fun," Near comments.

Matt looks sidelong at him, unsure whether to correct him or not. Mello is most obviously not having fun- but it is just about possible that Near is being ironic. He must have some sense of humour, after all.

Matt decided that simple honesty may be the best plan. "I can't tell whether you're joking or not," he says.

"I'm joking," Near says, deadpan.

Could have fooled me, Matt thinks glumly. "Look," he says out loud. "I'm a bit annoyed about my console, so unless you have something to say to me…"

"Of course," Near says, entirely unoffended. "I wanted to ask you about Mello. He hates me, you see, so it's impossible for me to talk to him."

Matt coughs uncomfortably. How can he just say it like that? It is no secret of course, but all the same… It doesn't seem right hearing it said so emotionlessly.

"Besides," Near is saying, staring out across the sea and apparently unaware of Matt's discomfort, "I have the feeling I wouldn't get the sort of answers I'm looking for from Mello."

"What sort of answers are they, then?" Matt says, growing impatient. Near's conversation is agonising: he makes no attempt to be cooperative or to entertain his companion, or even to make his thoughts clear. Mello may be aggressive, but at least he knows how to crack a joke. Most of the time.

Near turns an eye, startlingly huge and dark in his small pale face, up to Matt. "I've wondered for a long time why you are friendly with Mello."

"So have I," Matt snorts.

"If that's the case, why don't you just stop?"

Matt looks at him in confusion. He had not anticipated these sorts of questions. "Look, it's not something I can just turn on and off-"

"You can stop spending time with him if you want to."

Matt is just as stunned by being interrupted as by the words themselves. What with Near's quietness and his appearance- like a sheep that was unexpectedly caught in a storm- he had not expected him to be so assertive. This surprise, however, pales when placed next to the far greater shock of someone- anyone- questioning his relationship with Mello. Not even Roger does that, even when he is tiredly sticking plasters on wounds and salve on bruises. It isn't done. Possibly because he is simply too scared of adding fuel to the fire.

Matt's brow knits as he realises that even he has not really thought about it, but simply accepted it as something that was destined to be- or maybe as the path of least resistance. What is the appeal of Mello? It is certainly not his charm or his refined social skills. It is not his kindness, sincerity or generosity. He does not sympathise with Matt at him times of crisis or attempt to distract him from his worries. He does not lend him advice, share secrets with him or encourage him when he is suffering under his workload. He does not even know Matt's real name- he never asked.

And yet he does not have to, because Matt knows that if anyone ever presented a threat to him Mello would tear that person limb from limb. Mello is not afraid to tell him when he is being stupid or annoying or self-pitying. Mello involves him in all his plots, all his successes and failures. Mello puts up with him for as long as his behaviour remains tolerable, and yells at him when it doesn't. And Mello treats him like an insider, like he knows how Mello thinks.

Looking at Near twirling a curl around one languid finger, Matt thinks that he will never be able to express this in a way that the younger boy will understand.

At that moment, a violent cry breaks into his thoughts and he jumps a foot into the air. The yell is murderous and savage, and contains more than one expletive.

Hell.

Mello stamps across the beach towards them, his feet and legs damp with seawater and encrusted with sand and blood. "What the fuck do you want, Near?" he shouts out across the sand, sending smaller children scattering like petals before him. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm just talking," Near says. Matt prays that he will not elaborate.

"Well you'd better fuck off quick. Is that my towel you're sitting on?"

"Have you cut yourself?" Matt says, staring at Mello's calf.

"On a rock. This place is a shithole. Fuck off, Near."

"I'm sorry you've hurt yourself," Near says, "but I'm not going to leave just because you've told me to."

Matt looks at him in horror. He isn't going to do this- is he?

"You're on my towel, you bastard!" Mello growls.

Near shuffles off it onto the sand but makes no further move.

Matt's blood runs cold. Stuck between a rock and a hard place. "Near, I think-"

The look Mello turns on him then would have been enough to make a sabre-toothed tiger think twice. "Yes? What do you think, Matt?"

Matt gulps. "Nothing."

"He was probably going to advise me to leave in an attempt to defend me from your anger," Near says.

It seems to Matt at that moment that if something isn't done very quickly, Mello will simply explode into a thousand shards of solid hatred that will fly through the air like shrapnel and kill them all.

"Look," he says, leaping to his feet, "let's just go, ok Mello? You should get that cut cleaned. Let's- let's go and find Roger, alright?"

Mello ignores him, his eyes burning into the side of Near's head. "Where the fuck do you get off telling me what Matt thinks?"

"I'm not claiming to know what he thinks. However in my experience, it is a simple matter to deduce how he is feeling by observing his body language."

"Are you saying I don't know Matt as well as you do?" Mello says, fists clenching. Matt puts a hand on his shoulder but is brushed off as if he is no bigger or more important than an insect.

"No," Near says patiently, and Matt internally wishes that he would become angry, scared, defensive, anything- even a tiny display of emotion would be evidence of a crack in his composure and would cool Mello's rage with satisfaction. But of course, it is too much to ask.

"Mello, let's go," Matt says desperately.

Out of nowhere, Mello rounds on him. "Since when do you care? Are you defending him?"

Matt gapes at him.

And then, miraculously, Near is there between them, gesturing Mello away as casually as Mello himself treated Matt not a minute ago.

"What," Matt says weakly.

And Near leans up, holding his shoulders, and kisses him lightly on the cheek.

When Mello's nerves snap, it is almost audible. He does not move, but his face gradually grows warmer and its colour deepens into a rich scarlet as his fists clench until the knuckles creak. "Matt…" he says.

If there is any further development beyond this, Matt misses it, as Near has already grabbed him by the sleeve and run for it- surprisingly quickly for one of his build. Without regard for anything or anyone in his way, he drags Matt up the long slope of the beach and crests the hill, where he pauses momentarily and looks left and right while Matt tries to regain his bearings. Near makes up his mind just before this task has been completed, and plunges forwards with so much force that the slope of sand gives way beneath their feet and dumps them onto their backs, leaving them to slide at speed on their backs. Near scrambles upwards once they reach the foot of the hill and heads for the car park, where he ducks behind a fence with Matt behind him.

They are covered in sand which clings to their clothes and turns Matt's hair grey and Near's a slightly dirtier grey, but Matt pays it no heed. "What the hell just happened?" he exclaims.

Near sits calmly. "I calculated that if I allowed things to develop in the way they were headed, there would be a very high chance of one of us being punched."

"And you thought that… that would stop us getting punched?"

Near tilts his head to one side. "I took a risk, admittedly. I assumed that Mello would be rendered immobile for long enough to allow us to escape."

"Right… so when you ran-"

"Chiefly cowardice," Near says coolly, "but I also saw an opportunity to put an end to a tiresome situation. Once you have reached a dead end it is wise to disengage."

Apparently the conversation they held earlier wasn't at a dead end, Matt muses. Near's social radar is clearly malfunctioning. Or maybe he is just that inexperienced with regards to other people.

"There is also the bonus that you now have no choice but to stay away from Mello for a while," Near says then.

A horrible, horrible feeling climbs up Matt's spine and into his chest. "You…"

Near looks at him, neither confirming nor denying anything.

"You were trying to-"

"Don't misunderstand. I succeeded."

"Why would you do that?!" Matt wails.

"Because I like you," Near says, "and having you glued to Mello's side all the time leaves me at a disadvantage."

Matt slumps, defeated. He cannot meet Near's eye just then, but instead stares at his own grubby trainers. His hands are itching for his console- not that it is likely to have gained a new lease of life as a result of his exciting journey across the beach, but he wants to hold it all the same, just to feel the familiar rubbery buttons beneath his thumbs and the old easy curling of his fingers around the casing. He reaches for his pocket but fails to find the blocky shape of his console. It must have fallen out at some point during their dramatic escape. Damn.

Without this to distract him, Matt's mind, quite against his will, at once begins going over the latest set of events. How the hell is he supposed to explain this to Mello? It ought to have been obvious that he is not in any sort of relationship with Near- his astonishment at the kiss must have been written all over his face, and there is no way Mello would have missed it. On the other hand, he had seen it coming, hadn't he? He had at least a second in which to push Near away and prevent the kiss- but he hadn't. And then there was the way Near had grabbed him and run- he had gone along, hadn't he? Run away from Mello while Near held him by the sleeve… What was he thinking?

Near, meanwhile, has been brushing the loose sand from his clothes and hair with mild disgust. He shakes his cuffs gently so that the coarse grains fall from the folds in the fabric, lifting his sleeve to reveal slim wrists, veins barely visible beneath the skin despite the paleness of it. Once he is free of sand- inasmuch as it is possible to be free of sand whilst sitting in a car park by the beach- he shifts around silently.

Matt freezes as he feels small hands on his head, brushing off the largest clumps of grit before pushing fingers into his hair, lifting and separating the strands with a thorough patience, producing a steady trickle of sand down over his shoulders. This done, Near moves onto Matt's shirt, dislodging the sand from his collar and plucking gently at the fabric across his chest and back.

"Near," Matt says.

"Yes, Matt."

Matt shakes his head in disbelief. "Never mind." He glances at the other boy but is met only with a blank stare.

"You shook your head- do you want me to stop?" Near says as if it is a highly technical mathematical question.

"I…"

Matt, still partially convinced that none of this is really happening, is at a loss. Near is… well, Near. So intelligent that everyone in the orphanage sees him as a threat, even the staff. So quiet that a significant portion of the other kids have never heard him speak. So detached from day to day existence that there is a rumour among the younger children that he is not actually human but a form of alien life.

Near has obviously noticed the incredulity on Matt's face. "I see; so it's true that I am sexually uninteresting."

"Sexually?" Matt sputters. Near hadn't been thinking about that, had he?

"Well, it is one of the driving instincts of humankind, isn't it?"

"…I suppose," Matt mutters, unwilling to commit himself while he is still so unsure what Near is getting at.

"A shame that I don't have the ability to appeal to that instinct," Near says thoughtfully, "but you can't have everything. And it is early days."

"I- I don't know about sexually," Matt says, still a little flustered, "but you're not- um- ugly or anything. Unattractive. But I didn't think you cared about this."

"It's partly an intellectual exercise," Near says, "but the ability to seduce can be extremely useful. There is no state of mind so stupid and illogical as that which arises when one finds a person sexually attractive."

Matt is abruptly struck with a bizarre mental image of Near trying to be sexy. Seduction with a puzzle? Candles and Lego?

"You, er… probably shouldn't concentrate on that too much," Matt says with a slight cough. "Better to try and keep your methods a bit more professional."

Near curls a finger in his hair and nods. "Ideally. Does your statement still apply to this situation, however?"

Matt stares. "What, you mean is it ok to act sexy even when you're not solving a case?"

"Not exactly," Near says and kisses him again, on his cheekbone just below his eye. When Matt, stunned, offers no resistance- no response at all, in fact- Near moves around and kisses his lips cautiously.

It is a strange kiss, one with no aim in mind- it is too long to be a peck and too awkward to be anything approaching tender- but it is certainly heartfelt, and it conveys Near's meaning a lot better than their conversation had done. Matt, whose brain has still not fully caught up with proceedings, thinks as Near moves away that if only Near had done that in the first place rather than saying whatever it was about being sexually uninteresting and sparking that weird conversation about sexy Lego, it would have spared him a lot of time and confusion.

"It would seem that actions speak louder than words," Near says, touching his lower lip thoughtfully.

And Matt grabs Near's shoulders and pulls him into a significantly less cautious kiss. Near hesitates for as long as it takes for Matt to close his eyes, and then winds his sandy fingers into Matt's shirt and tugs- just once, but demandingly.

Really, Matt thinks, a rock and a hard place.

Author's notes: The pairing just occured to me. Hope you like. :3