(no subject)
☣papillon.
G | 023 FLIGHT | 364
The grass smells kind of funny/damp, but it always does after the kind of rain that rained last night-- complete thunderstorm with your typical stair-rodding rain. But none of that matters; not to him, anyway. He's already up and about, already outside and standing by the massive field of green that stretched out as far as the eye could see. Waiting. Just waiting for something that even the redhead following after him doesn't know about.
There's a yawn, and then the habitual rubbing of sleepy eyes, but it's not him doing it. He's still standing there, eyes fixated on something that no one else could see. Not a single word is granted permission to leave his mouth until the right questions were asked. You could kind of compare him to those sidewalk statues you always passed by but never notice-- locked, still, intense. It's almost interesting.
But the one with him? He's already bored. He always is.
"It's early in the morning."
"I know."
"Okay."
There's a small pause, followed by the tilting of head to accomodate a new angle, and then, "Look."
So Matt looks, and he blinks once, twice, mildly surprised that the field of grass and leaves is now a psychedelic playground with wings. Starburst colours to the left and right-- he doesn't know where to start looking. But he's distracted the moment the other boy speaks.
"Butterflies."
"Yeah. An insect. Two antennae, used to smell flowers and other butterflies. Compound eyes that see in colour. Six legs. Four wings, patterns and colours vary--"
Mello stops him there. Had to.
"Shh."
Matt doesn't say anything, but it's obvious that he's curious.
"That's what Near would say."
And suddenly, Matt gets it. Mello sees them differently. He always does. If he didn't, he wouldn't be going here every time he could just to watch them. Maybe it's because Mello always knew that he's just like them. Throw a wrench into his gears, like the rain coming down on the butterflies' parade, and he'll come back as soon as its gone. But butterflies have short lifespans, and Mello knows that too. He's just like them. Fleeting. Never lasting. And he was right.
title. Papillon.
genre. General.
rating. G.
characters. Matt, Mello; Death Note.
warnings. None.
wordcount. 364.
notes. First time ever-- okay, fine, SECOND time writing MM, but first time ever posting it for the world to burn on a stake &burn it real good. I tried my best to do them justice. (/ω＼) Matt's characterization would've been butchered had it not been for glompable. So thank you. ♥
disclaimer. Bodies, limbs, thoughts, &things aren't mine. I just pull the strings &stay on the sidelines, 'cause that's where the puppeteer belongs when her dolls are strutting all over the stage.
synopsis.
G | 023 FLIGHT | 364
The grass smells kind of funny/damp, but it always does after the kind of rain that rained last night-- complete thunderstorm with your typical stair-rodding rain. But none of that matters; not to him, anyway. He's already up and about, already outside and standing by the massive field of green that stretched out as far as the eye could see. Waiting. Just waiting for something that even the redhead following after him doesn't know about.
There's a yawn, and then the habitual rubbing of sleepy eyes, but it's not him doing it. He's still standing there, eyes fixated on something that no one else could see. Not a single word is granted permission to leave his mouth until the right questions were asked. You could kind of compare him to those sidewalk statues you always passed by but never notice-- locked, still, intense. It's almost interesting.
But the one with him? He's already bored. He always is.
"It's early in the morning."
"I know."
"Okay."
There's a small pause, followed by the tilting of head to accomodate a new angle, and then, "Look."
So Matt looks, and he blinks once, twice, mildly surprised that the field of grass and leaves is now a psychedelic playground with wings. Starburst colours to the left and right-- he doesn't know where to start looking. But he's distracted the moment the other boy speaks.
"Butterflies."
"Yeah. An insect. Two antennae, used to smell flowers and other butterflies. Compound eyes that see in colour. Six legs. Four wings, patterns and colours vary--"
Mello stops him there. Had to.
"Shh."
Matt doesn't say anything, but it's obvious that he's curious.
"That's what Near would say."
And suddenly, Matt gets it. Mello sees them differently. He always does. If he didn't, he wouldn't be going here every time he could just to watch them. Maybe it's because Mello always knew that he's just like them. Throw a wrench into his gears, like the rain coming down on the butterflies' parade, and he'll come back as soon as its gone. But butterflies have short lifespans, and Mello knows that too. He's just like them. Fleeting. Never lasting. And he was right.
title. Papillon.
genre. General.
rating. G.
characters. Matt, Mello; Death Note.
warnings. None.
wordcount. 364.
notes. First time ever-- okay, fine, SECOND time writing MM, but first time ever posting it for the world to burn on a stake &burn it real good. I tried my best to do them justice. (/ω＼) Matt's characterization would've been butchered had it not been for glompable. So thank you. ♥
disclaimer. Bodies, limbs, thoughts, &things aren't mine. I just pull the strings &stay on the sidelines, 'cause that's where the puppeteer belongs when her dolls are strutting all over the stage.
synopsis.