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Mello is nine years old again, and his death was just a bad dream that left him feeling slightly disconcerted upon waking up. He knows he is dead, still, that this is a memory, perhaps the last one his brain is conscious of delivering to him at this final moment, but for now, he is alive, and it is his birthday.
He sits up, looks to his right, and Matt is curled up beneath the duvet in his bed on the other side of the room. His snores are weak, only to get louder and more insistent as he grows older, but there is an endearing nature to them now.
Mello knows, somehow, that any deviation from how the original day played out will have no wider implications. Unless this is a particularly cruel iteration of Hell, he doesn’t fear any timeloop repercussions as he had read in books many times, fascinated by the complexities of such narratives. Quietly slipping out from his own bed, Mello makes his way to Matt, pulling back the collection of blankets accumulated there and easing himself in. Matt, whether consciously or not, wraps his arms around Mello and they sleep beside one another for the rest of the morning.
Mello wakes up again, this time to Matt's green eyes staring at him intently. It occurs to Mello that Matt only began wearing those goggles once they were adults, claiming to have traded them for a pack of Marlboros on a drunken night out. Perhaps as a stubborn attempt to convince himself the trade had been worth it, he wore them constantly, even getting one of the lenses replaced after Mello threw them at a wall during an argument.
It is like Mello had said even then, they were nothing more than costume tat, but Matt hadn't seemed to care.
"Morning." Mello mumbles, caught off guard at a voice higher pitched than the one he had since come to recognise as his own over the past five years.
"What's happening, Mello? Why are we here?"
Right. Matt had died too. No, he was killed. Mello reaches out to stroke his best friend's face, the variety of freckles scattered over his cheek soft to the touch.
"It's my birthday."
Matt blinks, then smiles, "Okay." He understands. His eyes stray to the alarm clock on the bedside table, a useless thing that never managed to serve its intended purpose, "We've missed the Chemistry lecture."
"Like you give a shit."
"Yeah, but you would. Especially this close to exam season." Pulling his hand from beneath the sheets, Matt points to the desk between the two beds. Two piles of textbooks balance precariously above sheets of notes and diagrams. A manifestation of Mello’s determination that now seems so insignificant in light of what has happened. Mello turns away.
"I'm sure Roger will understand."
"Do you think he's here? If anyone is? It's weirdly quiet."
Matt was right – for the middle of the day, that familiar cacophony of children yelling or heavy footsteps along the corridor cannot be heard.
"Guess we will have to find out."
Creeping out of their room, the two boys – for that's what they are, now – cautiously survey the long, empty corridor before them, sunlight from the large windows filtered through the glass. Specks of dust could be seen dancing downward and Mello turns to Matt, a smirk across his face.
"The coast is clear. We can do what we want."
Matt arches an eyebrow as if to challenge Mello's recklessness, but his features soften as he glances back and forth once again, "Yeah, I guess we have the House to ourselves."
"We should have hot chocolate. It's my birthday after all." Mello feels oddly excited by this insignificant act of rebellion to a set of rules he never even really abided by even at the time they were enforced. No hot chocolate before eight in the evening during the winter months. Something Mello had always taken issue with as a child.
Matt grins, "Race you to the kitchen?"
Nodding, Mello and Matt begin to run, their bare feet banging against the wooden floorboards. Despite the years since they last left this place, they know exactly where each room leads, which shortcut to take, and the passages to avoid where they would reach a dead end. Mello gains some momentum, sliding down the bannister while Matt opts to dash down the staircase two steps at a time. As they stumble into the kitchen, Mello claims his victory by triumphantly grinning and grabbing two mugs from the cabinet.
"That's not fair," Matt groans, placing a saucepan on the stove before pouring in a carton of milk, "You had the advantage at the end."
"Should have thought ahead, then, shouldn't you?" Mello replies. He leans against the counter as he watches Matt stir in the chocolate powder, turning up the heat. He is still catching his breath but as he relaxes into a slower pace, his chest feeling less tense, the reminder of the day dawns on him, and he places his hand on his chest gently. He can feel his heart beating, at least.
It only takes a few minutes before the drinks are ready, and Mello finds marshmallows to sprinkle in before they take the mugs into the Common Room. There was usually always someone in here, more often than not Near playing alone, but today on Mello's birthday they have the large room to themselves. Rather than lounge on either of the three sofas, or curl into an armchair, they sit crosslegged on the floor in the middle of the room, their knees pressed into each other. Mello takes a sip and sighs – it tastes how he remembers, and that's all that matters.
"I always hated that your birthday was first." Matt mumbles into his mug, holding it with both hands.
"Really? Why?"
"I don't know, I think I was scared you would grow out of wanting to hang out with me. In that month."
"That's stupid."
"I know."
Mello circles the rim of the mug with his finger, thinking about those years they spent apart. The infrequent phone calls they managed to organise, brief periods of respite between those chaotic months in the Mafia, clawing his way up to the top. Regret was a silly thing to concern himself with, now that it was all over and there was nothing else to be done, but Mello wonders if he had stayed at the House, or convinced Matt to come with him, things might have turned out differently.
He will never know.
"Hey, look outside."
Mello follows Matt's gaze towards the window where he could see snow begin to fall against the prematurely darkening sky. He hasn't seen such snowfall for years – well, since he was this age. As he watched it settle, far quicker than it realistically ought to, that childish spark of excitement rips through him once again.
"Come on, let's go."
Neither thinks to grab their coats, or even stuff their feet into shoes as they hurry towards the door leading out to the courtyard. They do not feel cold, or warm, just energised by the desire to embrace the weather, to mark their footsteps as the first in the fresh snow. They stumble outside the House and stand there together for a moment, necks craned upwards, watching as snowflakes fall towards them.
"It's so pretty." Matt says, his words manifesting in smoke from his lips, years before his first cigarette.
Mello smiles, "Yeah it is. Do you want to make snow angels?"
Giggling, Matt grabs Mello's hand and they wander out into the centre of the courtyard, which in years before would have been filled with the other children, throwing snowballs at one another and erecting snowmen that tended to share characteristics too similar to those of the teachers to be coincidental.
"Ready?"
They throw themselves onto the ground, just far enough apart that they can sweep their arms and legs freely, the edges of their wings touching. Mello turns his head to look at Matt who is already looking back at him, a huge grin on his face. His black and white striped shirt is practically as white as the one their predecessor used to wear, and when Mello glances down at his clothes, the black cotton long sleeved shirt and trousers he wore constantly, he sees that they too have been dusted with frost.
Perhaps with the sun setting, Mello's developing fatigue is weighing heavy on him now, and he reaches an arm out towards Matt who manages to lean over far enough to grab his hand. Despite not feeling as cold as he should, he is surprised by the warmth of Matt's hand in his.
"Happy birthday, Mello." Matt says, before quietly adding, "This is it, now, right?"
"I think so."
"I wish we had a bit longer. I wish I could have lived an entire lifetime with you."
"I'm sorry, Matt. I really am."
Matt shakes his head, "Not your fault. This is how it was meant to be."
Mello took a deep breath, for no other reason than the sake of doing so, "I guess you're right."
"Mihael?"
"Yeah?"
"I love you."
"I love you too, Mail."
Mello waits for Matt to close his eyes, then, knowing this would be his last moment of consciousness, closes his eyes too, falling asleep in the snow outside the House they grew up in.