Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The headquarters were supposed to be empty at this hour. At least, that’s what Mello had assured Matt when he’d pulled him into one of his workrooms, hands already working at Matt’s belt with practiced efficiency. Their late-night case review had dissolved into something far more physical, as it often did when the tension of a particularly frustrating investigation demanded an outlet.

No sooner had Matt stood, trading positions with Mello, when his head fell back against the wall, eyes squeezed shut as his partner’s mouth worked its familiar magic. His fingers tangled in blond hair, grip tightening as pleasure built steadily. This was simple, uncomplicated— exactly how Matt preferred things. No messy emotions, no expectations beyond mutual satisfaction.

The soft swing of the door opening barely registered through the haze of sensation.

Near had been looking for the case files Mello had borrowed earlier. The office door was slightly ajar, and he’d assumed it was empty. He pushed it open without thinking, already mentally cataloging where the files might be stored.

The scene before him processed in fragments: Matt’s flushed face, Mello’s distinctive blond hair, the unmistakable sounds he’d interrupted. Near’s mind, usually so quick to categorize and analyze, simply… stopped.

He knew what he was seeing, of course. He wasn’t naive, despite what certain people might think. But knowing something intellectually and witnessing it firsthand were entirely different experiences. The raw intimacy of it, the vulnerability in Matt’s expression, the soft sounds of pleasure— all of it hit him with an intensity he hadn’t expected.

He stood frozen in the doorway, file folder clutched against his chest, watching as Matt’s breathing hitched and his grip tightened in Mello’s hair. Near’s face burned with embarrassment, but something else stirred beneath the mortification— something warm and unfamiliar that made his pulse quicken in a way that had nothing to do with shock.

His analytical mind tried to process what he was feeling, but the usual clinical detachment failed him completely. Instead, he found himself noticing details he had no business noticing: the way Matt’s fingers moved through Mello’s hair, the flush spreading down his neck, the soft gasp that escaped his lips.

Near’s chest felt tight, and he realized he’d been holding his breath. He should leave. He should apologize and back out immediately. He should stop staring at the way Matt’s head fell back against the wall, should stop cataloging the expressions crossing his face. He should—

Matt’s eyes fluttered open, and their gazes locked across the room.

For a moment that stretched impossibly long, neither of them moved. Matt’s expression shifted from blissful relaxation to shock, his mouth falling open in a soundless gasp. Near’s own eyes widened, and he could feel heat crawling up his neck to his cheeks.

The eye contact sent a jolt through Near’s system that he couldn’t begin to categorize. Matt’s eyes were wide with surprise, pupils dilated, lips parted and breathing uneven. Something in Near’s chest clenched tight at the sight, and he had the strangest urge to step forward instead of away. To… what? He didn’t even know.

The realization that he was still staring, still frozen in place like some kind of voyeuristic statue, finally broke through his paralysis.

”Shit,” Matt breathed, and the spell broke.

Near stumbled backward, nearly dropping his file folder as he fumbled for the door handle. “I— sorry— I was looking for—“ His usual articulate speech dissolved into fragmented stammers as he finally managed to escape into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind him with more force than necessary.

He pressed his back against the closed door, heart hammering against his ribs in a way that felt entirely disproportionate to what had just happened. He’d interrupted something private, yes, but people had sex. It was a normal human activity. There was no logical reason for his body to be reacting the way it was— pulse racing, skin flushed, that strange tight feeling in his chest that he couldn’t label.

And yet, as he stood there trying to regulate his breathing, all he could think about was the look in Matt’s eyes in that split second before embarrassment had taken over. Something vulnerable and unguarded that Near hadn’t seen before, something that made him want to understand what it would feel like to put that expression on someone’s face himself.

The thought was so foreign, so unlike anything Near had ever considered before, that it left him feeling unmoored. He pushed himself away from the door and walked quickly toward his own offices, files clutched, forgotten, against his chest, trying to ignore the way his hands were shaking.

Inside the room, Mello had finally looked up to see what had caused Matt’s sudden tension. “Was that Near?” he asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Matt slumped against the wall, running both hands through his hair. “Yeah. Fuck. How much do you think he saw?”

Mello shrugged, already reaching for his clothes. “Enough, probably. Kid’s gonna be weird about it for weeks.” He paused, considering. “Weirder than usual, I mean.”

Matt couldn’t shake the image of Near’s wide eyes, the way he’d looked almost… stunned? Not disgusted, just completely overwhelmed. Something about that expression nagged at him in a way he couldn’t quite name.

”Should we— I don’t know, should we talk to him?” Matt asked, though the very idea made his stomach twist with embarrassment and shame.

”Why?” Mello was already pulling his shirt back on. “It’s not like we were doing anything wrong. We’re all adults here.” He shot Matt a sideways look. “Unless you’re worried about your reputation with the innocent little genius.”

Matt’s frown deepened. There was something in Mello’s tone that bothered him, though he wasn’t sure he could put his finger on what it was. The nonchalance, maybe? “It has nothing to do with reputation, Mello. It’s.. about being professional.”

”Since when do you care about professionalism?” Mello laughed, but there was an edge to it. “Come on, Matty. We both know Near’s probably never even thought about sex. This is probably the most education he’s gotten on the subject.”

The comment sat wrong with Matt, though he couldn’t explain way. He just nodded and zipped his pants back, trying to push away the lingering image of Near’s shocked face and the strange flutter it had caused in his chest.

—

Three days later, Matt was beginning to wonder if Near had developed some kind of rare neurological condition.

They were gathered in their small conference room, case files spread across the table like pieces of a complex puzzle. It should have been routine— each of them presenting their findings on the current suspect, cross-referencing details, building the profile. They’d done this countless times before, and it usually flowed with the easy efficiency of a well-oiled machine.

Today, however, felt like someone had thrown sand in the gears.

Near sat rigidly in his usual chair, one knee tucked up to his chest, trying to project his normal composed demeanor while his mind refused to cooperate. Three days had passed since the incident, yet he still couldn’t manage to look directly at either of his teammates without flashing back to that moment. Specifically, without remembering the way Matt had looked— vulnerable and flushed and lovely in way that made Near’s heart do uncomfortable things.

He’d been hoping the feeling would fade, that his usual logical mind would reassert itself and categorize the whole experience as an awkward and embarrassing but ultimately meaningless interruption. Instead, the opposite had happened. The image seemed to have burned itself into his memory with photographic precision, and worse, it had started affecting his ability to function normally around Matt.

“So, the financial records show suspicious activity starting about six months ago,” Matt was saying, pulling up bank statements on his laptop. “Some large cash deposits that don’t match his reported income, always just under the reporting threshold.” He glanced up to find Near staring intently at his hands, folded precisely on the table in front of him. “Near? Any thoughts on the timing?”

Near’s head jerked up as if he’d been startled awake. “What? Oh. Yes, the timing.” He blinked, that strange deer-in-the-headlights expression flickering across his features again.

The sound of his name in Matt’s voice did something to Near’s nervous system that he couldn’t explain. It was the same voice he’d heard thousands of times before, but now it carried echoes of those soft gasps and sighs from that night. Near’s pulse quickened traitorously, and he had to look away to compose himself.

”It.. correlates with when his wife filed for divorce. Emotional stress could have been a trigger for escalation.”

It was a perfectly reasonable observation, delivered in his usual measured tone, but Near could feel how artificial it sounded. He couldn’t bring himself to make eye contact with Matt, instead focusing somewhere over his left shoulder while trying to ignore the way his hands wanted to shake.

Mello leaned back in his chair, twirling a pen between his fingers. “I traced his movements for the past month. The guy’s got a pattern— same coffee shop every Tuesday and Thursday, gym on weekends, grocery shopping Sunday afternoons. Creature of habit.” He paused, studying Near with growing curiosity. “You’re being weird, by the way.”

”I’m not being weird,” Near replied immediately, which was probably the most defensive both Matt and Mello had ever heard him sound. The accusation stung because it was true, and Near knew it. He was being weird. He was being completely unprofessional and allowing his inexplicable emotional response to interfere with his work. “I’m analyzing the behavioral patterns.”

Even as he said it, Near realized his hands had moved to straighten the files in front of him for what was probably the dozenth time. The compulsive organizing was a nervous habit he’d thought he’d outgrown, but apparently psychological distress could resurrect old coping mechanisms. He forced his hands away, one reaching up to twirl a strand of hair.

”While staring at the wall instead of the evidence photos,” Mello pointed out, a not-so-subtle smirk at the corners of his mouth. “And you’ve been reorganizing those files for the past ten minutes without actually reading them.”

Matt glanced down at Near’s section of the table and realized Mello was right. The usually pristine organization of Near’s workspace had taken on an almost manic quality— papers straightened and re-straightened, pens aligned with mathematical precision, everything arranged and rearranged as if the perfect order might somehow restore his usual composure.

”Maybe you need some coffee?” Matt suggested gently. “You’ve been working pretty late this week.”

The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them. Near’s cheeks flushed pink, and he finally made eye contact— brief, startled, before immediately looking away again.

The gentle concern in Matt’s voice was somehow worse than Mello’s direct confrontation. It made something warm and vaguely painful twist in Near’s chest, made him acutely aware of how much attention Matt was paying to his behavior, his work habits, his wellbeing. The kindness felt like too much when Near was already struggling to maintain his composure.

And the eye contact— god, the eye contact. For just a split second, Near was right back in that doorway, watching Matt’s face transform with pleasure, and the memory hit him so viscerally that he had to look away before he did something truly mortifying, like actually blushing harder.

”I’m fine,” Near said, voice tight. He needed this meeting to end before he made an even bigger fool of himself. “Can we continue with the case review?”

Matt and Mello exchanged a look across the table. Something was definitely wrong. Near had been acting strange ever since the incident in Mello’s office, but neither of them had expected a level of distraction that would affect their work.

”Right..” Matt said slowly. “Well, I also found some interesting search history on his personal devices…” He launched back into his report, but kept stealing glances at Near, who seemed to be making a concerted effort to look anywhere except directly at either of his teammates.

The rest of the meeting proceeded with stilted efficiency, punctuated by Near’s uncharacteristic fumbles and Mello’s increasingly pointed observations about their colleague’s odd behavior. By the time they wrapped up, Matt couldn’t shake the feeling that they were all dancing around something no one wanted to acknowledge.

Chapter Text

”Okay, seriously, what’s his deal?” Mello asked the moment Near left the room, gathering his files with the same manic precision he’d been displaying all week.

Matt closed his laptop and leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. He’s been off ever since…” He trailed off, not particularly wanting (or needing) to finish that sentence.

”Ever since he walked in on us,” Mello completed bluntly. “Yeah, I noticed.” He spun his chair to face Matt fully, expression thoughtful. “Think he’s having some sort of sexual awakening crisis?”

”Jesus, Mello.” Matt felt heat creep up his neck. “Could you be a little more delicate about it?”

”What? The kid’s obviously never seen anyone having sex before. Maybe it short-circuited his brain.” Mello shrugged, but there was something vaguely fond in his expression. “It’s probably like when we teenagers, and everything was mortifying and overwhelming. Maybe he’s just processing.”

Matt considered this, thinking about Near’s flushed cheeks and the way he’d been avoiding eye contact. “..Maybe. But it’s affecting his work. He couldn’t focus on anything today.”

”Yeah, because he keeps thinking about what he saw,” Mello said, as if it were obvious. He paused, a slow smirk spreading across his face. “Which means he keeps thinking about one of us. Want to bet which one?”

”I’m not betting on Near’s potential sexual awakening,” Matt said firmly, his stomach twisting uncomfortably at the thought.

”Come on, Matt. Use your brain.” Mello leaned forward, clearly enjoying this. “Think about how Near interacts with each of us. When’s the last time he argued with you about methodology? Or the last time he got genuinely heated about your approach to a case?”

Matt frowned, trying to think back through years of interactions. “I don’t know what you’re getting at..”

”He fights with me,” Mello said with characteristic confidence, and maybe even a hint of glee. “Constantly. About approach, about priorities, about the best way to handle suspects. And you know what that means for someone like Near? Someone who usually just accepts other people’s methods as valid alternatives?”

Again, Matt felt something uncomfortable twisting, this time in his chest. He couldn’t quite identify what it was. Trying to ignore it, he rolled his eyes at Mello. “It means you annoy him?”

Mello’s grin widened as he shook his head. “It means, he cares enough to try to change my mind. It means my opinion actually matters to him. Think about it— when does Near ever waste energy arguing with people he doesn’t respect? When does he ever get that passionate about someone else’s decisions?”

The logic was sound, in a way, Matt had to admit. At the same time, something in him wanted to reject it entirely. Near did engage with Mello differently than he engaged with most people— more directly, more willing to challenge and be challenged. Matt found himself thinking about the way Near looked when in the middle of a debate with Mello— focused, engaged, almost animated in a way he rarely was otherwise. 

The thought of that engagement being motivated by romantic feelings made Matt’s stomach clench.

”You think?” he asked, trying to keep his voice neutral.

”Think about it. The whole chivalrous rivalry thing stretching back to Wammy’s. And now, he’s seen me with someone else and realized he actually has feelings about it.” Mello’s expression turned almost predatory. “This is going to be fun.”

”Don’t be an ass about it,” Matt returned quickly, surprised by the sharpness in his own voice. The thought of Mello tormenting Near about unrequited feelings made him feel faintly sick, though he couldn’t figure out why the idea bothered him so much. Maybe I’m just a decent human being. “If he’s actually struggling with something like that, the last thing he needs is you making it worse.”

Mello raised an eyebrow, clearly noting the edge in Matt’s tone. “Look at you being all protective. What’s that about?”

Matt didn’t have a good answer for that. He just knew that the thought of Mello making Near uncomfortable, of Near being hurt or embarrassed, felt wrong in a way that went beyond simple polite concern. “Just… don’t be cruel, okay? He’s our partner. And,” he added, “him not being able to focus means everyone’s work is harder, you know?”

”Relax,” Mello scoffed, his expression suggesting he had no intention of dropping the subject entirely. “I’ll be nice. Mostly.”

Matt had a feeling that Mello’s definition of “mostly nice” and his own were going to be very different things. And the uncomfortable twist in his stomach when he thought about Near having feelings for Mello was only getting worse.

————

Matt’s concerns about Mello’s intentions proved justified the very next day.

They were in the so-called “break room,” a small space Matt had suggested, then begged for, then demanded. It consisted of an overworked coffee machine and a small refrigerator, plus an oversized and overpriced bean bag that Matt fondly referred to as his office. Near was methodically preparing tea with the same precise movements he brought to everything else, measuring loose leaves with scientific accuracy.

He’d been hoping for a few minutes of peace, a chance to center himself before facing another day of carefully avoiding eye contact with Matt. The past few days had been exhausting— every interaction loaded with the memory of what he’d witnessed, every casual conversation feeling like it might expose the confusing tangle of thoughts and feelings he couldn’t neatly categorize and file away.

Mello wandered in, ostensibly for coffee, but Matt could see the calculating look in his eyes. It was a familiar expression— usually seen right before Mello did something that would either be brilliant or get everyone around him into trouble.

”Hey Near,” Mello said casually, leaning against the counter. “You’ve been pretty distracted lately. Everything okay?”

Near’s hand stilled for just a moment before continuing to stir his tea. The question felt loaded, dangerous. He’d been so careful to maintain his composure, but apparently not careful enough. “I’m fine. Just focused on the case.”

”Right, focused.” Mello’s tone was deceptively light. “Must be hard to concentrate, though. When your mind keeps wandering to… other things.”

Near’s pulse quickened with something that felt like panic. How much did Mello know? How obvious have I been? The teaspoon clinked against the mug a little too sharply, betraying his unsteady hands.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Matt watched from the doorway, torn between intervening and seeing where this was going. Something about Mello’s vulturous expression was more troubling than usual, but he still couldn’t put his finger on why. He’d told Mello not to be cruel, but this felt like it was heading in that direction, fast.

”Come on, Near. We’re all adults here.” If he’d looked like an opportunistic scavenger before, Mello’s face now looked downright tigerish. “It’s perfectly normal to be curious about things you haven’t experienced before. Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

Near felt heat flood his face, mortification mixing with something that might have been anger. Mello was enjoying this, treating Near’s confusion like entertainment. He turned to face the blond with the careful composure that meant he was struggling to maintain control of his emotions. “I have no idea what you’re implying.”

”I’m not implying anything. I’m saying it directly.” Mello stepped closer, clearly enjoying himself. “You walked in on something private, and now you can’t stop thinking about it. What it’d be like. What it would be like with someone specific.”

The words hit too close to home, and Near felt his carefully constructed defenses begin to crumble. He was thinking about it— constantly, obsessively. The flush spread down Near’s neck, and Matt could see his jaw tighten. “You’re being inappropriate.”

Matt felt the twist in his stomach rise up to his throat, watching Near’s obvious distress. There was something protective surging in him that he didn’t entirely understand, an urge to step between Mello and Near that felt almost territorial.

”Am I? Or am I just acknowledging what’s obvious to everyone in this room?” Mello’s voice dropped to something in between conspiratorial and mocking. “It’s okay, you know. Having feelings. Even having feelings about someone you work with.”

Near’s composure finally cracked, just slightly. The mention of feelings made his chest tight with panic, because Mello was right— there were feelings involved, even if they couldn’t be precisely named at the moment. His eyes darted to Matt for a split second before returning to Mello, and something vulnerable flickered across his features. “I don’t— this conversation is—“

“Completely normal,” Mello finished smoothly. “Look, I get it. I’m not exactly hard to look at, and you’ve clearly been repressing this stuff for years. But you can’t let it affect your work.”

The assumption was wrong, so fundamentally wrong that Near felt momentarily disoriented. He couldn’t correct him without revealing the truth, and the truth was so much more complicated and flustering than anything Mello was imagining.

Matt felt his stomach drop watching Near’s face cycle through emotions and various shades of pink. The way Near opened his mouth, then closed it, then seemed to give up entirely on forming words made something flare in Matt’s chest.

”Mello,” he said quietly, his voice carrying more edge than he’d intended. “Maybe that’s enough.”

Both of them turned to look at him— Near with something that might have been gratitude and desperate relief, Mello with mild annoyance at the interruption. Matt realized he didn’t like seeing Near backed into a corner like this, didn’t like the vulnerable expression on his face or the way Mello was enjoying his discomfort.

”I’m just trying to clear the air,” Mello huffed. “All this tiptoeing around is getting ridiculous.”

Near set his mug down with careful precision, forcing his hands to steady. He needed to escape before he said something that would make this worse, before the truth somehow spilled out in ways he couldn’t take back. He walked toward the door, stopping briefly just beside Matt, close enough to catch the scent of soap hiding underneath the overpowering tobacco that always clung to him. It was something that shouldn’t have been particularly comforting, but somehow was.

”If you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

After he left, Matt and Mello stood in charged silence for a long moment. Matt found himself staring down the hall well after Near had left his line of sight, something unsettled churning inside.

”Well,” Mello said finally. “That pretty much confirms it.”

Matt wasn’t sure what it confirmed, exactly, but the sick feeling spreading throughout him suggested it wasn’t anything good. And there was something else— a strange reluctance to accept Mello’s assumption, a soreness with the idea of Near having feelings for Mello that Matt couldn’t quite explain.

Chapter Text

Near made it to his office before his hands started shaking.

He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, trying to regulate his breathing. That had been a disaster. An absolute, complete disaster. Mello knew— or thought he knew— and had decided to turn it into some kind of game.

The worst part was how wrong Mello was about everything. Near wasn’t having feelings about him. Near wasn’t curious about what it would be like with someone specific, at least not the someone Mello assumed. But how could he possibly correct that assumption without making everything infinitely worse?

He pressed his palms against his eyes and tried to think more logically. Mello believed Near had romantic feelings for him, which was mortifying but not entirely catastrophic. It was better than the truth— that Near couldn’t stop thinking about Matt’s face in that moment of vulnerability, that he’d been analyzing every interaction with Matt for signs of something he couldn’t even name, or that the sound of Matt saying his name had started doing strange things to his pulse.

At least if everyone thought his feelings were for Mello, Matt would never have to know how pathetically Near had fixated on him.

The problem was that now, he had to figure out how to function normally while everyone watched him for signs of his supposed unrequited crush. And he had to do it while actually having unrequited feelings for someone else entirely.

Near spent the rest of the day holed up in his office, claiming he needed to focus on research. It wasn’t entirely a lie; he did have work to do, but mostly he was avoiding any situation where he might have to face both Matt and Mello together.

The next day, he arrived early and left late, timing his movements to minimize contact. He skipped the morning briefing, claiming he was following up on a lead. When he had no choice but to interact with either of his partners, he kept his responses professional and short.

By the third day of this routine, Near thought he might actually be able to maintain this level of avoidance indefinitely. It wasn’t sustainable long-term, but maybe if he could just get through the immediate aftermath, things would settle back to normal.

He was working late again, the building quiet around him, when a soft knock on his door interrupted his concentration.

”Come in,” he called, assuming it was security or cleaning staff.

The door opened to reveal Matt, looking tired and— possibly— concerned. He held 2 mugs of coffee.

”Hey,” Matt said quietly. “Thought you might want some caffeine. You’ve been putting in some serious hours lately.”

Near’s carefully constructed avoidance strategy crumbled at the sight of Matt’s gentle expression. His throat felt tight, and he had to look away before he did something that might show how much this simple kindness affected him.

”Thank you,” he managed. “That’s… thoughtful.”

Matt stepped into the room and closed the door behind him, setting one of the cups on the floor beside Near. “Mind if I sit? I wanted to talk.”

Near’s pulse quickened, but he nodded. Matt joined him on the floor, crossing his legs and cradling his coffee. He studied Near with that same vaguely perturbed expression that had been undoing Near’s composure all week.

”Look, I know things have been weird since…” Matt paused, seeming to search for the right words. “Since you walked in on us. And I know Mello’s been a dick about it.”

Near’s cheeks heated. “You don’t need to—“

”Yeah, I do.” Matt leaned forward slightly. “You’ve been avoiding us for three days, and it’s starting to affect cases. More importantly, you look miserable.”

The observation was delivered gently, but it still made Near flinch. He wrapped his hands around the coffee mug, using the warmth to ground himself. “I’m fine.”

”No, you’re not.” Matt’s voice was soft but insistent. “And I mean, I get why. Having.. feelings for someone you work with is complicated. And having feelings for someone who’s involved with someone else is even worse.” He paused for a beat, before trying to clarify. “We’re not, though. ‘Involved’, I mean. We hookup sometimes, yeah, but—“ Matt sighed. “Listen, I just didn’t want you having the wrong idea. Mello and I aren’t in a relationship.”

Near’s chest tightened. This was exactly the conversation he’d been trying to avoid, but Matt’s kindness was making it impossible to deflect. “Matt—“

”I’m not judging you or anything,” Matt continued. “Mello can be… intense. Compelling. I understand the appeal.”

Something about the way Matt said it, the careful neutrality in his voice, made Near look up sharply. There was something in Matt’s expression that didn’t quite match his words— something almost sad.

”You think I have feelings for Mello,” Near said quietly.

”Well— Don’t you?” Matt asked.

There was something vulnerable in the question that Near couldn’t identify. He stared at him for a long moment, taking in the way Matt was holding himself carefully, the way his fingers tightened slightly around his coffee cup. Matt genuinely believed Near was pining for Mello, and for some reason, that belief seemed to be causing him distress.

The realization hit Near like a physical blow. Matt was bothered by the idea of Near having feelings for Mello. Which meant…

”No,” Near said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t have feelings for Mello.”

Matt blinked, clearly caught off guard. “But the way you’ve been acting—“

”Has nothing to do with Mello.” Near set his coffee down beside him, and brought one hand up to his hair. This was it. This was the moment where he either told Matt the truth, or let the misunderstanding continue indefinitely. “My… reaction to what I saw wasn’t about him.”

Understanding dawned slowly in Matt’s eyes, followed by something that looked awfully close to relief.

Near watched that relief cross Matt’s face and felt something cold settle in his stomach. “I see,” he said quietly, looking away. Of course, the idea of Near being competition was what had been bothering him.

”See what?” Matt asked, confused at the sudden shift.

”You’re relieved because you have feelings for Mello.” Near’s voice was as neutral as always, but it still sounded like an accusation.

Matt stared at him for a long moment, then made a sound that might have been a laugh if it hadn’t sounded so hollow. “No, Near. I definitely don’t have feelings for him. Not romantic ones, anyway.”

“But you were relieved when I said—“

”I was jealous,” Matt interrupted, running a hand through his hair. “It was just— I don’t know why, just, the thought of you wanting him was making me feel—“ He paused, looking somewhere between pained and embarrassed. “—things I didn’t want to examine. Look, I don’t… I don’t really do romantic involvement. With anyone. It’s messy and complicated and I’m not good at it.”

Near looked up at that, studying Matt’s expression. That vulnerability was still there, and something defensive. “You don’t do romantic involvement.”

”No. Casual stuff, sure. But feelings? Relationships?” Matt shook his head. “That’s not really my thing.”

The admission should have been discouraging, but something in Matt’s tone suggested he was trying to convince himself as much as Near. “Then what was the jealousy about?”

Matt was quiet for a long moment, and Near could practically see him wrestling with something internal. “Like I said, I don’t know,” he finally replied. “That’s the problem.”

Near made a decision. Given Matt’s honesty about his confusion, it seemed fair to be just as honest about his own certainty.

”You.” Near said it simply, meeting Matt’s eyes.

Matt stared back at him, coffee frozen halfway to his lips. “Me what?”

“Earlier, I wasn’t mortified because Mello got it wrong. It was that he knew I was attracted to someone. I just let him assume it was him.” Near’s voice was quiet, but it stayed steady. “It seemed easier than correcting him, especially with you being right there.”

Matt stood up suddenly, then sat back down, now at the unused desk chair, clearly struggling to process. “Jesus.” He looked at Near with something that might have been panic. “I don’t— you’re— this is—“

He stood up again, this time staying upright but visibly agitated. “I need to think. It’s not that I—“ He stopped, shook his head. “I just wasn’t expecting that. At all.”

Near nodded, his expression neutral despite the way his chest was tightening. “Of course.” Quieter, he added, “I understand. I didn’t expect it either.”

“Right. Yeah.” Matt was already moving toward the door, but he paused when his hand reached the handle. “Near, I— this doesn’t change anything, okay? We’re still partners. Still a team.”

The reassurance was clearly meant to be kind, but it felt like a gentle rejection. Near managed a small nod.

Matt hesitated for another moment, looking like he wanted to say something else. Ultimately, he just opened the door. “I’ll, uh. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

After the door closed, Near sat in silence, staring at the two coffee cups. Matt’s was still half full, abandoned in his shock. Near picked it up and took a sip, tasting nothing but bitterness.

At least now he knew where he stood.

—

Matt made it halfway across the garage before he realized he was walking in the wrong direction.

He stopped in the middle of the floor, running both hands through his hair and trying to make sense of what had just happened. Near had feelings for him. Not Mello— him. All their assumptions, their conversations about Near’s supposed crush, all of it had been completely wrong.

And the worst part was the moment of relief he’d felt when Near said it wasn’t about Mello. The surge of something that felt dangerously close to happiness before the panic set in.

He drove home on autopilot, replaying the conversation in his head. The way Near had looked when he said ‘you,’ direct and unflinching despite the vulnerability of the admission. The careful composure that had slipped just enough to show how much it cost him.

By the time Matt reached his apartment, he was no closer to understanding his own reaction. He sat on his couch, staring at nothing, trying to figure out why Near’s feelings for him felt so much more significant than the idea of those feelings being for Mello had.

—

The next morning, Matt arrived at HQ determined to act normal. Casual. Like nothing had changed.

That plan lasted approximately thirty seconds.

Near was already at his computer when Matt walked in, looking perfectly composed. He glanced up when Matt entered, offered a polite nod, and continued with his work. It was exactly the kind of professional courtesy Matt had asked for and planned on.

It made him vaguely sick.

”Morning.” Matt’s voice came out hoarse.

Near replied without looking up. “Good morning.”

For an awkward moment, Matt stood there, unsure what to do with himself. He was reading into every interaction, past and present. It all felt loaded with new meaning now. When Near had said his name yesterday, had there been something different in his voice? When he’d brought Near coffee every so often, had Near read more into it than simple colleague consideration? Worse— was he right?

”Coffee?” Matt asked, the word falling out before he could stop himself.

Near finally looked up, his expression unreadable. “That’s not necessary.”

”I was getting some anyway,” Matt said quickly, which was a lie. He’d already drank an entire pot at home and finished two energy drinks on the way in. The thought of caffeinating himself more made his temples start to ache.

”Then yes. Thank you.”

Matt escaped to the break room, grateful for something to do with his hands. As he waited for the coffee to brew, he tried to analyze his own behavior. Why had he offered to get Near coffee? Why did Near’s polite acceptance feel like such a victory?

When he returned with two cups, Near accepted his with a quiet “thank you” and another one of those careful, professional half smiles.

Matt spent the rest of the day hyperaware of every interaction, every glance, and especially the moment when their fingers accidentally brushed while reaching for the same file. By evening, he was exhausted from the constant vigilance. And he was no closer to understanding what had gotten into him, or what he was feeling.

This continued for three days. Matt would arrive every morning with good intentions of acting normal, only to find himself paying obsessive attention to Near’s every word and gesture. He brought coffee without being asked. He lingered by Near longer than necessary when discussing cases. If Near was staying late, Matt found excuses to do the same.

And through it all, Near maintained that same professional politeness, never pushing, never making Matt feel pressured or awkward about the confession. Somehow, that made everything worse— probably because it gave Matt space to realize that he missed the way things used to be between them.

More than that, he was starting to miss things that had never actually existed. The possibility of something more than professional courtesy. The potential for Near to look at him the way he had that night in the office when he’d admitted the truth.

By Thursday evening, Matt was forced to confront an uncomfortable realization: he was disappointed that Near was respecting his need for space.

Chapter Text

The shift started small.

On Friday morning, when Matt brought Near coffee, he lingered beside him long enough for Near to glance back up at him. He noted the slight shadows under Near’s eyes, and asked, “Sleep okay?”

As Near looked up at him, something cautious but pleased flickered across his expression. The simple question felt like an olive branch, an acknowledgment that whatever had happened between them didn’t have to ruin everything. “Well enough. Thank you for asking.”

It was a mundane exchange, the kind of casual concern colleagues showed each other every day. But Near could hear something different in Matt’s voice, see something softer in the way he was looking down at him. There was care there, and despite himself, Near wondered— hoped— if it meant more than professional courtesy.

”Let me know if you need anything,” Matt said, and Near caught the way his gaze lingered for just a moment too long.

”I will,” he replied, allowing himself a small smile.

Matt told himself he was just being friendly. Supportive. Making sure their working relationship stayed comfortable after the awkwardness of earlier in the week.

Near, meanwhile, found himself paying attention to these small gestures in a way that was probably unhealthy. When Matt asked about his weekend on Monday, Near catalogued the genuine interest in his tone. When Matt offered to grab lunch on Tuesday, Near noted the way he’d specifically waited until Near was buried in his investigation, like he’d been watching for the right moment to be helpful.

”You don’t have to do that,” Near said, but there was something warm in his voice that made Matt’s chest flutter.

They ate in Near’s office, discussing the case but somehow managing to drift into other topics. Near mentioned a book he’d been reading, watching Matt’s face for signs of genuine interest versus polite attention. Matt found himself talking about a game he’d been playing, something he’d rarely share in general, let alone while he was supposed to be giving 100% of his attention to an investigation. Simple, ordinary conversation that felt anything but ordinary.

”I didn’t know you liked philosophy so much,” Matt said when Near made an observation about determinism versus free will.

”There are probably a lot of things you don’t know about me,” Near replied, and despite his neutral, off-handed tone, there was something almost shy in the admission. He was testing the waters— seeing if Matt actually wanted to know any of it, or if this was just small talk.

Matt realized Near’s statement was true, and worse, that he wanted to know those things. He wanted to know what Near did when he wasn’t working on a case. What made him laugh. If he had hobbies beyond solving puzzles and cases.

”Maybe you could tell me sometime,” Matt said, th words coming out before he could second-guess them.

Near’s eyes widened, almost imperceptibly, as hope flared bright and unexpected in his chest. For a moment he thought Matt was just being polite, but something in his expression hinted that the offer was genuine. “I’d like that.”

The conversation was interrupted by Mello’s arrival, and Near felt his posture automatically shift, becoming more guarded. He wasn’t ready for Mello’s scrutiny, was’t sure how to explain this tentative whatever-it-was developing between him and Matt. It wasn’t until Mello left that Near relaxed again, and he noticed Matt watching him with something that looked like understanding.

The pattern continued throughout the week. Small gestures that could be explained away as simple collegiality, yet felt charged with more. Matt finding excuses to stop by Near’s workspace. Near asking for Matt’s opinion on things he could easily have decided for himself. Conversations that started professional and drifted into more personal territory.

They both found themselves cataloguing each interaction, analyzing for signs of reciprocated interest while trying not to read too much into simple kindness. But both noted that there was something— like when Matt looked at Near, it was warm and almost protective in a way that made both of their pulses quicken.

It was Mello who finally called attention to what was happening.

”You two are being weird,” he announced one afternoon, finding Matt and Near having what appeared to be a passionate discussion about the philosophical implications of artificial intelligence.

Matt felt heat creep up his neck. “We’re just talking.”

”Uh-huh.” Mello leaned against Near’s desk, studying them both with sharp eyes. “Matt, you’ve been hovering around Near like a guard dog. And Near, you’re actually making eye contact during conversations, which is new.”

Near’s cheeks flushed slightly, but he held Mello’s gaze. “I make eye contact.”

”Not like this you don’t.” Mello’s expression shifted, and Matt caught a flicker of something that might have been possessiveness before it was replaced by calculation. “Something’s different between you two.”

Matt glanced at Near, who looked carefully neutral, but tense. They hadn’t really discussed this shift in their dynamic with each other, let alone what they were willing to share about it with Mello.

”People can develop better working relationships,” Matt finally said. He was careful, but his inflection tilted at the end, as if he were asking a question.

”Working relationships.” Mello repeated the phrase slowly, amusement hinting in his tone. “Right.”

He studied them for another moment, and Matt could practically see the gears turning in his head. He definitely saw the moment his expression shifted— surprise giving way to recognition, then replaced by something that could have been approval.

”Well,” Mello said, straightening up. “This should be interesting.”

After he left, Matt and Near sat in silence for a moment.

”He knows,” Matt said quietly.

Near nodded. “I think he does.”

The only question was what Mello planned to do with the information.