Chocolat à l'Ambroisie

by RoseShower

Summary:

You meet the love of your life for the first time in To-Oh's university exam hall.

In which you are an outside factor among all the Kira Case nonsense who happens to harbor a crush on the mysterious guy who walks around campus—and L is at best amused by your theatrics to get him to like you.

Notes:

alright guys so the whole reason for me writing this is an attempt to give L like some normal semblance of romance to a certain degree

and while it may be unrealistic I may or may not care and I will try teehee

this is all inspired by a dream (and because of spoonerisms 'impulse control' fic, good god its so good) I had about him which I will incorporate the scene of at some point in the narrative

anyway I was debating on putting the autistic L tab, but I ultimately decided not to
what I am very well aware of however is that L may be on the spectrum so I'm just going to put that out there
also the reader may or may not be relatable, I am yet again putting a part of myself into the story but making it complex because I am shameless and I can write so therefore I will

another note I will add is that I tend to like the mystery and build up of said mystery until its exposed and some dramatic shit happens so that is why I chose to write reader the way she is

TW: Brief Suicidal Mention.

Chapter 1: An Invisible Bite of Chocolate

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[. . .]

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"Sweet as Pie."

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[. . .]

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Chapter 1

An Invisible Bite of Chocolate

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[. . .]

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You spot the love of your life for the first time in the university exam hall.

You happen to stroll past your seating arrangement—a mild miscalculation caused by your overwhelming anxiety and self-doubt—when you happen to turn your head at just the right moment. You lock eyes with the most beautiful man you've ever seen and feel the world stop on its axis for that blissful decisecond of quenching euphoria, caught in a haze of suffocating attraction at the picturesque of his phenomenon.

Dark, unruly hair, colored coal-ebony adorned on the head of the palest of complexions, sick with ghostly pallor, and bulbous, owl-like eyes stare right at you.

Your breath catches as a coil of goosebumps runs down your spine in a pleasurable brush.

Suddenly, the mild chatter and squeak of shoes of the upcoming student body and the unbearable shake of your anxious mind become a muffled background noise to your stuffed ears. Your body enters a numb, passionate state, frozen in place. Your fisted hand tightens around your written seat number, black, acrylic nails digging nearly painfully into the meat of your palm as your face flushes with the flame of a thousand suns.

Today is the best day of your life.

You hadn't expected it to be, and caused by a hot stranger, of all things. Because today—

You woke up this morning feeling off. Not so unusual as you tend to experience a lot of things throughout your everyday life, but enough of a cosmic change that wiggles at the back of your mind like a maggot emerging from a carcass—one thing or another leads to news of all sorts being dropped on you like a sack of bricks, either unprompted or warned through by your spiritual shenanigans that you, unfortunately, have a lot of problems correctly understanding.

You learned to live this way, thanks to the teachings of your late Grandmother and your beloved Shinigami, Rune.

Rune is an entity that has stuck with the women of your family for nearly six generations. She was meant to accompany your mother on her thirty-fifth, but she had died, and so your grandmother entrusted her to you during your abysmal teenage years when you'd been less than stable after being forced to live with your father in Kyoto. The hysteria of losing your mother just a year prior hadn't waned, and having to see your grandmother's rising decline and eventual flatline had nearly done you in.

But she had promised to give you your present, one she called guardian and the mother of all mothers—your beloved friend Rune.

Rune is very angry. She is easily irritated and not so easily swayed. Any recommended decision is delivered with stoic strictness, one that you hadn't been fond of but are thankful for now, in your early twenties. Your impulsive decisions during your teenage phase would've been terrible without her guidance there to keep you under control.

It wasn't easy, no. Having her around, you mean.

You hadn't gotten used to being watched constantly. It felt asphyxiating and invasive. But over the years, as the two of you grew to mutually understand one another, she no longer had to keep an eye on you like some sort of wild duckling getting into all sorts of trouble, and you no longer wanted to take out your frustrations on her for being the way she was.

Because she isn't a mother. She isn't a person.

She's a Shinigami. One who abides by personal law and cannot change.

She simply is.

For six generations, with every note piled among the sacred box your grandmother had stashed the Death Note in and given to you, the women the Shinigami would fall into described Rune as you see her now—brusque, serious, and no-nonsense.

Rune can be very cruel in her deliveries and rhetorical inquiry.

But Rune can also be very kind.

She tends to care for you like you imagine your mother would've continued doing had she not... been under the influence that fateful night. She is no servant, no, because she won't do what you ask of her. Only when the moments really count does she act on her own accord and without argument, no matter what situation it may be. Whether to feed you food and drinks while gravely sick or injured or to keep you from jumping out of a balcony to rid yourself of everything you couldn't bear, Rune is there every step of the way, never to go, never to cease, until you die and pass her on.

Just as she is now.

Rune resides beside you, quietly eyeing the chocolates in your jean skirt's pocket. You plan to give some to her once you get this exam over with because there is no way you're trying again after this. If you fail, you fail. You took multiple leap years, one your father berated and disgraced you for, and it was only until now that Rune had nagged you enough to attend that you went to give college a damn try. Complaining about your lack of six figures in your life may have had a play in that too, but the decision had been final.

It won't hurt to try.

But there is something much better than the test.

Beside you, Rune side-eyes you with suspicion. Any moment now, she'll sync up on your thoughts she knows all too well, and scold you for your sidetracking.

You don't care.

Your teeth seek and bite the inner meat of your cheek when the hot, pathetic-looking guy looks away and lets you take this very brief, very lucky, moment to check him out properly.

He sits so... oddly. So reserved and close.

He wears a plain white long-sleeve shirt and baggy jeans that cover most of his dirty, white, unlaced sneakers. His legs bunch against his chest, his posture awful and hunched, and his hands are splayed on the bone of his knees, soles of his feet seeking purchase on the very edge of the chair. Even in his side profile, the light does him justice—a sculpted nose and jaw, hollow cheeks and eyebags so profound you wonder if he sleeps at all.

You are thoroughly entranced by his entirety.

You're blessed today. But just how blessed?

Your eyes reluctantly tear themselves away from him to look at his desk space, where his seat number is displayed on a small silver nameplate. Lucky Number 13.

Affirmations, this is a sign, you tell yourself with a thankful prayer to your gods. You've been seeing that number constantly. So much so that you had to ask your favored tarot deck a couple of days ago—what does this mean? What should I know?

As you glance down at your hands to quickly check your seat number, you can't help but squeal with unrestrained joy internally.

Ace of Cups, The Fool, Justice.

Lucky Number 14.

Without wasting any time, you hastily make your way down the row to eagerly plant yourself beside the guy of your dreams. Your shinigami follows in kind, hovering behind you like a bloody bat in the night. She says something—a scolding or other—but you don't hear.

You fix your skirt instead and pull at your black long-sleeve, idly repositioning the chain looped around your belt. He doesn't look at your erratic movements like you hoped for, but you don't let the disappointment consume you. Rather, you grab one of your chocolates and put it on the table, intending to play with the wrapper after you consume the creamy product.

You have no worries you'll get in trouble. People are coming in. The test has not begun. You'll put everything away once it does.

So for now, you'll...

Before you can even open it, the love of your life snaps his head immediately at the first crinkle of your probing finger.

Yes, yes, yes, you chant, and you look away from the chocolate and toward him. "Want some?" You try not to purr, fluttering your lashes. Your original plan was to make so much irritating noise with the wrapper that he had to say something. He seems the kind to do so, with his vacant, big beautiful eyes and plain lips. But this... oh, this, works so much better!

A chocolate enthusiast, surely!

A dream come true, you beg.

He looks at you.

He looks at you!

You feel your body shake with anticipation while you wait for him to speak, eager and more than patient. His expression is blank. However! His eyes flicker to the chocolate again, as if considering his options with you, who is a mere stranger and more than probably likely his future spouse. Probably. The numbers on that are less likely than twenty percent, but it won't hurt to try!

Certainly not, you assure yourself.

He doesn't say anything for a while. Maybe ten awkward minutes.

But you hold out your treasured chocolate, discreetly leaning closer with every minute that goes by. Your body is alight with scorching want, and you're sure that if you keep holding your breath like this you'll die.

You nearly faceplant on his chest when he finally moves.

He cutely removes one of his hands from his knees and offers his open palm.

Your pupils dilate. Slowly, deliberately, you slide your hand against his when you give up the sweet treat. His arm spasms in the most subtle way possible as your connecting skin tingles, and your eyes hone in on it as you pull away with surprise, suddenly flummoxed with a thousand, wretched thoughts.

Is he strong? Is he weak? Is he scared of me? Am I ugly? Is he touch averted? Is he uncomfortable?

Does he not want me?

You ignore them all. You don't know his story. Everything is okay. You'll love him properly when he lets you.

"Calm yourself, foolish girl."

You tune in on your shinigami's scathing words and try to calm down.

You creepily observe as the stranger studies the wrapper of the chocolate, turning it over constantly and severing his eyes on every crinkle and color. He eventually opens it with a silent dexterity, completely removing the item of interest with his index and thumb. He tilts his head, raising it above eye level to inspect it in the light, searching for... what, you don't know. But you say nothing, seeking to understand with just what you can see.

He must have trust issues. He must have been hurt before.

You'll never hurt him. Not on purpose. You're just not made to be that way.

He doesn't put it in his mouth. He lowers it and looks at you instead, assessing.

You can't help the trembling smile that sprouts on your face. People are looking at both of you now. You don't care. "That's um. Dark chocolate. Do you like dark chocolate? I uh, I, uh, I can switch it, you know," You whisper enthusiastically, leaning back with a gesture at your skirt. He looks down at your revealing stash, exposed with a firm pull of the fabric of your jeans.

You continue talking. "I have... milk chocolate. The um, white chocolate and, and... Ruby chocolate. Yum, right?" You giggle nervously, feeling like you might choke and die. He's looking at you so intensely now, and you can't talk. It's so much. "Buh...buh—bittersweet choc...late too...! and. And couu...verture? chocolate," You take in a shaky breath to try and compose yourself, "Caramel chocolate too, if you wan...t? I'll give you any, of your preference, or multiple. I have a lot. I can make a lot," You nod to yourself furiously, feeling dizzy.

He doesn't say anything.

You sweat, staring at him with wide eyes. "Do you... want more?" You ask, desperate.

Please say yes. Please.

He stares at you. A long time. Too long.

Because you see in your periphery the staff in charge of passing out the tests coming in just as the room collectively silences.

He never answers you. He eats the chocolate you gave him without you ever looking—at least, you think so. There's no smudge on his bony fingers or his face to indicate he ever held a chocolate in the first place. He must be so cold. Holding chocolate for a long time like that causes it to begin melting because of body heat. But he doesn't have that in his hands. Did he lick them clean? Oh, you're going to cry later for missing such an amazing opportunity. You hope he liked the chocolate.

He's stopped looking at you.

Stopped, entirely, giving you his attention.

You force yourself to look at your desk with an audible swallow, scratching at the peeling skin around one of your nails.

You should ask for his number. But that's too forward, isn't it? You haven't spoken with him not even a full, engaging conversation.

They're passing the tests. Front row. Middle row. Second Middle row. Your row...

Rune places her haunting face right in front of yours when you subtly move your body to face the hot guy. "Do not be stupid," She warns.

You turn your head away. Nobody is looking. The tests are passed. You hold them in your hand, and you must give them to him.

You turn.

"Hello," You start without thought, blurting the first sentence that comes to mind in a desperate scramble, "May I have your number?"

You hand over the stack of tests. He takes them carefully, stock still. He doesn't look at you once.

You look away.

Your entire face is burning.

Please give me your number. Please, please.

It'll be so embarrassing otherwise. Worse, heartbreaking, because then you'll know he doesn't like you at all.

You'll be fine. But. This is the first guy that looks hot, ever, to you, in a long time. This'll be a missed opportunity otherwise.

"My name... is," You introduce yourself, "And... I thought you were very," You blink and take a breath as you ramble on like a complete moron, looking at him wantingly. He's gazing at you with slightly wider eyes than before. Your voice goes breathless. "...very cute. I'd... love to have your number and talk and..." You trail off when your shinigami gets in front of you again.

Her wide, jagged eyes promise pain of the chocolate kind. She will force you to make dozens and dozens and dozens of chocolates again. If you don't shut the fuck up.

Your hands begin to ache and you angle your body to properly face forward. One of the staff testers next to the door is already looking at you with deep contempt.

You keep her stare, sharp nails scratching at the surface with irritation.

Should you curse this test for being what it is, or feel thankful that through it you were able to meet the guy of your dreams?

"Focus," Rune hisses.

The pencils are removed from their entrapment of rubber and passed down next. When they reach your row, you turn fully to give them to the guy of your dreams. You sneak a chocolate in too, because you honestly cannot help it, just to pause in confusion when he takes both and leaves something in your hand.

A white paper card.

Your heart beats quickly. You don't get to see if it's entirely blank or not.

You quickly hide it in your pocket, looking around to see if anyone saw it.

Nobody is looking. Not even the contemptuous tester remaining at the door to glare at others.

You won't be able to focus.

"Do not fail," Rune threatens.

You pick up your pencil when they set up the timer.

It goes off.

I won't, you pray, and begin your test.

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You're so engaged in your test that you almost miss it when your cute guy sets his pencil down. It is far too quick, thirty minutes in, for him to be finished. And yet your hidden glance confirms what you saw: sitting silently, biting at his nail, with a closed test packet and a used pencil sitting on top of it, slanted enough that the lead tip swipes a minuscule line by his name.

Hideki Ryuga.

You smile to yourself.

So fitting, you think, to have a similar name to the handsome pop star.

He must be so smart.

"Work," Rune admonishes.

You try to finish your test faster.

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After another grueling twenty-seven minutes, you complete your laborious test. The estimated total is an hour for time, so you have three minutes to spare for a quick skim of your answers to see if you missed any. You do so with gusto, trying not to swipe peeks at the guy next to you, your heart vibrating with an expected action that you are doing your best to suppress.

As much as you love making chocolate, you don't want to go through Rune's punishment again. So. It's best you do what you came here to do.

You notice some blanks. Very few.

You remain stumped, but you color in your answer choices anyway. Leaving a question blank will mark your test incomplete, and it won't be processed.

When you finish changing your answer to your last question, the testers step forward and announce the time.

You put everything down.

"Pass your tests forward, please," One of the testers declares, so you do. You grab onto the ones from the back as well, silently moving them forward. When the last of the tests are collected, they make a head count and test count before affirming that everyone is free to go. You wait, looking through your bangs for another peek at your cute guy, but he's no longer in his chair.

What?

You scramble to look around, lost until you spot him.

You relax.

He's behind a taller student with brown hair and in front of a girl with short black hair, among the long line of people exiting.

You hope you see him again.

As you watch him leave with dreamy eyes, you let out a wistful sigh.

"Rune?" You call in a hushed whisper.

The room is nearly empty.

Her floating, red form leans closer. "Yes, girl?"

You twist and pull at your fingers and rings. Your joints make a satisfying pop. "What... what's his name?"

Silence.

Then, "It is not Hideki Ryuga, that much I can tell you."

Your lips part.

He hadn't put down his real name.

You stand slowly, feeling off.

He's not what he appears to be.

You grab the now bent, white card and lift it to check with a heavy heart.

A phone number.

Your heart leaps.

You bite your lips. Your lipstick is surely smudged onto the whites of your teeth.

"I shouldn't," You tell Rune.

Rune gives a disapproving sniff but ultimately says nothing to contradict you.

I should, you think, and walk out. You ignore the weird stares searing your back and twist your head about, searching for him with the intention to follow and figure out more about him. Does he have a car? Can he drive? Does he live with his parents? Is he rich in disguise?

Is he real?

He's nowhere to be found.

The hall is cold.

You exhale with defeat.

"...Do you want peaches, Rune?" You murmur, heading to the left and toward the direction of the parking lot. To your car.

"That should not be a question," Rune replies, and the eager quirk of her voice makes you smile slightly.

You'll go and buy peaches, now.

Chapter 2: LG Chocolate

Summary:

A new ally enters the scene!

Notes:

omg so sorry for the LONG ASS wait holy shit. i got soo distracted by other projects and life that I completely forgot abt this fic my fault. whoops.

SO HAPPY PEOPLE LIKE IT HAHAHA WOW!!!

Reader was inspired by the song "Enjoy the Silence" by Depeche Mode.

TW: Stalking, Obsessive Behavior, Mentioned Brief Sexual Harassment, etc.

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"Voice so profound, lather your tone with sin."

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Chapter 2

LG Chocolate

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Trying to find 'Hideki Ryuga' through the CCTV cameras proves nearly impossible.

Following your initial encounter, you had enticed Rune with her cherished obsession for peaches, hoping she would seek out any indication of Hideki Ryuga's whereabouts or, ideally, his residence. Regrettably, she returned with nothing substantial, save for one detail: Ryuga's disheveled head of hair as he walked away and entered a black car, which then drove west along Onitabi-Dori Avenue before vanishing completely.

After that, there's nothing.

Nothing, nothing, nothing, and you nearly tear your skin off your face in sheer frustration about it. A week passes by where you extensively spend dangerous hours of the day and night trying to get further information about his findings—walking in the same direction his car went to see if you spot the same black car parked around, asking locals if they've seen him, and even using Rune to steal off tapes from offices of any spare cameras lying about, hanging on storefronts or much else.

The most you get is that Hideki Ryuga had gone in the same direction for a while.

You try searching online as well, but this only worsens your frustrations; rather than the dark-haired hottie you expect to see, you're flashed by the piss-poor actor and his stupid smile.

So, in conclusion: he's good at hiding and must live very far.

Somehow, knowing that he's thrown you off so well makes you like him even more. It only proves he's smart! The windows of his ride are tinted, meaning nobody can see him or the driver. He doesn't have a license plate either, so looking into it is fruitless. You can't even look at the model of the car because you don't know what brand it's from. It's too old. It's a shame you hadn't gotten a good look at the tires of his cars, though, because the attention to detail and density could've proved useful for tracks. Except you're sure that the driver is an excellent one, so any sudden turns won't chafe the roads whatsoever.

So you're left stumped with just his number.

A number that you're anxiously inputting into your flip phone now, with a disapproving Rune hanging off your back.

"And if he does not answer?" She prompts, causing you to bite your lip in doubt.

"Then he won't answer," You attempt to shrug off, though your nonchalant display doesn't convince Rune. You're shaking harder than your pet cat Chishio after her first bath when she'd gotten into the mud after running outside like an idiot during the rain. Hideki Ryuga has to answer you. You won't know what to do if he doesn't answer you.

Your thumb hovers over the call button, trembling with hesitation. Rune isn't helping at all, keeping her haunting face as close to yours as possible, as if daring you to press it. You're supposed to be prepping for To-Oh. But here you are, anxiously pacing back and forth in the darkness of your room, with your Shinigami sneering at you and Hideki's number waiting to be dialed on your phone.

"Clean your room, girl. Forget that man."

"I know, I know, I should," You mumble, running a hand down your face. You'd forgone cleaning your room since meeting Hideki, too obsessed with finding him again. But you and Rune both know that you won't clean your room until you get a confirming answer. Either Hideki picks up and you're happy forever, or he declines your call and you enter a depressive episode. Or he picks up and wants nothing to do with you, so you have to die, or something. Or he gave you the wrong number because he pitied you so that means you never had a chance, and now you have to live with that rejection until you heal from it because you're pathetic and—

"Either call or don't, but my patience is thinning," Rune hisses into your ear.

You blink at her in slight surprise. "So you are interested in whether he'll answer, huh?" You joke, offering your shinigami a nervous smile.

She just stares at you condemningly.

You swallow, turning to the phone.

He either answers or he doesn't, you assure yourself helplessly.

Your thumb touches the call button, but not hard enough for the command to process. You lay it there, doubting, overthinking, heart racing, and vision spinning.

Do I do it?

Do I?

"Fuck it," you mutter, pressing the call button quickly and shoving your phone into your ear.

It rings for a while. Too long, nearly, that you have to move around. Rune thankfully keeps away, merely following you with her red eyes, keeping you in check the only way she knows how. She's seen worse reactions than the one you're having right now, but you've reminded her to keep you oriented no matter the intensity. It's easy for you to lose track.

I'm not going to lose track, you argue anyway, but it's a faint reassurance.

At last, after several agonizing buzzes rattling your ear, the line fuzzes in.

Your heart races with anticipation as you prepare to exhale a breath of joy, intent on producing an enthusiastic greeting, only for it to sink into the depths of your stomach moments later.

You had not previously heard Hideki speak. So there's no telling what he may sound like, but it won't matter, you think. As long as you hear his voice, nothing else will ever matter. But. Rather than the voice of a young man like you expected, an older man's voice responds on the other end of the line. "Good afternoon, Miss Chocolatier. It's a pleasure to hear back from you. Do you have Mr. Ryuga's promised chocolates?"

Hearing the elder's voice wasn't the problem. In fact, it's quite soothing.

The problem is that Hideki isn't who answered.

Hideki isn't who answered you.

You freeze, skin prickling and blood clotting in ice-like needles, clenching your cellular device in a white-knuckled grip.

How?

How had he known it was you?

Foolishly, you let slip out in a befuddled croak, "You... you know me?"

The elder, presumably Hideki's employee to some degree—you don't know—replies swiftly. "Mr. Ryuga has brought you to my attention. Your confectionery abilities have left a significant impression on him. I was told to expect a call from you."

You don't process much of what he's saying.

One thing stands out the most: Hideki spoke about you.

He thought about you.

He waited for you.

Your hand begins to shake, and your legs grow weak. The man goes silent on the other side, waiting for your response, but you're not sure you can give him one. You know exactly what to say to take advantage of this situation now that it's been given to you as an act of providence, but the words forming in your larynx desist. Nothing wants to come out. Your tongue is in knots, your throat is jammed with shock, and your brain is held in limbo. You look at Rune helplessly, mouth parted in a bewildered smile, screaming at her with your eyes for some form of help.

She doesn't budge.

Rune stares you down mercilessly, resolutely keeping quiet. Her face screams, 'You reap what you sow'.

Her image sobers you almost instantly.

Focus, you think to yourself harshly.

You breathe in shakily, looking away from her and onto the empty darkness of your computer screen. "I—of course," Your reflection creates a smile on your face that twists into something opportunistic, unintentional in your dilemma. You curl a strand of your hair in deep thought. "I'm glad Mr. Ryuga liked my chocolates. I'll bring him a box of every kind, to see what takes his fancy or not."

"Very well," The man responds, "I'll inform him of that now. Thank you for your time."

Before you can create a time and a place, the line cuts.

You pull your phone away from you, staring at it incredulously. What the hell was that?

You swerve to Rune, "Rune."

"No," She hisses.

Your bottom lip wobbles. You can't do this without her!

"No," She says, slower this time, and much closer to you. She looks cynical.

You let out a shaky breath. "I need this. He's—well, I wouldn't say the love of my life. But. He's cute! And he's smart! That means he has some value to my social aptitude—"

"You have enough of that," Rune snaps.

You sag in defeat. Trying to convince her that he'd be a good influence on you doesn't work anymore. You're too old for that now.

You turn around and face your calendar, counting the time with a hopelessness so profound you nearly collapse on yourself.

"Dramatic," Rune comments needlessly. You pointedly ignore her.

There's no chance he'll show up the next day. Or the day after that. Or in fact, at all, if the old man answered. He seems to be his main supplier for things, a helper of a sort. You will not be meeting Hideki Ryuga anytime soon. The realization makes you want to kill yourself out of sheer frustration and helpless greed just to see him. Just once! A peek! Fucking something!

But.

You pause, working your clenched jaw. Your manicured fingers tap against the glass of your phone, thinking, and thinking. There's an event Rune forced you to mark throughout this whole dilemma. Something, something, you can't recall, exactly.

You walk to the calendar above your chocolate machine and lift several flaps.

Your eyes skim—there!

April 5th.

Orientation. An acceptance and welcoming of the students who passed.

You bite your tongue hard enough to draw blood. You swirl the taste of copper around in deep thought.

Hideki Ryuga has to be there, right? He was there for the exams. Why wouldn't he be there for the welcoming of students?

A thrill saunters up your spine.

This is good. This is more than enough time. You'll have everything he wants ready. And then, maybe then, you'll see him, and he'll look at you the way he did the very first time, and then he'll talk to you, accept your gifts, and—!

You let out a breathless laugh. "I'm going to stock up on so many products," You whisper to yourself reverently, digging the sharp edges of your nails into the glossy paper.

"And peaches," Rune rumbles.

"And peaches," You add as an afterthought, side-eyeing Rune.

Rune seems pleased.

You pull away.

Time to work.

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[. . .]

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A month passes you by.

It's a relatively short one, you feel, though you blame the rapid passage of time because of your intense, erratic focus on gathering the best quality items you need to make Ryuga's precious chocolates. You understand you're making the project more tedious than it needs to be, but you don't care. Ryuga deserves the best, not because of who he is, but because you want to give him the best. It's at least been a good distraction to stifle your urges to seek him out.

Rune mistakes your efforts for a useless obsession. Which, untrue! You're not obsessed. You just. Like him, that's all. He's a pretty guy, and pretty guys are a rarity here in Japan. Most of them are creeps. But Ryuga is the creepiest, and yet he had merely accepted your little, lacking chocolate!

You chuckle to yourself, the sound a quiet ripple in the stillness of the sidewalk. A few passersby glance your way with sharp, sidelong looks that flicker and fade. You're used to it. You've never dressed for the comfort of others, least of all Japan's rigid sense of propriety. Your style leans toward the gothic, laced with a coquettish defiance that draws attention like moths to a flame. Most stares pass harmlessly. Some, typically from men who don't understand boundaries, stray too close. Fortunately, Rune has a fondness for fractured bones, so things tend to work out just fine.

Anyway.

You're something of an open secret in the neighborhood, perceived as a paranormal oddity people have learned to ignore, or perhaps endure, only because you keep your distance. Your mother's lineage is gone now, erased by time or fate. You'll never know if they'd have embraced who you've become. Rune insists they would have. She says your nature—the strangeness, the gifts—are not new, but ancient, handed down through blood like whispered incantations. It's your father's side that recoils. To them, you're something monstrous. Rune doesn't argue with that perception. She simply calls them cowards for mistaking inheritance for heresy.

Speaking of which...

Your eyes stray past the signs overhead and catch onto an article of clothing that immediately piques your fancy. Without thought, you head toward it with Rune's protective presence looming behind you in slight reproach for your derailment of direction. You're supposed to go into the grocery store today and buy some peaches, both for your Shinigami and your Ryuga project.

She technically can't tell you anything. It just so happens that the fabric shining in your eyes is inside the store, just at the precipice of the fruit aisle!

Your eyes linger approvingly on the black, expensive lace lining the edges of a tightly-fitting dress, and the slither of well-lengthened legs adorned in swirls of thigh-high stockings held onto by a leather garter you have at home. Your eyes trail, catch, and admire respectfully, landing on a head of blonde hair that seems to be murmuring to nobody in particular.

In her hand is a juicy, crimson apple.

"I love your outfit!" You blurt, dripping with sincerity.

The girl startles a bit and turns around, looking around for half a second in confusion before locking eyes with you. "Huh?"

You point to her dress, "Your dress is made out of lace and satin, right? Or velvet? I love it!"

She blinks at you slightly, as if assessing you for a moment before her face brightens completely. Her large, doe brown eyes spark to life, causing your smile to widen without consent. "Oh, oh, thank you so much!" Her voice is a shrill, dainty thing. She looks down at your outfit, likely passing judgment, but her eyes are full of warmth when she continues with, "And I love your chiffon blouse! And, and your skirt is so pretty!?" She leans down with a parted mouth in profound wonder, reaching boldly to pull at the ribbons hanging off your corset. "So a good touch! You're like the first person I met who doesn't dress ugly," she laughs, straightening with crinkles at the edges of her eyes.

You have no idea what she means by that last comment, but you'll take it as a compliment.

She is correct in her assessment; you'd gone out in a sheer black chiffon blouse, subtly ruffled at the cuffs and neckline, with lace detailing along the collarbone and a tiny satin bow at the throat. The sleeves are long and slightly puffed at the shoulder, tapering into fitted lace cuffs you'd found irresistible the first time you took a look at it on the storefront. It's buttoned with vintage-style pearl buttons—delicate, but with a touch of eerie charm.

It'd been a top chosen by Rune herself, as her approval meant she could tolerate your choice of leg-wear—a dark-washed, high-waisted denim mini skirt, fitted but flaring ever so slightly at the hem to create a playful silhouette. Frayed edges add a rebellious edge that you'd bought to accentuate your hips, hoping that the ribbon corset lacing on the sides offered a romantic Gothic touch. You'd forgone going with your usual converse today, and instead chose your favored, black leather knee-high boots with chunky platform soles and silver buckles up the sides. The boots lace up the front with satin ribbon, blending the edgy with the feminine.

You accessorized with a lace choker bearing a delicate silver cross, layered silver rings set with onyx and garnet, fishnet tights peeking from beneath your skirt, a faux leather heart-shaped handbag swinging from a chain strap, and just a touch of soft pink lip tint to complete the coquette edge of your Gothic look.

It took you a total of two hours to get ready just for a simple grocery trip, and that doesn't include the hour-long everything bath you took beforehand.

Your father can say it's over the top all he wants. You don't give a shit what he thinks anymore. What matters is that you look good in it. That you feel good in it. The Gods you worship approve, too! Their candles had been flickering like crazy when you turned them on today at their altar.

Rune holds no strong opinion of them, but when she drifts near, their flames tend to quiet—something she claims is a stabilization of energy, though you've yet to verify that. She did, however, cut funding to your beloved research a few days ago, after catching you mid-ritual, attempting to lace a love spell around Ryuga. Pah. It's not like it was one! It was a sweetening spell! And perhaps, maybe, sort of a glamour spell to enhance your beauty, but she doesn't have to know that.

"Where'd you buy your chains? They look like real silver, I love them! All the ones I've bought are so cheap," The blonde suddenly interjects with a pout through your moody scoping, prompting you to blink back into reality.

"Oh," You smile easily, "The store's down the street from my place! I can take you there, after I'm done getting what I need from here, I mean," You tell her kindly, hoping you can hide your loneliness behind the warmth you desire to portray in your orbs of truth.

She gasps, squirming giddily. "What, really!? You'd do that?"

"Yeah!" You grin, feeling your heart soar. Is this it? Is this where you finally make a friend, after years of rejection and loss!?

As if the Shinigami is reading your mind, Rune gladly inputs, "She is a wise choice. She keeps pleasant company."

The unexpected approval elicits a laugh of relief past your lips.

"Let's hurry, then!" The blonde squeals, pulling you to her, toward the apples of Eden. "By the way, totally rude of me, but my name's Misa Misa! Not sure if you've heard of me or whatnot," She flicks her wrist, bracelets clinking together as she peeks at you with a gleeful smile as she abruptly stops, "but who hasn't?"

You don't say that you haven't.

"Someone pretty like you knows, I know it! That's why I think we should be friends. What's your name?" She asks and begins to pull you toward the peach section, glancing sideways toward an empty spot next to her.

You find this odd. Perhaps it's the universe aligning thoughts together, for her to know you were specifically going for peaches, or it's something else involved. Something else nags at you so fully. But you pay no mind to it. Rune is as calm as ever, not as close, hanging back to let you shine, for once.

Nonetheless. Her words are very odd, indeed.

You hum and tell her your name.

Her eyes curl mischievously.

"Something tells me we'll be the best of friends!"

Notes:

Do you guys really think L would give up his phone just like that!? That man is more occult than the occultist herself!

anyway yeah ik ik the LG chocolate phone came out 2006 but idgaf I'm tweakin real life events to fit for my choco obsession

and yes, Reader does have a certain appointed fashion choice, but her features will remain vague! And as mentioned she is a baby witch, so yeah.

--

meanwhile L in the first chapter: mm. chocolate.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 6 of Bewitched and Befallen, Home To You