Turnabout

By Rinna

"It's cold," is the simple, soft explanation Mello hears, before he opens his eyes to see Near wriggling under the covers of his bed.

Mello stares a little, blinking maybe twice, before pulling one of those infamous faces and turning onto his side. But then again, you never turn your back to the enemy -- so he thinks better of it and turns onto his other side, facing Near, the moonlight through the window catching his sharp eyes and showing a scowl.

"There are extra blankets."

"Yes, I know." Near seems perfectly content to simply draw the covers up to his chin and watch Mello.

They're quiet for a long moment, two sets of eyes -- narrow and blue, large and dark, like bright planets and dead stars.

Finally Mello sighs, and burrows into the pillow a little, turning back onto his other side. "Don't be such a kid; you're already turning seventeen, we're both way too old for this sort of thing. We're not going to make a habit of this, understand?"

"It's already a habit, Mello," Near says, and is glad when he sees Mello 's back.