tierfallen

Title: And Now
Fandom: Death Note
Pairing: Matt/Mello
Rating: G
Word Count: 435
Warnings: vaguely-melancholy fluff
Prompt: "counting down the minutes"
Summary: Some lame band Matt's never heard of is playing some lousy love song.
Author's Note: A Christmas gift for ca_te! ...and it revolves entirely around American New Year's traditions, oh dear. XD Hope you enjoy it, hon! ♥


AND NOW
Matt shifts, and chocolate wrappers crinkle, and Mello mumbles and snuffles into his shirt. Some lame band Matt’s never heard of is playing some lousy love song, but the volume’s too low for Matt to hear it anyway. He runs his hand down Mello’s back, worn tee-shirt cotton wrinkling behind the heel of his hand. Mello snuggles in a little closer, letting out a soft sigh, warm against Matt’s neck.

The television plays a montage—images of people partying all over the country, people wearing sparkly hats and glasses emblazoned with the year; people dancing; people jumping; people throwing their arms in the air. Lots of the footage says pre-recorded at the bottom, because it’s already tomorrow on the other side of the U.S., let alone on the other side of the world. The fireworks have already faded, and the world’s already turned.

The clock that’s been in the corner of the screen for the last half-hour hits 11:58 and starts counting down the seconds that remain. They show San Francisco—that’s live. Las Vegas—that is, too. New York—not even close.

Watching the screen, watching the last few fragments of the past year slip away, it almost feels like they’re in a different dimension, somehow. They don’t belong to the world on the television, a world full of glitter and gusto and celebration, a world that’s got its eyes on today and tomorrow and yesterday all at once. They’ve got this place, and now.

Matt likes this place, though—likes the knit blanket draped over Mello’s legs, likes the weight of the lunatic angel lying on his chest. He likes the cheap Christmas lights they’ve been too lazy to take down, and he likes the soda cans and the chocolate foil. There’s nowhere in that ever-turning world that Matt would rather be.

They show footage of the huge disco ball dropping in Times Square as if it’s in real time, even though it’s already happened—even though it happened three full hours ago. It feels like a prophecy, predetermined and inevitable, but Matt doesn’t mind. He figures he’ll see this one out.

The hushed sound of the television rises as the clock switches over, and everyone cheers. Then the clock keeps going, 12:00:01, 12:00:02, 12:00:03, and all the couples in the crowd embrace each other, and everybody’s smiling.

Matt certainly is, as he kisses the top of a barely-conscious blond head and whispers, “Happy New Year, Mel.”

“I love you, too, stupid,” Mello automatically mutters back.

Matt smiles a little more.