ooooOOOOoooo
Matt is four. It's April and cold, the wind stirring the branches of the old cherry tree in Wammy's garden. He's sitting up among them; high up, so the other kids can't get him.
He can see something yellow on the other side of the wall.
It's moving fast. Fast enough for parts of it to swing, like a tassel on a scarf. For a while he is bewitched, leaning out of the tree so he can have a better look. The wall is high and in the way; he can only see the thing's yellow tassel-top, everything else is hidden by the bricks.
The Yellow Thing is following the path from the back door of Wammy's house into the garden. The path splits in two a few metres from his tree, where the wall ends. One path goes away, to the front gate. The other one goes under the tree.
Matt isn't sure whether he wants the Yellow Thing to go past him or not. It's more interesting to watch it, and not let it get too close.
The Yellow Thing is nearly there.
Matt's fingers dig into the bark of the tree, his little feet swinging like tiny pendulums.
The Yellow Thing steps into view.
Matt frowns.
It's only a little boy. Like him, only with a black top and green eyes and weird pale skin, like L's.
He leans forward a little, but he can't see anything else. The Yellow-Thing-that's-actually-a-boy is almost under the tree and all he can see is the top of his head. It's all shiny in the sun.
He leans again and loses his grip. A shower of twigs falls out of the tree, landing square on that little golden head. The head stops, a white hand scrubbing the tree bark from its hair.
Then the head tilts back, like a sunflower following the sun, and suddenly there is a face looking up at him. It is round, with a pointed chin, thin brows and an upturned nose so much like a girl's that it makes him laugh.
The Yellow Thing frowns. Suddenly it does not look like a sunflower.
It looks scary.
The vision faded slowly, and Matt began to laugh.
"You beat me so hard that day, d'you remember?" he ran a hand through his hair. "Dragged me all the way to Rodger's office by my fringe. I bet I still have the scar somewhere."
"Serves you right for thinking I looked like a girl." Matt's smile faded.
"I never told you you looked like a girl though. How did you know?" Mello shrugged
"I know things here that I didn't know before. Back then I was just pissed off because you looked so damn happy."
"…And 'cause I messed up your hair." Mello scowled.
"Shut it, you. Who gives a shit about hair?"
"Says the guy who's been stalking Misa Amane for the last month."
"She's a girl." Matt just grinned, another memory rising up through the dry ice.
"And you've never fussed in your life because you're so damn manly, I suppose?" Mello's eyes narrowed…then he burst out laughing. He'd read Matt's thoughts again.
"Oh yes, bring that one up." He said, rolling his eyes "I could use a laugh."
Matt is eight, sitting on the floor in one of Wammy's House's many rooms, his feet crammed into white boots two sizes too small.
He's also wearing one of Linda's dresses.
And Mello is plaiting his hair.
"Keep still, you bastard." Mello is muttering. It's 'bastard' everything at the moment; he heard one of the big kids saying it and suddenly, its his new favourite word. Matt tries to obey, crossing his legs tighter and stuffing his hands into his lap…
But Mello's plait is tight. And it hurts.
"If you don't stop, I'll go find Near." Matt pouts, but holds himself still. Near, the relatively new arrival to Wammy's House, is already its top student and Mello detests him more every day. If he chooses Near over Matt, then their friendship would be irreparably over.
And Matt's life, as he knows it, would be too.
Mello is not wearing one of Linda's dresses. Oh no. He bought one himself, from the illegal e-bay account Matt set up for him as a seventh birthday present. Unlimited credit as standard, of course. He is crouching behind Matt, and as he moves, Matt can hear the soft crush of velvet and taffeta beneath his knees. There are buckles and laces and tiny heeled shoes, all done up personally (and with a disconcerting amount of skill) by Mello himself. It's in red, of course, and black, Mello's current favourite colours. Matt sighs.
Only Mello could look badass with ribbons in his hair.
Matt, on the other hand, looks like a bewildered Spaniel with a pile of doilies on its head (Mello says it's called a 'fascinator', Matt tells him he's a bastard and gets his hair pulled for his trouble).
"There. Done." The pinching fingers withdraw from his scalp and he hears Mello get up, pattering out of range in his shiny red shoes. There is a scraping sound and Mello reappears, dragging one of the full-length mirrors Linda uses when she wants to draw a self-portrait. The ones that everyone is expressly, expressly forbidden to take out of the art rooms.
"Take a look." Mello demands, stepping back and putting his hands on his skinny hips. Matt looks up at him from a heap of pink cotton and white lace, hoping his expression is sufficiently desperate.
"I don't want to l-"
"Yes you do." Mello drops his pose and marches over to him, grabbing him by the ears and forcing his head round so that he's looking at the mirror. Matt sees a pair of watering green eyes and feels his stomach sink into the carpet.
"Well? What d'you think?"
Matt doesn't say what he thinks (the metaphor involves an orang-utan in drag and would most likely cost him all of his remaining hair). Instead, he stares up and past his own reflection, where Mello is crouching expectantly.
It's Linda's fault that they're both doing this, Matt remembers sullenly. She was the one who asked Mello if he would model for her, and if she could paint him in a dress. Apparently (from what he could gather between Mello's bursts of indignant rage), she thought Mello 'would look prettier than all the girls at Wammy's put together'.
So Mello had set out to prove her wrong.
Matt looked up at the serious round face, all soft angles, long lashes and delicate blonde brows (even though they were currently knitted together in a scowl). The red lace in his hair brought out the pink in his china-skinned complexion, the black emphasising the dark notes in his deep green eyes. A smile quirks Matt's lips.
Mello couldn't have failed more completely if he'd tried.
"See you DO like it!" Mello is on his feet in a sweep of red velvet, whirling round the room and cackling. "We've proved her wrong, Matty! Let's celebrate!"
They take a couple of photos (for Linda, though they quickly appear in the diaries of every girl in Wammy's…and some of the boys') and fuss around for a bit, doing silly poses and trying to walk in Mello's heels (Matt is proud to find that he fails completely). Only once the dresses are packed away and Mello has stormed off to raid the fridge for chocolate, does Matt have time to sit back and think (as well as picking bits of fascinator from his hair). He pictures the two of them again, sat, framed, in front of the mirror; his own awkward face, blushing furiously, and the vision crouching behind him, as perfect as a doll.
But even then, Matt remembers the threads of golden hair sticking up at angles, the bitten nails, the boy's scowl and the scraped knees hidden beneath the swathe of cloth. Mello might have suited a dress disturbingly well, but no one would ever mistake him for a girl. The death grip he'd had on Matt's shoulder proved that.
Mello is pretty, Matt thinks. But not pretty like girls. Mello Pretty.
He thinks this for a long time, trying to work out what it means. But, like L's algorithms, it all gets tangled up and he has to forget about it and play Pokemon on his Gameboy instead.
"You were such a sap when you were a kid." Mello said, but Matt could see the smug smile lurking at the corner of his mouth.
"Nothing's changed." He said. "At least I never dressed up as a girl again, unlike some people."
"That was one time!" Mello snapped, then averted his eyes. "…alright more than once."
"Hey." Matt broke into a grin. "If something made me look that hot, I'd wear it more often too." Mello snorted.
"It didn't help with the girly jokes though."
"No." Matt laughed "No, I guess it didn't!"
"Still, better than how it was at Wammy's." Mello's smile faded. "All the rules and regulations…the only good thing about being dead is knowing that I'll never, ever have to go back there."
"Even if you were L?"
"If I was L I'd tear the damn place to the ground." Mello hissed, and with such conviction that Matt was taken aback.
"It wasn't all bad." He said quietly. "We had our favourite spots, remember?" Mello paused for a moment, then saw the same image Matt did and started to smile.
"Well," he said "I guess I'd keep that bit, and nuke the rest. Deal?" Matt rolled his eyes.
"Deal."
oooOOooo