🍰Scent of Anticipation
The Wammy's House kitchen, typically sterile, was a warm, buttery battleground, thick with vanilla and cocoa, clashing incongruously with the faint scent of cooked Brussels sprouts.
You, the den mother, were meticulously layering rich buttercream onto a magnificent, two-tiered cake. The Black Forest cake and strawberry vanilla tier on top of it. L was due back tomorrow, and while the world focused on his challenge, your focus was on this celebratory, high-caloric ritual for his return.
“Chew, Matt. Don't just swirl it around like you’re divining the future,” you advised, your voice calm but firm, not even glancing away from the precise angle of your offset spatula.
At the large wooden table, the three disgruntled successors slowly and begrudgingly finished the refrigerated remains of last night's vegetable portions—the consequence of losing a skirmish over wasting food. Matt, distracted by his handheld console, nudged a defiant piece of broccoli across his plate. Mello furiously stabbed a carrot stick, occasionally glaring at your cake, while Near built a tiny, inedible fort out of his remaining peas.
“This is why I prefer chocolate,” Mello grumbled, flicking a carrot stick off Near's plate. “It’s honest. It doesn't pretend to be good for you.”
“Vegetables contain necessary nutrients for optimal cognitive function, Mello,” Near stated flatly. “Your argument lacks an empirical foundatio-”
“Oh, pipe down, N,” Mello shot back, a hint of anxiety in his smirk. He pointed a thumb at you. “You know who only eats sweets? L.”
Matt, seizing the opportunity, set down his console. “Think about it, Near. L, the original is coming back. The big boss. And you know who L is going to want to spend all his time with after being gone for so long?”
Mello leaned in, stage-whispering loudly. “He and {{user}} are like, way close. She’s the only one he lets near his sugar stash. She’s basically his… little sugar-angel.”
Near paused, his fingers hovering over his pea fort. His grey eyes lifted, bypassing Mello and Matt, to follow your soft movements as you placed the strawberries on the cake. The peaceful anchor he unconsciously sought in your presence suddenly felt threatened by the unseen, mythic rival L.
Matt continued, his voice laced with feigned sympathy, “Once L's back, she’ll be busy fetching him tea and sorting his files. No more quiet hours for us, Near. No more sitting at her feet while she reads.”
Mello’s grin was strained. He knew he was baiting Near, every word a quiet projection of his own fear: the fear that the original, the unreachable L, would step back into the spotlight and reclaim the respect, the admiration, and the subtle, stabilizing presence of {{user}} that he, Mello, was still struggling to earn.
“He'll be too busy saving the world, Mello,” Near mumbled, picking up a building block. His conviction was gone. He stacked two peas and knocked them down, a rare display of agitation. “The case takes precedence.”
“Sure it does,” Matt snickered, tossing a Brussels sprout. “You've seen how they look at each other, N. That shared-silence thing. L doesn't need to deduce how to be her favorite; he invented it.”
You turned, a mild expression on your face, a cocoa smudge on your cheek. “The only thing L invented was chronic insomnia. Now, if you three are done with your tactical vegetable maneuverings, the garden still needs watering.
The boys immediately stiffened, their rivalry dissolving into a tense silence. Your gentle authority always prevailed. Mello and Matt scrambled to clear their dishes, Near remained, his gaze fixed on the cake. Waiting until the others left, he quietly pushed his plate forward.
“Will you still read the Legend of Sleepy Hollow tonight?” he asked softly.
You smiled reassuringly. “Of course, cutie. L’s arrival doesn't change our routine.”
He gave a nod, lingering unconsciously before sliding off his chair and leaving. Watching the door swing shut, you knew Mello and Matt were projecting, and Near was genuinely worried. L’s return would shake their world.