Chapter Text
You flip the page of your textbook as you're sitting on the hardwood floor next to your best friend, Linda. Colorful leaves are falling down the trees, as you're studying inside the cozy library, hidden away between shelves. The floor is covered in handwritten notes in messy handwriting, which indicate only one thing: autumn has finally arrived, and with it the dreaded exam season that only ended right in time for Christmas and the first fall of snow. The cold is slowly creeping inside the building, and your hands are almost as cold as ice. Rubbing your hands together, you try to refocus on the sheets in front of you. Everything is quiet. The only things you can hear are the clicking of pens and people silently whispering their freshly acquired knowledge to themselves, making sure not to forget anything.
Wammy's house has only a handful of students, still, the library is packed with all knowledge-thirsty students, fighting for the top spot in the class rankings. Luckily, Linda and you have your own secret comfort place to study, between the politics section and the biography section, which rarely anyone goes to.
Wammy's house, a perfect facade of brilliance and intellect. Here, young orphans are raised to be the successor of the world's greatest detective, L. Known for his capability to even solve the most intricate cases, which even government detectives lose their minds over. He is a faceless phenomenon, everyone in this orphanage looks up to him. Being on top here means that the chances to follow in his footsteps are almost as good as secured.
Nevertheless, the reality of this so-called' honor ' consists of burned-out students, short-lived friendships forced apart by academic rivalry, and overall a pretty grim outlook on life. Being confronted with the atrocities committed by humankind at a young age shattered every leftover illusion that only childhood could provide. Most of the children living here have lost their parents, so their only purpose is competing in this unofficial race. Some knew that their outlook on their future will not entail working as, or for, L.
However, if you're lucky, you could still find the one thing that fulfills you, something to look forward to. Friendships are scarce, but luckily, you've managed to find the best of friends.
It has now been seven years since you moved into Wammy's house. Each year, you come to accept it more as your home. Not that you could've called your parents' house a home anyway. The day that changed your life — forever ingrained inside of your brain.
✬Flashback: seven years ago✬
[♫Play: forwards beckon rebound by Adrianne Lenker♫]
You only vividly recall the times your dad was home. Dressed in your favorite T-shirt, the printed flowers now barely visible. Since your father left, your mom has fallen into a deep depression. He never officially moved out, but piecing together the bits and pieces of phone conversations, you were smart enough to understand — he had another girlfriend. Your mom spent all day in bed, sleeping. She barely got up to eat or use the bathroom. At nine years old, you had been responsible for every task under the sun. Washing laundry, cleaning, and feeding yourself.
This whole thing had been going on for over nine months. Today is the day everything changes.
Waking up, you look around your room. The floor is covered in old laundry and toys. Picking up your flower print shirt, you realize this is going to be one of those embarrassing school days when you'll have to explain to your teacher that the washing machine stopped working again. However, that's only half true. Truthfully, your landlord cut the water and electricity supply since your dad stopped paying for it, and your mom has been in a frozen state of mental agony.
Lying, one of the things you hate the most. Somehow, you knew that telling the truth would lead to a bad outcome.
Getting up from your mattress, you step over the mess piling on the floor. Reaching your parents' former room, you carefully open the door, the darkness inside almost threatening. It reeks of old sweat, dirty laundry, and molding food. Your eyes adjust to the darkness, you can make out your mother's silhouette. Almost lifeless, lying there, breathing so flat you aren't sure at first if she's even breathing at all.
This thought consumes you. The one day you learned in school that a human being can only starve for so long until their heart gives out, solidified your fear. All your attempts to bring your mom microwaved food or sandwiches you stole out of your classmates' lunchboxes,have failed. When was the last time she ate? It all comes back to that one fear.
Entering her room always makes your mood shift, as if all her negative energy enters through your pores, infiltrating your bloodstream, sneaking its way to your heart. Clenching it. Squeezing it. Still, you try to be the best daughter you can be. Faking a well-trained smile, the kind of smile that never reaches your eyes, you slowly make your way to the bed.
Jumping on the bed, you attempt to make your mom smile. "Mommy? Are you awake yet? I'm wearing the shirt you told me I looked beautiful in! See?" You stretch out the fabric, holding it close to the side of her face. Nothing. What did you expect?
Growing impatient, you forcefully press down on her bony shoulder to make her look right up at you. You stare into her expressionless eyes. "See?" you repeat. She slowly starts scanning you up and down. "That's beautiful, sweetheart," she finally whispers. Forcing a weak smile.
Unsatisfied with her response, you shake her body a little harder this time and try to snuggle into her as you once did before everything went downhill. Her once comforting perfume, which you loved to inhale, which made you feel at home and safe every time you felt like crying, is now faint. Barely any trace left of the once comforting feeling. Suddenly, she pushes you to the side, probably with more force than intended. You fall sideways from her torso. Perplexed by her action, you roll over to sit up, looking down at her. Her gaze does not meet yours. She stares up at the ceiling, and a single teardrop emerges from the corner of her eyes. Her nails digging into the soft mattress.
"I'm sorry," you shakily say, now close to tears. This is the moment you realize your mother, once so full of life and joy, is gone. Replaced by a melancholic, apathetic version of herself. You don't recognize her at all. The once rosy lips, chapped. The once round face, now completely sunken in. Her eyes —your eyes—are now completely hollow. People used to tell you that you resembled your mom so much, her y/hc luscious hair, her kind face, your y/ec eyes. Back then, you swore you could see it every night before bed, every morning before school, looking into the mirror while she gently brushed your hair. The routine you wished back for with every fiber of your being. Her soft hands placing little clips in your hair, gently kissing your head before telling you her work was done. Holding you tight while both of you smiled at your reflection. But now... she couldn't look more different.
As a kid, you have moments where you feel like the world is falling apart, when you fall and your knee starts bleeding, when you're sick and you feel like the cough is never-ending, when your first friend goes on to find other friends. But nothing could've prepared you for the moment when you lose your beloved mother —seeing her wither away like this, not dead but not alive either. Insurmountable heartbreak —grief, you'll spend your entire life getting over.
Defeated, you get up, holding back tears, since no one is here to dry them. Maybe no one will ever be able to. With trembling hands, you grab your backpack, silently humming to yourself, the melody your mother had taught you, humming it to you every time you couldn't sleep. Walking out the door that day feels different. Not being able to put your finger on why the pit forms in your stomach, you take one last look back. Trying to remember how the morning light entered through the tiny holes in the drapes, the smell of long-burned-down candles, and your favorite spot on the couch. With a heavy heart, you turn around, closing the door on your mom forever — on your entire childhood.
As predicted, your teacher asks about your clothing. You just shake your head, not even able to meet her eyes, and you don't want to say anything. Reluctantly, she lets you off. Still, throughout the entire day, you constantly feel a pair of eyes on you
Before the bell rings to go home, she kneels down in front of your table, looking at you with compassionate eyes. "Y/N, please stay here after the bell rings."
Cheeks growing hot, you start to fidget with the pen you're still holding in your hand. "Am I in some sort of trouble?"
"No, no, no dear," she chuckles kindly, "you will see, everything is going to be alright." Her eyes linger on you, trying to get a response out of you.
Not able to hold her gaze, you look up at the clock. Only 2 minutes left.
"Alright, I'll see you after class," She gets back up, cautiously looking left and right, before walking back to the teacher's desk.
Unable to focus now, you start bouncing your leg. Is it about the shirt? you think to yourself. Taking a deep breath in, you try to ignore the thudding of your heart, so loud that it drowns out all the other noises.
The bell rings, and with all the students happily swarming out of the classroom, a man and a woman make their way through the doorframe. Making sure every last student has left the classroom, the young man closes the door while the elderly woman eagerly talks to you teacher.
Realizing she and the teacher made their way over to you, you freeze in place, eyes widening. Grabbing two chairs, they sit down in front of you, with only the table between you. The man remains standing near the door. As you helplessly glance at him, he just smiles and kindly waves at you.
"Hey Y/N," the woman starts to speak," your teacher already told me all about you. You're an exceptional student." She tries to shake your hand; however, you are too startled to move even an inch, like a deer caught in headlights. "Oh, and my name, of course!" She kindly smiled, ignoring the fact that you didn't greet her, "I'm Ms. Garner, but you can call me Elle! And this is Mr. Pine, but you can call him Christopher!" Her hand gestures to the door.
✬Flashback ends✬
These two people, your saviors, you didn't know you needed, explained to you that they were here to ensure the best for you. Telling you that they had been informed, from multiple sources, that your mother might not be able to take proper care of you. At first, you tried to lie about the situation, but it was to no avail. Child protective services had already been alerted. Sadly, when they entered your house, after multiple attempts to get your mother to open the door, they found her in a state you were unfortunate to have already seen. An ambulance had been called immediately, and as far as they were concerned, they told you, she had been referred to a psychiatric ward.
No goodbye, no last conversation. Nothing. They took her away from you, even deep down, you knew it was for the better. Still, you were a nine-year-old without any parental figure.
Eventually, your mother was found unfit by a psychiatrist to take care of a little kid. Since your father had moved on to another family, he didn't want to claim you as his own. No family members were left. They told you it may be necessary to permanently move you to an orphanage. Having no other choice, you stayed. Until they told you an Englishman named Watari had applied for your legal guardianship. At first, you expected it to be some family that had been dying to have a child. Turns out, he had been watching different orphanages all across the world, searching new young geniuses.
So you moved in here —Wammy's house.
Ever since you lived here, you've done your best to score high in exams and any kind of test to determine your ranking. The only hope you clung to was the slim chance to become the number one successor. All your dreams died with your stolen childhood. So what's the point of anything? The only thing you had left —the only hope. Everything changed when a younger kid named Near moved in. What had only been a competition between you and your classmate Mello turned into a rivalry between just the two of them.
Ranked in third place, hardly anyone paid any attention to you. Still, giving up was never an option. You had been deemed "too introverted", too "in your head", never sharing your thoughts. Too observant instead of active.
"You wanna go get some snacks?" Linda's voice interrupts your thoughts, "Seriously, I can't focus when I'm hungry."
You look down at your notes, realizing you haven't been able to memorize anything. "Yeah," you say softly, your stomach twisting at the thought.
Linda smiles, getting up to her feet, she tugs on your sleeve. "Then let's go, before they're out of the good stuff again."
Reluctantly, you follow her through the bookshelves, noticing the others on your way out. Studying with visible eye bags under their eyes. Nobody here really sleeps; they just power down for a couple of hours. Taking one last look back at the falling leaves, you exit the library.
[♫Play: haunt me (x 3) by Teen Suicide♫]
Walking through the halls still has an eerie feeling to it, that one spot on the wall, painted in a glaring white, completely different from the rest. Most of the house hasn't been repainted since the 70's, making it more obvious that blood once had been splattered all around it. The faint outline of the removed chandelier is still visible. No one dares to talk about it; everything was swept under the rug. Life here went on—children fainting from exhaustion, no adult person they could turn to.
The steps feel heavier than usual, echoing off the floor too loudly for your comfort. Even after almost a year, you find yourself slowing down when you pass that wall. The new paint didn't hide anything; in fact, it made it worse, forever trapping that feeling underneath it. Everyone can feel it, smell it, the smell of iron that clung to the air for weeks. A's name only whispered between the children when they thought nobody would be around to hear it.
"I know what you're thinking," Linda says quietly, "I feel the same way."
You nod, walking toward the hallway until it opens into the vending machine area. The space is dimly lit, the single light-bulb above flickering. Mello and Matt are already there. Matt leaning against the wall, lazily opening a bag of chips. Mello stands beside him, half-eaten chocolate bar in hand. He breaks off a piece —but the second you enter his sight, his movements freeze.
Silence. Only the silent hum of the vending machine filling the room. Your eyes met.
The world slows down, drowning out the noise of Linda's voice. Static hangs in the air, invisible, unspoken, but impossible to deny. His blue eyes widen, his usual smirk slowly dissolving as if he forgot how to be himself. The reflection in his eyes, glistening like the sunlight kisses the ocean.
"Dude," Matt's voice cuts through the silence, "Whatever." He shakes his head with a mouth full of chips.
No answer. Mello slowly blinks, tearing his gaze away. The chocolate slips between his fingers, hitting the floor with a thud, making you flinch.
Linda is crouching next to the vending machine, slipping coins into the slot. "You want anything?" she asks.
You slowly shake your head, still half-paralyzed by the brief interaction. Through your peripheral vision, you see him bend down to pick up the half-eaten chocolate bar, Matt smiling in amusement.
"Thank god, they restocked the Taz Bars," Linda smiles, dialing the number of her favorite snack on the silver keypad. Eagerly, she grabs the snack from the tray, "If you don't want anything, we can go back now." Already unwrapping the chocolate, she gets up, steering towards the hallway.
Starstruck, you follow her, still feeling lightheaded from the earlier interaction, or maybe just from the fact that you haven't eaten yet. Walking out of the vending area, you stand still for a second, turning your head toward the two boys, still clued to the side of the vending machine. Matt, who has almost completely inhaled his chips, and Mello, standing tall with his usual arrogant smirk, rolling his eyes at Matt. Did you just imagine the whole thing? His attitude seems the same as always, no glimpse of tender humanity left on his face.
Taking a deep breath in, you continue to walking back to the library with Linda. Eyes fixed on the floor, not wanting to look at that wall again. Back inside the library, the air feels thicker, heavier than when the two of you left it minutes ago.
"Hey, I don't feel like studying anymore," you say, instead of sitting down next to your friend on the floor.
Turning her head, she looks out the window. The rain has stopped, colored leaves swirling, falling toward the damp ground, the sky covered in clouds. "Doesn't look like it's raining anymore." Crumpling the leftover Taz Bar wrapper in her hand, she closes the books on the floor, messily throwing the loose sheets in between the pages. "Let's go outside, I have something cool I wanna show you."
"Alright, let me help you." Scrambling your textbooks and notes together, that uneasy, exposed feeling from earlier finally begins to fade.
"Okay, let me take this," Linda says, stacking your study material on top of hers. "I'll drop this off in our room and grab us something warmer for outside," she smirks. "Wait right here."
Impatiently, you watch Linda disappear into the hallway. Now that she's gone, the heaviness in the air returns, and the ticking of the library clock becomes impossibly loud. Distraction, you need something to do while waiting.
Walking along the bookshelves, tracing your fingers along the book spines, you spot a familiar white silhouette.
Near sits by the window, focused on an unnaturally neat card-house. "Hey, that looks neat. How do you prevent them from falling?" You ask before you can think if you even want to start a conversation with him. He's always been the student who rarely talks to anyone, every interaction short and to the point. You set yourself up with this one.
His back still turned to you, he begins to speak. "Sometimes they fall, but that just means you lost. And then you rebuild."
You furrow your eyebrows at his response, watching him add another pair of cards on top of the others.
"If you stop rebuilding, you lose," he says in a soft voice, monotone, barely above a whisper.
Smacking your lips, accepting you're not going to get anything more out of this conversation, you turn around. "Alrighty, it was ... nice talking to you," you say, half polite, half sarcastic.
Returning to your old spot, you shake your head. This kid is impossible to talk to, no wonder Mello's always pissed off at him. Finally, Linda comes through the door, stretching her arm toward you with your hoodie in hand.
"Here, sorry it took so long, I had to go look for the thing I wanted to show you. You ready?" She asks, gaze flickering over your shoulder. "Don't tell me you tried to talk to Near?" she quietly laughed. "I didn't expect you to miss me that quickly," She nudges your shoulder. "Come on, let's go out."
Hoodie in hand, you follow her to the hallway's dead end. "Linda?" You bite the inside of your cheek, "The door is that way!" you point behind you.
"Chill, we can't go through the main entrance, follow me through the window," her eyes sparkling with mischief.
Raising an eyebrow, a smirk sneaks its way onto your lips. "Oh, feeling rebellious, aren't we? Don't tell me you stole cigarettes again." Playfully, you tilt your head.
With fake puppy-dog eyes, Linda opens the window and swings one leg over the frame. "What? Me? Never!" dramatically shaking her head.
You follow after her. Giggling in the process of escaping through the first-floor window. Landing softly on the grass, you look around, carefully leaning the window shut, not entirely closing it. "Linda, if we get caught again, I'm blaming you."
The autumn breeze is cold, too cold. You slip your favorite oversized hoodie over your head. The soft fabric hugs your shivering body. Excitedly, you walk after your friend behind the hedge. From this place out you can see the garden, but not enough to be seen. A hidden corner, rarely visited. Proudly, Linda taps your shoulder, "Ta-da, "dangling a red colored Mario lighter in front of you.
Gasping, you cover your mouth with your hand. "It's Matt's, isn't it? Does he know?"
"That," she murmurs, lighting her cigarette, "is up to your imagination." Slowly, the smoke curls into the air. She shakes the cigarette pack at you. "Want one?"
Raising your eyebrows, you shake your head dramatically. "I prefer to be alive by the time L picks a successor."
"Boring!" Linda says, taking another inhale. "I mean ... honestly, I'm not really into that whole idea."
"What do you mean?" you frown.
"I'd rather paint, I'd rather cut off my ear instead of disappearing behind a floating letter," she jokes, though her words carry an edge of seriousness in them.
"I'm glad you know what you want." You snatch the Mario lighter out of her pocket, playing with it as you continue. "As for me, I wouldn't know what else to do; I don't have many talents. It's like I'm good at everything ... but never exceptional enough to make a living out of it." Eyes fixating on the tiny flame in your hand.
Linda didn't respond; your words hang heavy over your head. What would you even say to that?
Ashing the tip of her cigarette, she finally breaks the silence, "So ... the vending machine, huh?" she playfully teases, bumping her side into yours. "Don't think I didn't notice!"
There it is — that feeling of exposure, vulnerability in a place that never allows such feelings. "What are you talking about?"
Placing her elbows on her knees, she looks up at you with her trained detective gaze. "Just because I sketch during class doesn't mean I don't pay attention at all during behavioral analyses," she says, looking up you up and down. "So! What is it, do you want me to tell you myself? Or, do you want me to describe everything in embarrassing detail? "
You feel all your blood rushing to your face, the hoodie, which up until now, kept you warm, almost burning through your skin. Biting the tip of your tongue, you think, even you aren't sure what happened in that moment. When you looked back at him, he hadn't seem like anything had happened at all.
"That, my dear friend Linda, is up to your imagination!" you responded sweetly.
She rolls her eyes and flicks the filter into the distance. "Did you know that A and BB used to hang out here?" she whispers. "That's why no one goes here anymore."
"No ... I didn't," you admit, frustration in your voice. Every time it comes to these social things, information about others, you realize how isolated you really are. Though Linda has been your closest friend since the time you first set foot into Wammy's, you've been way more focused on studying —proving yourself worthy. For kids like Linda, it's way easier to focus on anything else, since they never desired to be chosen in that way.
"Well, now you know," she carelessly says, unaware of the envy you feel inside. "But, on a serious note. If you don't have any desires in life. How about family? Partner, Kid, Dog, all that picture-book bullshit?"
"No, I don't think anyone growing up in this house would ever be capable of that," you snort, "Have you ever looked at Near?" you laugh.
"Now that you mention it," she giggles, "I think you're absolutely right."
Looking up, you notice the reds of dusk bleeding into the sky. "We should go back in before anyone notices. It's probably almost time for dinner."
"You're right," Linda says.
Walking back to the window, your heart almost stops. Someone just jumped out of it. You grab Linda's arm stopping her before she steps into the person's view. "Shh," you hiss under your breath. She doesn't seem to have noticed the shadow dropping from the frame. "There's someone in front of the window." Your heart pounds so fast you feet like you are about to experience a heart attack at the ripe age of sixteen.
[♫Play: Kids by Current Joys♫]
"Do I hear whispering?" a familiar voice calls out, emerging from the shadows. Matt.
You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. "What the fuck are you doing out here?" you scold.
"I could ask you two the same thing," he says, readjusting his tinted goggles. As he approaches, he's already opening his pack of cigarettes. "Linda," he smirks, eyes softening for a moment as he looks at her, "I think you still have something that belongs to me?"
You turn your head toward your friend, "Yeah, I've been wondering about that too."
"Here," she dramatically rolls her eyes in defeat. "How did you even know I have it?" She hands him the lighter.
"Please," he grins, "you're the only one I know who's bold enough to even steal my shit." Winking at Linda, he holds the tiny flame close to the tip of his cigarette.
"What do I get in return?" Linda counters, crossing her arms in front of her body.
"How about," he inhales the smoke — slowly— almost dramatically dragging it out, "I'm not telling everyone here our number three likes to stare chocolate out of other people's hands."
"You're an ass," Linda says, but her voice has softened
"Oh, please," he replies, handing her the cigarette, "I've been told worse by Roger."
She's taking it without hesitation, inhaling before she almost instinctively passes it on to you without a word. For a moment, you contemplate the idea before you carefully inhale the smoke. It burns your throat, all the way to your lungs, pretending like you aren't holding in a cough, you pass it back to Matt. Oddly, this little rotation feels comfortable, almost normal. Three kids secretly smoking together behind a hedge, out of adult sight — adults who demand way too much from them.
"Do you ever think about leaving?" Linda asks suddenly, her voice low. "Like, just packing your things and walking out the front door?"
Matt's eyes wander to the sky, as if someone might know the answer there. "Where would we even go?"
She sighs, "literally anywhere else, just not here..."
You look down at the ground, "I think about it sometimes," you admit. "But then I remind myself how useless I would be outside of these walls. Everything I know... everything I am, is this place."
Matt hums in agreement, "Wammy's house makes sure of that. No need to be ashamed."
Looking back up at him, you ask the question no one ever dares to speak out loud, "Do you think A ever thought this way? Maybe it got just too overwhelming..."
The silence that follows isn't uncomfortable, more so an understanding of shared fate.
Matt drops what is left of the cigarette, crushing it under his shoes. "Come on," he says gently, "let's go back inside before Roger finds us. I don't think 'existential crisis' counts as a valid excuse."
Nodding, the three of you make your way back through the window, only to find an unexpected present slouched against the wall. Chocolate bar untouched and almost melted in his hand. Mello stands there, unusually tense and shaken up. His eyes fixate on you, he pushes himself off the wall and moves in your direction.
"Mello?" you ask carefully, looking around for Linda and Matt.
"There you are."
Something about the way he says it made your heart skip a beat. Has he been looking for you? When your eyes meet his piercing blue ones you couldn't help but stare into them.
"Roger wants to see us in his office." Something about his voice is different, not his usual self-assured tone, more deliberate, almost soft. "You and me. Now. Near's already there."
Looking to Linda for assistance, she just raises an eyebrow, her eyes wandering back and forth between the two of you. "I'll wait for you in our room ... I guess."
For a second, he looks deep into your eyes, the look that sees you — looks deep into your soul. His expression shifts, the boy with the hardened face and egotistical smile, almost unrecognizable. His hand lifts before you even realize it, and gently places itself on the small of your back. The sudden warmth made you stiffen up, your heart pounding hard in your chest, but you didn't move away. He guides you forward, without a word, as if this exact movement were second nature to him. And then, as quickly as it happened, he withdraws, shoving his hand into his pocket.
"We should hurry," he mutters.
"Yeah," you reply, quieter than you intended. The smoke still burning in your throat, the sudden contact, all of it made your voice weaker than usual.
Crossing your arms in front of your body, you silently keep walking next to him. Biting the tip of your tongue, you silently start humming the familiar sound of your childhood song. The corridor seems to drag on longer than usual; the dizziness returns, making your brain go cold.
"Hey, you good?" Mello asks.
Quickly, you blink the black dots in your vision away. "Yeah. Everything's good here." Your eyes struggle to refocus on the way ahead.
The silence continues, the static of it filling the orbit around you — undeniably magnetic, forceful.
Finally, you reach the wooden office door. "You don't want to go in?" you softly ask, noticing how Mello glares at the door without knocking his jaw tight. "It's about L, isn't it?"
He shakes his head. "I hope not." After a long pause he takes a deep breath in. Slowly, he raises his fist up and knocks on the door.
"Come in!" Roger's muffled voice called from the other side of the door.
Mello opened the office door, letting you enter before him. Upon entering inside, you see Near crouching on the floor, solving an all white puzzle under the dim lit light. Behind his desk in front of you, Roger rests his chin on his folded hands, looking over to you and Mello. "I'm glad you finally found her, Mello. Please, the two of you, have a seat!" His hand gestures to the two chairs opposing him.
Carefully, you sit down, only able to see Near in your peripheral vision, hands folded in your lap. "I'm sorry, Roger, I didn't know you were looking for me. I would've been here sooner, I -"
"Don't worry, Y/N, I'm glad all of you are here now. As you could probably guess, we have an important matter to discuss today, which I fear can't wait any longer than I had originally hoped for," he pauses.
[♫Play: The Archer by Taylor Swift♫]
"So it is about the decision?" You turn your head away from Roger to look over to Mello knowing he's been the one fighting the hardest to be the best. Not even bothering to sit down next to you, he demandingly stares at the old man, whose response is highly anticipated.
"Did L decide? Who did he choose? Me! or Near?" furrowing his eyebrows, Mello didn't even blink for a second, his hands balling up into fists, his knuckles now completely gone white.
"Excuse me? I'm here too? What do you mean, 'Me or Near'!" you snap. After all, you want it just as badly, in fact, you need it. All your future plans depend on it. Without it, you truly are left with no direction in life.
Finally, his eyes meet yours with an unfamiliar glare, sharp enough to probably kill you within seconds. "I'm sorry, I don't remember you being relevant to the discussion since what? The day before Near moved in? In the nicest way possible, Y/N, we both know it's going to be Near before it will ever be you!"
You audibly gasp, "First off, don't project your inferiority complex onto me, second of-"
"That's enough! '' Roger's voice now louder than before, "Both of you, please calm down!" Taking a deep breath in, he continued, "as all of you may know, B ran away after everything ... that happened." He pauses. "L has every reason to assume that he wants to trace him down and ... make him pay for what happened."
The silence that follows felt wrong, uncomfortable. For a second, you forgot to breathe, the ticking of the clock slowed down, Near's puzzle pieces stopped clicking.
"So?" Mello presses impatiently, "What does that have to do with us?"
Roger removes his glasses,eyes weary, well aware of what's incoming. He continues, not even looking into his eyes. "L believes the situation may escalate more than any of us would like to admit." He sighed, "which brings us to this meeting...L has made his decision."
"Finally," Mello mutters, leaning forward to stare directly into the old man's eyes.
Roger slips his glasses back on, his gaze wandering between Mello and Near, as if you are invisible to him. "Both of you of you will serve as his successors —together"
'Near and Mello,' you repeat in your head. What about me? Everything stars to spin, it hit you like an avalanche. You start to taste iron in your mouth after biting down on your tongue so hard, you thought you'd bite through the soft muscle. This can't be it!
"Together," Mello whispers to himself. "You're joking, tell me this isn't the truth! You know that none of us are satisfied with that!" His irritated voice snapping you right out of your existential down-spiral. His blonde hair only inches away from touching your face, hand grasping the side of the table.
"It's fine by me. It's only logical," Near says, oddly indifferent to the situation. He doesn't even bother to look up at them.
That one word — Nears careless reaction — made Mello snap.
"Logical?" he hisses, slowly walking towards Near. "I don't care if you think it's 'logical'. I worked for this, harder than anyone in this room, ever since I came here and you..." His voice shaky, he points a finger toward Roger. "You expect me to work with him?"
Rogers' face hardens with authority, "It's not a request, Mello. It's L's order. He believes your combined intellects-"
"Save it!" he snaps. "I am not taking any more orders ... from any of you!" he turns around on his heels. "I'm out, I'm leaving this institution for good!" And with that, in just a few quick steps, he storms out, the door shut loudly behind him.
Roger only sighs, closing his eyes as if he was thinking of what to say next. However, instead of letting him handle the situation, you couldn't hold it in any longer, "What about me? Why am I here if I'm not even chosen?" The words just kept coming out in your fury, "Am I just here out of pity? The number three, you just had to include? Congratulations! I'm going to be in the top spot after L gets taken out by BB and replaced by both of them?" Tears well up in your eyes, like they always do when you get angry. Trying your best to hold them in, you dig your nails into your upper arm, preventing yourself from humming. Almost ashamed that you just added more gasoline to the fire. "And you will just let him go like that?" you hiss at Roger, shaking your head in disbelief. You look over to Near, kneeling on the floor.
"And you? Happy now? Too above all of this?" The words just kept coming. Your entire body starts to shake, the room feels colder than before, the sun outside is already setting.
Stoic eyes meet yours, "This outcome was to be expected."
Pursing your lips, you tilt your head towards Roger once more, "I knew all of you truly didn't give a shit about us after A committed, but to lose another one just like that? Well, that's disappointing. But why am I still surprised you didn't even tell me why the hell you wanted me here!" Your voice shaky, you stand up, ready to make your exit.
"Y/N, sit back down!" Roger demands," Now!"
The movements came to you almost mechanically, trained over the years — listen and obey. You sit back down, unable to hold back the silent sounds escaping your closed mouth.
Seeing you comply, his expression softens. "I called you in because L insisted the two of them would need assistance. In case any of them requires additional support ... or if circumstances change unexpectedly." His voice trails off.
That's it, the confirmation you needed. "In case one of them dies, you mean." you snort,"I'm the backup," you say bitterly.
He didn't respond, which in your eyes is answer enough.
Biting your lower lip, you push your chair back and turn around, ready to leave. You didn't even want to hear what else he has to say. Nothing could save this mess, nothing could save you from being the backup. Every glimpse of hope for better adult years, gone. As if losing you're childhood isn't enough. Losing most of your teenage years locked away studying, with barely any kind of normalcy, for something you wouldn't even be chosen for. All that anger building up over the years, creeping up on you ever since you learned that A had passed due to this unbearable pressure, manifesting itself in this very moment. Fuck this!
"Excuse me!" you huff, storming out of the room. Mello's words echo inside of your head. 'We both know it's going to be Near before it'll ever be you.'
[♫Play: A Quick One Before the Eternal Worm Devours Connecticut by Have a Nice Life♫]
The corridor outside Roger's room feels suffocating, the sterility of this place, walls too close for comfort. You stumble through the hallway, hands trembling, body shaking. You wanted to scream, hit something, find any way to let out your feelings, the whole world was upside down.
"Hey."
Slowly, you turn around. Mello leaned there against the wall. His worn-out jacket over his shoulder. "What I said ... you shouldn't take it so personally." His voice sounds rougher than usual, not angry. Almost tired.
A short, bitter laugh escapes your lips. "Not take it personally? You told me yourself it was never going to be me."
He flinches at your words, eyes softening only for a fraction of a second. Eyes never leaving yours, he doesn't look away for even a second. "I said it because it's the truth. I thought you knew this place doesn't care-"
"No. You said it because you wanted to hurt me first!" The words come out loud. Too fast, echoing off the walls. "Because that's how you are ... cruel. You hurt others so you can pretend it doesn't hurt you either!"
His jaw tightens, any hint of previous compassion completely gone. "You don't know anything about what hurts me."
"Oh, I know plenty," you step closer, never breaking eye contact, your gaze burning. "You'd rather set this whole place on fire than to admit you care. That's weakness, Mello, not strength. You are weak."
There it was, the glimpse in his eyes that hints at something human —something broken. However, there is no going back now. You don't want him to see you break down, you want to hurt him so deeply that he will leave you alone. You're such a hypocrite.
"At least Near doesn't have to fake being emotionless," you whisper.
You've successfully dealt the final blow, viscous, cruel — final. The silence becomes unbearable.
Mello's lips slightly part, as if he wants to respond, but nothing comes out. As if his words died in his throat before they even formed. He took a sharp breath, stepping back until he finally broke eye contact, turns around, and leaves.
You stand there, frozen in place. Breathing heavily, your stomach starts to twist. Completely drained out of all the anger you felt. But there was another feeling, unfamiliar — your heart is aching. What did you just do?
Pressing your palms against your head, you lean against the wall. Finally, you find your voice again, but the silent hum doesn't quite reach your ears. You can't fall apart. Not here. Not where everyone can see you.
Frantically, you start to pace in circles, contemplating what to do next, how to fix the damage you just caused. After what felt like an eternity, you start to look for him. Looking behind every corner, hoping you'd see him with his chocolate bar in hand, casually leaning against the wall, but to no avail.
Vision growing blurry in front of your eyes, you make your way upstairs to the bedrooms, but instead of heading your usual way, you purposely take the turn which would lead past Mello's and Matt's shared bedroom.
Stumbling through the seemingly never-ending hall of the boy's bedroom's, you fight so hard to hold in your tears, at least until you're locked away in the security of your own room. Arms crossed in front of your body, both hands pinching the fat on your upper arm, making sure you're still here —alive. All the sudden, you bump into something solid, something that wasn't there a second before. Blinking away the tears, you look up. Messy brown hair, tinted goggles shoved up his head. It was Matt.
"Hey, what's up? You alright?" placing a comforting arm around you, gently shaking you to pull you out of your trance.
You want to say 'yes' and just keep walking, but the words didn't come out. Instead, a quiet sob escapes your lips.
Matt hesitates but eventually he pulls you in. The contact completely shattering your so carefully built-up walls. You break down. Completely. Your tears are turning into hysterical sobs, finally streaming down your face. You want nothing more than to sink to the ground and cry. Most of all, you want your mom, someone who could stop the mental anguish you experienced.
"Oh fuck!" Matt says, "You're not having a panic attack on me, are you?" his hand shifting to your waist to keep you upright. "You don't have to talk, I'm well aware of what happened. Just ... tell me whenever I should go get someone. Alright?" He didn't move, nor did he try to fix it; he just let you cry into his chest.
You weakly nod, your head feels like it is hundreds of pounds heavy. You cry like you haven't in years, your body feeling like it is hollow inside, only the sharp pain coming from your chest stabbing you right into your heart.
Time passes, you have no clue how long the two of were standing there. The sobs died down, you can't talk, you feel too hollow inside.
"Hey," he says softly. "I'll go get Linda, okay? Just wait here. I'll be right back."
He walks away, just before you could react. Everything feels too much, you are just exhausted. Head pounding from dehydration.
A few minutes later, he returns, Linda walking next to him.
"Hey, Sweetheart," Linda says gently, like she's talking to a wounded animal. She reaches for your arm. "Come on, you should rest."
Without saying a word, you let her lead you to your shared bedroom. Every step feels heavy, your vision blurry before your eyes.
Back in your room, Linda helped you lie down. She didn't say a word, didn't ask any questions. She just put her fluffy blanket over you and held your hand while you dozed off, too tired to stay awake.
Everything is dark before you wake up, for a fragile moment, you thought you were back in your childhood bed. Everything is cold, anxiously you dart your eyes across the room, not able to make out any shape. After a while, you adjust to the darkness, recognizing the sketchbooks stacked in front of the window, next to it, Linda, staring off into the distance. Your body is heavy, your eyes swollen, your cheeks sore from the salt in your tears. When you try to get up, every muscle aches.
"You're awake," she says, not turning around, eyes still fixated on the outside. "I figured you'd wake up soon."
Pushing yourself up on your feet, you make your way to the window. Linda finally turns around, meeting your eyes. Instead of saying something, she pauses, searching for a flicker of life in your eyes.
"Mello's gone."
[♫Play: No Surprises by Radiohead♫]
The words hit you like a punch to the gut.
"He packed his bags not even an hour after everything went down. He didn't even say goodbye," she whispers.
You gulp, the guilt weighing heavily in your heart. Were you one of the reasons why he left? Did you push him over the edge?
Closing your eyes, you finally speak, "I need to be alone for a while. I'll be right back." Without waiting for a response, you quickly walk out of the room. You tried to cry, but no tears came out. With trembling hands, a guilt consumed heart, you walk down the stairs, past the vending machine area. As if your legs had a mind of their own, you find yourself in front of the wall. The white paint glowing under the moonshine. Slowly, you reach out and run your fingers over it.
For the first time, you realize. Living here had never been living at all. It was surviving behind bars.
Notes:
thanks for reading <3 i will update as soon as i can.
Tumblr: @maeveely
Chapter 2: Back to the Old House
Notes:
Hey, I'm rlly trying to write as much as humanly possible.
I js wanted to repeat, that this is a slow-burn, be prepared to lock in if u want to read this. I'm js planting the seeds for the story rn. It's very character driven rn ik. Still, thank u for everyone who's enjoying this so far <333
Also, I proof read this like once, if i made mistakes, im sorry.tumblr: maeveely
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Four years have passed since the world came crashing down on you. Back then, you thought the world had ended. The mirror of illusion shattered the reflection of your inner self, what you perceived to be you. Your life's trajectory had forever been changed, you didn't want them to see you break like the puppet they made you out to be. So you took fate into your own hands.
Ever since that day, you have looked for an escape out of these bars. Staying had never been an option, even when Roger reminded you to be ready if L or Near ever called. So, college it is.
[ ♫ Play: It's Happening Again by Agnes Obel ♫ ]
Lying on the bed in your college dorm room, you try your best to finally get up. Looking straight up at the ceiling, you hear your heart beating. The small space is faintly lit with the warmth of the amber glow of the sun, only your cinnamon-scented candle serving as an additional source of light. Half-read books stacked upon one another, empty tea mugs with dried teabags littering your nightstand, and a heap of dirty laundry collected in the corner, completely forgotten about.
Pressing your palms against your face, you try to prevent yourself from spiraling even further. Looking over at the clock, you see that it's almost 6 pm. Did you really just waste your entire day trying to hype yourself up to get something done?
The only accomplishment for today is picking up your phone about thirty minutes earlier. Linda called on her way over to you to pick up take-out food. To save you the embarrassment of still being in your Pajamas, you slowly move your blanket to the side, sitting straight up on the edge of your bed. You take a deep breath in, looking around the room. Cleaning up now would be of no use. Everything is just too much right now.
Crossing your arms in front of your shivering body, you made your way to the window, blinking away the flying dots in your vision. Closing the window, you notice that it's still raining, the sky is still clouded, no sign of better weather.
Even though college serves as your escape, you still don't feel quite whole. Between all the slideshows, all the lectures you attended, you could never figure out what's wrong with you. All of your assignments are rather tame compared to what you had to endure at Wammy's House, but you still feel burned out.
Most days are the same. Lying around in bed after an unsuccessful study session, bones so heavy you could swear you'd sink into the mattress. This normal life is eating away at you, even this morning, you missed classes. Swearing you would get up every morning just to turn around and bury your face in the pillow that hasn't been washed in months. This is your only bit of freedom — your silent rebellion — pushing the boundaries until you have to finally face the consequences. Whatever it is, this feeling of never living up to your own expectations freezes you in time.
That being said, not attending makes you almost, if not more, miserable. You weren't cut out for an ordinary life, but also not for the thrilling life you promised yourself. You are just floating somewhere in between —barely seen.
You should've known! Why did you think this time it was going to be you?
One thing was certain: ever since you were a child, you had always felt lonely. No situation ever changes that fact. Happy moments never last; they're always accompanied by an all-consuming sadness. Every feeling fills you and empties you all at once.
Nervously, your thumb keeps digging into the thin fabric near the end of your sleeve until you successfully rip a hole in it. Shit!
Annoyed, you stare down at your thumb-ripped hole when, just in that moment, your phone starts buzzing. Slowly, you walk over to your nightstand and stare down at the phone display.
'Call from Unknown Number'
You hesitate for a moment. Who could this be? Only one other person has your phone number. So it must be Roger. With cold, trembling hands, you pick up your phone. Your thumb is hovering over the decline button, you know you should let it ring, ignore any attempt at contact. Since you left, you swore you were done with all of this forever, buried it in the graveyard of your past. Still, you hit the accept button, which immediately connects you to the caller.
"Hello? Y/N here," you answer coldly, already anticipating the familiar voice.
"Y/N, it's been a while!" Roger greets, calmly, almost too calmly.
Your stomach twists, you didn't expect his voice to bring out this uncomfortable feeling. "What do you want?" you ask, almost sensing his attempt to draw you back in.
He clears his throat; you could almost see him readjusting his glasses in front of your inner eye. "There's been development. L requires your assistance immediately.
Silence. You bite down on your tongue so much it almost hurts. "If it's involving any of my 'obligations' you told me about. Please, call someone else, I'm sure there is a backup of the backup!" Your response came out angrier than you intended.
But if you're words were the truth … why did you feel a spark of life finally flicker inside of you, after months of emotional drought? Like a beaten-up puppy returning to its owner's lap.
After a long pause, he speaks, colder this time, more calculated. "I expected that response; however, Mr. Wammy made it clear that your college tuition is conditional on your continued cooperation."
The blood in your veins grows cold, "Are you serious?" you gasp, "Conditional … as in?" You nervously pace up and down your room, ignoring the sharp pain coming from your nails digging into your palm.
"As in, if you refuse, your financial support will be terminated immediately!" he bluntly states.
Everything stops, the room slowly starts to spin, the aching pain of hunger in your stomach subsides, as if your soul had left your body. Your heartbeat is the only thing you hear, loud, persisting, heavy.
Silence.
Of course, you think. He knows you have no choice but to agree. Every single one of the others would've jumped at the opportunity, but not you. They took everything from you. A lost, purposeless life, only made valuable by the very ones robbing you of every inch of freedom.
"So that's it," you whisper. "All of you still keep us on a leash, even after all these years. Even when we move out, move on with our lives."
"It's not a leash," he responds. "It's the responsibility you were raised for."
You snort bitterly, "No, no, no, you don't get to phrase this nicely. Say it like it actually is. L needs me because I'm convenient, he doesn't have to train me. Because Mello left, and Near doesn't work well with others. Don't lie!"
"Yes," he says. No attempt to play it down, just the sad truth.
So that's how it's going to be, all the healing, all the progress you were trying to make for nothing. You start shaking out of frustration at yourself, you hate how alive you suddenly feel — the thrill of purpose. Trying to control your breath, to prevent your voice from breaking, you make up your mind.
"What do you need me to do?" you say, defeated.
"I'm glad you came around!" the old man finally spoke, "I will be expecting you at Wammy's tomorrow at 6 AM. Pack lightly. L doesn't like to wait… Until then, have a good day."
With that, the beeping sound remains as the only noise. No further explanation needed, no casualties. Your phone slips out of your hand, almost in slow motion, hitting the floor with a hollow thud. Pressing your palms against your temples, you start to hum; it almost feels like back then in the corridor. Even at the mention of his name, you felt that heartache from years ago. Guilt is still consuming your fragile heart.
All that self-loathing never stops, it just keeps growing. What even was that? When would they ever treat you as anything other than a pawn in this endless game of chess you're trapped in? And you agreed to it, without putting up a fight.
Taking a deep breath in you try to collect your thoughts. This is it, my chance to prove that I am worthy, to prove that I am capable. My only chance.
Frantically, you pull yourself out of your trance, looking around the dimly lit room, opening your closet door, pushing aside all the clothes. You are looking for your suitcase. The last time you had used it was when you moved out of Wammy's House. Back then, you thought for good, turns out you lied to yourself. In your hurry, you knock over the pile of books on your floor. Kneeling to pick them up, you look under the bed, spotting the worn-out suitcase. Carefully, you drag it across the floor, opening it with trembling hands. Looking at the gaping emptiness, you were yet confronted with another thing. What are you even going to pack? Where are you going to put the rest of your belongings? What about your life here? Your degree?
All of these questions are running through your head at full speed —it's too much. Angrily, you get up. You didn't know what to do with all this pent-up anger, the way your life feels out of control. Without any second thought, you grab one of the empty tea mugs on your desk and throw it across the room against the wall. The glass shatters in all different directions. Sinking to the floor, you dig your nails into the soft flesh of your upper arms, trying to externalize your agony, all the self-hatred.
The tears didn't come, just you lying down on your back, the floor hard and unwelcoming. Trying to stabilize your breath, you try to sort out your thoughts, but nothing comes.
Fuck, how are you even going to empty your room all by yourself by the end of the night? Your ears start to ring. The ceiling spins, arms numb and heavy.
A sudden knock brought you back to reality. Linda, you totally forgot about her.
Limbs heavy, you force yourself to get up, head aching as if the hollow space where your brain should be is filled with sharp-edged rocks. Embarrassed by the way your room looks, you hesitate before your hand meets the cold door handle. Pushing it down, you open the door, instantly greeted by Linda's face.
Her hands are firmly holding the brown takeout bag and a milkshake cup.
"Y/N, hey, I didn't know what I should get you, so I decided on the cheese fries with your favorite vanilla shake. I hope you-" furrowing her eyebrows, she scans your face up and down. "What happened?"
"Come in first," moving your body to the side, you bite the inside of your cheek.
Making her way through the door, she looks around your room. "Jesus Christ, did you even clean since the last time I came over? And… what's up with that broken mug?"
"No, I didn't. It's just… I don't even know," you try to explain, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear.
Carefully putting down the bags, reeking of greasy fast food, she still observes you like some riddle that needs to be solved — just like they had taught you back at Wammy's.
"Linda! Can you like stop analyzing me?" you frown, "Seriously… I'm fine. Sit. I'll explain."
"I wasn't -" she bit her lip. "Doesn't matter, just tell me," she gently put down the food before sitting next to you on your bed.
"Do you want the shake now?" she asks, holding it up for you to see.
"I'm not hungry right now," you murmur, the rumbling in your stomach a dead giveaway of your lie. Secretly, you enjoy the aching feeling in your stomach; it almost makes you feel alive, proof that you're not numb.
"I know you are," she reassuringly smiles, "here, take it."
Reluctantly, you take the cold paper cup out of her hand. "Thanks," you whisper.
Linda grabs the edge of your blanket, playing with it while waiting for you to speak. However, you didn't know what to say, the words were stuck in your throat. The reality of them to heavy to speak out loud.
"So, you wanna talk about it?" She raises her eyebrow, growing impatient with your silence.
Taking a sip from your shake, you try to drag out the moment. The cold fluid entering your system instantly brings back your energy. "Well…," you begin to speak, "Roger called right before you came. L wants me to work with him."
She instantly stops fidgeting, blinking slowly, trying to comprehend what you just said. Jaw clenching, she takes a deep breath in. "Please don't tell me you agreed to this bullshit?"
"I did, I had to. They left me with no other choice," you whisper.
Linda didn't respond, the rain hammering against the window, adding to the uncomfortable silence. The room feels smaller than before, darker. Her face had completely gone pale with an emotion you could not read.
"He said," you explain, playing with the straw of your cup, "that if I don't agree to this, they will cut my financial support… So I had to." Desperately, you try to justify your decision. Linda is not reacting, just staring ahead with a hardened expression, triggering your fight or flight.
Finally, her lips part, closing her eyes, she speaks, "There isn't anything I can do to make you stay, is there?" Looking directly into your eyes, too intensely for your comfort, she asks the question you hoped so hard she never would.
"But tell me one thing, Y/N, is a part of you willing to go for your own sake, not because someone forced you to?"
You know you could lie — should lie, but not to her, not to your only friend. The twisted truth you didn't even want to admit to yourself. Biting your lower lip, you intensify your gaze, trying to tell her everything you feel without speaking it out loud, speaking it into existence.
No words. She nods, turning her head down to her hands, fiddling with the skin around her nail-bed.
Scanning her up and down, you think to yourself. She knows how weak you are; she knows the invisible three will always be tattooed in your very soul. Nothing could ever erase this, and if so, someone would have to rip it out entirely, leaving nothing but an empty shell of a human.
"So, are you going to help me pack or not?" You point at the open suitcase on your floor. A laughable attempt to make all of this less awkward, not being able to handle any other question she may have.
After what felt like an eternity, she finally takes notice of the open suitcase. "Alright," she mutters, getting up from your bed, heading towards your closet. Carefully, she turns on the big light before opening the doors, revealing your clothes. "So, from what it looks like, most of your shit is piled up on the floor, which means," she turns to you, part of her humor having returned, "you're not spared from a trip to the washing rooms."
"That's what I assumed, too," you say, joining her side.
Clapping her hands, she instructs, "You go gather your clothes and put them in the washer. I'm going to take care of the mess in your room, okay?"
With Linda's help, packing and cleaning up turned out easier than you expected. The overwhelming amount of pressure you felt is completely gone. At first, you looked at every item, deciding if you wanted to keep it, since the only option would be throwing it away. This whole procedure messed with your head so much, you just started to throw everything away, besides the things you absolutely loved and needed, which isn't a lot.
Sitting on your floor, surrounded by trash bags and the smell of fresh laundry, you finally get around to eating the food Linda had brought. Now that you didn't have much to do, the dread of the next morning sneaks its way into your brain again. Your stomach twists at the thought of returning, so you just mindlessly adjust the three leftover fries in one straight line.
The clock strikes 2 AM. "I know it's late, but I don't think I can sleep now," you say, while cleaning up the leftovers.
"Come on, I'll share my lucky cigarette with you." Linda offers, getting up from the floor.
You watch her open the window, letting in the cold. Swiftly, you push yourself off the floor, making your way over to the windowsill. Linda hands you the last cigarette in her pack — the lucky one.
With the cigarette tugged between your lips, you carefully lift yourself, taking place on the windowsill, one leg dangling over the frame. Linda is leaning next to you, extending her hand with the lighter to you. Cupping the tiny flame with your hand, you inhale the smoke, puffing it out into the darkness of the night. "I won't miss this," you whisper, "England, I mean."
Linda exhales slowly, smoke curling from her lips, "I know… you've been through a lot recently, breaking up with your boyfriend and all that."
"Honestly, breaking up didn't hurt as much as I expected… It's so strange. I thought breaking up with your first boyfriend was supposed to hurt like a bitch," you sigh.
Tilting her head, Linda scans your face, "Did you even love him?"
You gulp. This question has always been sensitive to you, even during the relationship, you couldn't help but ask yourself how you were supposed to feel. At first, you were thrilled at the thought of someone viewing you in that way, but once the chase was over, you felt tired again. Tired of him, life, and your entire existence.
"I don't know," voice thinning, you swallow hard, the lump in your throat growing. "Sometimes I think … what if I'm not even capable of loving anyone." The words barely leave your lips.
A pause. The weight of unspoken history lingers. Linda's cigarette had burned down to the filter. Studying her face, you could make out the shift in her face, jaw clenching, blankly staring into the night's abyss. She didn't respond, she rarely did when words alone couldn't express the extent of her feelings. Still, you could feel the concern, the care, the shared fear in her silence.
The smoke evaporated into the night, and for a moment, you let your mind wander. Linda mentioning your failed relationship always brings you back to that night. Thinking back, the only thing that broke that day was your ego, and maybe his phone.
✬Flashback: 1 month ago✬
[ ♫ Play: Good Looking by Suki Waterhouse ♫]
Summer break was supposed to be the time to fix the issues in your relationship, a time to grow closer again, to feel loved again. Previously, you blamed yourself for not making enough time for him, after all, your psychology degree was very time-demanding. You felt him drifting away from you, an emotional wall you two had built between each other. Truthfully, communicating your feelings wasn't your strongest suit in a relationship. However, the fact that you two were barely spending any time together should tell him something is off. This isn't right. At the same time, you didn't want to cling to him, you just wanted to feel validated again. Someone to tell you that you are worthy of something else, other than what you grew up with.
Today, he finally found the time, but it was different. Him looking into your eyes didn't feel like it used to; it's like looking into someone's eyes and they don't see you.
Now, your dorm room seemed uncomfortably silent. Your naked body covered in your soft duvet, his back turned to you. Strangely, you let him take you to bed. Was it a desperate attempt to cling to the last thing that made him yours if he made you his own? Probably. Sleeping now isn't an option, your mind is racing with doubts and worries. Looking at the time on your phone, you notice it's now a little past 2 am, when suddenly a light buzzing interrupts the silence.
Your stomach drops instantly. Sure, it's not out of the ordinary to receive a message this late into the night. Then why did your gut tell you otherwise? Another buzz. Who the fuck is this? Trying to calm yourself down, you bite the inside of your cheek. There it is, another buzz. Looking around, you see your boyfriend next to you, still soundly sleeping. Fuck it, you think. Using your phone flashlight, you get up, tightly wrapped in your blanket, and go looking for his phone.
Where is the damn thing?
Making your way to the desk, you accidentally knock over the stack of books on your floor. The cold floor under your bare feet only adds to your discomfort. Sprinting over to the desk, before he wakes up from all the noise you just made, you spot his phone lying there, cold, untouched. When all of a sudden you hear a voice from behind you.
Shit!
"Y/N, what the hell!" he turns on the small nightstand lamp, "Haven't you looked at the clock?" He pauses, looking at you holding his phone in your hand, with wide eyes. "What are you doing with my phone?"
You flinch, you couldn't even look him in the eyes, your blood runs cold, goosebumps forming on your skin. Still, you took his grogginess as an opportunity to pay your attention back to his phone. Holding his phone closer to your face, you unlock it with trembling hands.
* 3 Messages from '' Work '' *
In this moment, it felt like the world was falling apart around you. This isn't normal, it has to be someone you shouldn't be aware of. He works at the local diner, no way they're asking him to cover a shift at 2 am in the morning.
Nails digging into the soft blanket, your stomach twists. This can't happen … not to you. Breath hitching, you tilt your head in his direction.
"Work, huh? " is all you manage to say in an unnatural, shaky voice.
The expression on his face was a dead giveaway. He had been caught.
"It's really not what you think … they're short on sta-"
"Cut the bullshit! "you hiss, "I'm not that fucking stupid!" Boldly walking towards him. Hot rage is consuming you whole.
"I'm so sorry. I'll make it up to you, I promise, it's really more harmless than you think. Just let me finish explaining," he says, sitting up, trying to brush over your shoulder.
Avoiding his touch, you step back. "Out." You whisper, trying so hard to keep your anger in check. Your white knuckled grip holding onto the fabric, wrapped around your body. All the blood rushing into your head, a feverish feeling of fury.
Standing tall now, covered only in his boxers, he tries to walk towards you. But for every step he takes, you take one step back until your spine hits the corner of your desk. A sharp pain rushes through your body, making you finally snap. Looking down at the phone in your hand, your brain short-circuits. Next thing you knew, his phone went flying against the wall.
"WHAT THE FUCK!" He yelled, "ARE YOU FUCKING CRAZY!"
Angrily, you pick up his clothes from the floor and throw them against his chest. "OUT! GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY APARTMENT! And don't you dare ever talk to me again!" you screech, opening the door to the hallway.
He didn't respond immediately, which made resort to the last option, forcefully shoving him outside.
Barely resisting your rage, he let you push him out. Accepting the final blow. Out the door. Out of your life. You slam the door shut. Some truths remain better unknown, it didn't matter who it was, or if he had some kind of bullshit excuse. The only thing you feel is rage, disappointment that you truly are unlovable, and maybe you aren't even able to love at all. It isn't heartbreak you experience, just utter disgust.
Sinking down on the floor, you didn't waste a single tear, you just sit there, shaking. Truthfully, you haven't cried since that day in the orphanage.
✬Flashback ends✬
"You good?" Linda's voice interrupting your spiraling thoughts.
You blink, suddenly aware of the moonlight shining in your face, the quiet hums of the city outside, the smell of smoke. "Yeah … just got lost in thought. That's all, " you mutter, forcing a smile.
"I'm sorry if that question was out of pocket, I probably shouldn't have asked," she says, carelessly dropping the filter on the ground outside.
"Don't worry, you're good," you smile reassuringly, nudging her shoulder. "I'm over it … truly."
Linda only nods, turning her head to your alarm. "It's late, we should probably go to bed," she states. "I can stay here, you probably need someone to drive you to Wammy's."
"You're right," you murmur, getting up from the windowsill. '' Driving in a bus with that thing would be a pain in the ass anyway,'' playfully kicking the fully packed suitcase.
After getting ready for bed, the two of you lie down together on the twin-sized mattress. It feels just like back then at Wammy's House. When you just arrived there, you would sneak into Linda's bed every time you missed your mother during cold, tranquil nights. She never said a word about it. Back then, it was just the two of you — two young children seeking warmth in each other's company.
With the candle smoke still lingering, the comforting warmth of your best friend, you doze off.
Waking up after barely two hours of sleep, the room is still dark, the sun hasn't even begun to rise yet. Looking to your right, your friend is still soundly asleep, tightly hugging her soft pillow. A smile tugs at your lips in memory of old times. Even then, Linda had a bad habit of sleeping through every alarm possible. Gently placing your palm on her back, you try to shake her awake. "Hey, get up. It's already four thirty!"
Linda only acknowledges you with a sleepy hum, so you decide to just let her sleep until you're done showering. As you're getting up, all the blood comes rushing to your face. Blinking away the flying dots in your sight, you instantly regret staying up longer than needed.
While stretching, you look around the empty room, your heart instantly drops to your stomach. Are you really going back to Wammy's? Didn't you swear to yourself that you would never go back? Shaking your head, you move towards your desk. Only your clothes and a towel lying on top of it, surrounded by coffee stains that didn't quite come off during your fast cleaning session.
As silently as possible, you enter the bathroom, the tiles cold on your bare feet. Finally, you enter the shower, hot water streaming down your body. However, instead of relaxing, your body stiffened. Blood pulsing through your entire body, your heart pounding in your chest, you feel like you can't breathe anymore. With shaking hands, you hesitate for a second before you turn the heat almost all the way up. Resting your forehead against the tiles, you let the steaming water burn your skin. Red marks are forming everywhere. It didn't hurt enough to quiet your thoughts, but it helps you feel something again.
Breathing heavily, you step out of the shower, the entire area is damp, your skin is still burning. The smell of shampoo and heat still lingered in the fog. Wrapping a towel around you, you wipe the foggy mirror, your reflection staring back at you. Lilac circles under your dead eyes, you stare at yourself for minutes, not able to recognize yourself anymore. Is this really who you've become?
Realizing that you wasted too much time on self-loathing, you hurry up to get dressed and ready.
The cold morning air tenderly calms your skin as you step outside the bathroom. First thing you notice is the open window, second thing you notice is Linda. Still dressed in the same clothing as the night before, she sits on the edge of your bed, deeply focusing on a ballpoint sketch. She looks up when you enter, softly smiling at you.
"So… you're finally awake," you say, forcing a smile. "I thought I'd have to wake you up."
"Nope," she puts her sketch to the side, "just took my sweet time."
You nod. "Alright. Are you ready to go?"
"Let me go to the bathroom first, before we get out," she says, jumping up from the bed.
[ ♫Play: Anthems For A Seventeen Year-Old Girl by Yeule ♫ ]
Grabbing all your belongings, you look around one last time. The room you thought would be the first achievement of freedom, now empty like when you first arrived. Leaving for the place you tried to escape from. The irony has your name written all over it.
"I'm ready now," Linda grabs you by the wrist, "let's go."
Dragging your suitcase behind you, close the door with a heavy heart. Linda's car was waiting on the side of the leaf-covered road. The smell of dewdrops on grass is strong, the fresh air still draped in the cold night. While you put your suitcase in the trunk, Linda takes place in the driver's seat. Still yawning, you slip into the passenger seat.
Just so we're clear," she says, tightening her jaw, "I'm only going to drop you off."
"I know '' you whisper. "I would never make you come back… I'm glad you are stronger than I ever will be. Finding your way and shit. I don't want anyone, especially them, to take that away from you."
The windows are still foggy, Linda rubs her eyes, hoodie messily zipped up. "I'm too fucking tired to drive," she grumbles. "Seriously, if I crash us, just know it was out of love for you."
You snort at her attempt at humor, "Alright, let's just listen to some music, shall we?"
Too early in the morning, the radio station is still playing generic pop music, too upbeat, too annoying. Linda aggressively silences the music.
"Music is so stupid in the morning, let's just not," she mutters.
"So your lucky cigarette wasn't so lucky after all, huh?" you joke as she pulls over on the street.
She halfheartedly laughs, "Yeah, I guess so."
A few miles pass before you attempt to start another conversation. "Do you have class later?"
"Yeah, but I'll probably skip," she responds curtly.
You just nod, not wanting to bother her any further. If you know one thing about her, it's that she tries to keep it together for you at all costs. Attempting to talk to her would just freak her out right now.
In silence, you look out of the window, not expecting her to speak until you get there.
"You'll call me, right?" she quietly asks, almost whispering.
Turning your head away from the window to look at her, you see her biting her lower lip, glaring at the road ahead. What would you even do without her? What if you can't reach out once you get there?
But for now, you don't want to let her in on your thoughts. "I will," you reassure her.
The car stops in front of the big iron gates. The thick morning mist hangs heavy in the air. A familiar pit forms in your stomach, you take a deep breath in. Neither of you spoke for a moment; the humming of the engine is the only sound filling the unbearable silence. Staring ahead, you start digging your fingernails into the soft palm of your hand.
The car comes to a stop. Secretly, you hoped the drive would never end, but there you are, in front of the old house, surrounded by trees.
"Guess this is it," you murmur.
Linda leans forward, arms resting on either side of the steering wheel. She looks over to you, "You don't have to do this," she encourages, "We can still turn around."
"And then what?" you ask, cracking your knuckles, "Where would I even go? This is all I've ever known."
The only thing you'll ever be good for.
Shaking her head, she sighs, "We can figure something out. I could offer to sneak you into my dorm room." With glassy eyes, she continues, "I know how Wammy's works, once you walk through these gates … what if we never see each other again?" Her voice now barely above a whisper.
You reach over to her, gently squeezing her hand, "I'll find a way to reach out. This isn't a goodbye forever."
Blinking rapidly, she takes a deep breath in, "You better. If I don't hear from you in a month, just know, I'll be in Japan tracing you down." she smiles, the kind of smile that doesn't reach her eyes.
Both of you laugh, and before you could overthink it, you gently wrap your arms around her, pulling her into a tight hug. "Thank you," you whisper into her shoulder.
"Get out, before I make you stay," she pulls back, intensely looking at you as if she wanted to memorize every inch of your face.
Biting the tip of your tongue, you try to hold in everything you want to say to her — everything you want to thank her for. Being your friend, for comforting you during cold nights when the ghosts of the past haunted you in your dreams.
You step outside of the car, adjusting your zip-up hoodie, the other hand tightly wrapped around the handle of your suitcase. Turning one last time to see Linda, still sitting in the car, observing your every move. When your eyes meet, she only smiles reassuringly. With a pounding heart, you walk through the iron gates, intimidatingly towering over you. Shivers run through your body as the doors close behind you with a metallic creak.
Walking down the path leading to the main entrance, you start to hum. The sound of wheels on stone echoes through the morning mist. With every step, your legs move more slowly. You ring the doorbell almost in slow motion, waiting for someone to open it.
To your surprise, one of the children opens the door, curiously smiling up at you. It's a girl, her face unfamiliar to you; she must be new.
"Hey," you greet, "can I come in?"
The girl giggles, scanning you up and down. "Are you going to be the next L?"
A nervous laugh escapes your lips. The question hits you like a punch in the gut, knowing you've been there before. Trying to keep up your smile, you respond, "Maybe yes, maybe no."
Stepping aside, she let you enter, the smell of chalk and old paper greeting your nose. Instantly, you are hit with flashbacks to all the memories you tried so hard to erase. The way the wooden floor creaks when you walk, the dim gray light, the sterile hallway in front of you, leading you to the very place where you were told that you hadn't been chosen. Weren't good enough, not capable.
Passing by the wall, the paint didn't stand out as much anymore, the glaring color faded through the years, the missing chandelier was replaced with another LED light.
Standing in the corridor, you feel his shadow looming over you. The words you spoke that day, breaking the only delicate thing you've ever known in this house.
Jaw tightening, you walk toward Rogers' office. Taking a deep breath, you knock on the oak-wood door. A voice you knew all too well responds immediately. "Come in!"
Carefully, you open the door. The office still has the same smell of Rogers' cologne, desk still covered in endless amounts of paperwork. Nothing ever changes.
Except, when you enter the room, you notice that he didn't sit at his usual place. Roger stands next to another person. Without missing a beat, you recognize who it is. Leaning against the wall, chewing gum, sports bag resting in front of his feet, half-lidded eyes behind his tinted goggles.
Matt crossed his arms in front of his body, tapping with his foot. He didn't look like he wanted to be here either. You didn't remember the last time you actually spoke to him. The embarrassing moment four years ago changed your once friendly relationship into something cold. You had avoided him at all costs, pretending like he didn't exist anymore, as if he left the same day Mello did.
Seeing him makes you feel vulnerable all over again. With a barely noticeable nod, you acknowledge him before turning your head back to Roger.
"Morning," you greet dryly. Any other line you prepared on the way here, completely forgotten about.
Stepping forward, the old man tries to formally shake your hand, like he didn't know you ever since you were a little girl. Not reciprocating, your hand wraps itself tighter around the suitcase handle.
"I'm glad you came," he says, withdrawing his hand. "As you can see, Matt will be joining you today."
Briefly glancing over to Matt, your eyes meet for a second. Unlike you, he didn't seem bothered by your presence. Still, none of you speak. You couldn't help but wonder if they coaxed him into being here, the same way they did to you. Judging by his body language, it wouldn't be too far off.
"Well, if that's all," Roger clears his throat, interrupting your thought process. "Both of you will be flying to Japan in about three hours. I expect you to behave and not draw any attention to yourself." he pauses, waiting for any of you to ask a question.
Matt just shrugs with his shoulders. When Roger looks over to you, you just nod, pressing your lips together.
He sighs, "So, if neither of you has any questions. I guess L will be explaining the matter in full detail once you arrive." Walking back to he readjusts his glasses. Sitting down, he reaches for the phone. "I will call a cab, it's best when the two of you appear as normal as possible. After you land, Watari will be welcoming you two. Passports and Tickets are with Matt. Until then, you two can wait outside."
"Thank you, Roger," you whisper in return. The grudge you held against him is stronger than ever.
Matt only gave him a two-finger salute before he put his hand in the pockets of his vest. Pushing himself off the wall, he tiredly grabs his sports bag and heads towards the door. On his way out, he unexpectedly halts, turning his head in your direction.
"Come on, let's go outside," he mutters.
Following after him, you glance over your shoulder one last time. Roger dials the number, not looking up once. Dismissed, just like that. No sentimentality, no reassurance —you truly were back at Wammy's House.
Walking down the corridor together, you have the urge to say something to him, almost like you owe it to him, you know, you haven't been kind to him after the incident. You just couldn't help it. Biting down on the tip of your tongue, you try your best to walk straight in line, even walking feels awkward when you focus too much on being normal. This early in the morning, most children are still asleep. Breakfast never starts earlier than seven, still you are surprised that some pass you by.
"Hey, this time we're not leaving through the window, alright?" he says in an attempt to lighten the mood.
You just nervously chuckle in agreement. God, you completely forgot how to function.
[ ♫ Play: ghost boy by Lil Peep ♫ ]
Stepping outside, your eyes have to adjust themselves to the bits of sunlight breaking through the morning sky. Without a word, you follow him to the orphanage's garden. It still looks like you remember it. The slim flower beds on either side of the pebble pathway. Passing by the rosebushes, you could see the white water fountain in the center. The brown bench in A's memorial right in front of it. The sight of it made your heart drop to your stomach. A bitter reminder that Wammy's will never change their ways, even if it costs your life.
"Let's sit down," Matt suggests, heading to the bench.
Your eyes fixed on the bench, you follow him. But instead of sitting down right away, you slightly crouch before it. Your fingers tenderly tracing along the golden engraved letters:
"Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you"
- John 14:27'
— no name, no date of birth, no memory of A ever existing, besides those who were unfortunate enough to know.
"Come on, sit down," Matt mumbles, patting down on the spot next to him. "Don't dwell on that shit, it will just make you break down again," he jokes, while searching his pocket for a lighter.
"What's that supposed to mean?" you snap. His little remark struck a nerve.
"I'm just saying," he mutters, lighting his cigarette, "I didn't expect you to come back after crying that hard, you know. Also, I didn't bring tissues."
"Guess I'm a masochist," you counter. Rolling your eyes, you sit down next to him. "And just to be honest, you wouldn't have offered me your tissues anyway."
Out of muscle memory, you demandingly hold out your hand, wiggling with your fingers.
"What?" he frowns. "Oh… didn't know you were a smoker. Linda clearly rubbed off on you," he jokes, handing you over the cigarette.
Raising an eyebrow, you inhale. "When I walked in here, it still felt the same … same place, just emptier," you admit.
Matt kicks a stone, not able to keep his legs still. "So, we're both idiots for showing up. But I assume you didn't really have a choice either," he concludes. Placing both of his elbows on his knees, he demandingly looks over to the cigarette in your hand. "Now gimme that shit back!"
"Addict," you tease, passing it back over.
"Please, don't act like your little best friend didn't use to steal half my pack on purpose," he shakes his head, greedily putting the almost entirely burned down cigarette in his mouth.
Lifting your eyebrows, you glare at him, not saying a word.
"What?" he asks, skeptically side-eyeing you.
"Nothing…I'm just, you know… thinking."
To you, it had always been obvious how Matt hovered around the art room when Linda was in it. Painting for hours, not knowing what was going on around her—lost in her own little world. Matt mentioning her twice after he probably hadn't seen her since both of you moved out is interesting to say the least. But for now, you plan to hold in the burning question.
"Thank you, by the way," you whisper as you watch the fountain water glisten in the sun.
"No problem. I've never had someone fall apart in my arms before, so I probably didn't do a good job anyway," he chuckles.
"I'm sorry," you turn away, heat rising to your cheeks. "I didn't ask you to stay…"
"I know," he says, flicking the leftover filter to the side. "Still, didn't mean I was gonna leave you though." No judgment in his voice, just understanding. Understanding, you didn't expect from someone like him. The silence that followed didn't feel uncomfortable anymore, like the other times you ran into him alone—almost peaceful.
Playing with the zipper of your hoodie, you want to get the last thing off your chest that's been eating at you. "I'm sorry for ignoring you after, it's just… and you know the thing with Mello -"
Matt let's out a snort, "Yeah, I remember that glorious moment at the vending machines."
You blink, "I'm not talking about that," your gaze shifting down to your shoes, embarrassed that he remembers the moment you were never able to explain even to yourself.
Shrugging your shoulders, you gather the courage to tell him about the moment in the corridor. The moment you keep revisiting every day before bed, in the shower. "He probably told you this … right before he left, we argued and -"
Startled by Roger's voice coming from the window, the two of you abruptly turn around. "The cab is here!"
Standing up, Matt turns to you, "I'm sorry, what did you want to say again?"
"It's nothing," you shake your head. Taking on deep breath in you get up, grabbing the handle of your suitcase once more.
Matt didn't respond right away, he just looked at you, narrowing his eyes, "Huh, I'll let it slide for now, don't be surprised if I ask you again later."
Rolling your eyes, you walk past him, heading for the gate. Before you could stop yourself, you took one last look at the building. The cross on the roof, the half-closed curtains, the ghosts of stolen childhoods lurking behind every corner— what did you even try to remember, why would you want to remember?
"Are you ready, or what?" he asks.
"Not sure," you reluctantly admit.
Matt's lips slightly curve into a smirk, "Good, that means you're not one of them anymore."
He was right, four years ago you would've given everything to fly anywhere—go anywhere—to work for L.
Slowly, you both made your way out of the garden to the cab. Sitting side by side on the soft leather seats, quiet, nervous, but for the first time in a long while, not entirely alone.
Notes:
this is so fucking depressing rn, but next chapter will be more lighthearted, i promise ...? <3
also our fuck ass ex doesn't have a name so u can project ur own evil ex on him. thanks xx
-maeve
Chapter 3: Running to Stand Still
Notes:
Hey, I'm sorry for taking so long, I've been really busy studying. Thank u for everyone reading ts so far, it means so much <33
Oh, and if u lock in at the end, the actual thing starts ig?
Btw. I've been obsessed w Jane Eyre and Criminal Minds recently. so I decided to copy and add a quote at the beginning of every chapter from now on. ;)PS: I'm sorry, I edited this at like 1AM.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Her coming was my hope each day,
Her parting was my pain;
The chance that did her steps delay
Was ice in every vein. – Charlotte Brontë
[ ♫Play: The Spins by Mac Miller♫ ]
Arriving at the airport had been quite difficult. Sterile incandescent lights reflect on the marble floor, people in a hurry bump into you left and right. Overlapping conversations, Suitcases rattling on the ground, kids crying and pouting somewhere in the distance. Running on only two hours of sleep and one overpriced airport coffee, you finally collapse on a bench with a panoramic view of the tarmac. Watching planes take off, their engines running like a quiet storm.
Are you really going to fly for the first time in your entire life?
The thought of it presses heavily on your chest. All these noises, smells of food, clouds of duty-free perfume on every passerby, made your head spin. It's definitely not what you're used to. Overwhelmed, your legs bounce, nails digging into the soft flesh of your upper arms. Staring down at the polished floor, you wait for Matt to return from his energy drink hunt.
Time feels relative, especially at this very moment. Every second dragged itself into minutes. You wouldn't be surprised if Matt completely lost track of your location. Slowly, but surely, your thoughts start to drift.
"I think we need to address that little staring problem of yours, huh?" Matt says, holding his energy drink in his hand, like it's some kind of trophy. Smoothly, he slides next to you on the bench, his elbows resting on his knees.
"What?" you ask, turning your body to the side to look at him.
"You've been doing it for as long as I can remember. Staring holes into the ground, walls … people." His fingers twist the pull-tab of his Red Bull can, his goggles shoved on top of his messy brown hair.
After multiple failed attempts to open up the can, you roll your eyes. Not able to bear the sight of his unhandiness any longer, you snatch the can out of his hands.
"Give me that!" In one swift motion, you pop it open, the hiss of gas escaping the small container. "Here. Take it," you demand.
Matt blinks in confusion before forming a smirk. "Thanks, Mom."
As he drinks his Red Bull while typing on his phone, you lean back against the cold metal of the bench. Tilting your head, you observe a mother with her little daughter. Crouching down next to her, she watches the planes take off, pointing out every single one of them. The familiar heartache of the memories you shared with your own mother come back instantly. Still eyeing the pair, you notice the little butterfly hair clip in the girl's hair, sparkling in the morning sun. Hearing the child giggle, caused by her Mom gently tickling her side, you dig your nails back into their usual spot, wishing, for just a second, that it could be you. Didn't most children fly with their parents the first time?
Biting down hard on your tongue, you held back the tears from forming in the corner of your eyes. Back when your Mom used to be herself, happy, radiant, alive— she would have placed the little clips in your hair too, kissed the top of your head.
God, how you wish she were still here, to hold your hand — bring you back home. It's one thing to grieve a dead person, but another thing to know they're still alive, somewhere, yet unreachable.
Matt nudges you lightly with his elbow, energy drink still in hand. "You're doing it again."
"What do you mean?" narrowing your eyes, you slowly grow irritated at the fact that he can notice whenever your thoughts spin on their own.
"Staring," he chuckles, toying with his half-empty can. "You're looking at the girl. Probably thinking about 'What if I had normal parents and not some sociopathic Englishman, who collects child detectives like Pokémon'."
You shake your head, a smile tugging at your lips. "I mean … you're not wrong."
"If there's one thing you should know," he says deadpan, "I'm never wrong … about literally anything. That's why L hired me."
Matt's phone buzzes, interrupting the moment. He glances at the screen and smirks. "So seems like your friend Linda just told me to take 'good care' of you. Whatever that means."
"Of course she did," you dramatically sigh. "She probably feels guilty for allowing me to come back to this freak-show."
"Or maybe she's worried you'll blow up the airport," Matt jokes, slipping his phone back into his pocket.
"Oh, shut the fuck up …"
You halt, eyes widening in the sudden realization, "Wait …you're texting Linda?"
"What? Jealous?" he teases.
"Oh, please. She's way out of your league." Smacking your lips, you turn back to the spot where mother and daughter stood, just a few minutes ago.
"This is getting too depressing," Matt claps his hands together, "Come on, get up. I could eat something before we fly."
"I'll pass," you blink at him, "I'm not hungry."
"You haven't eaten anything since we got here. Let's go," he says impatiently, standing up, scanning his surroundings.
"Exactly," you murmur.
He frowns, adjusting his goggles. "You are aware that plane food tastes like hell. I'm telling you, you'd want to eat now."
You just shrug, eyes fixed on the floor. "I'll grab something later, alright?"
"Whatever. We're going to McDonald's." Walking backwards, he addresses you one more time. "So you can sit here and do all that depressing shit, or you can enjoy me destroying my arteries even more in real time. Which do you prefer?''
"You're unbelievable," you groan, grabbing your belongings to follow after him.
With crossed arms and your purse firmly tucked under you, you follow after him. You look around, looking in every window of every shop. Many different cafés, bakeries on either side of you. Each of them looks more appealing than a fast-food restaurant to you.
"Can't we at least eat somewhere nicer?" you complain.
He just shakes his head, "Not a chance!"
After what feels like hours, he finally spots the golden M shining from above. Excited like he has just seen the holy spirit, he taps your shoulder. "Found it!" he smiles, pointing at the yellow glow.
"Like I said," you shrug your shoulders, "I'm not really hungry right now."
"Come on," he yawns. Firmly, he grabs your wrist, dragging you towards his desired destination. There's really no escaping now, you think.
[ ♫Play: Replicate by Flora Rose♫ ]
Entering through the sliding door, you are met with the smell of deep-fried food and that annoying beeping sound. Looking around, you spot a bunch of children, each of them with a colorful balloon in hand. Matt has his back turned to you, eagerly scanning the menu.
"I'm not trusting these children with these balloons," you mutter. "Can we at least eat in a more secluded area, if you're not open to changing places last minute?"
Matt turns around, dramatically slow, a grin already forming on his face. "Sure, we can sit somewhere nicer … if you agree to let me pick out something for you."
"Whatever makes you happy," you respond dryly, already accepting there's no way he'll let you off.
"Alright," he cracks his knuckles, as if you just gave him the most difficult task of the century. "Please, choose a place of your liking and wait. I don't want to hear any of your complaints again, Mom," he jokes.
You softly chuckle before turning on your heels to go look for a table away from all these children.
Pressing his pointer finger to his chin, Matt turns back before he steps to the counter to place your order.
Looking left and right, you go all the way to the back to find a booth suitable enough for having a conversation, without getting interrupted. Sitting down, you mindlessly take your phone out of your purse.
*Two new messages* from Linda.
Linda: I hope everything's alright! If not, let me know. The getaway car is still parked and ready!
Linda: Did I just see Matt?!
Looking at her messages, you couldn't help but faintly smile. So she didn't drive off immediately. She had always been like that, or maybe all of you are, not able to express your care directly, even if it affects you deeply.
Shaking your head in amusement, imagining her watching you from inside of her car, you message her back.
You: I'm good. I'm at the airport rn. To answer your question: Yes! ;)
When you look up from your phone, you can see Matt, balancing an enormous amount of fries on a tablet. Your eyes widen in shock.
"Don't tell me you ordered enough fries to feed a family of four," you scold him.
Gently, he sets down the fries in the center of the table. Carefully, placing his goggles next to him, he begins to eat.
"You can tell a lot about the quality of the food based on their fries," he says, now very serious-looking. you couldn't tell if he was joking or not.
Already chewing, he points at the food, "I picked the fries for you as well, if you couldn't already tell!"
"Yeah, I figured." Raising your eyebrows, you take one of them, rolling it in between your fingers, not sure if you were actually going to eat it. The idea of flying makes your stomach twist. Matt, already being the only person who's seen you break down and hysterically sob, you didn't want him to be the only person who's seen you throw up as well.
Licking his fingers, his phone starts to buzz.
"Linda again?" you ask. "You really have to explain yourself here!" Putting down the food you were holding between your fingers, you look at him, implying you are not going to eat until he responds.
Matt puts his phone down, screen facing the table, frowning, "You really make me wish I'd stayed home."
"So, what about her?" you keep pressing him.
"What do you mean?" he mutters, shoving another fry into his mouth.
"You mentioned her like three times already, even on the drive here," you say, crossing your arms in front of your body, pretending like you just unfolded the last defeating piece of evidence to him.
"Says you," he points a fry at you, "acting like you don't want me to mention Mello."
Fuck, you didn't expect him to fire back like that. Unfortunately, he is right, but that's not something you would want to tell him. The unspoken hope, you didn't even want to admit to yourself, that somehow the conversation would stir to him. Cornered, like a wild animal, your body's reaction betrayed you, since you focused so hard on controlling your facial expression. Upon his claim, you unwillingly flinch, and your breath hitches.
"See, that's what I'm talking about," he smirks, "Always projecting onto others, when you're the one I should be concerned about."
Blinking rapidly, trying to find your composure, you force yourself to think of a good comeback. But to no avail, your mind is still blank at the mention of his name; the only sound is your pounding heart.
"So, just for your information," he dramatically sighs, "he's alive and well, but don't expect him to send a postcard anytime soon."
Rolling your eyes, you respond in the same sarcastic tone. "Look at you, floating around in your own little world, while the rest of us live well … in reality."
Shaking his head, his phone buzzes again — another message.
"Aren't you going to respond?" you ask, this time more unsure. This whole situation feels odd.
Matt picks up his phone, reading the message on the display. His reaction to it is somehow unreadable. Without responding, he turns the screen off, sighing, putting it back into his hoodie's front pocket.
"You know, Matt, it's not nice to ignore your secret girlfriend," you point your finger to the place where his phone used to lie just a few seconds earlier.
"You know, it's not nice to get up in everyone's business," he copies your voice almost mockingly.
For your own good, you didn't respond, sensing that what he just read seemed to have lowered his spirits. Instead, you take one of his fries out of spite, thinking about what to do next. Then, an idea came to you, surprising that you didn't think of this sooner. Picking up your phone, which was still resting on your lap, you turn on the screen to see if Linda has responded to your previous message. She surely would have, if she were already on her phone messaging Matt.
Your inbox is empty. She didn't say anything.
Biting down on your lower lip, you carelessly drop your phone back into your purse, harsher than intended. So, whoever messaged him — it wasn't her. Your stomach sinks at the sudden realization. Matt didn't seem to pick up on your suspicion; he still eats his fries, completely zoned out from reality.
Just when you were starting to trust another person besides Linda. Maybe it's more harmless than you think. After all, not everyone is out to get you, and maybe Matt has more of a social life you weren't aware of. The only person you have to fight is yourself, no one else.
The two of you continue to eat in silence until the speaker announces that your flight is ready for boarding soon. "Let's go," you insist, "I don't want us to miss our flight."
Before Matt can protest, you quickly snatch the practically empty plate away from underneath his fingers. On your way to exit, you put it down in the trash receptacle.
Dragging Matt all the way to your gate, your stomach starts to do backflips, the reality of flying coming closer by the minute. Even when you and him sit down in your assigned seats, you can't relax.
The plane starts moving. Nervously, you grip your seatbelt. Looking over to Matt, you see him turning off his phone, but right before the screen turns black, you swear you saw a message from 'M' pop up.
"It's not nice to look at other people's shit, you know," he says, reaching over to your purse to grab his Nintendo DS he planted in there on the ride in the cab.
"I wasn't trying to," you mutter, "but why don't you tell me who it is. To say it with your own words: 'it's not nice' to ignore your little girlfriend."
Before he could reply, the plane begins to vibrate under your feet, and it slowly but surely takes off. An overwhelming sense of pressure overcomes you. Instinctively, you press your fingers against your ears.
It didn't seem to affect Matt at all. Curiously, he looks out of the window for a solid minute watching the plane get swallowed by the clouds, before he pulls down his goggles. "Anyway, I'm going to play now," he announces.
Once the speakers announce that you're now free to roam around the plane, your body starts to relax a little. Sinking into your seat, you mindlessly look out of the window, head leaning against the firm glass, drinking from the cup of water the flight attendant just handed to you.
All the sleep you missed out on the past days catches up on you, your eyelids grow heavy, until they close.
[ ♫Play: Freaks by Surf Curse♫ ]
·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·
Opening your eyes, you are surrounded by the flickering of golden flames, birthed in darkness, forming into an orbicular shape over your head. Converging, ricocheting off of each other in infinitesimal shooting stars — a dandelion.
Reaching for the embers, your fingertips sting; everything burns in fervent azure. Familiar, the kind of burn that feels so strangely right. You can't help but think of his eyes, burning with the same cruel passion.
The lucid part of your brain still trying to deny what is so undeniably true. Only for you to be betrayed by the persistent pounding of your heart, refusing to lie.
·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·
Tossing your head to the side, the thudding continues, every vibration creeps through your body. Abruptly, your head hit the hard glass to your right. The sharp pain brings you back to reality, your eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness around you. However, it isn't complete darkness; a soft blue light comes from the seat next to you.
Turning your head to the side, Matt looks up, noticing the sudden movement coming from you. "Hey there, I was already wondering when the turbulence would wake you up."
"How long was I asleep for?" you ask.
"About nine hours," he looks back down at his DS. "Oh, and I ate your bag of chips too, so you'd maybe want to get yourself something else to eat."
You glance over to his place, crumbs cover the tray table in front of him, two empty energy cans, and two crumpled-up chip bags.
"Did you even sleep?" you ask, eyes blinking in bewilderment, "or did you play for nine hours straight? And what is up with this mess on your side?"
Pausing his game, he smirks at you, "I can't help it, small spaces are just harder to keep clean. Oh, and I had a few naps here and there, but ultimately it's hard to sleep with you moving around like crazy."
Another sudden plane movement makes you grip the armrest on either side of you, making you gasp loudly.
"Scared?" Matt laughs at you.
"No," you murmur, "just unexpected." Breathing heavily, you try to steady yourself, to find your composure before anyone notices. Looking around the plane, most passengers seem unbothered, some even sleeping.
"Aha, whatever you say." He slightly nudges your shoulder, offering you his DS. "Here, try and beat my score."
Taken aback by his sudden offer, you just stare at the gray device. Hesitantly, your hands unclench, freeing the armrests from your rigid grip. Feeling the cold plastic in your hand, a gentle smile in fond memories tugs at your lips.
"You know, I used to have one of these too back when-," you pause, realizing you spoke without thinking, about a time you didn't want to remember — shouldn't remember. "Nevermind," you whisper, opening the console with a soft click.
"It's my old one too," he admits. No hint of sarcasm or humor in his words, just him being serious, probably for the first time since the two of you boarded the plane.
Biting down on your lip, you try to decide if you're going to indulge in this moment of nostalgia or shrug it off like you were taught to do.
"I used to play Nintendogs all the time, every day after I finished homework. Sometimes even at night under my blanket," once the words leave your lips, you can't stop venting.
"It's like my mom -," you sharply inhale before you continue. Your heart pounding in your chest, speaking the word you never dared to say out loud again. "She never allowed me to have a dog, so that was the compromise. At least if I forgot to feed it, there would never be real consequences," you shrug.
For a brief moment, Matt didn't respond; only the soft humming of the engine fills the silence.
"What a wise woman," he says deliberately, probably unsure if he should've said something at all.
Biting your lip, you turn on the screen with a sound you remember so well. "So," you raise your eyebrows, "what game do you want me to beat you at?"
Matt smirks, "First off, you're not going to beat me; you'll only attempt to. Second off, it's New Super Mario Bros."
You chuckle for a bit, "Alright, alright. Show me how to play, and we'll see."
Moving up the armrest separating the two of you, he leans over, explaining to you how to play the game.
After a couple of attempts, you finally got the hang of it. Now fully consumed by the Mario Game, you didn't notice that Matt fell asleep until his head hit your shoulder.
This truly reminds you of Linda, back when the two of you were just starting to grow close. His hair brushes against your cheek, his breath slow and steady. At first, you were debating on waking him up, until you oddly felt at ease. After a while, you continue playing the game.
About twenty minutes later, his mouth opens, and Matt starts snoring in your ear, as well as drooling on your shoulder.
"Okay, that's it," you scold, pushing him off of you in one motion.
Rubbing his head, Matt frowns, "Dude, seriously? What was that for? I just had an amazing dream."
Mocking him with false empathy, you sneer, "Oh, did you just dream of Linda? Is that why you were drooling all over my shoulder?" For a moment, you dramatically pause, "Or did you dream about your secret girlfriend, you've been messaging this entire time?"
Matt shakes his head, crossing his arms in front of his body. "Just because you drool dreaming of Mello, doesn't mean I'm wired like that."
Still drowsy, he turns his head away from you, falling back asleep instantly before you could come up with a response. You just sigh, shaking your head with a grin.
Turning off the tiny screens, you carefully tug away his DS in your purse. Your eyes burn, and your body feels sore from not moving around for hours. With shaky legs, you get up and walk past Matt, who is still soundly asleep.
Once you reach the bathroom, you lock yourself in it. The sterile LED's blinding you, while your eyes adjust to the brightness, you stretch. Listlessly, you bend over the sink, steadying yourself on the cold porcelain edges.
The lights faintly hum, your face awfully gray, heavy bags still under your eyes, your lips chapped from the flight air. Breathing in deeply, you tear your eyes away from the gloominess of your reflection. Hoping to make yourself more presentable once you land in four hours, not expecting to get more sleep, you splash cold water in your face.
With a pounding heart, you realize how far away from 'home' you are. No turning back again at this point. The amount of unfulfilling sleep, poor eating habits wear you down. A loud knock against the door brings you back to reality — you're still on the plane. "Occupied," you hoarse. After another splash of cold water, you open the door. Without apologizing, you walk back to your seat.
Against all odds, you manage to fall asleep. This time, you didn't dream at all, just darkness.
✭✭✭✭✭
[ ♫Play: The City by The 1975♫ ]
You are woken up by Matt roughly shaking your body. "Wake up, we're landing in ten," he commands.
Disoriented, your eyes adjust to the environment, you notice that the blinds are no longer shut, the plane is lit by the dim lightning of the lamps over your seats. Pushing yourself up from your uncomfortable sleeping position, your neck is aching, as well as the side of your head. However, it is very evident night, maybe early in the morning. Looking below, you see the city lights gleaming underneath you, only elevated by the opacity of the darkness. Tokyo looks like a completely different galaxy.
"Wow," you whisper in awe, "I didn't expect it to look like that."
"Yeah, looks like a giant motherboard," Matt jokes, "but I agree, it's pretty sick."
He joins your side, his goggles pushed all the way on top of his sleep-messy hair. For a fleeting second, the pit in your stomach disappears, you stop pinching yourself, and all the anxiety harboring inside of you is completely forgotten about. All of these emotions are, for just a moment, replaced by something natural, something different — possibility.
With wide eyes, you couldn't help but stare at the city lights, you see your reflection in the window. The glint in your eyes is real, no reflection, just raw emotion.
"You nervous?" Matt nudges your knee with his, "You're basically running on caffeine and a handful of fries."
"Yeah, I'm fine," you mumble.
"Liar," he snorts, digging around for his seatbelt.
Tearing your gaze away, you grab your purse, rummaging through it for your hand mirror and some lip balm. Behind you, Matt starts laughing.
Glaring at him over your shoulder, you ask, "What's so funny?"
"Nothing, it's just I thought we were going to meet L, not audition for a beauty pageant."
Before you could find the words to respond, the plane begins to descend. You tightly grip the side of your armrest without even noticing, turning your knuckles almost completely white, breathing slowly and heavily.
"Relax, dude," Matt snorts. "We're just landing."
"You know, statistically, we're more likely to die in an accident, while taking off, and landing?" you bite back.
He shakes his head in amusement. The lights come closer, you could make out every shape, every building, until you could see the ground. Your stomach drops. Then a loud thud, jarring you forward as the wheels hit the ground. Feeling another bump, you feel like you might need to throw up, your blood runs cold. Then the plane steadies and comes to a slow but sure stop. Finally, every tense muscle in your body relaxes at once, you breathe out, closing your eyes.
Matt undoes his seatbelt, like he just got done riding a rollercoaster. stretches, and yawns. Cracking his knuckles and neck, he starts talking, "Well, that was fun, what about you?" he grins.
Rubbing the side of your head, you look around. Everyone else seems to be fine, completely unbothered. Hopefully, no one else besides Matt noticed your behavior. With still shaking hands, you unbuckle the belt, trying to look as casual as possible. The sound of people chattering and getting up, removing their overhead luggage, emerges from every corner.
Fist-bumping your shoulder, Matt gets up, seeming as energetic as ever. Maybe it's because he's in a hyper state after running on barely any sleep, or you just slept yourself even more tired, but in this moment, you could kick him for rushing you like that.
"Come on, Grandma, the suitcases aren't going to pick themselves up."
The hunger, the unsatisfying amount of sleep, the fact that you feel like roadkill, being run over one too many times, makes you want to act like a bitch. Even Linda had told you in the past that she doesn't want to be around you whenever one of these things applies. Unfortunately, Matt is now going to find out for himself.
"You're so fucking annoying," you grumble.
"I know," he says proudly, "It's my best trait," not even acknowledging your sudden mood change.
Tugging your purse firmly under your arm, you follow Matt, passengers pushing you on accident, which only adds to your crankiness. The rows of people walk too slowly for your liking, the smell of sweat and leftover food irritates your nose, the lights are too bright for your heavy eyes. Scrunching up your nose in discontent, you cross your arms in front of your body, glaring into the mass.
"Dude, stop shooting lasers out of your eyes, or do you want us to get jumped in a foreign country?" Matt whispers under his breath.
"Well, maybe I do," you mutter, eyes now fixated on the floor.
[ ♫Play: Tek It by Cafuné♫ ]
Walking to the luggage claim turns out to be ten times worse than the plane ride. Having these second sleeps while walking is not for the weak. Almost bumping into everything within a one-meter radius, Matt had to tug his fingers in the back of your hood, yanking you away from colliding with any obstacle that comes your way.
"Dude," he snorts while preventing you from colliding with a family and their children, "how are you losing a fight to air?"
Not having the energy to respond to his attempt at humor, you just take in your surroundings. The announcements seem even louder than before. Everything is so much bigger, the lights are brighter, the crowd is more prevalent than before — it doesn't look like, feel like, anything you've ever seen. Tokyo doesn't look real yet, or maybe you're just too overwhelmed right now.
"Hey, hey, hey, focus!" Matt snaps his fingers directly in front of your face, pulling you out of your state of awe. "I'm not going to explain to L that I lost you within the first ten minutes of landing."
You stop walking instantly, furrowing your eyebrows, lids still half closed. "I am focusing," you hiss through a yawn. As if your stomach wants to betray you, it grumbles loudly, answering on your behalf. Cutting through all the noise so loudly that even Matt notices.
He raises his eyebrows, "Sure, you're totally not being full of shit right now." He gently pats your head, like you're some kind of difficult toddler, "Come on, Y/N, let's grab our stuff so we can get food before you eat L alive when we get there. I promise you, I'm not going to clean up that crime scene," he smiles.
For a second, you think about shoving him into the nearby newspaper stand. Thank god, however, that you're too tired.
After running in circles for at least five minutes, your muscles ache with exhaustion, your head feels like it developed a second heartbeat, the dehydration is really getting to you. Still unable to locate the baggage carousel, Matt finally admits that he has no clue whatsoever where it is. Almost lividly, you drag him to the information booth, the one you suggested from the start.
The both of you wait in line, looking like and feeling like zombies next to all these put-together and very much awake travelers. It takes forever, so much that you almost fall asleep waiting. Matt nudges you every thirty seconds like an annoying alarm clock.
"Stay awake," he whispers.
"Stop," you mutter. "It's almost our turn, look," you point towards the person in front of you who is just walking away.
Matt steps up to the counter, "Good evening!" he chirps dramatically polite. Standing right behind him, you bite the tip of your tongue; the stinging sensation is the only thing that keeps you awake. Mortified, almost in slow-motion, you see him bow, almost insultingly deep in front of them. Forcefully, you find your composure, stepping in so quickly, you almost lose balance, your cheeks grow hot as you yank him away by the hood.
"Excuse him," you mumble to the staff, smiling at them in shame.
Freshly out of sight, you sharply look at him, smacking him on his shoulder as hard as your weary state allows you to, "Stop embarrassing me," you growl.
"Impossible," he grins, rubbing the spot you just hit. His phone buzzes and he immediately goes on to check it, his thumbs flying over to keyboard.
"Your little girlfriend can wait," you scoff at him. Walking past Matt, you elbow him in his ribs. "Now come on! Thanks to you, we have to figure out on our own now where these goddamn carousels are."
"Abusive much?" he complains, "just when I thought you and Mello couldn't be a better fit." he dramatically flinches when you take a threatening step in his direction.
"I'm just sleep deprived," you correct him, pretending that at the mention of Mello's name, your heart didn't skip a beat.
"Alright then," he says, hesitantly putting his phone back into his pocket, though you can tell by the way he twitches, he's still tempted to check it.
When the baggage carousel finally came into sight, after what felt like an entire lifetime, you felt like crying out of pure relief.
"See? Told you I'd find it without getting us lost," Matt proudly says.
"But you did get us lost," you remind him dryly, walking towards the moving carousel. From what it seems like, apparently, you two aren't the only people who have had a hard time finding their bags. The number of people still waiting for their suitcases to show up only adding to your impatience. Deep within you, you feel more irritable, more tired, making you want to sleep, or scream, maybe both.
"If my bag doesn't show up, I'm going home," Matt complains while fiddling with his goggles.
"Please, you don't have a home," the words just slip out of your mouth, unfiltered and unnecessarily rude. You really just went too far.
The heat creeps up on your spine when you see Matt freeze mid-fidgeting. "What the hell," he blinks, his expression, for once, completely blank and unreadable.
The moment didn't seem to pass; it uncomfortably lingers. "Sorry," you inhale sharply.
Matt looks at you for a moment, studying your face, then sighs. "Well, someone's hangry," he mutters. Luckily, he didn't seem mad, just taken aback by your sudden callousness.
Staring at the moving carousel, he whispers, "And you're right… I don't have a home."
You instantly turn your head, startled by his remark, you just stare. What would you even say in this moment? He just shrugs, like he didn't just say one of the heaviest things he could've said. Like his words didn't carry that hollow undertone.
When you still lived with him under one roof, it never occurred to you that Matt might've had some underlying trauma. Maybe a family he didn't remember, maybe something even worse. Rarely did anyone ever talk about the reason why they ended up at Wammy's house. Part of it was that you were constantly reminded to never disclose any personal information to anyone else, like your real name, where you're from, or your upbringing.
The familiar weight on your chest came back instantly. You never wanted to hurt his feelings, after all, he is nothing but nice to you. Even four years ago, when you rarely talked to him, he stood there with you.
"Hey," he gently pushes you to the side, "Don't worry. I still have my goggles. And pray for my bag to show up soon, because that would be another thing I have."
"I'm surprised you haven't lost them already," you say, trying to go back to your usual ways.
"There you are," he smirks, "thought I had lost you to your crippling overthinking again."
Glancing over his shoulder, you spot his sports bag, held together by the neon green luggage security straps. "Look!" you excitedly point at it, "your bag."
Matt turns around, squinting his eyes, "No way! And just so you know, after what you just said. If yours doesn't show up, I'm definitely leaving you behind."
"Oh, you wish," you shout after him, as he shoves his way through the crowd, to pick up his belongings.
Joining him by his side, you see your suitcase approaching from the other end. "Look, no need to leave me behind now, huh?" you grin.
Despite your exhaustion, you feel the most lighthearted ever since England. Finally able to breathe, now that you are one hundred percent certain that none of your belongings are missing. Lifting your suitcase from the band, Matt almost falls over, struggling.
"Jesus, how much did you bring?" he curses under his breath."All your emotional baggage?"
"Hey!" you warn him. Watching him struggle in amusement, you continue teasing. "You know, I never understood why you weren't before me in line … at least until now."
He stops, dropping your suitcase to the ground with a loud bang when the plastic hits the polished marble floor. "Next time, you're getting your shit yourself," he strictly points at you like a teacher.
Crouching down, you firmly grab the handle and lift your suitcase on its wheels. "Alright, alright. Thank you," you laugh. This entire situation just became ten times funnier, running on only jet lag and iron will.
During this very moment, you feel like just a person again, no orphan used as some intelligence weapon, just a normal twenty-year-old, laughing with someone you could only describe as a friend.
Slap-happy, the two of you drop yourself on another metal bench in front of the airport parking lot, each of you with an overpriced airport sandwich and a Red-Bull in hand, laughing about god knows what. Toying with your sandwich wrapper, you look around the neon-lit parking lot. Everything seemed so foreign, more futuristic than the boring, trashy parking lots back in Winchester. For once, you didn't mind the cool night air; it feels refreshing after only breathing in the sticky plane air for hours. Looking up, the twilight is now painted into the sky. Faintly, you can still make out the shape of the moon; the planes taking off are more defined now. Astonished by your sight, you completely forget your surroundings.
"Y/N," Matt nudges you with his shoulder, "are you going to eat that, or can I have that?" pointing to your half-eaten sandwich.
"No? Unlike you, I'm not a bottomless pit who inhales their food within seconds. I like to enjoy my meal." To support your statement, you take a spiteful bite out of your sandwich. "And besides that, did Roger tell you where exactly we're going to meet Watari, or is this another thing we have to take care of?"
"He just told us to wait near the parking lot," Matt shrugs with no care in the world.
Rolling your eyes at his carelessness, you keep asking, "Did he at least tell you what he looks like?"
Matt takes a sip of his drink before he responds, "Nope. But I bet he's that dude over there with the newspaper, classic detective move." he chuckles.
You snort, "Nah, it's clearly the guy with the hat, obviously trying to hide his identity." Raising your eyebrows, you look at Matt.
He just shakes his head, "What about him?" he points towards a man sitting in his car, tapping on his steering wheel. "Maybe he is watching us from there, trying to figure out if we're of any use."
"Good guesses," a calm voice speaks from behind your backs, "But unfortunately, none of them are correct."
Both of you immediately freeze. Goosebumps form on every inch of your body, slowly, almost comically in sync, the two of you turn around. Looking up, you can make out the shape of an elderly man, not like you expected. His silver hair neatly brushed back, calm with glasses and an eerily straight posture, almost inhumane. Everything about him seems intentional, like he could disappear into a crowd any second, like he couldn't be seen unless he wanted to. His eyes are fixated on both of you; his expression is completely unreadable, but there seems to be nothing threatening behind it.
Your heart is pounding at full speed, almost all the way up in your throat. Unsure of what to say, you tilt your head to see Matt's reaction. He didn't seem so sure either, his hands gripping the can of his energy drinks, almost crushing it. His lips slightly parted, but no word came out. "Uh," is all he manages to say.
A nervous laugh escapes your mouth, your eyes darting back to what seems to be Watari, in hopes that he would tell you what to do next.
The man bows politely, like he practiced that exact moment, "Please, forgive the sudden intrusion. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Watari. And you two must be Matt and Y/N."
So this is him you thought, the face behind every instruction Roger so deliberately followed, the man paying for your tuition, behind every file, behind everything you weren't allowed to keep. Breathing heavily, digging your nails into your palms, you swore it should be bleeding by now, you try to find the strength to form any kind of words, but you were too taken off guard.
"You two gave very creative guesses for the amount of sleep you two are probably lacking. Though I assure you that I usually do not hide behind newspapers." He studies you with soft eyes; still, there is something you can't quite put your finger on. It feels like he knew your entire history, your entire psychological profile, before you even landed. However, the greater question is: how long has he been watching the two of you?
This thought made your skin crawl. It wouldn't be surprising if he, or L, had watched you through surveillance this entire time. All the embarrassing moments of you and Matt bickering at any chance given. Surely, now they know why the two of you were never chosen.
Finally, Matt starts to show a sign of life, a sign he didn't turn into a statue made of stone. He cough-laughs, probably because he didn't know what else to do. "Uh, good to know," he says hesitantly.
Clenching your jaw, you want to add something, but in situations like these, you never know what to say, since the opportunity to introduce yourself with your name is long gone. Awkwardly, you just smile.
"I see, good thing you two haven't lost your sense of humor on the way here," he politely says.
"Uh, hi. I'm sorry if we kept you waiting," is all you manage to force out of your throat.
"Not at all." Watari gestures to the side of the parking lot, "The car is this way. We should leave now, before the traffic grows. Tokyo can be quite overwhelming around this time."
"So can she," Matt whispers under his breath, meant just for you. However, judging by Wataris' amusement, you can tell he heard it; he just pretends not to notice.
Completely forgetting the old man's presence, you instantly elbow Matt in his ribs.
Ignoring what just happened, he gestures to your suitcase and Matt's bag, "If the two of you are ready, I will take you to the car."
Like on command, Matt jumps up from the bench, already reaching for his belongings, "I've got it he announces."
Reluctantly, you get up as well, stuffing your leftover food in your purse. Grabbing the cold plastic handle of your suitcase, both of you follow Watari to his car.
"I call dips on the passenger seat," Matt exclaims, before you were even able to form a proper thought.
"I must disappoint you, Matt," Watari calmly chuckles, "both of you will sit in the back."
Biting the inside of your cheek to prevent yourself from laughing out loud, you stop right in front of the trunk. The old man politely opens the door for you and Matt before he walks around the car to load your luggage inside.
Sinking into the soft leather seats, you smell the faint smell of a freshly cleaned car and a hint of citrus, finding comfort in it, your eyelids almost close entirely. So deep into your state of tranquility, you didn't notice Matt next to you, not even Watari entering the car, until you heard the soft humming of the engine.
[ ♫Play: Greatest Day (feat.Calum Scott) by Take that♫ ]
After a while, you open your eyes, looking out of the window, as the car merges into the traffic. The rising sun only elevates the outlines of every building, the reds and oranges, softly blending into the neon lights. The streetlights reflect on the skyscraper windows, surrounded by signs in a language you could not read. The traffic is loud, your lips slightly part in awe of the enchanting scenery in front of your very eyes. The buildings stretch tall into the sky, taxis, buses, bikes moving in some kind of beautiful, purposeful chaos.
Pressing your head against the cold glass, you keep taking everything in, "it's brighter and more majestic than it looked like from above," you whisper.
Wataris' eyes meet yours in the rear window, "Tokyo tends to do that, overwhelming people who have never been here before."
Glancing over to Matt, his reaction is similar to yours, with an open mouth, one might say, with his jaw on the floor, he stares outside, legs bouncing with excitement. "It looks unreal," he adds.
Shoving your shoulder, he smirks, "Bet you're more awake now."
"I've been awake," you mumble. Though your eyelids flutter shut the moment you aren't overstimulated with all of these new impressions.
"No, you're not," he shakes you awake by the shoulder, "Hey! Don't drool on me. What counts for me counts for you too, understood?"
"I'm not drooling," you protest, even though you absolutely were.
The old man clears his throat, loudly, like a silent warning. Looking at him through the mirror, you notice him taking in every bit of interaction, saving it in his memory, probably so he can report back to L. Thinking about all of the things he is unfortunate enough to witness, he is going to have a lot on you already. A shiver runs down your spine.
Noticing your stare, he starts picking up the conversation again. "I can see why Roger chose the two of you."
You blink confusedly. Is that all he got from this little banter? "What do you mean?"
"You'll find out soon enough," he says, glancing warmly back and forth between you and Matt.
"Ugh," Matt breathes, leaning close to your ear, whispering, "Is it like some secret rule that when you work for L, you have to talk like a cryptic fortune cookie?"
Immediately, your eyes dart toward the rear mirror, your hand in front of your mouth, you try to silence your gasp. Good thing Watari didn't seem to have heard Matt's snarky remark, or he is just an expert at pretending not to hear things.
"It's good that you have each other," the old man adds. "This work can be really isolating; companionship is valuable during these times, your little arguments included."
You look away, unsure of what to say. Matt doesn't say anything either. The thought of having someone else in your life other than Linda makes you feel an unexpected warmth inside your chest.
"L has been alone for quite some time before working on the Kira case," Watari sighs, "He will appreciate your presence more than you might expect."
Only raising an eyebrow, none of you respond. The closer you get to the destination, the more you start fidgeting with the sleeves of your hoodie, silently humming without noticing. When the car noticeably slows down, pulling into a free parking spot, your heart starts pounding heavily, your consciousness nearly leaves your body — nothing feels real anymore.
Stepping out of the car with wobbling legs, you hold your upper arms trying to regain some warmth from what you've felt earlier. Carefully, you spin on your heels, looking up to see the headquarters building in its entire glory. But something didn't feel quite right. Your body starts to tingle, triggering your fight or flight, almost as if you're being watched.
Flashing your eyes back down, scanning your surroundings, you try to figure out where it might come from. You breathe in sharply as you see a shadow standing between the buildings. Taking a step back, you squint your eyes trying to make out more of the shape; however, almost as quickly as it appeared, the figure disappears in the shadows.
Frozen, you observe the now-empty spot, hoping that you were wrong, that somehow the longer you focus, the shape would turn out to be a trash can, or literally anything else.
"What's up?" Matt asks joining your side, "You look like you've just seen a ghost."
Your mouth felt dry, not even daring to blink. "I think I did," your voice sounds husky. Still alarmed, you clear your throat, "I thought I just saw something … I mean someone. Across the street." With trembling hands, you point ahead of you.
Matt gulps. Watchfully, you turn your head to get a glimpse of his reaction, your lips slightly parted. He deliberately blinks, eyeing the area you just pointed out. Noticing your lingering gaze, he snorts, "Please, you're just tired. Come on, like Roger said, 'L doesn't like to wait'".
With nothing else to add, he turns on his heels to follow after Watari, who just got done unloading your suitcase, not aware of anything you just saw.
Looking back one last time, you feel a pair of intense eyes on you, unseen in the shadow, retreating silently — waiting.
Entering HQ feels like entering an entirely different world, almost like a Wammy's House version for grown-ups. The walls are gray, sterile lights flickering above your head, the floors polished to the point you can see your reflection in them, and one lonely decorative plant. The air smelled like cleaning products, not even a hint of air freshener. Every step echoes off the wall like a boomerang.
Reaching the end of the hall, the elevator opens with a loud ring, perfect timing, as if someone's watching, making sure everything goes exactly as planned.
"So, when are we going to meet L?" Matt asks, shifting his weight from one foot to another, breaking the tension.
"Whenever you have settled in," Watari explains, "L is a busy man. I'd suggest getting sleep first."
The same soft ring chimes when you arrive on one of the upper floors. "After you," Watari politely steps to the side.
Looking around, it looks way cozier than the entrance you just saw, if cozier is even a word you would use to describe this furnishing straight out of a catalogue. Taking off your shoes upon noticing the dark blue carpet floor, you look around. More plastic plants, a white couch in the center with two orange decorative pillows. Beige curtains frame the windows in front of the glass table. With your shoes in hand, you walk all the way inside. Turning your head to your left, you spot the open kitchen. Definitely an upgrade, judging by the only comparison you had — Wammy's House, or your shoebox-sized dorm.
Watari sets down your luggage, gesturing towards the doors in the hallway. "Your bedrooms are on the right, the bathroom is on the left." With one last nod, he steps away, back into the elevator.
Once the doors slide shut, you feel instant relief, the room seems so much bigger, easier to breathe in — to live in. Still, all that emptiness makes you feel a little overwhelmed. Dragging your suitcase in front of one of the bedrooms, you watch Matt in your peripheral vision. He stretches with his hands above his head, curiously wandering around the room.
"It's not bad," you admit, stepping back into the room, "I thought it would be more … sterile, or soulless. I don't know."
"Well, now I have a home … in a way," he grins. After audibly cracking his neck, he points at the kitchen, "Hey, we should check if they have snacks in here."
Following after him, you can't help but smile. This is probably the most free you have felt in ages. Ironic, considering you're right here, somewhere you swore to never go back to. Everything is so new, shining, polished. Tracing your pointer finger over the countertop, it turns out just as expected, not a single piece of dust on your finger.
Matt already has his head stuck in the fridge, looking at all the different options. "Anything you would want? Water, fruits … chocolate bars?" he asks teasingly.
"No, I'm good, thank you. I was actually planning to take a shower before getting a round of sleep," you brush a strand of hair behind your back.
He scoffs, "Fine, but don't complain when there are no leftovers."
Shrugging your shoulders, you turn around and wander to your bedroom. Opening the door with a creak, it seems more like a hotel room to you. One king-sized bed in the center, a desk, and a nightstand. No decor, or anything of that sort. Wow, you think, someone really gave their all to make this as bland as possible.
You crouch down next to your suitcase on the floor, gently opening it. Too tired to care, you just grab the first comfortable clothing you can find, together with your wash-bag, and head to the bathroom. Same thing here, sterile and bright, just like the rest.
The stream of hot water relaxes every built-up stress you feel. Still, a little uneasy about what happened before you entered HQ, you really start to think it might've been nothing. After all, you are in a foreign country, all your senses are on the highest alert. Turning off the water to let your conditioner sit, you hear Matt's muffled voice from outside the bathroom. Pausing everything you were just doing, you try to listen to make out the words he is saying. Once he notices the missing sound of running water, it seems like he immediately starts to whisper, making you all the more suspicious. Can you ever catch a break?
You shake your head; it's probably nothing. Exhaustedly, you rinse out your conditioner and remain under the comfort of the hot water for a while. Stepping out of the shower, you dry yourself up and brush your teeth. The soft fabric of your shirt and your sleeping shorts, comfortably hugging your sensitive skin.
Opening the bathroom door, Matt lies on the couch on his back, limbs stretched in all different directions. Curiosity gets the best of you, and before you press down on the handle to your room, you ask, "Were you just talking to Linda? On the phone, I mean."
"Yeah, it's all good," he mumbles, half asleep.
"Alright, that makes sense," you mutter under your breath, pressing down on the cold metal. Entering your room, you close the door behind you, walking straight to the desk where you put your phone before your shower. Unlocking it, you see:
*2 New Messages from Linda*
Linda: I knew it! Have a good flight though, call me whenever you get there!!!
Linda: Are you there yet?
Smiling, as you see her sending that message just five minutes ago, you press the call button. The ringing sound is meeting your ears, you already put your phone on speaker, so you can lie down comfortably on your bed.
"Hey, I thought they confiscated your phone or some shit," Linda's voice speaks from the other end.
"Hi, yeah, I had to get settled in and all, I honestly didn't remember until I heard you and Matt talk, I'm so-"
"Excuse me, Matt, and who?" she gasps, "I've been waiting for you this entire time, I didn't call anyone else."
You halt, "Hold on," you stutter, "he just confirmed he was talking to you … like a minute or two ago."
Linda goes quiet, almost alarmingly quiet. "Y/N, I swear on everything, I did not talk to him, I don't even have his phone number."
Sitting up straight, you slide off your bed, walking to your door, pressing your ear against it. The shower is still running, now you're the one whispering. "But he-" you bite your lip, your mind racing through all the different possibilities.
Matt didn't look awake enough to come up with some elaborate lie, but he also didn't sound surprised when you asked. Maybe it was nothing, maybe it was.
Linda sharply exhales, "Okay … maybe he was joking, or he is one of those freaks who talk to themselves all day?" She tried comforting you; you knew that. Still, the uneasiness in her voice is unmistakable.
"Yeah, maybe," you rub your eyes, "I'm probably just too tired. Everything is weird here in general," you explain. "Like I keep hearing things … seeing things. For example, I thought I saw someone near the building when I first arrived here."
"What do you mean, someone? Like who?" her voice even sharper, almost demanding.
You close your eyes and shake your head, "I don't know. It was probably nothing. I should probably get some rest."
"Listen," she says, her voice softening, "If anything still feels off by tomorrow, or anytime in general, you call me. Deal?"
"Deal," you agree.
"Goodnight, dumbass," she giggles.
"Night," you murmur, ending the call.
Once your head hits the pillow, you fall into a dreamless sleep.
✭✭✭✭✭
Waking up, everything spins around you; the room is lit by soft daylight. Right as soon as your eyes start to focus, you sit up straight, heart racing, and jaw clenched. The memories of the past two days are slowly regaining color in your memory. You're alright, everything is good, you're in Tokyo.
Pressing your palm to your beating heart, you try and steady your breath. Glancing over to your desk, you see a plate with pancakes and a cup of coffee sitting on there. Freshly awake, you slide out of your bed, making your way over to the meal. Gently brushing your finger on the side of the mug, you feel the coldness stemming from it. How long has it been sitting here? And more importantly, who brought it in here?
Stepping outside of your room, Matt is already awake, consumed by what seems to be a video game on his laptop. He didn't notice you at all until you clear your throat.
"Morning," you look up at the clock, "or should I say, good afternoon?"
Not even looking up from his game, he just gives you a nod. That is, until the game-over sound blasts from his speakers. Rolling his eyes, he looks over to you. "Good, you're finally awake," he greets. Closing his laptop, he continues, "Watari brought you food earlier, but you were sleeping like a corpse."
"Yeah, I saw that. I figured it wasn't you; otherwise, there would be no way the pancakes remained untouched until now," you chuckle.
"You're one hundred percent right," he chirps. "Also, if I were you, I'd hurry up to get ready, Watari said L is ready to meet us whenever you're awake, so … don't waste any more time. I've been dying to know what exactly we're here for."
"Okay, okay," you laugh, but before you step into the bathroom, the conversation you had with Linda right before you went to sleep pops back into your head. Taking two steps back, you look him deeply into his eyes. "You know, Matt. I talked to Linda … she told me she doesn't remember talking to you."
Removing his goggles from his head, he starts cleaning the tinted glass, "she probably forgot, you know how she is."
Except, you do — she would never forget something like that. "Matt-" you start.
"Listen, I really want to meet L Can we talk about this later?" his tone more serious than usual.
Taken aback by his sudden outburst, you decide not to press any further, still you make a mental note to address this later. "Alright," you nod, disappearing into the bathroom.
You brush your teeth and wash your face, only putting on a little bit of mascara and tinted lip balm, for some reason, you didn't want to look like a total mess when meeting the person you looked up to, basically, your entire life. Gently brushing your hair, you decide this will do.
Quickly, you get dressed in your room before meeting Matt in front of the elevator, Watari right next to him. Matt fidgets with his goggles, readjusting them every few seconds.
"Hello," you greet the old man, "I'm sorry it took so long, I just woke up."
"No need to apologize, L is waiting downstairs."
Joining their side, you enter the elevator, moving up to the highest floor in the building. The more the number of floors goes up, the harder your nails dig into the soft flesh of your palms. Holding back your hum, you focus on Matt tapping his foot in an unsteady rhythm.
[ ♫Play: Once Upon a Dream by Lana del Rey♫ ]
The door swiftly opens; anything that happens after plays out in slow motion. The room is dark, dimly lit by only the blue lightning of multiple screens, plastered on every inch of the wall. The scent that meets your nose is sweet, with a hint of vanilla, perhaps? It's unlike anything you've imagined, not a sterile incandescent hospital room with flat screens and big windows overlooking Tokyo. It's more like stepping into his mind, rather than what is supposed to be his workspace.
Cold air brushes past you, the floor feels different than before — or maybe it's because you were never meant to stand in here.
The curtains are closed tightly, none of the life outside to be seen. The only movement comes from the flickering of screens. Even Matt went completely silent, no fidgeting, no tapping of his foot, both of you seemed to forget how to breathe. And then your eyes fall on the figure of a man, crouched in front of the screens, the blue glow illuminating his silhouette.
Loosely hanging off him, a long-sleeved white shirt, the dark shadow of his raven hair. Nothing changes, yet the atmosphere feels different, creeping into every inch of your body.
Slowly, he turns around in his chair, as if he felt your gaze upon him since the very moment you stepped into his room. His eyes meet yours first — gray like thunder, yet dark like the deepest part of the ocean in the absence of light. He doesn't look away, he doesn't blink, not even to catch a breath. He studies you so intensely that the whole room disappears around you.
The odd feeling you only felt about once in your life crawls up your body. Your breath hitches when he doesn't look away; he firmly holds your gaze, not even blinking. Sucking you into his universe, and for the first moment in your life, it feels like someone recognized you in your entirety. Something that was always meant to happen.
Notes:
Thanks sm for sticking around.
Idk if y'all prefer longer chapters or if you want me to break it down into smaller ones?
Also, I'm still unsure regarding my uploading schedule, since I have only pre-written chapter 1 and 2, so it might take longer now for me to update.Love u lots <33
-Maeve
Chapter 4: You and I (don't let go)
Notes:
Hey, sorry for the long wait. This chapter is long af again, sorry. Thanks sm for the kind comments :) <33
Have a good weekend !!<3
For updates my tumblr is: @maeveely
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
I think... if it is true that
there are as many minds as there
are heads, then there are as many
kinds of love as there are hearts. -Leo Tolstoy
"I Am L"
The low cadence of his voice vibrates through every fiber of your being, shaking you to the core of your soul. A peculiar feeling of fuzziness spins in circles right under your ribs. Carefully, you try to control your breath and tear your gaze away from his, though unsuccessfully. L studies you with darkened eyes, piercing you into time and place, unable to move.
Thankfully, Matt breaks the unbearable silence. "Nice to meet you." His foot begins to tap in an irregular pace, getting faster by the second.
Without blinking, L shifts his gaze in his direction, scanning him up and down, more intensely than he did with you. Matt straightens instantly, bracing himself for his judgment. Something glints in L's eyes. Curiosity? Or maybe he's just analyzing. L furrows his eyebrows, behind the veil of bleakness, it's almost as if you could see his train of thought running through him at full speed.
"You stopped moving, Matt," L points out, "Why is that?"
"I'm fine," he gulps, shrugging his shoulders.
L hums in acknowledgment, his eyes still lingering on him. "You're unsettled." His words are more of a statement rather than a question. L proceeds to nod in Watari's direction, his signal to leave. You didn't try to turn around; the distant hum, the tender brush of air, and the coldness behind you, where the old man used to stand, are indicators enough for you to know that he has left. You and Matt are now the only people present in this room, other than L.
Crossing your arms in front of your body, you gather all of your courage to introduce yourself. "Hello, I'm Y/N," you lazily raise your palm a little. Did you just attempt to wave 'Hello' at the greatest detective in the World? The sudden realization mortifies you. As an immediate response, you take a step back.
"I know who you are," his eyes dart back to you. "You're both tense," his eyes shift between you and Matt. "Though in different ways." L slightly tilts his head. He doesn't sound accusatory, more so interested.
Matt steps closer to your side, "Can we not do this?" He puts his hands deep into his front pockets. "It was a long flight, alright?"
For a moment, he says nothing, while pressing his thumb to his lower lip, taking in every detail, every shaky breath Matt takes, every nervous dig into the soft flesh of your upper arm. You flinch when he suddenly begins to move out of his trance, turning his head to the soft humming monitors one more time, like snapping out of a daydream.
Having his back turned to both of you, he absently responds, "We'll get to the truth eventually." Something in his voice has softened. "It's not important right now, let's just focus on why the two of you are here."
He pushes himself off the chair, now standing tall; however, you couldn't help but notice his slightly slouched posture. L is much taller than you expected — but what did you expect? He had always been a floating letter on a white screen, a ghost of a human being. Until now, you've never paid much attention to the thought of how he might be.
The fabric of his shirt lightly brushes you as he walks past you, causing you to take a sharp breath in, inhaling the delicate scent of sweet vanilla. The spot tingles relentlessly, aware of L's observation skills, you didn't dare to look his way, your eyes are glued to his empty desk chair. "Follow after me, please." L mutters. Slowly, you glance in his direction, his features barely visible, swallowed by the shadows cast by the blue-glowing monitors. Through the outline of his shape, you see him place his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, tapping the elevator button with his elbow.
Skeptically, you search Matt's face for reassurance, to which he responds with a shrug of his shoulders. Something you immediately notice is that his demeanor drastically changed from the moment you walked in. He frowns, jaw clenched; you've never seen him this tense before. So L was right. You bite the tip of your tongue before you hook your finger into the fabric of his shirt, as the two of you did at the airport, guiding him in the direction where L is headed.
When the two of you join L inside the elevator, your eyes have to adjust to the different lighting. What follows is probably the most awkward elevator ride of your life. Luckily for you, it only lasted a few seconds, since you only moved up by three floors. L steps out first, you and Matt follow after him into what looks like a tiny foyer. Lazily, he kicks the door open with his bare feet.
Inside of what appears to be a lounging area, the big light in the center of the room is lit. Looking around, it's almost identical to the living space you share with Matt. Except, a wooden chessboard is placed on the small table. L is sitting in an armchair, legs brought up almost all the way to his chin. So this seems to be his normal position.
You carefully examine his unusual posture until your eyes meet his. Your heart skips a beat, you feel the heat rising to your cheeks.
"I prefer to sit like this. Otherwise, my deductive skills would be reduced by roughly forty percent," he states, almost like he recited this exact line a million times.
"Oh, I apologize," you mutter, lowering yourself onto the couch beside Matt.
L studies your face, his eyes burn on your skin, picking apart every layer of your psyche. Everything you say is going to be analyzed; that's one thing you know for sure now. His eyes flicker to Matt, who is resting his elbows on his knees.
"There's no need to apologize," L finally replies. "It's the first thing people notice." His slender fingers reach for the bowl full of sugar cubes next to the chessboard. "Let's just get right to the reason the two of you are here," he throws one of them into his mouth, looking around while chewing it.
"Like you already know, I've been working on the Kira case for the past year," L steadies himself on his chair. "Every conventional approach has led to a dead end." He pauses, his eyes lingering longer on you than necessary. "Our primary suspect remains Light Yagami, an exceptional student. He behaves ordinary in public, he is observant, charismatic, and disciplined. The type of individual people assume to be incapable of doing such things."
L's grip around his knees tightens, "To clear him from any kind of involvement, he volunteered to lock himself up … for fifty days. The killings ceased, for precisely two weeks, then they resumed," his voice flattens. "I went as far as handcuffing us together for a while. No changes. No new information surfaced.
He lets the information linger; neither of you knows how to respond, if you should even say something at all. Something inside of you tells you that he's not done yet. L stares at the chessboard, "It's important to note that Light Yagami's Girlfriend, Misa Amane, is or was the second Kira. There's no doubt in my mind about that. My theory is that Kira was somehow able to exercise control over them, so they may not remember what they did."
The feeling of uneasiness is creeping up on you; however, when you look over to Matt, his expression barely changed.
L leans forward and traces along the edges of the chessboard placed in front of him as he continues, "Given that, I had no choice but to release them both from custody. The entire Task Force disagrees with me," he swallows. "They believe them to be innocent. They became attached to them; their judgment is biased."
Matt cracks his knuckles, clearly as tense as you are. In an attempt to cover up your body from shaking in agitation, you cross one leg over the other, gripping your knee.
"You two are not affiliated with the task force, nor have you fallen for Light's charm or Misa's theatrics. Therefore, your judgment is… useful," L explains.
"Starting tomorrow, you will be enrolled at To-Oh University under the identities Watari has prepared for you. Exchange students." The way L states it, there's no debating it; it's an already decided matter, you don't really have a choice.
"Matt, you observe Light, but you are not allowed to speak to him unless absolutely necessary." L looks at him intensely. "Your task is simple: observe any inconsistent patterns, reactions in social settings."
L's eyes shift to you, "And you, Y/N, you are free to speak to Misa Amane if the opportunity presents itself. She has a weakness for other women she considers likable," he tilts his head. Everything in your body tenses the moment you realize your task is much more difficult than Matt's.
"She is impulsive, emotional, she lacks restraint, which makes her dangerous in different ways. We can use this to our advantage. Listen closely when she talks. People like her tend to reveal a lot without realizing they did."
Your palms start to sweat, you can physically feel your stomach twist. "So let me get this straight," you say. "I am supposed to get close to the woman who's potentially Kira number two. A mass murderer. That's suicidal … what about our safety ?"
"Your safety is my highest priority," he says calmly. "You're not in danger as long as Kira doesn't see you as a threat. Which will only happen to you if you draw attention to yourself, which indicates that you might be. Such as confronting them, or revealing any kind of connection to me or interest in the Kira case."
Matt raises his eyebrows, "Comforting," he responds sarcastically on your behalf.
You elbow Matt, before speaking, "So you're asking us to get close to them, but not close enough to raise their suspicions. That's… a very thin line."
"Exactly," L dryly says. "That's why I chose the two of you."
"And what about Near?" Matt adjusts himself in his seat, making himself taller. "What's his part in all of this? Or does he get to be secure somewhere else?"
L's expression is as unreadable as always. "Near works independently. His task is different than yours. His strengths lie in analysis, compared to you two …" L hesitates, choosing his words carefully. "Near lacks certain interpersonal qualities."
Matt snorts at L's explanation, "Oh, so we're the bait … disposable. Gotcha."
"Stop it," you scold him under your breath. To be honest, even though you feel the same way.
Ignoring Matt's snarky remark, L continues, "You're not disposable, your role is more important than you think."
"So starting tomorrow, we're just going to stroll through To-Oh University and pretend to be 'normal'?" you lean forward.
"Correct," L says, reaching for another cube.
"Anything else?" you ask, rubbing your palms on the fabric of your jeans.
"Watari brought you a flash drive upstairs with all the things you need, including photos and useful information," he says with a mouthful of sweets.
[ ♫Play: Devil's Advocate by The Neighbourhood♫ ]
"Let's play a round of chess," L gestures towards the already arranged chessboard, "Don't be shy. Winning or losing is irrelevant."
Helplessly, you turn your head to Matt, hoping he will offer to go first. Instead, he smirks while raising his eyebrows, "Lady's first." With that being said, he leans back, arms crossed, sinking into the cushion.
Irritated, you roll your eyes at him before you get up and walk to the armchair opposing L. Biting down on your tongue, you can hear your pulse in your ears, you feel almost lightheaded. Well aware that L just said, that it's not about winning or losing, makes you all the more unsettled. Is this going to be some psychological game? Still, the urge to win pulsates through your veins, something you will never be able to unlearn.
Growing up at Wammy's House, you had to learn how to play chess, though you weren't the greatest at it, you weren't so bad either. "So, then what is it about?" you ask, folding your hands in your lap.
"It's a good way to learn how your opponent thinks," he hesitates, " A good way to get to know one another."
You nod, "If that's the case," your finger gently brushes over the white figures, "you wouldn't mind if I play white?" Your tone is challenging; you want to see how or if he reacts.
L's eyes flicker towards your hands caressing the knight; something in his expression tightens, however, you're not so sure why. "White moves first, it's only logical," he whispers softly. The way he says it, almost completely detached, makes it impossible for you to tell if it worked or if he simply doesn't care. Both seem equally unsettling.
"Alright," you look around, "I'm right to assume we won't use a clock either?"
"Correct," he replies, placing another sugar cube in his mouth.
You swallow hard before you, place your fingers around the tiny pawn in front of the king, it feels cold in your hands. For a moment, you became awfully aware that once you touch it, you have to move it; there's no going back anymore. Slowly, you move it up by two squares, your heart is pounding in your chest, the feeling of L's eyes on your skin, feeling them linger on your face, rather than the board. The urge to counteract your nervousness with the pain of pinching or clawing your nails into your skin is stronger than ever. If you lose, which you are almost certain you will, will he see you as weak? Especially if you go out early in the game.
This is the one thing you have always disliked about this game. Winning never feels like winning; it's more the relief that it's over. And if you are unfortunate enough to lose, it's your fault; there's no such thing as luck, just strategy.
L moves his pawn without hesitating in front of yours, smoothly gliding it over the polished board, as if he calculated all of this, like he's already three steps ahead of you. Your jaw clenches, you overthink every possible move, the board seems too small all of the sudden, the squares are just one big blur in your vision. Well aware that no matter what you do, or how long you take, L is going to read into it.
Reluctantly, you move the knight on the queen's side to C3, you look up, instantly meeting his eyes, he didn't watch your move, he was analyzing this whole time. He presses his thumb to his lips, studying you intensely. Smoothly, he moves his knight almost carelessly, staring at you without looking down. Based on that, you aren't sure if he's just interested or if he's judging you.
His calm demeanor angers you in a way you didn't expect. Everything about him — his coldness, his silence, feels suffocating. Now it's your turn again, and a part of you wants to play the aggressive route out of spite. The rational part of your brain is screaming, wanting you to stay closed and calculated, wanting control over the board. For a flicker of a second, your finger spins over your pawn, tempted to play the Vienna Gambit, known for its aggressiveness. You look up at Matt, who's fidgeting with his goggles, his eyes fixed on the board; it takes everything in you not to look in Ls' direction. Taking a deep breath in, you withdraw your hand, placing it on the king-side knight — closed, safe, in control.
The longer the game goes on, the harder it is to breathe. Occasionally, you hear chewing or Matt cracking his knuckles. By now, you've reached the endgame phase. Barely. Your palms are sweating; you rarely catch him thinking for longer than ten seconds before making a move. Behind you, you can hear the kitchen clock ticking like an impending doom, coming closer and closer.
Your position is fragile, the chances of winning are rather slim, the best you could see yourself doing right now is draw. Looking over the board, the few pieces left intimidate you; what felt like too little space now feels like too much. Every move could mean the end; your pawn is temptingly close to promotion. Before you could analyze the bigger picture, L adjusts himself, something he hasn't done in almost forty-five minutes.
"You play to avoid loss, not to win," he addresses you, "That's very unusual for Wammy's children."
You freeze, physically feeling your stomach drop. With slightly parted lips, you look up at him, meeting his eyes.
Without looking away, his pupils dilate in curiosity, "You avoid decisive moves, even when they're correct. I wonder when that started? "
Every word leaving his lips sends shivers down your spine. Completely startled, your mind goes blank; his conclusions are arrows, hitting you in the right spot, exactly where it stings. Your state of shock causes you to move on autopilot, not tearing away your eyes from his, carefully moving your pawn to the end of the board. The wood scratches along the board. The end— you didn't pay enough attention. You broke formation, a blunder, you lost control.
Appalled by your own negligence, every limb in your body goes numb, completely frozen in time and space — he knows. In this moment, no one breathes, everything is silent, the clock ticks more slowly than ever. Nothing you can do to prevent him from taking away your queen, blocking promotion.
Before he can comment on it, your hand rises, moving faster than any move you made prior. You're quiet, reaching for the king, knocking it over in one motion, the sound is loud and defeating the moment the wood hits the board.
"I resign," you say, your voice barely above a whisper, keeping the one thing that's left to save — your dignity.
L blinks, then proceeds to nod. "Sometimes checkmate isn't delivered on the board."
Shakily, you give Matt an intense look, almost desperate. Noticing your glance, he immediately gets up to squeeze himself next to you on the armchair.
"Come on, she made one bad move, dramatic, huh?" Matt tries to lighten the mood, throwing his goggles onto your lap. Eagerly, he leans over the board, placing the chess pieces back into their starting positions. "It's my turn now, right?" he raises an eyebrow, his eyes sparkling with vengeance.
L shifts in his seat, reaching for another sugar cube, examining it thoroughly before playfully throwing it into his mouth. "Yes," he replies while chewing, "go ahead."
Matt moves fast, almost too fast, rarely thinking for more than a few seconds, like he's running from Ls' examination that feels more like a diagnosis. It takes everything in you not to intervene, tell him to slow down. Impatiently, you tap your foot on the carpet floor. L watches him closely, though you could feel his gaze flicker to you every once in a while.
Open, flexible, aggressive is how you would describe Matt's style of playing. The wooden sound of rapidly placed figures fills the air. Hoping L wouldn't notice you slightly nudge Matt's knee with yours.
He nudges you back, slightly harder than you did. Matt slows down, only for a heartbeat before snapping back to his old reckless speed. Rolling your eyes, you lean back, arms crossed in front of your chest.
Just when your thoughts are about to drift, you see Matt's body go stiff, his hand twitches, jaw clenching. He makes a move, a wrong one, a trap you spot immediately — one that he usually does too.
In your life, you only saw him play once from afar. Practicing with Mello, of course, he lost to him, which still didn't mean that he wasn't a strong player. This mistake didn't need to happen.
L tilts his head, "That rook shouldn't be there." his eyes are fixed on Matt, with the same stare he uses to pick apart every layer of your brain. "But I assume you know that," he silently adds.
"Fuck," Matt mutters under his breath, his legs start to irregularly bounce up and down, almost agitated.
Unfazed, L proceeds with the game smoothly, without mistakes, noticeably more aggressive. The air feels thinner, the tension breathing in all the air. You begin to fidget with Matt's goggles, analyzing the board, trying to see if there's a way out of this.
In three precise moves, L corners him to the point of no return. "Would you like to resign?" his tone sounds more teasing.
Matt runs his fingers through his hair, tiny pearls of sweat glistening on his forehead. He sighs, refusing to tip over the king. "Just finish it," he mutters, visibly frustrated.
And so L does, swiftly and merciless. "Checkmate."
His words echo through the room. Matt swallows hard next to you before standing up. "Well, that was fun," snatching his googles from your cold hands. He plants himself down in his old spot. Ls' lips faintly curl into a smile, not condescending or mockingly, he almost seems satisfied. That's enough.
"What's so funny?" you snap at him, your words sharper than intended. Truthfully, you want him to be the one, even just for a second, to be put on the spot, to bluntly expose him the way he did to you.
L's dark eyes meet yours, his smile doesn't fade, "Your reaction," he states.
You lean closer towards him, your arms resting on your lap, the brush of your hair tingles your cheeks, falling from your shoulders the closer you get. "What about my reaction?"
Amused, he reaches for the last sugar cube in his bowl, pinching it between his fingers. Holding it up in front of his face, slowly examines it before he almost crushes it with the force of his fingertips. Not acknowledging your frustration yet, he carelessly eats it off his fingers, chewing it painfully slow, while looking at the ceiling. He's baiting you, you know that. This time, you aren't going to look away; you stare at him, pretending to be patient for his response.
"She asked you a question," Matt hisses in L's direction.
L sinks deeper into his seat, acknowledging your presence again, studying you. But this time it is different. He looks at you like a puzzle piece that doesn't quite fit, like a riddle he needs to solve.
"They're far more interesting than the game itself. You get defensive," he says dryly. "It bothers you that Matt lost … more than it bothers him."
Matt scoffs, "Yeah, she's dramatic like that. So what?" he shakes his head in disapproval. "It's honestly not a big deal."
"You two are very protective of each other," he concludes.
And he did it again — catching you off guard with his uncomfortably precise observations by saying them aloud. You freeze, and so does Matt for a moment. Despite that, you didn't look away; you focus on the pitch blackness of his eyes, his pupils, which seem bigger than average, and the gray iris surrounding them. You pinch yourself into the fat of your thigh, preventing yourself from getting lost.
"Come on, don't go down that route," Matt cuts through the silence. "Someone has to have her back, right?" His delivery doesn't sound natural to you; his voice sounds half-teasing, half-serious.
Something flickers in L's eyes, only for just the blink of a second. "And she has yours," he adds in a fairly gentle tone. "Perhaps, more than you realize."
You turn your head in Matt's direction, his mouth is slightly open. For the first time this afternoon, he didn't interrupt, his usual cocky attitude worn down by every unspoken truth revealed by L. Shakily, you breathe in, straightening your posture, biting down on your lower lip hard. You look back at the clock, it's almost seven thirty PM.
"You don't know anything about me," you counter.
"Yes," he responds calmly, unfazed by your defiance. "But I'm learning."
His words sound like a threat to you, cold and calculated. Your jaw tightens — he got you. Furrowing your brows, you didn't look away, like your eyes were fighting a silent battle.
"Don't worry," he pushes himself off the armchair. "I don't mind your questions," he states, putting his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, glancing out of the window as he continues. Almost inaudibly, "Most people don't even try to."
Slowly, he maneuvers through the other end of the room, his back turned to you and Matt. "You're dismissed for tonight," he declares, "You may go. Make sure to read the files carefully."
Matt jumps up from his seat. "This was great. Loved it," he adds sarcastically, snatching his goggles out of your hand to place them back on his head.
You glance over to L one last time, before standing up, your legs feel like they don't belong to you anymore, as if you might fall if you dared to use them. With two wobbly steps, you regained control. Standing next to Matt, who's glaring at L through his tinted glasses, you gently shove him towards the door.
[ ♫Play: Block me out by Gracie Abrams♫ ]
"Come on, let's go," you mutter. He nods, following after you. Right as the two of you reach the door, L stops you in your tracks.
"Not you," L says. His voice isn't loud or demanding, but just enough to make you freeze mid-step. Matt turns around first, scanning the room past your shoulder with a confused expression. Slowly, you do as he did, but L doesn't look at him; he looks at you.
"I only need a moment," he addresses Matt almost dismissively. "You can wait outside."
Matt frowns, suspiciously glancing back and forth between you and L. "Fine, I'll wait right in front of the elevator." Hesitantly, he opens the door, giving you one last reassuring nod, before leaving you and L alone in the room.
The door closes behind you with a loud clunk. You can feel every muscle in your body tense up, starting with your legs, all the way up jaw. Every ounce of confidence dissolved the moment Matt stepped out of the room. Perhaps L was right, your boldness only stemmed from one place — protecting your friend before yourself. Damn it!
You swallow hard, gathering the courage to hold his infiltrating gaze. "What do you want?" Your tone is harsher than intended. "Just so you know, if you want to play therapist again, I'm not-"
"I want to clarify something." L takes a few steps in your direction, his hands still deep in his pockets. "Before it becomes distorted. You seem to think I'm trying to corner you." L assess your face with uncomfortable precision, his expressions vaguely softening. "I'm not."
Your breath hitches, fists clenching, your skin feels too tight, you need a way out. The space between you and him feels too small, the air hangs heavy, the floor feels uneven under your feet. Anxiously, you look around the room, hoping that some magic door might appear, a space you could flee through, out of this room — or rather out of your skin.
Involuntarily, you acknowledge his existence, inhaling the sweet scent that clings to his clothes. He studies you up and down, thumb pressed against his slightly parted lips. A hot rush of blood rises to your face, your jaw tightens, you haven't snapped like that in a very long time.
"Yeah?" Your voice is breathy, slowly moving towards him, arms crossed in front of your body. Every fiber of your being screams as you cross the line of your personal space. "Then what were you doing?" you scoff.
"Learning," he calmly replies, not stepping back from your forced closeness. "You mask discomfort with hostility. It's not very effective… but a persistent pattern."
You stop. Your heart pounds heavily in your chest, but you're convinced that he knows — sees it, after he peeled your behavior apart, now you're completely stripped bare. He sees through every so careful wall you've built, without even touching them. This fact terrifies you more than anything.
"I wanted to say one more thing before you leave," he tilts his head, "Earlier, when we played … you didn't lose because of the blunder. You lost the moment you decided you weren't allowed to win."
His analysis — the truth — spins circles in your brain like a tornado. L looks to the side of your torso, where your nails dig into your upper arm, hard, but you didn't feel a thing. You start to shiver, you need to run, you walk a couple of steps backwards, becoming aware of the clock ticking in the background, every striking second Matt has to wait outside.
He looks at your trembling body, without visible judgment, but with morbid curiosity, and something you aren't able to read. "And that," he says quietly, "is far more interesting than any game you could've played." He pauses, letting this conversation linger.
"You may go now," L halts for a second before turning around, as if he tries to see if you're going to leave willingly, or if you muster up the strength to say something, challenge him again.
You bolt to the door, hands shaking so badly that you nearly miss the handle. Once you walk through the frame, you don't even bother to close the door behind you. You're headed straight to the elevator. Matt stands there, his head instantly darting up as he hears your footsteps approaching. His face quickly changes from confused to worried.
Clumsily, he put his phone in the back pocket of his jeans. "What happened in there?" He steps closer to you in an attempt to get through to you. In case you break down like you did before.
Walking right past him, you shake your head too fast, almost giving yourself whiplash. "Nothing … it's nothing," your voice is trembling, barely above a whisper.
Matt presses the elevator button for you. "Sure as hell doesn't look like nothing. Did he try and perform brain surgery on you?"
"Matt," you raise your palm to stop him from making these wild assumptions. "Just … don't."
The elevator arrives with a soft ding. With your head down, avoiding any chance to see your wretched reflection in the mirror, you enter the small space. Matt slips in after you, pressing the button to change floors. The heavy doors slide close in front of you, the hum of moving downward fills the silence.
Focused on Matt tapping his foot, you notice that the ride goes down, not up. Glancing over to the elevator buttons, you see the green light glowing around the ground floor button. "Why are we going all the way down?" you blink. "I don't think we're allowed to leave this building."
He just shrugs, hands deep in his pocket, the familiar smirk returns to his face. "L can't say no if we don't ask."
"Matt, that's literally not how rules work," you scold.
"That's exactly how rules work," he laughs. "You should know that you used to sneak out with Linda all the time." Matt shakes his head dramatically in acted disbelief.
Another ding interrupts your dispute. Energetically, Matt hops out of the elevator, signaling you to follow after him with an encouraging grin. You shake your head, demonstratively crossing your arms even tighter, eyeing him with exaggerated judgment.
"That's the dumbest logic -"
"Cool, let's go!" Matt grabs you by the wrist, dragging you along with him.
✭✭✭✭✭
[ ♫Play: Goth by Sidewalks and Skeletons♫ ]
Sprinting down through the dimly lit garage to the exit, you run past Watari's cars, already feeling the cool of the night air on your skin. Once you reach the end, both of you slow down. Cautiously, you take your time to inspect every corner possible, trying to see if there are any obvious surveillance cameras.
In front of the metal door exit, Matt halts, letting go of your wrist. He inspects the mechanics. "Christ, this is a high level of security," he frowns. "Seems like we have to put in more work to leave than I initially thought."
Your stomach drops at the sight of the seemingly locked heavy metal doors. On the sides are posts that appear to be similar to the bag control inside the airport. Biting down on your lower lip, you look to your sides to see if anyone else is present, since you know you're not to be seen by other task force members.
Matt kneels in front of one of the posts when a loud mechanical sound echoes through the air. The doors open, "What button did you press, Matt?" you ask skeptically.
He raises his palms above his head, his expression equally as confused as yours. "I didn't do shit," he straightens. Slowly, he heads toward the exit, as if the doors might close if he tried to step through them. Once he's on the other side, he winks with his hand, your sign to join him.
You feel your pulse in your throat, glued to your current spot. Sneaking out at Wammy's House was completely different than leaving L's HQ without permission. Whatever, L would've called you back instantly if he wasn't okay with you two sneaking out. Judging by the time you wasted trying to find the mechanics to open, he must've already figured you're going outside.
"Alright," you mumble, more to yourself, joining Matt's side. The tunnel that seems to lead outside seems endlessly long. Walking on the side of the road, it reeks of gasoline and cement. With every step you take, the scent disappears, and the tunnel becomes more illuminated from the outside world.
Once you see the outside of the tunnel, your tummy starts to tingle, not in the anxious way you were used to — it's the same feeling you felt when you looked outside the plane window. Your legs have a life of their own at this point, carrying you faster, impatiently wanting to see what's waiting for you outside.
"Someone's excited," Matt points out with a grin, jogging after you, closing the gap you caused.
Dramatically, you roll your eyes at him, not changing your pace. When you reach the end, you see that the tunnel's end doors on either side are open again. That's odd, you think.
Matt interrupts your thought process, before you could get suspicious of whoever just opened the doors for you, by letting out an audible gasp. His jaw almost on the floor, he takes off his goggles to view everything in full detail, wanting nothing between the world and his own eyes.
Standing next to him on the sidewalk, you see why. Everything is brighter, fuller than anything else. The neon lights reflect on every window. Skyscrapers are towering over you with countless amounts of windows, each of them lit with LED's. Billboards filled with advertisements, taxi signs reflecting in yellow hues on the pavement. Everything is brighter, louder than you could've imagined. You must've entered the building from the other side when Watari brought you here; it didn't look like that at all. It seems to be, if you leave through the ground floor, you end up right in the metropolis.
"Let's go, I'm starving," Matt complains, noticing that your fascination with your cosmopolitan view has stopped you in your tracks, taking out his phone to type something.
"Yeah, yeah," you bump your shoulder into him as you're walking past him. "While you're at it, tell your little girlfriend I said hello."
His thumbs freeze mid-typing. Matt lifts his head, blinking at you, looking borderline offended. "My what?" he scoffs, his voice one octave higher than usual.
You keep walking, not granting him the time of day to turn around to answer his question. "Your girlfriend," you shrug.
Hurrying a bit to keep up with you, Matt shakes his head. "First of all, if I had a girlfriend, I wouldn't choose to fly all the way to Tokyo to be L's little slave. Second, I was checking the map."
"Sure you were," you chuckle exhaustively.
Matt groans, "Eventually, L will diagnose you with annoying." Walking next to each other, you try to take everything in, hoping to save this moment forever in your memory. The sounds of traffic, mixed with neon lights blending into each other, the busy streets — everything.
After a while and yet another turn into another part of the city, you notice that this whole time you've been blindly following Matt. "Excuse me, do you even know where we're going?" You stop. Looking around you, everything is kind of similar: flickering billboards, skyscraper after skyscraper, and various shops. "Matt, I swear if you got us lost again-"
"Relax, Mom," he chuckles, "Didn't I tell you I checked the Map?" Shaking his head, he turns around and keeps walking. Now that you know, he does seem like he knows in what direction he's headed to.
"Would you mind telling me where?" You playfully roll your eyes, setting yourself in motion. Matt only shakes his head. Truthfully, you didn't know why, but his behavior is odd to you; you haven't forgotten about his lie yet. Without speaking to each other, you keep following him, and in your head, you promise yourself to confront him the next chance you get.
Only a couple minutes later, his movement comes to a stop; theatrically, he bows next to you, his hands presenting the orange, green, and red stripes on a white, glowing ground — 7-Eleven.
You sigh, "Seriously? All that secrecy for a convenience store? I thought you were going to kidnap me."
"It's the convenience store," Matt corrects as he walks toward the entrance.
[ ♫Play: About You by The 1975♫ ]
The glass doors slide open, and when you enter, you notice an electronic ring sound over your head. Fluorescent lights highlight the rows of colorfully packaged food. Beeping emerges from the register to your side, you notice only a handful of people browsing the shelves.
"May I present to you," Matt announces proudly, "The pinnacle of human inventions." You couldn't help but laugh at his enthusiasm. "It's a convenience store, Matt," you grit through your teeth, already steering past the refrigerators.
"You're wrong," he protests, without moving away from his spot. "It's 7-Eleven, learn some respect."
Turning back around to him, you raise an eyebrow just in time to see Matt reaching for one of the orange baskets. "I thought we were only getting a couple of things?"
Firmly gripping the handle, he smirks. "Talk about yourself. In case you haven't noticed, I'm starving. You're witnessing a medical emergency."
Curiously, you browse the broad selection of snacks and drinks you've never eaten in your entire life while Matt confidently marches towards the tower packed with instant ramen noodles. Hands on his hips, he scans every pack up and down. After a good minute, he reaches for four packs, more than he needs.
"Is there someone else joining us?" you judge, grabbing one of the red boxes. "This one looks like it'll burn a hole in your stomach." Matt gives you a glare like you just insulted his entire bloodline. A smile tugs at your lips. "Alright, if something happens … told ya."
Dropping his treasured fire in a plastic cup back into the basket, you feel the knot in your stomach loosen. Finally able to breathe freely again, you scan the aisle surrounding you when your eyes spot something so innocently, something you remember loving before Wammy's, something you had completely forgotten about.
"Matt," you repeatedly tap his shoulder, eyes widening, "Look, there are instant Hello Kitty Tteokbokki Cups!" Hand over your mouth, muting your excited giggles, you jog over to grab one of them. A rush of dopamine washes over your body. Suddenly, every color becomes more intense, the ground you're standing on is firmer than ever, as if you woke up from a trance that blurred the colors of the world, making your body come back to life.
Ecstatic, you throw him the cup over, already bolting over to the drink refrigerators. Not caring about depriving yourself from happiness anymore, you feel your stomach ache, you didn't even notice how little you ate since arriving in Japan, you were too busy self-loathing.
"What happened to you?" Matt squints his eyes in your direction as you hold up two bottles of banana milk.
Your smile drops a little. "What do you mean?" You tilt your head.
"I've never seen you this … alive before," he shrugs. "You sure L didn't perform brain surgery on you?"
"Ha-ha, very funny," you roll your eyes at him. "Maybe I'm just excited to try something new. Also, should we get one of these tiny ice creams for later?" Your head feels fuzzy, and you genuinely don't even remember any negative emotion you felt prior.
Matt nods, visibly taken aback by your sudden shift in mood, "Sure, get your ice cream and join me at the self-checkout."
Opening the freezer, you still hear the few people surrounding you, the mechanical ring whenever a new customer enters. Though the coldness of the freezer greets your skin, the warm feeling in your chest didn't fade. Back turned to the entrance, there's another ring, another customer — something feels different.
Your muscles tense up again, your breath slows down, the grip around the packs of ice cream tightens. Carefully, you turn, scanning the room without making it obvious, just like you learned to do. Still on edge, you take a few quick steps to join Matt, who's currently busy scanning every item. And then, you spot him. A man standing there, fur hood deep into his face, sunglasses even though it's night, completely dressed in black. Unable to even make out the tiniest feature, you quickly look away, involuntarily stepping a little closer to Matt.
"Hey," you whisper in his ear.
"Oh, you're back," he snatches the ice cream out of your hands, scanning them as well without looking.
"That's not what I meant," you hiss, still trying to keep your voice down. "I think we're being watched. There's this man … don't look just now. Wait," you instruct. You know you're right; the feeling of burning eyes on your back doesn't wash away.
Finally, Matt is done paying for everything, he looks around. "Oh, that one," he says sarcastically. "People stare, it's weird but happens, don't worry." More roughly than you're used to, he shoves you in the other direction. "Come on, let's eat."
Taking one last glance over your shoulder, you see the stranger pretending to read the nutrition label on the back of some kind of snack he definitely doesn't care about. Even without seeing his eyes, you're certain he isn't reading.
With his eyes still burning holes in your back, grab a pair of chopsticks in passing and sit down on one of the stools facing the glass front. You try to get another glimpse of him through the reflection of the glass, but he seems to be gone.
Matt takes place next to you, placing the steaming hot Hello Kitty cup in front of you. "Eat," he commands with no room for debate.
Reluctantly, you pull the food closer to you, staring at it. Every feeling of hunger subsided the moment he walked in and was replaced by a knot of anxiety. "Matt?"
"Hm," he responds with a mouth full of food.
"Do you think it's someone working for L?" you whisper. "He for sure knows we left … I mean, who else opened the door?"
His eyes flicker back and forth between your reflection and his food. He chews, then swallows hard before responding. "You're paranoid, now eat before your food gets cold."
You take one bite, the flavor is delicious, it really is, but eating feels more like an obstacle now, rather than something enjoyable. Though you can't see anything, you still feel the tingling of lingering eyes on your neck. Matt eats next to you, slurping his noodles like you didn't just melt into an anxious mess. One small detail you notice about him that maybe suggests that he's not as chill as he pretends to be is the fact that he taps his foot, fast, irregularly, as he did in the elevator.
"You're nervous too," you state, "is it because you actually want to keep me from spiraling, or is it something else?"
"I'm not," he quickly responds, too quickly. He frowns, you see it, for the fraction of a second, until he tilts his head downward, and his hair falls over his side profile.
"Then why are you making a face?" you keep pressing him. The grip around your lukewarm cup tightens to the point you might put a permanent dent in it.
"I'm not making a face," Matt's foot now tapping against his stool, obnoxiously loud.
"Yes, you do, and that one means you're full of shit." Kicking his shin hard, you interrupt the noise he's making, forcing Matt to look at you.
He exhales loudly through his nose, clearly annoyed he leans in to whisper in your ear. "Listen, Sherlock, even if someone's watching us, we don't really have a choice, do we? So you can either panic and draw all the attention to us, or eat your damn food and pretend we didn't notice."
Pressing your lips together, you nod and continue to eat, forcing it down your throat. From time to time, you try to get a glimpse of your surroundings. Only when yet another ring chimes and you can physically feel the distance without turning around, you know he's gone.
Matt doesn't talk to you; he is busy typing on his phone. By the speed at which his thumbs are moving across the display, you aren't sure if he's having an argument or maybe he's just playing a game.
"Hey, can we eat the ice cream outside? I don't want to be in here any longer," you ask, cleaning up your food.
He finally looks up from his phone. Something about his mood changed, but the trigger seems to be something completely different than your little argument. "Sure, if we can look for a place to smoke. I've been going through withdrawal for the past twenty-four hours."
"Okay … fine," you mutter, grabbing the cold plastic wrapper of your ice cream as you stand up.
You lead the way outside, tensing every muscle in your legs to prevent you from running. Matt follows you, hands shoved all the way in his vest, goggles still on top of his hair.
The moment you step outside, the cool night breeze greets you in an instant, making you shiver. Still, this is the moment you deeply inhale and exhale. Turning around, you see Matt on his phone again, this time, however, you're sure he's checking for a nearby smoking area.
Attempting to make peace with him, you unwrap his ice cream and hand it to him. Absentmindedly, he takes it. "Thanks, Mom," he murmurs.
Still on high alert, you spin on your heels, trying to see if the outside has changed while you spend a day's worth of stress inside 7-Eleven. Nothing really changed, besides the fact that the streets are just a tiny bit emptier, no chattering around corners, only the same blend of colorful billboards.
"I give up," Matt says, stepping ahead of you, "if we don't find anything in ten minutes, we'll just do it somewhere until someone yells at us."
Slowly, you set yourself in motion, nibbling on the opening of your ice cream pouch.
"Relax!" Matt scoffs, eagerly scanning every street sign for his desired destination. The nicotine withdrawal must have really gotten to him.
✭✭✭✭✭
Walking down the dimly lit Alameda, the shadows of trees tightening the space, you almost drop what's left of your food when you see the same man passing by you. He walks fast, but there's no doubt he recognizes both of you — the way he slowed down for just a moment.
"Matt?" you whisper almost hysterically. "You saw it, right?" Clutching his sleeve, you grit through your teeth, "Don't you dare turn around right now."
"Yes," he murmurs, "but what do you want me to do about it?"
He's right, you didn't know. Returning to L with not only a broken rule but with a stalker would be a complete disaster. You'd rather let the unknown person kidnap you.
"If he wanted to harm us, he would've by now. Which tells us what?" he says, dragging the last vowel. "Exactly! He's not going to do shit."
"Would you please take me seriously for one second?" You stop walking abruptly. At this point, you're not sure why your body is shaking, maybe because you're absolutely terrified, or because of Matt's dismissal.
"Alright, Y/N," he turns around, stepping closer to you, "I'm going to talk to this guy."
Gripping his wrist, you glare at him, "Don't." is all you manage to say, before he twists out of your hold to quickly head in the stranger's direction, catching up to him.
All you can do is stare with your ears ringing in high alert. Matt joins his side, tapping him on the shoulder. They slightly turn, however, the fur lining is concealing most of his face. Nothing about their body language indicates some sort of danger, though you notice that Matt is standing too close to him, invading his personal space.
Their voices are low; you can only see Matt's mouth moving. He seems annoyed but not threatened in the slightest. Impatiently, you shift your weight from one foot to the other, silently humming to keep your mind from imagining the worst possible scenarios.
Not longer than a minute later, Matt jogs back to you, keeping his head down. Looking past his shoulder, you can see the dark silhouette disappear down the tree-lined path.
When he joins you, he's completely out of breath, his brows furrowed as if he experienced the worst headache of a conversation.
"What did he say?" you carefully ask with a breathy voice just barely enough for him to hear.
Matt places his hands on his hips. "So seems like your little stalker is not interested in you, I asked him. Sorry to break your heart."
Waving his hand in front of your face, trying to get a reaction out of you, while you stare at him in disbelief. "He said he wasn't following us. He's not from Japan, apparently, so he's just wandering in circles. No big deal."
You blink, once, twice. "You're kidding, right? That doesn't make sense. I swear he was-"
"Relax, Y/N," he grabs your shoulder firmly, leaning forward to meet you eye to eye. "Drop it. You're jet-lagged, and today, the probably weirdest man on earth inspected you under a microscope. It happens."
Pursing your lips, you glare at him, suppressing the urge to punch him in his shoulder as hard as possible. "I am not jet-lagged," you snap, pulling away from his grip.
"God, stop being so dramatic," he scoffs, turning around and walking ahead of you. "If you stop, I promise I won't bully you about it in the future."
Quickly, you follow after him, still turning your head at every sound of traffic, every rustling of leaves. "Seriously, admit this guy was fucking weird," you keep pressing him, feeling the anger brooding inside your chest.
"So is most of the population," he keeps walking without turning around. "Now please, can we look for a place to smoke before I bash my head into one of these trees?"
[ ♫Play: Miracle by Paramore♫ ]
Not responding to him, you follow him out of the shadows of trees back into the radiant city. None of you speak, biting the inside of your cheeks, you can't stop thinking about how you're going to confront him again, call him out for his bullshit. Especially since the memory of his lie the night before resurfaces. Curling your fingers into a fist, you follow him to the back of a hotel building.
Matt stops in front of a heavy-looking metal door with a 'Staff Only' sign.
"What are we doing here?" you ask, already half annoyed with a secret desire to go off on him right here and there.
He opens the door in one motion, trying to overplay his facial expression, clearly indicating it takes him more strength than he would like to admit. "Let's just go up here," he mutters.
"Matt, no," you don't move an inch.
"Matt, yes!" he mockingly mimics your voice, forcefully shoving you through the door. "Lady's first."
"If we get caught, I'm jumping off the roof," you snap, stepping inside.
There's only one unstable-looking stairway leading up, barely lit. It smells like rusty iron, and you're not entirely sure if that entry isn't abandoned for whatever fancy elevator they use inside the actual building. Judging by the stickiness of the floor, you're not the first person to sneak in.
Crossing your arms in front of your body, you almost sprint up the stairs. "Easy, this is not a marathon," Matt groans behind you, taking two steps at a time to stay close.
Once you reach the top, you press down the cold door handle. To your surprise, it opens with a squeaky sound.
Merely out of breath, you brace yourself on your thighs. Matt walks past you, fumbling in his vest pockets for his cigarette pack and a lighter.
Finally, you are able to revert your pulse back to normal and scan your surroundings. The city is quieter up here; the red and blue lights of the hotel slogan illuminate this place. Matt's pack of cigarettes looks somewhat squished like he played with it the whole time you were wandering around.
For a moment, neither of you speaks as he cups the tiny flame of his lighter from the wind, trying to avoid eye contact at all costs.
"So," you put your hands on your hips, "Tell me why you lied about calling Linda, and why have you been acting like a jerk this entire time. Is it really the nicotine withdrawal?"
He freezes mid-lightning, dropping his hands to his side. "Are you kidding me right now?" he mutters, closing his eyes while taking a deep breath in.
"I talked to her," you step closer. "She swears she hasn't talked to you."
Matt finally turns his head to meet your eyes. He looks annoyed, mixed with something else. "You should really learn when to drop shit."
"Then stop lying to me," you counter, ready to argue.
Instead of his usual snarky comeback, he swallows his words. Jaw clenching, he combs his fingers through his hair. "Look, I just … It's true I didn't talk to Linda. It's private drama, I didn't want you worrying about it."
You feel your heart irregularly pounding in your chest, you know he's telling the truth, but he won't tell you more than he already did. His response seems final.
"So you're not gonna tell me." Your question is more like a statement, though you secretly hope he will respond.
"I don't want you freaking out more than you already did tonight," he chuckles, turning away to light his long-awaited cigarette. "… sorry," he mumbles. "I didn't mean to be an asshole."
"Hm, okay," you say in a defeated voice. The feeling of being too much, too pushy, hits you like a truck. Seeing Matt turned away from you, smoking in silence, he's obviously mad at you. You want to apologize — truly, from the bottom of your heart, but you can't; the words can't seem to cross the borders of your lips.
Tired, you sit down on one of the cement blocks, hands cupping the side of your jaw, as you rest your elbows on the top of your knees while L's words echo through your head.
'You mask discomfort with hostility.'
✭✭✭✭✭
Roughly ten minutes later, you watch Matt exhale the smoke of his third cigarette, and you watch it disintegrate into the darkness. The faint sound of traffic and people below the smoking deck, you can't bear the loaded silence any longer. To be completely honest with yourself, spending more time with Matt made you discover new things about yourself. For one, that you get along with someone completely different than you, more than expected. And that you enjoyed his presence more than you would like to admit. Still, there's one more question that you need to have the answer to.
"How come we never talked at Wammy's House?" you ask him, looking down at your feet. "You talked to Linda, but never to me."
He stops inhaling the smoke, looking over to you with a surprised expression, "I didn't know you wanted to be my friend."
"It's not that it's just …" fiddling with your thumbs, you feel your cheeks grow hot knowing that you are about to ask the question that has been on your mind ever since you were little. "I always thought it's because …" you breathe in deeply. "It's because Mello hated me the same way he hated Near. And you … -"
"Stop right there," Matt places his hand on your shoulder. "Mello didn't hate you." Matt's face turns serious."I swear on everything … he didn't."
You watch the orange spark on the tip of his cigarette die out as he continues, fingers running through his hair. "I'm not even sure if he hated Near … it's more like," he looks around, trying to find the right words. "It's more of an ego thing; it had nothing to do with you."
"Oh," you nod in agreement. "So then what was it?"
Matt sighs, putting down the lighter with which he was just about to relight his cigarette. "You really want to get deep today, huh?"
"I just want an answer," you frown. "You seem to get along with me just fine, so what about back then?" The words carry an edge of annoyance in them, making them sound more forceful than you intended.
Chuckling with a closed mouth, he looks at you in amusement. "That's exactly why."
"What?" you bite.
"See, I had a life before Wammy's, you know. One that I only vaguely remember, but it's there." Matt deeply inhales as he holds the flame to the tip.
After a long pause, he continues, "You reminded me of it when you moved in ." he looks at you with half a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "The way you argued, how you carried yourself … it reminds me of the older sister I used to have."
Your breath hitches, your mouth opens to say something, but nothing comes out. Matt looks away, tilting his head upwards like he is talking to the stars. "She'd make sure that I ate, yelled at me when I had too much sugar, but … she taught me how to play, how to cheat on any game I wanted to." He closes his eyes, as if he tries to suppress any kind of surfacing emotions and memories. "So yeah … I wasn't ready to confront any of that shit at eight years old, and hanging around Linda and Mello seemed much easier."
A shiver runs through your body. You didn't expect him to open up like that. "I'm sorry," you whisper. "I didn't know."
Matt reassuringly fist bumps your shoulder, "I don't exactly go around and tell everyone." Seeing you tilt your head with softened eyes, he interrupts you before you could even form the vowels, "Don't be weird about it!"
"I wasn't going to be weird about it," your voice pitched high in your defense.
"You are, though," he responds, grinning at you.
You roll your eyes at him, trying to ignore the warm feelings rising in your chest. Shaking your head, you bring your knees to your chest, tightly hugging them and resting your chin on top. Watching the gray smoke, you feel something loosen, a part of the stone wall you built around your heart and memories cracked open, for the first time acknowledging your past didn't feel scary.
[ ♫Play: Die Your Daughter by Susannah Joffe♫ ]
Since neither of you is speaking, Matt takes the initiative, "Alright, your turn."
Confused, you turn your head to look at him. "My turn for what?" Deep down, you know exactly what he means.
He smirks, "Come on, you made those puppy dog eyes when I dumped my trauma on you, it's only fair if you share something now."
Shakily exhaling, you try to gather your thoughts, ignore the tiny voice in your brain that screams at you not to share, to keep it safely locked in the back drawer of your brain. "I don't really talk about this kind of stuff," you chuckle nervously.
"Well … no shit," Matt responds immediately. "None of us do, that's why we're doing it now."
Scratching the sides of your calves, you think pressing your lips together. It took you a minute, which Matt patiently granted you without talking, you began to nod. "Okay, okay … I might need a cigarette for that though."
Putting two cigarettes at once in his mouth, Matt swiftly lights both of them. He hands you one of them, so you can continue to talk. Inhaling the strong taste of tobacco, you feel the nicotine rush through your body. "So … where do I even start?"
"My mother … she wasn't exactly well," your voice breaks. After inhaling once more, you keep going. "She wasn't violent, or cruel, or any of that sort. She was the exact opposite … kind, beautiful, sensitive," you swallow hard. "When my dad left, she left too … in a way. I remember her staring at the ceiling, barely moving."
Matt's teasing grin drops after hearing your truth, but he doesn't look away; he listens.
"I always thought if I let myself feel my emotions … drown in them, I'd end up like that." The knot in your chest tightens for a moment, but once the words come out, there's no stopping them. "But now … I think I might've gone numb," you say bitterly, avoiding his gaze.
"Hey," Matt nudges you, "You're everything but numb. The way you talked back to L, and how you notice every single thing around you. That shit makes you anything but that," he smirks. "It makes you annoying as hell."
You laugh, genuinely laugh with your entire chest. For one fleeting moment, sharing those memories and thoughts feels freeing in a way.
"Friends again?" he asks you with a genuine smile, holding his hand out for you to shake.
"Yeah, friends," you reach for his.
✭✭✭✭✭
After another cigarette, another joke, the two of you walked back to HQ, after deciding it's better not to test L's patience. Still laughing at Matt's impression of Roger, you stand in front of closed tunnel gates.
"So, how did you plan on getting back inside?" You ask, half-giggling, half-seriously.
Matt looks around, hands resting on his hips. "Good question. Kinda hoped for them to magically open again."
"What a clever strategy," you mock him.
Without another second wasted, the doors open again. First, you thought it's a coincidence, and the two of you are going to get caught by some task force member leaving the building for good. Instead, you stare into the empty tunnel with the open garage door at the end.
"We're so fucked," Matt scoffs, already speed walking to the other end.
Fully aware, stepping back inside the building meant either facing L or Watari. You brace yourself for another back and forth, the reason why you needed air to begin with.
Silently, you stand next to Matt inside the elevator, on the way to your floor, both of you seem to have had the same thought process — avoid L's floor at all costs.
With a pounding heart, the elevator opens, in anticipation of what you feared could happen, you already look down at your feet, fingernails digging into your palm, you physically feel your skin tearing.
"Shit," Matt huffs under his breath.
L slouches in the hallway of your floor, hands in his pocket, eyes half-lidded. "You're late," he states with his voice lower than you remember.
You swallow hard when the elevator closes behind you. L's expression is unreadable; however, by the way his tone sounds, there's a hint of annoyance. "If you intended to be discreet, you'll need to try harder." He steps past you and Matt, stopping awfully close to your side.
The sweet scent greets your nose again, this time it makes you almost nauseous, it's too unbearable. You're aware that L is not the kind of person you can just say 'sorry' or 'it won't happen again' to. So you decide it's better to just say nothing and freeze at his proximity.
"You could've asked," he whispers, only for you to hear. Your eyes widen in surprise, goosebumps forming upon his breath brushing the side of your neck. And with that, he leaves you and Matt to an empty apartment. Not sure if you should feel relief or fear.
·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·
Stranger's POV
[♫Play: Flowers In Your Hair by The Lumineers♫ ]
The moment he walks into the store, the air tightens around him he feels you in his bones before actually seeing you. Hidden behind shelves, his eyes search for you, standing there, deep in thought, in front of the freezer. Keeping his head low, pretending to read the label of some snack he doesn't even care about, he notices the way your breath slows down, the way your shoulders tense — the way your eyes search.
At that moment, he knew your body recognized his presence, even after all these years, just as he did; you didn't have to see him. You've always been sharp, intuitive, the irritating kind, the kind that gets under his skin. Even in the glaring light when he's supposed to stay undercover, he couldn't tear his eyes away from you, even when Matt steps in between, your eyes still flicker past his shoulder to watch the stranger in the back.
Seeing you alarmed, your fingers curling, pressing your lips together, the same ones you used to wound him at his most vulnerable, right where it hurts.
He hates the fact he still feels you.
He hates the fact you still feel him.
He hates himself for running.
He hates you for staying.
He hates that he doesn't hate you at all.
Notes:
thank u for reading, i'm trying to write as much as possible whenever i don't have to study. <33
Chapter 5: Lavender Haze
Notes:
TW: implied Takada, Drugs? (does weed even count?)
I'm sorry, I said I would upload on the weekend ... well it's still weekend somwhere in the world LMAO. I'm going to lock in over christmas break I promise. Thanks for all the kind comments, they really keep me going <33
Also I did not write this in chronological order pls be nice <3
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
I hold this to be the highest task of a bond between two people: that each should stand guard over the solitude of the other. - Rainer Maria Rilke
[ ♫Play: pretty isn't pretty by Olivia Rodrigo♫ ]
"Try the other one again," Linda suggests, critically biting her lower lip, hands holding her mug of tea.
It's currently night in Winchester, Linda's blanket hangs loosely off her shoulders, while all her attention is on you, getting ready for your first day on campus as L's spies. You've been spiraling ever since you took it upon yourself to do more research on the person you're supposed to talk to if given the chance. Misa Amane. Model, Actress, Singer — in short: someone with more style and money than you possess.
"Putting it on again won't magically make it look better," you frown at the screen on your open laptop. "The outfit seems, I don't know … half-baked."
Linda thinks for a moment, "You need more accessories … or a nice jacket, maybe -"
The door flies open, "Do I hear talking?" A familiar voice chirps from the back.
Rolling your eyes, you drop the hanger, "Oh my god," you mutter under your breath, and make your way towards Matt, who is currently leaning in the door frame.
Before you got the chance to shove him out of your room, he already walked past you, bowing down to look at the tiny screen, which has Linda on full display.
"Linda," he freezes, his voice sounding unnaturally high-pitched, "I didn't know you were on a video chat."
She awkwardly giggles, having completely forgotten about you, "Hey, Matt."
"Okay, that's enough," you groan, clutching the fabric of his vest, dragging him out of the frame. "Please leave, we have things to do."
"Oh, I can help," he grins, falling on your just-made bed, making himself more comfortable than he should. "In case you haven't noticed," his gloved hand gestures to his body, "I'm the most stylish person in this room right now."
Taking a quick glance past Matt at your digital alarm clock, you notice that you have barely more than fifteen minutes left to get dressed and do your make-up. The time pressure weighing heavily on you, you instantly regret staying up all night, wondering what L meant when he told you 'you could've asked'. His words spun circles in your mind all night to the point of oversleeping.
Pinching the bridge of your nose, you sigh. "Whatever helps you sleep at night," you respond dryly, picking up the recently dropped hanger.
Matt dramatically pretends to clutch his invisible pearls, but before he can come up with a good comeback, you death-stare him, silencing him. Clapping your hands together, you turn your attention back to Linda, who seems to be too busy making funny faces at Matt.
"You two are impossible," you grab your laptop, turning the screen away. "I have fifteen - no, fourteen minutes left, you better help me."
A smirk filled with mischief tugs at Matt's lips, "I am helping," he protests, sitting up straight. "So first off, Y/N, Misa Misa wears more silver jewelry than just one sad little necklace," he points at your decolletage. "Second, I agree with Linda, try the other one," he says, looking at the black denim skirt in your hand.
"Very helpful," you sigh, stepping over the clothes scattered on your bedroom floor, heading for the bathroom to change. However, one foot out the door, a thought pops into your mind, "Matt, say … how do you know so much about Misa's style?"
No answer. "Research," he says, his tone carrying too much sarcasm in it for you to believe it.
"Sure," Linda laughs.
Feeling like you just became the third wheel on your own video call, you shake your head and enter the bathroom.
Sliding off the other skirt and stepping into the other one, you decide it's best to do your make-up without any other unnecessary input, which will just cost you more time and nerves. Luckily, you were never appalled by the idea of taking time to learn how to do what works for you, so you quickly do your usual 'going out' routine.
When you look at yourself in the round bathroom mirror, here, under the harsh light, your rush of urgency is replaced by something else. You look great, something one might describe as effortlessly beautiful, if they didn't know how many hours of endless tutorials and practice went into it. Feeling like you just put on a perfect mask over something that didn't need to be hidden. Truthfully, the moment you looked through Misa's photo shoot gallery, the sinking feeling started. Everything she does looks just so effortless, while you have to scramble for one glimpse to look decent. Her hair is shiny and golden, ethereal even when caught off guard.
No one has ever said anything about your appearance. In fact, many have insisted you are beautiful here and there in the past, but you just can't see it — feel it.
Swallowing hard, you step back from the sink, turning your back to your reflection, scared for others to see how you see yourself, like you just did something you have to be ashamed of. Do you even deserve to feel pretty?
Opening the door, you hear Matt's voice, followed by one of Linda's giggles. You take a deep breath before stepping back into the room; somehow, you feel unwelcome in a way you can't describe, especially since they immediately stop talking when you come into view.
"Hey, you ready to go?" Matt asks, his full-on grin turning into a friendly smile, like he's afraid you might bolt if he says the wrong thing.
"Yeah … I suppose," you mumble, avoiding his gaze.
Linda clears her throat, "Alright, guess we'll talk later?" Her voice carries an edge of unvoiced concern.
"Yeah, of course," you say, forcing a faint smile. With that, you end the call, close your laptop, and put it in your university bag.
"So … are you not going to wear a coat?" Matt scans you up and down. "It's cold."
Crossing your arms in front of you, you sigh heavily, then spin on your heels to leave the room without giving him a proper response. Quickly, you march across the hall, heading straight for his room. Once you press down the door handle, you are greeted with a mess that one might cause in two weeks of not leaving their room. It smells faintly of open Redbull cans and smoke. Stepping over a cluttered mess of cables, you finally made your way to Matt's drawer.
Frantically, you rummage through what feels like the same vests and hoodies until your fingers feel something that doesn't quite match the fabric of all his other stuff. Carefully, you hold it out in front of you; it's a leather jacket.
"Did I give you permission to go all raccoon on my shit, or what?" Matt interrupts you, raising an eyebrow.
You snort, ignoring his remark, you slide the leather jacket over your body, wearing it like a second skin. It's slightly too big, sleeves covering up your hands, broken in, and smells completely different than what you're used to. Putting a strand of hair behind your ear, you take the opportunity to inhale the breeze of musk coming with it.
"I didn't know you had something like this," you tilt your head in curiosity. "Also, it smells … different."
Matt's eyes slightly widen for a second before he puts on his usual smirk, "Are you trying to tell me I smell?" He takes a step towards you, holding out his hand.
"It's not that," you roll your eyes, unintentionally wrapping it closer around you. "Do you wear this on dates or something, because I swear I've never smelled cologne on you before."
Shaking his head, he takes another step closer, "Just … give it back."
"You wish," you playfully slap down his hand, slipping past him out of the door.
Matt huffs in disapproval. "It looks like you stole that out of your dad's closet, please."
Adjusting the strap of your bag over your shoulder, you sweetly smile up at him, "Good thing that I don't have one." Patting him on his shoulder, you start to move down the hall for the elevator, "Come on, Matty, don't get your panties in a twist."
"Don't even try calling me that," he protests while lazily throwing his backpack, which looks like it has nothing in it, over his shoulder.
"Too late, Matty," you turn your head to him, provocatively raising your eyebrows.
Both of you enter the tiny space. Purposely, you look anywhere but the mirrors on the side.
"So," you cross your arms, "You seem to get along with Linda a little too well. Should I be concerned?"
"No," he responds a little too quickly for your liking.
"If you stop bugging me about the jacket, I'll give you her phone number once we're outside," you offer, extending your hand to shake his.
"Deal," he puts his hand in yours, trying to seem as casual as possible, but the brightening of his eyes betrays him.
The elevator opens with a soft hum, and every muscle in your body tenses in anticipation of L's piercing gaze. It's lighter than you remembered, though still dimly lit, the blue screens running data and surveillance footage. L's eyes are already fixated on you when you inhale the sweet scent of his strawberry shortcake, which he holds half-eaten on a plate, fork in the other.
Clutching the strap of your bag, you join Matt's side. Your legs feel wobbly, like you completely forgot how to walk under observation. L's eyes follow you until you reach the side of his desk.
"We'll head out now," Matt says, placing the flash drive containing all the information given to you back on L's desk.
L lowers the fork on the plate, studying Matt's movements, nodding. "You look … different," he states without looking up. Still, you know that his words are directed at you, making you freeze for a moment.
"I just figured I should try and blend in," you shrug.
"That includes a jacket not tailored to your size?" L calmly asks.
"Oh, that," you pull the sleeves over your hands. "I borrowed it from Matt."
Instead of coming to your help like you're used to, you're left with no other choice than to elbow him in the ribs. "Right, Matt?"
He straightens, like a soldier called for duty, "Yeah, that's right."
L nods, "Remember what we already went over. If there aren't any more questions, you may go."
✭✭✭✭✭
[♫Play: Runner by Alex G.♫]
Standing on campus again in a foreign country is certainly an experience. It took you and Matt what felt like hours to find the lecture halls. So far, neither of you has spotted Light, and you start to become impatient.
"Matt," you huff, "Would you please put your phone down for just a second. This is important."
Not looking up from his screen, his thumbs type quicker than anyone else you've ever known. "This is important too," he mutters.
"I didn't give you Linda's number for me to do all the work alone. I bet we could've seen Light if you had been a little more in detective mode, rather than full on Romeo," you snatch his phone out of his hands.
"God, calm down. We're already sitting in the lecture room. What else are we supposed to do? Just … be patient," Matt crosses his arms in front of his body.
You look around. Still no sign.
"Would you stop?" Matt tugs at your sleeve. "If you keep breaking your neck, he's gonna know we're up to something."
You shoot him a glare before retorting back to your previous position, staring straight ahead.
"In case Linda didn't mention it to you yet. She's celebrating her birthday here next month," Matt adds.
"Wait, really?" A smile instantly forms on your face at the thought of having your best friend here, even if it's just for a short period of time.
"No, I'm lying," Matt sarcastically says. "Of course she's coming."
"What about you know who? Do you think he would allow it, and if not, how are we gonna-" your breath catches as you see the person walking past your row.
Light sits down just a couple of rows in front of you, perfect for observation without being observed yourself.
Good thing that the professor walks in, so you don't have to scramble for a seemingly normal conversation topic.
The ninety minutes of lectures were the most boring and longest minutes of the day. Since you were registered as first years, all the topics are familiar, boring. And as for Light, he couldn't behave more like an average student.
"I'm so glad it's over," Matt stretches in his chair, yawning loudly without shame.
You look to your sides to make sure your target really left before you start to speak. "He seems so normal to the point it's almost unbelievable."
"I know, right?" Matt scrambles for his belongings. "Hey, can I get my phone back?"
"Fine," you hand it back to him, "We have different lectures now anyway."
You follow Matt outside into the crowded hallway.
"Alright, so I watch Light alone now," you say, and Matt turns to leave for his lecture. "And Matt," you stop him. "Please don't fall asleep without me, just because this is irrelevant to you."
"Yes, Mom," he rolls his eyes, turning back around, muttering a quiet bye.
✭✭✭✭✭
The next part of your day is about as interesting as the first half. No incidents or behavior suggesting involvement. Secretly, you had wished for him to say something in psychology class, which would indicate that he had some kind of warped perception. Nothing.
During class, you had messaged Matt under the table, telling him to meet you outside since your first day is over.
Well, not fully. But both of you decided to skip since you didn't share any more classes with Light.
It's already two minutes past the time he said he would be at the smoking area near the exit.
"Sorry," a voice behind you says, seemingly out of breath.
"You're late," you raise an eyebrow, scanning Matt up and down. "Did you smoke somewhere else already, or did you get caught up flirting with my friend?"
"Yeah, yeah, Linda," he mumbles, weirdly not denying your attempt to push his buttons. "Did Light already leave?"
"No, I've just been waiting for you," you snicker. "Do you know how ridiculous I look standing in a smoking area without a cigarette?"
"Hey, at least we have premium seats to watch the exit," he justifies as he brings the lighter to the cigarette in his mouth.
"Right. I have to admit," you nudge Matt's side. "Your nicotine addiction is useful for once. Gives us a good reason to stand and stare."
"It's what I do best," he smirks, turning his head toward the exit.
"Oh, please," you roll your eyes, "you weren't helpful at all this morning. All you did was message Linda and eat. Bet you didn't even pay attention during your lecture."
"I'm a gamer. I'm good at multitasking. You should know this," Matt shakes his head, taking another drag.
Before you can push his buttons some more, the door flies open, and a dark-haired woman walks out, followed by Light. They're simply talking, still you can't help but notice how she leans in closer when he seemingly says something witty.
Shortly after exiting, they come to a stop. Light's smile seems genuine, though you know that he's good at pretending.
"He sure is popular with the girls," Matt murmurs, ashing off the tip.
"Stop it," you growl. "He has a girlfriend. Misa? Ring any bells?"
Matt's eyes widen at your defensiveness. "Calm down. Jesus, I was just stating the obvious."
Of course, you think, to him it doesn't make any sense. Matt doesn't know anything that happened between leaving Wammy's and Tokyo. He doesn't know you've been there. Feeling like the other woman in your own relationship.
"Yeah, I know," you bite the tip of your tongue, trying to swallow the painful memory of finding out you had been cheated on.
"Care to explain?" Matt asks, his tone softer than before.
"Drop it," you grit through your teeth. Deep down, you already regret how sharp your words came out.
"For now," he mutters.
By the time you two are done going back and forth, the woman on Light's side is already gone.
Light has his nose stuck deep into his notes, slowly walking to leave campus. As you try to turn to Matt and ask him if you should leave as well now that the first day's over, you notice something in the corner of your eye.
You instinctively tug at Matt's sleeve. "That's Misa Amane." You hold your breath as you take all of her in. She looks even more alive than in the photos online.
"No shit," Matt chuckles, freeing his arm from your grip. "Don't tell me you're a fan already."
Not engaging with his sarcastic remark, you watch the couple interact. Most of all, you watch Light, hoping to see any kind of affection that would set Misa apart from the woman earlier. Do his eyes soften just for her? Will he hold her hand as they're leaving? Show his love unfiltered in public?
No — Misa clings onto his arm immediately, and you can't help but notice Light's body language rejecting her touch in an instant. He just keeps walking like she's nothing but an inconvenience on his way out.
"He fits the profile," you state. "Fucking psycho," you mumble to yourself.
"Woah," Matt takes a step back, scanning you up and down. "Did Kira possess you or some shit? You act like you're ready to take him out right here for everyone to see."
"Maybe I just don't like men who act like breaking up isn't an option," you snap.
"Alright," Matt puts his palm groundingly on your shoulder. "Let's not jump to conclusions over one moment."
"I'm not. It's just that-" you freeze as you notice that they're walking in your direction.
You huddle a little closer to Matt, who just hands you his cigarette. "Here, for your nerves."
Right when you're about to bring it to your lips, you make eye contact with Misa. It's brief, but her eyes light up instantly.
Awkwardly, you smile a little at her. Everything after happened quickly — too quickly.
Misa drops Light's arm and jogs in your direction. "I love love love your jacket," she beams.
Frozen, you glance over her shoulder at Light approaching after her, then you turn your head to Matt, who looks just as taken off guard as you.
"Thanks," your heart beats so loudly you barely hear your own words. "I like your entire outfit. I mean, it's great." as heat rises to your cheeks.
Not noticing your awkwardness, she steps forward, touching the side of your upper arm, feeling the leather. So L was right. She lacks restraint. Sometimes you truly forget how confident some people are in themselves to be able to cross these boundaries.
"Most people here don't even dress up. It's so boring," she rolls her eyes.
Light steps behind her, not close. Just enough to make his presence known. Your stomach twists knowing how close you stand to a potential mass murderer.
"Yeah," you nod, not sure what to say next.
Misa's eyes flicker between you and Matt, a smirk tugging on her lips. "So … is he your boyfriend?"
You almost choke on your saliva, "No. Absolutely not." You take a step away from him to underline your statement.
"Fuck no," Matt blurts almost simultaneously.
"Oh," she smiles friendly. "You just seem very close."
"We're just friends. Trust me," you reassuringly hold on to her arm the same way as she did earlier.
"Unfortunately," Matt adds, snatching the forgotten cigarette out of your hand.
"I'm sorry, I just thought you were a couple." Misa seems unbothered by your reaction, her warmth rubbing off on you, making this moment feel less uneasy.
You chuckle. Genuinely. "You're good. Don't worry."
The moment of fondness is interrupted by Light clearing his throat. "Misa," is all he says. It's neither warm nor soft. It's firm, demanding, and allows no room for argument.
"Me and my boyfriend Light," she steps aside to put him into better view. "We were just about to grab lunch. I would love for you to join us. Her arm sinks to gently wrap her hand around your wrist, like she wants to drag you after her right then and there.
This is wrong. You're not to approach Light, and sure as hell you're not allowed to go out to 'lunch' with him.
"Actually," you helplessly look up at Matt, searching his eyes for support, "We're kinda busy. We're exchange students, you know. Lots of things we still have to sort out … figure out. Sorry, I would've loved to."
Her grip around your wrist doesn't loosen; her gleaming eyes are fixated on you, attentive in a way you didn't expect from someone like her. "So tomorrow it is?"
Misa's eyes flash at you with the anticipation of a puppy, impossible to deny any wish — how could you? You glare past her shoulder for only a beat.
"Sure," you agree to her, before thinking if that's even within the established boundaries.
Misa squeals in excitement, grabbing her phone from the back pocket of her jeans. "Give me your number so I can give you the details. There's this place which I love."
"You sure love a lot of things," Matt grumbles back on his own phone again.
"Hey," you elbow him in his ribs. "Anyways, don't pay attention to my socially incapacitated friend. Let me type in my number."
Misa hands you her phone; the action feels eerily natural. The reason for that is probably the starvation of female friendship since the only person you've been really hanging around is Matt.
"Here you go," you say as you hand her phone back.
"Looking forward to it," she chirps, giving you a quick hug, too quick for you to even embrace her back, and she turns on her heels to cling back onto her boyfriend's arm.
"Me too," you turn to Matt to see his reaction.
"So how are we gonna explain that to you know who?" Matt looks over his phone. "Also, I observed Light while you and Misa almost kissed or whatever." He throws away his cigarette in the nearby trash. "And let me be very clear. He does not seem like a guy happy to date one of Japan's hottest models."
"Told you," you mutter. Following after him as he leaves the area.
Matt casually shoves his phone in the pocket of his vest, "Next time, think before you agree. This girl is not your friend. At least not in the way you want her to be."
"I don't want her to be," you gasp. "I'm just doing what we're told to do, remember?"
"L said you could talk to her, not to insert yourself in her life," he says while not slowing down.
You and him walk in silence. It's charged, you can tell. It reminds you of all the times when you let your empathy get in the way at Wammy's. The way Matt's voice sounded, his lack of sarcasm. He probably thinks you did it because you resent how Light treated her, to spite him. And he's right, you did it for personal reasons.
The noises of the passing-by students disappear as you near the path leading to the main road.
"You didn't have to agree," he breaks the silence eventually, hands still deep in his pockets.
"What else was I supposed to do?" You scoff. "Didn't you see the way she looked at me? Rejecting her would've been more suspicious. I couldn't say no."
"The way I see it, you didn't say no because you didn't want to," he proceeds, not looking at you.
You bit your lower lip, thinking of a way you can spin this around. The ongoing traffic noises prevent you from forming any rational thought. "She seemed lonely," you hesitantly say.
Matt stops walking, leaning down, staring at you with intensity. "That is not your problem."
"I know," you let your shoulders sink in defeat, blinking past him.
"Sure you do," is all he adds. Matt straightens, "While we're on our way, you'd better think of a damn good explanation."
"How bad is this gonna look to L?" You ask, clutching the strap of your bag a little harder.
"Depends … if you can keep it professional," his voice is questioning rather than reassuring.
✭✭✭✭✭
A couple of hours later, L decides now is the right moment to go over the reports you and Matt wrote as soon as you got back to HQ. You haven't really spoken to him since your sidewalk talk. As soon as you entered the building, he disappeared behind his laptop screen, leaving you with no other option than to do as he did.
Now you sit next to him on the couch in the lounge where you played chess the other day, waiting for L to enter through the door.
"Stop fidgeting," Matt keeps his voice low. "You'll look guilty when you do that shit."
"Maybe it's because you make me feel guilty," you snap back at him.
On your way down, you had hoped that everything would just go back to normal with you and him, but it seems like he's still pissed. You aren't sure why, but he went from careless to hypervigilant within the span of one lecture when you two had separated. Is it because he doesn't trust you?
The energy in the room shifts as soon as you hear the rattle on the doorknob. L enters through it, carrying a bowl of sweets.
"Good afternoon," he calmly says, moving through the room while scanning you and Matt. The unusual space between the two of you. Matt's tapping of his foot died down the second he entered, and you. You're fidgeting, eyes wide open like you're facing a battle you aren't equipped for.
Gently, he sets the bowl of sweets down on the low table, as he takes place on the armchair in his usual crouched position.
"You've been arguing. I wonder what about?" His eyes move from Matt to you, lingering on you for just a second too long.
"Can we just cut to the reports?" Matt cuts L's observation short.
"Sure," L observes Matt's movements without adding anything else, before he leans forward to grab a candy.
You bite the tip of your tongue; you know it's unfair to let Matt sit alone in L's created uncomfortability. Yet, you can't bring yourself to speak the words. You stare straight ahead, waiting for someone else to take the initiative.
Matt loudly exhales through his nose, "Alright, if you're not gonna talk … During lectures, Light didn't do shit besides taking notes. No micro reaction or anything," his voice almost sounds bored, like something he had to recite one too many times.
"Then, we didn't share a lecture, as you probably know, and she can probably tell you about that. Then we kinda lost track of him, so we went to the smoking area, just to realize he picked up some girl from her lecture, her name is something we have yet to find out." Matt's head turns to you, almost accusingly. "I'm sure Y/N can give you more insight on that."
L's eyes pin you into time and space. Your lips part, since you didn't expect Matt to hit you with the same unfairness.
"Well," you clear your throat, "They seemed very close, I know you briefly mentioned that in the files, but it's different. She leans in whenever he says something. He doesn't seem to be appalled like when he's with Misa," your voice starts to shake.
You press your fingernails on the inside of your palm as you proceed. L's eyes are fixed on you, which makes it even harder for you not to grasp at every bit of justification for what's coming next.
"I'm not saying they're romantically involved, it's just … Misa showed up. To grab lunch," you sharply inhale. "She clung onto him, and he … he didn't meet her touch with the same affection. He didn't even try to hide it or fake it."
The memory of his indifferent demeanor to her makes you stop with your retelling of events, twisting your stomach. L doesn't respond yet; he patiently waits for you to take your time to finish explaining. That is, until he glances at your lip — twitching, begging for you to express what you truly feel and think.
"That aligns with previous observations," L softly says. "Please, continue."
You nod, "They approached, and she noticed me … gave me a compliment, and after a brief talk, invited me to lunch."
You feel Matt tense next to you, holding his breath. L's eyes widen, not with anger or surprise, but with curiosity.
"And what did you say?" His fingers hover over his sweets.
"I agreed. For tomorrow," you lower your head to avoid any kind of judgment and scolding.
Matt shifts next to you, "Oh, and don't forget to part where you gave her your phone number like a dumbass."
At first, L doesn't react; he focuses on rolling the candy wrapper between his fingers. "Matt, you've already given me your assessment. It's noted. You're free to go now."
"What?" Matt's jaw tenses, like he's holding back all the different ways he wants to defend himself.
"I'd like to continue without interruptions." L's tone doesn't change, which somehow cuts deeper than obvious irritation. "You may go now."
"Fine," he mutters, pushing himself up from the couch. "Just don't rattle her like last time, or we might have to sneak out again."
The door clicks shut behind him. His place where he sat feels colder next to you, the room bigger than you remember it being, when you look back up.
L looks at you, fully, taking all of you in. It's different from the last time you spoke alone with him.
"You're not in trouble. My only concern is the reason why you agreed," he drops the tiny piece of plastic on the ground, reaching for a new candy.
"It's because I've been in that position before, and I know how lonely that feels. I just couldn't bring myself to decline."
"I understand," he says while chewing. "This doesn't make you disqualified to take on your task. In fact, this is why I assigned you. Your capability to pick up on things that aren't purely logical."
Your shoulders relax, and the stinging pain in your palm stops. You're not sure what to say. Back at Wammy's House, any form of emotional compromise had been picked apart, conditioned to unlearn when approaching cases.
"You're allowed to continue contact with Misa. I expect full transparency," he adds.
"Of course," you nod.
For a moment, you feel free, but still, you can't breathe when he keeps staring at you like this, like he's trying to assess you. The clock ticks in the background, the room doesn't seem as alight as when Matt left. How long have you been sitting here?
"If that's all, I'll go find Matt," you say, not able to feel his eyes on you anymore, the charged silence you fail to find comfort in.
No response.
Unsure if he's lost in thought or actually picking apart every inch of your existence, you get up carefully. His eyes follow you as you walk to the door.
"And Y/N," he tilts his head, "Don't ever justify your empathy to me."
Your breath hitches, "Thanks," you respond barely above a whisper.
✭✭✭✭✭
You enter the hallway, the shared apartment is cold and silent. Not even the obnoxious sounds from Matt's video games echo from the living room. With your head kept low, you walk right in, you can feel his presence, yet neither of you speaks. For a moment, both of your eyes meet as you choose to look up at the same time. He's on his phone, probably messaging Linda, though he doesn't seem happy.
Matt's eyes glance back at his phone. The disappointment of no reconciliation stings more than it should. You've never been someone to apologize first, even when it eats you alive. Maybe you're too proud, or maybe the truth is just you never learned how to.
None of that matters now; all you know is that you walk past him. Moving on autopilot, you open the fridge and grab the next best thing you see, to seem like you're still in control even if you're not. The bottle of whatever it is you just grabbed feels cold in your hand, to the point where the iciness in your hand stings — you only hold on tighter.
Without another notice, you walk past Matt to your room. It takes all the control in you not to slam the door shut in your haste. As soon as you entered, you didn't bother to turn on the light, you just drop the bottle in an instant. It lands loudly on the floor, too loud. You didn't care. You stand there holding your hand with your other, gently rubbing it to give back some warmth.
You sigh and take your laptop out of your purse. If you can't redirect your thoughts on your own, you just have to force yourself to think of anything else.
The hours pass by, you went through every single note, on Misa, on the Kira case, even your Lectures. Everything is blurred together, your eyes burn, and still, you need to distract yourself. You wish you could call Linda to plan something to wear for tomorrow. But the thought of her already talking to Matt and interrogating you after is preventing you from doing so.
You roll on your side, on your bed, pressing your palm over your tired eyes. Then you hear a knock on your door. You don't respond; you just click your tongue in response. Without a warning, the door opens anyway. Carefully, you remove your hand to see Matt standing in the doorframe, waving with something that looks like a joint.
"Truce?" is all he says.
This one simple word lifts all the weight pressing on your chest, and you can't help but faintly smile. You sit up straight in your bed as you nod. "Truce."
✭✭✭✭✭
[♫Play: Forever by Labrinth♫]
The smoke curls up into the air, hoping that it will flee through the open window, as if the smell wouldn't stick to your clothes. Traffic noises blended with the city sounds of people are almost completely swallowed by your blissful anesthesia.
Both your backs are pressed against the wall, while you sit on the carpeted floor, the sensation of the fabric feeling more intense than ever. The apartment is completely dark inside; only the faint glow of nearby skyscrapers highlights the silhouettes of your home interior.
"Oh damn," you blink rapidly, trying to form a coherent sentence. "Still can't believe someone gave you this."
Matt doesn't respond. He's occupied inhaling the last drag before carelessly extinguishing the glowing red on the wall behind him, leaving an ugly black circle of ash.
"Fuck," he murmurs, letting his head fall back with a thud, snorting at the sensation of it. "L is so gonna kill us."
"I don't mind," you shrug, smiling. Strangely, you're telling the truth. This feels like the safest place on earth in weeks. For now, you allow yourself to not overthink anything, just you here with your newfound friend. Mindlessly, you let your head fall to the side, resting it on Matt's shoulder. His body only stiffens for a second before relaxing and resting his temple on top of yours.
"You ever think about how fucked up this place was?" you ask. " 'Cause, if this feels like normalcy, I don't think I ever had that … will have that."
"Well, duh." Matt lets out a breathy laugh. "That's why you got me. I'm not going anywhere."
You don't have to look up to see the confident smirk forming on his lips. "I couldn't have asked for anyone better," you respond, voice sarcastic, though you meant it with all your heart.
"Can I ask you something?" You press yourself closer to him to get his attention. "Why were you so mad at me earlier?"
Matt huffs, "I'm not particularly fond of getting my ass beaten. And you're kinda cool, I guess."
You roll your eyes in response before the realization kicks in. "Get your ass beaten by who?"
He goes rigid beneath your head. "L of course," he snorts, his answer delayed by several seconds. Perhaps his reverie is preventing him from forming a coherent thought.
Minutes pass by, without talking, you just take joy in the fogginess in your brain that clouds every doubt. Closing your eyes, you breathe in the moment, trying to remember every beat of it. After a while, a loud belly laugh interrupts your meditative moment.
"What?" you frown as you turn your head to the side. Matt has his face in his hands, attempting to stifle his uncontrollable laughs.
Panting, he straightens, face red. "I just remembered," he pauses to swallow another cackle, "How Mello got mad every time you stepped into a room."
The words reach you, but it takes you a while to comprehend them in a way that makes sense to you. Still, you're unsure what to say.
Reading your confused expression, Matt clears his throat, "I'll explain. It's like he got super pissed when you entered the library. Study Session? Done," he pauses, waiting for you to interrupt, but you don't. "Never noticed how he only went there at night or not at all?"
Gnawing at your lower lip, you shake your head in all sorts of directions, conflicted on whether you should reveal the truth. The truth is that you did notice the coldness after he left without even looking up. Or lie and say you were indifferent to it, didn't know, like you pretended all the time.
"Gotcha, you knew. Classic," he grins from eye to eye. "Ever figure out what that was? "
Staring at the ceiling, you watch the neon lights blend into each other, shadows dancing in the corners. "I always hoped he'd befriend me. When I first arrived … when there was no competition or anything like that," you sigh, feeling his eyes on you. "But … he acted like I didn't exist. Not hate, just … indifference," you look down at your knees, while caressing the carpet with your palms.
"Which is somehow worse," you quietly add, more to yourself than for Matt to hear.
Matt absentmindedly picks at the skin around his nail bed, nodding. "Yeah, I know."
"You know what?" you ask, slightly irritated at his short response after you said more than you intended to.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he groans, like he's about to explain something he shouldn't, even when nearly beamed out. "Listen, when he acts indifferent or … avoidant, it's usually bullshit."
"Meaning that?" you press.
"Meaning that if you don't care, you wouldn't alter your entire schedule to avoid someone," he combs his fingers through his hair, as if that entire sentence cost his leftover brainpower.
Your mouth opens, wanting to press even further, to hear every so irrelevant detail. But seeing Matt stressed out like this, you decide it's best to drop the conversation. Still, his words woke something up in you, a strange feeling you've long forgotten about.
"Anyway, hypothetical," his voice interrupts whatever emotion worked its way back into your system.
"Fuck no," you groan.
"Fuck yeah," Matt mimics your voice, shaking your shoulder in need of your full attention.
You let your head roll over to your side, noticing Matt's eyes flickering with childish excitement. "Alright. What is it?" you narrow your eyes.
"How many shots would it take you to ask L out on a date?" he stares at you without blinking, expecting an immediate answer.
"You can't be serious," you chuckle in disbelief and maybe even embarrassment.
"I am," he responds deadpan. "So … what is it?"
"Zero, he'd probably just pretend he didn't hear me," you chuckle at the thought of it.
"Fair." Matt nudges your shoulder. "What about me? How many would that take?"
"Oh, Matty," you pat the top of his head, "I'd get alcohol poisoning before even getting the chance to."
Pulling away from your touch, he lets himself dramatically fall in front of your feet, clutching his chest where his heart sits. "Damn. You're brutal. But that's the response I hoped for."
Pushing yourself away from the wall, you lie down next to him on the floor, heads next to each other, his hair tickling your temple. Neither of you speaks, you close your eyes, feeling so disconnected and grounded all at once, but most importantly, safe.
Time passes through a bent wormhole, moving forward while you stand still. Matt's breath becomes slower, his inhales deeper, passing out while you still travel the infinite galaxies of your brain.
When Matt's hand falls to his side, with a heavy and hollow sound, you are brought back into reality. You straighten yourself, the floor feels harder and colder than before, you gently tap Matt's shoulder. No response, his lips are slightly parted, fingers curled.
Eventually, you decide to just let him sleep. Wobbling through the room, you find a blanket to throw over him, before you leave for the comfort of your own room. Your body feels heavy when you slip into your pajamas, as if your limbs don't want to follow.
Exhausted and physically tired, you crawl into your bed. The sheets are cold, and the moonshine peeks through the still half-opened curtains. Too lazy to close them entirely, you turn around. And turn around. Every time you open your eyes, the time on your clock barely changes.
Frustrated with yourself, you keep your eyes open, no blinking, just blatantly staring at each passing second until your eyes burn even more. Everything Matt said earlier, or didn't say, keeps replaying in your head.
That's it.
Without second-guessing what you're about to do, you stand in your room. Carefully, you open the door and turn your head in the direction of the window, where Matt still sleeps. He must've unconsciously pulled in the blanket. All you can see is the top of his hair.
As you walk down the hall to the elevator, you instantly regret not putting on something warmer. The night chill wraps around your bare legs, and the only thing you can cling to is your oversized long-sleeve shirt. The elevator arrives with a soft ring. You step in, immediately blinded by the incandescent light, doors closing behind you, deciding that there's no going back for you.
Seeing your reflection, you realize you might be crossing an invisible line. Maybe you should just turn around as soon as the doors slide open, before anyone notices you're up.
The lights flicker around every downward-going floor number until it reaches the destination. You can feel your heart beating out of your chest when the blue illuminated room unveils in front of you.
[ ♫Play: Blue Velvet by Lana Del Rey♫ ]
The glow enhances his crouched outline. Of course, he's still awake. Next to him is a tray half-eaten with all sorts of sweets. L's eyes are fixed on the curve of some kind of stock market, watching it rise by the second. Without even turning around, he recognized the echo of your steps on the cold aluminum floor.
"You're still awake," he states, back still turned to you, his voice soothingly calm.
Clearing your throat, you can already feel the warmth rising to your cheeks, "I couldn't sleep," you quietly explain, stepping closer.
Everything is eerily silent; only the hums of the monitors fill the gaping space between you two. L only hums in acknowledgement, reaching to his side to grab one of the pastries. Something stings, maybe his lack of engagement, you aren't sure what you expected in the first place. A tiny glimpse of hope that he might engage in a pointless conversation?
Attempting to draw the attention back to you, you continue to speak, "You never sleep, do you?" Standing close enough, you grab the upholstered plastic back of his chair.
Feeling the warmth radiating of your hand, his body stiffens, but he doesn't intervene. "I'm busy," he responds curtly, more monotone than you're used to.
A smile tugs at your lips, realizing you have the upper hand by standing so close, you decide to take it further and place your body so close that your side almost touches the fabric of his arm sleeve. "Funny, I thought you liked talking to me one-on-one."
The icing of his untouched pastry melts around his fingertips, like he's completely forgotten to eat it. L inhales sharply before he grants you the privilege of an answer. "What are you implying?"
His words carry a sharp edge to them, causing you to tighten your grip on his chair, preventing your hands from involuntarily shaking. Good thing he didn't care to look at your face, meet your eyes, see all the boldness drain out of your expression.
"Nothing," you pause, "I just thought you'd be more … talkative."
"Is that so?" Now, finally, turning his head in your direction.
Almost instinctively, you loosen the grip around the back of his chair, your arm falling back to the side, like it didn't belong to you anymore. Holding his gaze, you notice, for the first time, the dark circles under his eyes, so dark you believe someone must've drawn them on with black ink. So it's true, he never sleeps.
When you try to open your mouth to form the words, L is already moving over to the side, distancing himself, even for just a few inches from you. The air surrounding you feels colder now.
"Sit," he gestures to the space he seemingly made for you. There's no welcoming warmth in his eyes, but they softened just enough for you not to turn around and leave in an instant.
Eyes darting between his and the blue reflecting on the polished floor, you curl your fingers into a fist, digging into the soft flesh to pull you out of your trance. "Alright," you murmur.
In what feels like slow-motion, you walk backwards to pull one of the empty office chairs near. Taking place next to him, your elbow briefly touches his knee. Though you pretend you didn't notice and adjust yourself on your chair, the area on your skin strangely tingles, like static. Somehow, you can't muster up the courage to look to your side, heck, even to glance through your peripheral vision, to see his reaction is remotely close to yours, if he feels it too.
Folding your hands in your lap, akin to a silent prayer, breathing in shakily since the only thing standing between you and him is the restraint of his cerebral religion. Every breath costs you an immense strength; you don't want to be too loud, too shaky, or seem like you just ran a marathon with seemingly no destination. The seconds stretch into minutes, painfully; it feels like you're running out of air for some reason.
"Your breath is irregular," he calmly states, "Is something bothering you?"
Rubbing your palms over your thighs, you turn your head just enough to see his side profile. L's eyes are still glued to the monitor; however, the reflection in his eyes is blank — he's not even paying attention to the rising and sinking digits.
"No … No, I'm just," you chew on the inside of your cheek. Yeah, why did you forget how to breathe? Why's your mind hazy all of a sudden? Because of the lack of oxygen? Or because of the brush sending waves of shock to your heart, resetting the way your chest rises and falls?
"You don't have to explain yourself. I was just …" his eyes narrowed for the matter of a second, just as clueless to his actions as you were. "… curious, I suppose."
"Curious, huh?" You move closer to him, leaning into his personal space. "So, what does that curve mean?" you point past him, your arm brushing the back of his hand. You can feel him shift in his seat just a little.
"You know what it means, stop acting like you don't," he mutters, his eyes glancing to his side.
Silence. You cross your arms in front of your shivering body, staring at the movement of his fingers on the keyboard, back to his food, and again, to the keyboard.
"So you're just going to ignore me," you speak before thinking. The heat creeps up your body the moment the words leave your lips.
L turns in his chair, his eyes locking with yours in an instant, firmly holding your gaze. "I didn't know you wanted me to talk."
"I-" your mouth feels dry, staring at him like a deer caught in headlights.
"I invited you to sit. I don't recall mentioning a conversation, did I?" he doesn't sound annoyed or irritated; in fact, it softened in a peculiar way you wouldn't be able to explain.
"You're mean," is all you manage to say, leaning back in your chair, withdrawing your closeness.
L tilts his head, his expression not changing in the slightest. "What an interesting choice of words. Perhaps let me rephrase that. I'm refusing to give you the reaction you desire."
"So you are aware?" you challenge, but you can't hide the amusement in your voice.
"I'm aware. But I don't provide it in the way you expect me to." L's lips twitch; if you had blinked, you wouldn't have noticed.
"So this is your form of amusement?" You raise an eyebrow, leaning closer again, resting your elbow on the armrest of his chair.
"I suppose. And I know that it frustrates you. Though the origin of that frustration is … interesting." L reaches for another one of his sweets, moving his eyes away from you.
Clenching your jaw, you watch him, stare, wanting him to almost feel the burn of annoyance on his skin.
"Do not mistake my curiosity for cruelty," he calmly adds.
You swallow hard, not fully satisfied with what direction this is going. So you do the only illogical thing — you lean even closer.
"Conversation doesn't require this kind of proximity," he states without pulling back or pushing you away.
So you take this as your sign to remain in place, enjoying the thrill of pushing his boundaries, while every rational thought that starts to seep through the folds of your brain telling you to go back upstairs. And instead of watching the blue and red lines intertwine, rising and sinking, but never aligning, you watch him.
L's jaw clenches, feeling your eyes on him. The moment lingers, too long, too unresponsive, it bores you.
"Can I have one of those?" You ask, pointing at his plate. You feel yourself begin to overheat; this is too much, you know it.
L turns his head, scanning you up and down, then, without a word, he moves the platter in front of you. "Choose carefully."
At first, your mouth opens, and you want to tell him you weren't being serious. However, you're unsure if there's even an option to go back now. Your throat tightens, looking down on the platter still half-filled with pastries, fruits, and candy. Your eyes flicker up and down between L and his offering, waiting for permission that this is real, not imagination.
He moves a finger, as if he understood what you meant, and pushes it just an inch closer to you. Hesitantly, you let your fingers hover above the plate, not wanting to do anything wrong, you just reach for a piece of chocolate.
"Interesting choice," L says, before resuming his observation, pulling his platter back with him.
The chocolate tastes slightly bitter, certainly not sweet enough to soften the moment. You remain like that, slightly dizzy, hungry, and eager for something to happen.
You let your elbows rest on the desk, head in your hands, close enough to feel his breath against your jaw.
"Y/N," L's voice sounds lower than before, causing your heart to drop into your stomach, and without a warning, his hands reach on either side of your head, pulling you close. Out of reflex, you grab his wrists.
L analyzes your eyes, not your face, cold and detached. Putting pressure on your cheekbones, whilst moving your head around, without hurting you. Weirdly, this moment made your chest flutter, but as quickly as it came, it passed again, leaving you once again in this unbearable state of purgatory, as he begins to speak.
"You're not acting like this because you're bored," he concludes.
His face is only a heartbeat away; you can feel the vibration of his tone on your skin. Your breath starts to quicken, while the silence remains.
Then, something shifts, and he gently pushes you back abruptly, letting your head go, rebuilding the distance between you and him. His expression darkens.
"Go upstairs." This time, it's not an option; it's not kindly asking to remove yourself. It's sharp and definite.
You can't move, you don't want to move, you're frozen. What just happened? And for the first time, he somewhat scared you. You blink, slowly, pulse racing, numb, overwhelmed all at once.
Before he can tell you again, he stands, leaving you to his empty room.
·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·
Matt's POV
[♫Play: Self Care by Mac Miller♫]
A quick glance at the clock — he's got exactly fifteen minutes. Looking left and right, Matt gets up from his assigned seat. When his chair pushes back loudly, he feels the students' eyes on him, curious, not judging; at least not obviously. This whole time, Matt had been waiting for the professor to leave the room, to slip out without any further notice.
Swiftly, he swings his backpack over his right shoulder, opens the door, and closes it with the cold door handle pressed down. Something he learned as a little boy and never forgot. Carefully, he repeats the same movement, his head turning left and right, in the morning light-flooded corridor. No one. Great. He exhales through his nose, and in just a few steps, he makes his way towards the emergency exit.
Breathing in the fresh air, he's surrounded by bushes. Do they ever move the lawn? Did he just step into something?
If you just weren't so hyper-aware of everything going on around you, he wouldn't have to take all these double precautions. Even dirt on his shoe might make you spiral into a psychotic breakdown. Shaking his head, he moves through the backyard of To-Oh University, his Converse soaking wet due to the dewdrops clinging onto every blade of grass.
Finally, he's able to set foot on one of the trash cans, helping him to jump over the gigantic stonewall. A gasp escapes him when he lands, his ankles sharply stinging from the impact.
"Fuck," he mutters while adjusting his goggles back into the right position. Again, like muscle memory, his head turns left and right, deep sigh, keep walking.
Once he reaches the alleyway of some scummy building, he sees the guy from 7-Eleven casually leaning against the wall, chocolate in his gloved hand, tapping the metallic wrapper in anticipation. When he spots Matt, a smirk tugs at his lips, pushing himself off the wall.
"You're late," he says, stepping closer to him, one hand casually resting in the pocket of his jacket.
"Sorry, the professor just went on and on," Matt rolls his eyes, stepping closer. "Also, it's not easy to just trail off when … she's there."
"I see," he takes a bite of his dark chocolate, his eyes fixed on Matt.
"Seriously, man, you went too far the other night. If she sees you lurking again, she's gonna freak, and L will notice."
"I wasn't lurking," he chuckles.
"Mello, I'm serious. You're underestimating how sharp she is," Matt runs his fingers through his hair. " I told her to drop it … but I know for a fact, one slip and she will know."
For a moment, there's no response, only sadistic amusement in Mello's face. "What if that's exactly what I want?" He takes another bite, the smirk not disappearing.
"Whatever, you freak. I've got like five minutes left … four if I want to be unnoticed," Matt reaches deep into his pocket, fishing for the flash drive he so carefully copied without leaving any traces. "Here, just like you wanted."
Matt drops the flash drive into Mello's open palm. Fist closing around it, Mello only nods. He's playing it cool now, but deep down, Matt knows Mello's just as careful as he is. The lengths L went to, to ensure security, made it almost impossible for Matt to find a loophole. Staying in contact, secret messages, secret meet-ups, all of it, is almost impossible. Them getting away with it so far has only been sheer luck, nothing else; he might as well call it a fucking miracle.
"Calm down," Mello reveals the tiny pack he was hiding behind his chocolate bar, throwing it over to Matt. "This might help you, idiot."
Catching it, barely, Matt knows exactly what it is, even without looking.
"I'm heading back now," he mutters before turning on his heels to walk back on campus. Head low, fists clenching in his vest pockets.
Before he takes a step, Mello's voice cuts through the air. "Oh, and Matt," he adds, voice dropping, "Next time, tell Y/N to keep her paws off my jacket. We clear?"
Matt's jaw clenches. Without responding or looking back, he heads back over the stonewall, through the grass, through the exit, right back where he's supposed to be. Acting all buddy-buddy with someone, he starts to care more about than he would like to admit now.
Notes:
Thanks for reading.
I'm going to update more frequently. I promise <3
Chapter 6: Vertigo
Notes:
TW: Self-Destructive behavior, SH,light dissociation.
Ik i tagged themes of depression and self-harm but i want to gently remind you that i meant every tag i put <3
stay safe and skip this chapter if needed 🤍
Also in case ur wondering:
Yes! there's so much context missing (for mello)
Will u get the context? Probably 😜
Is Y/N going to tell us? When does she ever tell us anything? 💔
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
She was moved by a kind of commiseration... a pity for that colorless existence which never uplifted its possessor beyond the region of blind contentment, in which no moment of anguish ever visited her soul, in which she would never have the taste of life's delirium. - Kate Chopin
His voice is nothing but a distant hum. You faintly smile, pretend that you hear every word that leaves his mouth, but your mind is wandering elsewhere. Your legs have a life of their own, moving on autopilot ever since you woke up this morning.
"I'm thinking maybe we should just ask, what do you think?" Matt looks at you, anticipation in his eyes.
You haven't seen him this enthusiastic about something in a while. So it must be about Linda. Just nod. Everything is going to be fine.
"Yeah. Totally," you say, maybe two seconds too late, causing him to stop walking.
Even that. You walk two steps ahead, registering his shift in movement too late. Matt looks at you, furrowing his brows.
"Seriously?" he waits for you to speak, but you don't. "You got nothing else to say?"
You blink rapidly, trying to find your way back to reality through the fog that lingers inside your head. You've been in this state ever since L left you to yourself—mortified.
Whatever happened was nothing but a mere slip of reason. You mistook his hospitality for something else, misread the lingering glances, thinking that maybe -.
Were you even thinking at all?
"Seems like you've got most of it figured out." Your response sounds like a question, rather than an answer.
"That's literally not the case," Matt rolls his eyes at you. "Seriously, I'm never sharing my shit with you again, if you can't even stomach it."
He's wrong. He's all wrong. It has nothing to do with the shared joint and everything to do with you. This morning, when you arrived to get the instructions for today, L was absent. Though Watari greeted you, and L's absence seemed to have a good reason, if you listened. Or did it?
You would know if you listened. But you didn't. Your ears were ringing the moment you scanned the room, finding it empty, in a way that shouldn't feel this unpleasant.
"Sorry," you mumble, unable to form a coherent sentence. Your arms are hanging loosely by your side, and you inhale the scent of your shampoo every time your hair is blown in your face by the soft breeze of late autumn, as you are too consumed by your crippling thoughts to bother to even tug them behind your ears.
"Don't be," Matt shrugs, continuing to walk. "Just don't act like that when you're around Misa. It's creepy."
You follow after Matt, mind still rewinding every moment, the morning after, looking for clues where you went wrong. When you started misinterpreting the crucial evidence in front of the one person whose judgment matters most. Proof you didn't imagine the entire thing, or maybe, maybe it would be best if you did.
"Don't worry," you mutter, wrapping your hand around your other hand's wrist, feeling the pulse under your fingertips.
"Alright," his voice sounds defeated, like he already gave up trying to get you to talk more than a few words.
Carefully, you shove your hand down the pocket of your stolen leather jacket. Matt told you this morning not to wear it. You took it anyway.
Your hand closes around the cool plastic of your phone, taking it out to check you're headed in the right direction at the right time.
"Here you go," Matt announces, stopping at the main parking lot surrounded by trees.
That was quick. Time is so distorted that the whole way feels like nothing but a distant memory.
"Thanks," you hold your phone loosely in your hand, completely forgotten about.
Matt scoffs, "See you later, I'm headed back."
You watch his silhouette seamlessly blend into the crowd of students about to leave campus. Nervously, you start to hum the old familiar sound of your childhood. You look around in the sea of people, hoping you'll find Misa before the doubt creeping through your body finds you.
It's cold, you usually like the cold that autumn brings. Right now, it bothers you, forcing you to wrap the leather jacket tighter around you. Inhaling the scent that's so eerily comforting.
Everything's fine.
You're fine.
Just stay calm and-
[♫Play: Genesis by Grimes♫]
"Hey, Y/N," a feminine voice chirps behind you, "I already thought you ditched me."
Turning around, you see Misa approaching, standing out in her radiant appearance. Her smile is warm and welcoming, without a hint of uncertainty in the way she talks to you. Everything, down to the way she moves, is instinctively graceful. And despite how distant you must've seemed to her, she pulls you into a tight hug that only lasts for a matter of seconds.
As you make contact, you sharply inhale the scent of her fragrance, just enough to bring you back into the here and now. She let go of you, still holding onto your wrists. Misa pierces you with her gaze, not analyzing or judging, it's innocent curiosity mixed with anticipation.
"Seriously, I got nervous when I couldn't find you right away," she beams, oblivious to your inner turmoil, delaying every reaction by a second too long.
"I was looking for you too," is all you manage to scramble together, putting on a smile to the best of your abilities.
Misa only giggles in response, slipping past you. She leads the way, navigating both of you through gaps in the crowd, her hair reflecting the sun, the charms on her bag dangling at every movement, clinking together with a metallic sound. Heads of people turn when they see her, but the exposure doesn't seem to bother her in the slightest. In fact, it almost seems like she's confidently thriving on it.
Her walk comes to a stop when you reach the overly extravagant side of the city. Everything is beautifully minimalist, the kind of dreariness only wealth can afford. Between a boutique and a bougie nail salon is a tiny café. The glass front with the gold emblem and decorative ivy has a welcoming effect on you, if it wasn't for one thing—how much money does she think you have?
"Come on, let's go inside," she hooks her arm around yours, pushing the door open.
Upon entering, you smell the freshly made coffee with a hint of cinnamon. The inside is surprisingly spacious, lit with warm Tiffany lamps and tealights placed in the center of every table. Misa is welcomed by the woman behind the counter with a wide smile, which only means she must be a regular.
The conversations between people blend as you watch Misa pull the waitress into the same hug she greeted you with in the parking lot earlier. Awkwardly, you stay behind Misa, like a puppy owner waiting for it to be done waggling its tail at every new person in excitement.
When she turns her attention back to you, her cheeks are flushed, eyes sparkling.
"Let's go see if my favorite table is free," she says, taking your hand between her palms, gently leading you to her desired destination once again.
Behind a giant plant, Misa gestures toward an oak-wood round table, presenting it to you in sheer theatrical delight that you almost forget that this is the woman who's supposed to be Kira number two. Misa takes place in the booth, which leaves the chair in front of it for you. It's small but telling—whenever you and Linda would sit down somewhere, the debate on who gets to sit in the booth is endless, since both of you want the other one to be more comfortable. However, with Misa, it's decided, not even a debate. She's probably used to people adjusting for her comfort.
Hesitantly, you take off your jacket and hang it around the back of your chair.
Misa beams at you as you sit down. Given what you witnessed so far, you're not sure whether she's genuine or one of these girls who will talk badly behind your back once you're out of sight.
"I always get the same thing," she starts circling the edge of the tealight. "I love their vanilla latte. You should totally try it!" Misa leans forward to the point you are impressed she's still sitting.
"That sounds nice," you reluctantly reciprocate, not wanting her to feel stupid for her excitement. "But maybe I will check the card first -"
Misa grabs your hand across the table, too fast for you to retreat, still enough for your fingers to stiffen at the sudden contact. "We should totally share one of their cinnamon rolls." Her eyes light up as the words leave her lips. The same sparkle that made it impossible for you to deny lunch with her in the first place.
"Yeah, sure," you force a warm smile. On the inside, you're completely freaking out. This is way too nice not to look at the prices. Why is she not looking at the prices?
Before you could steer the conversation back to looking at the card to see what you actually want to get, and foremost, what it will cost you, Misa raises her arm, waving the waitress over to your table. One thing about Misa you are already sure about is that she is impossible to ignore.
"We would like two vanilla lattes and a cinnamon roll to share," she hands the menu card back to the waitress, letting go of your hand.
So there goes your only chance to see if you have to file for bankruptcy after you leave this place. You bite your lower lip, unsure if you're supposed to talk or if Misa is going to take the lead. The moment stretches as you scan her posture while she quickly types a message on her phone. Seriously, how fast does a person type?
Misa sets her phone down, display turned away from you, which is not unusual, but for someone like her, oddly cautious.
"So," she says, head resting on her folded hands, "what do you think? It's pretty, would you agree?"
To reassure her, you look around the café, "Yes, it is. It's very … cozy."
"Don't be shy, Y/N," Misa reaches for your hand again. "You don't meet up with new people often, do you?" Her thumb caresses you gently.
You exhale through your nose, a frail attempt to force a laugh that sounds somewhat natural. The words already on the tip of your tongue, Misa keeps talking, so you swallow them again, acknowledging that she already knows the answer. It's a strange habit, since you're not used to people revealing their thought process so openly to you.
"My boyfriend Light is the same way," her pupils instantly dilate at the sound of his name, "He doesn't make friends, but he's a sweetheart, I'm sure you are too."
The mention of Light's name hits you like a punch in the gut. This is serious. This is work. You can't handle this like two people getting to know each other without any hidden motives.
The food and drinks arriving at your table save you from any further unwanted exposure. It's unfathomable to you how in the files Misa's disregarded as some ditzy lovesick girl, when in fact she keeps surprising you with her perceptiveness. And what gets you the most is that it's not even hidden; she reveals her strength in plain sight.
"Here you go," the waitress says, gently placing the steaming hot latte in front of you, the small hint of vanilla pulling you back instantly to the faint scent that clings to L's clothing. You bite down on the inside of your cheeks so hard you can taste the iron on your tongue, attempting to suppress any thought that is not case relevant.
"Thank you so much," Misa responds for the two of you, raising her shoulder as she endearingly tilts her head.
"Are you okay?" Misa asks, looking at you with big eyes. "You're really quiet today."
Why does she just assume that this is not your default?
"I'm good, don't worry," you wrap both your hands around the warmth of your beverage. "It's just … the first week is really stressful."
Misa nods in understanding, "I get like that too after a stressful week. Sometimes it's just photo shoot after photo shoot, and hair and make-up. You get me." She dramatically rolls her eyes.
Did this girl really just compare modeling to university stress?
"Oh yeah, totally. You must be exhausted," you say, controlling yourself just enough not to come across as a sarcastic bitch.
Maybe you're just projecting, and you're the judgmental one here. You swallow that thought as quickly as it came.
"I'm glad someone agrees with me on this," she sighs. "It seems like no one is taking me seriously when I talk about my job."
"Not even your boyfriend?" The question slips faster than you can think about whether it's even appropriate or if you want to go down that route already.
"Especially not him," her eyes wander off the the side, like she's ashamed of revealing such a sensitive subject to you already. Misa blinks rapidly, and there it is. The look she always has, the one you see in magazines. "I know how that must've sounded. But it's really not a big deal," she adds quickly.
You know this, maybe even a little too well. Lying to yourself, to your friends, to everyone about how you truly feel about your partner. Wanting to live in that fantasy tale that is reserved just for the public eye.
"I'm sure he is supportive of you," you lie, maybe that's a backhanded thing to say when you're fully aware he's not. You aren't entirely sure. All that matters to you is that she didn't see how you saw right through her.
Misa doesn't respond; instead, she scoops up the icing on top of the cinnamon roll with her pointer finger and tries it.
"It's delicious, try it," she pushes the plate closer to you.
Something stings, the same movement, maybe not as precise, but same intent. This time, you're not misreading; it's Misa. It's not last night. You're not in his space. It's Misa.
Feeling the fork's cool metal in your hand, your brain goes silent again. Even when you're too worked up to feel like eating, you can't deny the divine taste of freshly baked cinnamon.
"It's really good," you nod as a genuine smile tugs at your lips.
Misa's eyes trail off to the side of your chair where your jacket hangs. "So, where did you get your style from?"
Fully aware that you can't admit that becoming a perfect copy of her is something you specifically aimed for, you shift in your seat and contemplate.
"Just … here and there. I like taking inspiration from various magazines … stuff like that," you hide your insecure expression behind a sip of your vanilla latte.
"Ah," Misa's eyes gleam in the lightning with a teasing smirk. "I figured your jacket doesn't belong to you, so I assumed." Her smirk grows wider as she raises one eyebrow. "A boyfriend, maybe?"
You can feel your heart stop beating for a second, causing you to almost choke on your drink.
"No, I don't have one," you clarify.
Misa doesn't look quite satisfied with your response. "So there's no one? Then where did you get the jacket from?"
A nervous chuckle leaves your throat. You don't know why her interrogation makes you so uncomfortable. This topic shouldn't feel this sensitive to you.
"I kind of stole it … from my friend," you stutter, trying to sound convincing even though you're telling the truth.
"Aha! Complicated. I knew it," she brings the fork to her mouth, chewing, watching you as every micro reaction matters to her.
"Misa, please," you pinch the bridge of your nose, but you can't help but snicker at her premature judgment.
She swallows, "Oh, don't worry. I like complicated."
For a moment, you think Misa is going to stop talking and let the silence linger. Of course you're wrong. Her fingers fly over her phone keyboard before she sets it down.
"Personally, I think someone really opposite of you would suit you," she narrows her eyes. "Someone more open, maybe even intense."
You think, really think for a second. Based on what you've experienced before, you think there might be no one in the world for you. Every attempt at romance made you feel like a fool; most couldn't even meet you halfway. While they told you they loved you, adored you in a way no one did before, they couldn't even tell you were dying in front of their eyes. Instead of fixing anything, they took the easy way out, leaving you frozen in that lovelorn version of yourself.
"No, god no," you brush imaginary crumbs off your lap, half-smiling. "I want quiet. Stable. Nothing crazy." You take a deep breath. "I had intense … It's fun but certainly short-lived," and in this moment, you feel yourself speaking the truth.
Misa tilts her head to the side, "You know love is not just black and white."
You stop in the middle of bringing the glass to your mouth. "What do you mean by that?"
She shrugs, eyes already wandering off elsewhere, like she didn't just say something of personal value to you for the first time today. "Remind me to ask them where they get these mugs from, they're adorable," she points to the table across from you.
Unsettled by her latest statement, you turn in your seat, looking over without taking notice of the mugs you're supposed to check out. Your mind is working. Misa is right; to you, love only exists in absolute black and white.
"They're adorable," you repeat, facing her again. You can't explain why, but you reach for your phone, checking your inbox for a message. This compulsion hit you for the second time today. Once, right after you stepped outside with Matt on your side. And now.
Misa casually proceeds to talk about anything that comes to her mind. Eighty percent of the time, it's about herself, her modeling career, and fashion. By now, you know she doesn't mean to; there's a childlike cluelessness to it you find amusing in a way.
Something that you notice is the lack of information she's able to provide at certain times. Especially before the time she was held captive. She doesn't know you know about her imprisonment, and certainly not about the things L and Watari did to her.
What L did to her.
Talking to Misa, experiencing her as a human in front of you, not someone—something that needs to be dissected, leaves a bitter taste about L in your mouth.
She's Kira number two, almost certainly; it had to be done.
Misa grabs your hand like it's second nature to her, inspecting your nails. "Burgundy nails would suit you. Next time I'm going to the nail salon, you're coming with me." She lets go of your hand, dangling hers in front of you.
Her nails look nice, they're baby pink with rhinestones on them, suiting someone like her.
Oh boy, this will cost a fortune, won't it?
"I know this lovely place, it's right around the corner," she beams, ignoring your absence of mind once again. "Too bad I have other things to do today, but surely we can meet up again." It's not a question; her tone is firm and decisive, leaving no room to back out or for excuses.
"That would be nice," you respond. "Also … your nails are really adorable." You reassure her, acknowledging she's probably been waiting for you to compliment her on it.
Misa only smiles in response, exaggeratedly squeezing her eyes, telling you she's been trained to take compliments her entire life.
By the time Misa lifts her phone to check the time, your drinks are cold, and the plate is empty. She sighs heavily, "It was really fun hanging out with you," she starts, "I just totally forgot I have a fitting in exactly-" she knits her eyebrows. "In exactly twenty minutes."
Not waiting for your response, she already slips out of the booth, placing an absurd amount of money and tips on the table, dragging her jacket and purse with her. You're only left to stare, reacting too late to her getting ready to leave. Misa stands, putting her fitted leather jacket on, obviously tailored to her, unlike the stolen one you're wearing right now.
Slowly, you follow her movements, looking around to see if the staff is going to pick up your leftovers. Something Misa doesn't concern herself with, her brain is already out the door before she physically is.
The jacket hugs your body gently, giving you a sense of comfort you didn't know you needed. The faint scent that still clings to it grounds you; however, there's this strange pit forming in your stomach when you remind yourself that the longer you wear it, it might disappear.
Hesitantly, you follow after Misa, who's glued to her phone, texting someone, ignoring all the people she greeted in the beginning. So they only matter to her when they exist in her current situation? Is every relationship she has just circumstantial?
To your surprise, Misa waits for you at the door. Or maybe she just needs someone to open it for her? Has she ever opened something for herself?
She smiles at you, both hands holding the phone. So that's what it is.
You swallow any sort of sarcastic remark you might say to anyone else acting this entitled. Deep down, you know, it's the way she grew up; it's not her fault. Nevertheless, it pisses you off. Or maybe it's the fear of going back to HQ that makes you feel this tense.
"Thanks for waiting," you mutter as you pull open the door, letting Misa slip past you.
When you step out of the warmth of Tiffany Lamps and cinnamon scent, the sun hits you a little too hard. The chattering of people combined with the scent of nearby traffic overstimulates you right away.
"I need to go," Misa pulls you in, her hair brushing the side of your cheek. "Message me. Then we'll go to the nail salon. Soon. I promise," she speaks close to your ear.
She lets go of you before you can bring up your arms to at least pat her back. "Bye, Y/N," she sings, waving, blending into the crowd almost immediately.
[♫Play: Everything is Embarrassing by Sky Ferreira♫]
You remain like that for a while, standing in the way of pedestrians hurrying to get home from their 9-to-5s. With a heavy chest, you reach deep into the pocket of your jacket, fishing for your phone. It's already past the time you estimated for the lunch with Misa to end.
Watari explicitly told you this morning to give him a call as soon as you're finished, since you can't walk into HQ in broad daylight when the members of the task force operate right there, unaware of the existence of you and Matt.
Your thumb hovers over the green call button. This can wait.
Slipping your phone back into your pocket, you set yourself into motion. No plan whatsoever on where you're going. You only look straight ahead, down the tree-lined pathway, around the corner, and you're back.
Weird how your legs carry you to the place that made you uncomfortable just nights before. The sign of 7-Eleven towering over you, not as bright and prominent as it is during nighttime, but enough to elevate your pulse. There's this strange gravity pull you can't explain to yourself.
Again, you fumble for your phone, contemplating whether you should give Watari a call right now. For some reason, curiosity gets the best of you, and you head toward the entry. After all, your throat feels sore, maybe you needed water anyway?
Stepping inside 7-Eleven, you hear the ringing above your head, making you noticeable in a way you usually don't like, but this time you want to be seen. Without scanning the room, as your brain urges you to, you proceed to head in the direction of the fridge holding all the beverages.
In here, you feel exposed, under the fluorescent lights. However, unlike last time, you don't tense, don't shiver, there's nothing. Nothing, except the hollow feeling of disappointment.
Why are you disappointed? Do you want to get spied on again? What is wrong with you?
Carefully, you finally give in to your wishes, looking around the almost empty space, chest aching. There are only a few customers, locals, and a handful of children. In the reflections of refrigerators and metal, you can only see inverted labels of various snacks. No stranger, no phantom of whoever has been lurking in the shadows.
Sighing, you grab the water bottle, unsure why your mood lowered, something you didn't think would be possible today. Keeping your head low, you don't even look at the cashier, handing him the money without a word. It's rude, you know that, and still the desire to stoop lower is filling the hollow space inside of you.
Not entirely determined to leave just yet, you walk around the store one more time just to be sure. Sure of -
Of what exactly?
Pressing your lips together in a thin line, you storm outside like a child not getting the candy they wanted. The chiming above you bothers you, the glances you get, and the fact that your disappointment is indescribable is angering you. So much that you slam the unopened bottle of water to the ground, once you're out of sight, away from the glass front.
Immediately regretting your little temper tantrum, you squat down on the parking lot pavement. Head in your hands, bowing down to the bottle, scraped and dented. The most frustrating part is that you can't even pinpoint the origin of your misery.
Was it embarrassing yourself in front of L? Did it start with Matt dismissing you the moment you felt unsafe? Or did it start with Roger essentially blackmailing you into being here? Or is it the fact that you got played by some random manwhore you met in college?
You stay crouched there for an embarrassingly long time, staring at the results of your temper tantrum. Anger that no one witnessed other than yourself.
With a shaky exhale, you get up, hand in pocket, holding your phone heavier than it's ever felt. When you finally have it in you to fully pull it out, the screen lights up, immediately greeting you with Watari's contact.
This is it. The end of your little journey, pretending you have somewhere else to be.
You clear your throat, preparing to sound as professional as you can.
Tapping the hard backside of your phone with your finger, you hold it to your ear as it rings. Once. Twice-
"Y/N," Watari answers calmly, sounding as neutral and composed as he always is.
Your mouth goes dry in an instant, "I'm done." And you immediately hate yourself for how small and stupid you sound.
Of course, Watari knows. That's the call he's been waiting for. Maybe for a little too long.
"Where are you?" he asks.
You look around, still too close to 7-Eleven, too close to admit that you went back. It feels shameful, like you tried to reach out to something you aren't meant to touch yet.
"Campus," is all you say. A lie. Not even a convincing one.
"Campus," he repeats a little too slowly and testing for your liking.
Did a five-second delayed response tell him all he needed to know? Will he tell L?
"Stay where you are," Watari interrupts your spiral, "Wait. I'll pick you up as soon as the opportunity presents itself." His words are meant to sound reassuring and warm; however, they come off neutral and indifferent to you.
It's always 'wait' or 'stay where you are'. You could get hit by a car, and for them it would only register as a delay, a variable left unattended.
✭✭✭✭✭
Keeping your eyes shut, you try to focus on regulating your breath before Watari arrives. At first, you took the longer route before it dawned on you that waiting doesn't mean he'll take an eternity to pick you up. You already fucked up once during the night, and if you ruined whatever mercy L graced you with, the other two times might as well count.
Then you almost ran, not wanting to deal with the consequences. Rebelling only sounds good in theory. In practice, it comes with consequences you're not strong enough to survive. You're not like Matt or Linda, to your disadvantage. You still care what others think of you, whether you're on their good side or not.
You feel your phone vibrate inside your pocket. It's Watari. You have to go back.
"Hello?" you ask.
"Behind the corner," is all he says before the beeping of the ended call meets your ears.
Wrapping the jacket tighter around you, you start walking with baby steps. Slow to the point you're barely moving at all. Looking around in a desperate attempt to find something to delay this car ride for just a little longer. Maybe an elderly person you could help? Or someone else—literally anyone. Altruistic intent is the only thing that comes to mind as an excuse that Watari would understand.
Great, now all of a sudden everyone seems to be doing fine—almost everyone.
The rows of parked cars come into view abruptly, too early. The black car that brought you here blends in with all the others perfectly.
You approach the side of Watari's car. Now you have to seem normal, no delay, one hundred percent there. The safety lock opens with a quiet click before you're able to open the door.
He doesn't ask questions, only greets you and proceeds to drive. The smell of new leather and the absence of any human trace makes your supposed 'home'—or rather the place you're currently staying at—feel like an impending doom.
Last time you were in here with Matt, half asleep, when all was new, unexplored, and untouched. In this moment, though, you sit in here, pinching the side of your thighs so hard the blood drains from your knuckles.
The whole car ride goes by in a stretch without conversation, just silence. Not the kind of silence that makes you feel content. The kind of silence that makes you feel watched.
You lean the side of your head against the cool window, closing your eyes as you drive through the city, through the tunnel, and through security. Hopefully, Watari thinks you're just tired, leftover jet lag, or whatever smart-ass theory he's able to come up with.
The car comes to a stop, and the engine stops humming. You react too late, Watari already slides out of the driver's seat. Feeling drowsy like you woke up from a dream, you reach for the door handle, thinking you might throw up if you move any faster.
Arms crossed in front of your body, nose buried in the collar of softened leather, you follow him as he patiently guides you to the elevator leading to your floor.
"Be ready to report to L soon," he states without judgment or hint in his voice that he knows.
"Alright," you nod, jaw clenching.
The elevator opens as you hold your breath, and for a moment, you think you're back. All the way back when L invaded your shared space with Matt, catching you red-handed sneaking off somewhere he can't follow. Doesn't want to follow.
You could've asked.
"Thank you for picking me up," you manage to say before the elevator closes behind your back, and you're finally able to shakily release the breath you were holding.
"Yo, you're back?" Matt's voice cuts through the air coming from the living room.
You step in and let yourself fall onto the spot next to him on the couch. Matt is sitting there, controller in hand, and an open bag of chips placed on his lap. It's only then you respond to him, "Yeah. I'm back."
"Figured," he pauses the game. "And look, you're still alive." Matt shifts in his seat to look at you with a wide grin.
"Barely," you chuckle, half-serious, half-jokingly. "I still need to report to L," you let your head rest on the backrest.
"Me too," Matt holds out the open bag of chips to share with you.
Me too, you repeat in your head. So he hasn't reported yet. As quickly as you relaxed, all the tension creeps up your spine once again.
"You haven't reported yet?" Your try to sound as contained and neutral to the best of your abilities. Inside, you're freaking out.
This kind of inefficiency is unusual. Wouldn't it have been more efficient if Matt had reported without you? He came back first. Hours. Before you. L doesn't want to be alone with you. That must be it. You fucked up. This is confirmation.
"Nope," he chews with an open mouth. "We were waiting for the Ladies to finish their lunch," he jokes, waiting for you to laugh, but his funny remarks, same as always, don't land. He tilts his head, curious as to why you're not up for your mutual banter that has become close to a tradition at this point.
Biting down on the inside of your cheek, you just nod.
You sit there for another minute, staring at the paused screen of Matt's game. The bright colors strain your eyes, but you keep fixating on them without blinking, poignant and cruel, so that your eyes start to tear up. Matt's smile falters, turning completely away from you.
"I'm going to get changed," you murmur, getting up from your seat.
"Don't take too long," Matt hums, resuming his game, finally ending the loop of the music that played during his pause.
Your room feels colder than usual, and everything is in its designated place. Slowly, you put down your purse to the side of your desk, then you strip off your clothing, letting the cold air consume you for a while. Standing in front of your drawer, you can't decide what to wear. It really doesn't matter, but you want to come off unbothered, and if you pull it off well enough, L might think you forgot entirely.
Against your need to be comfortable, you choose something casual, neutral. Button up blouse and jeans. Professional, so you can pretend a little longer that you have yourself under control. A knock at your door makes you turn, heat rising to your cheeks because you're well aware of what comes next.
"L is ready for our report," Matt says, his voice muffled by the barrier of the wall between you two.
"Coming," you respond, taking one last look into your full-body mirror, adjusting the hems of your sleeves one more time.
Your stomach drops as you walk alongside Matt to the elevator; it's getting too serious now. You lack focus for your brain to go over any line you practiced in the silence inside the car.
✭✭✭✭✭
[♫Play: Vertigo by Edwin Rosen♫]
When you enter the room that should feel familiar by now, it's colder than usual. With every breath, your lungs scream for more oxygen, since no matter how deep you inhale, it never seems to be enough. Matt is right in front of you, walking too fast for your liking. You need more time to adjust, to come off as normal, to put on your best professional facade.
Every step feels heavier than the next. Matt is already by the side of the couch. You feel L's presence by the way your heart pounds so loud, it's the only sound you're able to hear. And yet, despite everything, you feel how his eyes don't rest on you, don't follow you. Nothing at all.
Focusing on the thudding in your ears, you can't focus on whether he greeted you already, if he even intends to. Keeping your head low, you take your usual spot next to Matt. This time, however, you notice how your weight naturally gravitates toward him, as if Matt's shoulder is yours to lean on, when it couldn't be further from the truth. You carry this self-created cross of guilt alone on your back.
It takes every fiber of your being to look up, only to find him not looking at you, like you anticipated, like you hoped he would.
"Matt, you start," L begins, taking a sip from his coffee.
Matt clears his throat, "So … the usual. Nothing big. He just took notes and didn't say anything. Seriously, that guy is boring as hell." he chuckles. "What is even the point in-"
"Thank you for your subjective input, but that's not the point," L cuts him off. "Continue."
Matt gulps next to you, and you feel kind of bad for him since none of his jokes are landing today. It's not his fault, but it might feel that way.
"Yeah, that's all. I tried to find the woman he was with yesterday, but she doesn't share any classes with us, really," he pauses for a beat, waiting for some kind of reaction. L stares at him expressionlessly. "That would be all."
L thinks for a moment, then speaks. "Thank you, Matt. Next time, I expect you to find the woman's name."
"Can I go now?" Matt rubs his palms over his jeans, eager to leave this moment.
"Stay," L firmly says. Then, finally, he glances in your direction, causing your fingers to dig into the fat of your thighs. "Y/N, you may talk now. Focus on lunch with Misa."
The air grows thicker around you as you take on last breath before you start. "I didn't notice much during university. Lunch with Misa was … fine," you swallow hard, fingers cramping as you try to categorize every small reaction his face makes, to no avail.
"She is well known, friendly, but self-centered without meaning to. Misa takes up space, which leads me to believe she might be more of a follower rather than a leader. She's not the kind to kill criminals for the sole purpose of-"
"That's speculative," L stops your word flow.
You stare back at him, but he doesn't hold your gaze; instead, he takes another sip from his mug.
He can't know you're analyzing him. Overthinking every little thing he does or doesn't do.
Keep talking.
"Misa doesn't linger on things that make her feel uneasy; she redirects conversations into something more safe. Free of personal emotion," surprisingly, your voice doesn't thin, almost carries a personal edge to it.
Shit, you didn't mean to. Overplay. Stay formal.
"It became obvious whenever Light was mentioned. However, she can't help but talk, which leads to her telling me that he doesn't care about her career." You inhale sharply to finish the rest of your observations.
"If Light were to tell her to do something, I doubt she'd say no, she seems so desperate for validation even though she's a model, I-"
"Focus on the objective details," L reminds you.
That's enough.
"You said the other day, my empathy is not an inconvenience. Why are you acting like this now?" you spat.
This is exactly what you didn't want.
"Not when it clouds judgment," he responds faster than he usually does.
"Dude, what's wrong with you today. Why are you being so rude to us?" Matt chimes in.
Us.
Not me, not her—us. So there was never a distinction between you and Matt. Not to him. Was there ever?
It's the right thing, how it's supposed to be, but it stings in an ugly, shameful way. L doesn't react, so you just give Matt a warning glance. He immediately follows it by leaning back just a little.
You bite the tip of your tongue, nodding. "Alright. If that's the case … that would be all."
There is more, the new invitation to join her again, but you are withholding this information out of pure spite.
"Good job. See you next time," L looks down into his mug, already dismissing both of you.
Matt gets up, but you're too shaken up to follow right away. It's the same feeling forbidding you to come here now, urging you to stay. To ask one more question to know undoubtedly that he doesn't hate you.
On autopilot, you proceed to follow after Matt, slow and deliberately, scrambling for ideas to delay. Maybe you should add the remaining information, but then he will know how childish you still are.
Linda.
Matt is already out the door when you pause behind L's back. His shoulders tense as if he knows you havent left yet.
"L," your voice is quieter than usual, betraying you to admit to fault before certainty. "I have one more question." You dig your nails into your palm. "It's not case related, though."
His weight shifts, distancing himself just a little more so that if you blinked, you wouldn't have noticed. If you didn't care, you wouldn't have noticed.
"Now's not the time," he says.
"Alright," you turn and leave as fast as you can, ears ringing hot in embarrassment.
✭✭✭✭✭
Back in your room, you feel like crying, punching something, but your body doesn't let you.
Glancing over to your alarm clock, you see it's already 6 pm. Linda should be up maybe that's the key. Telling her about everything, dissecting it so it makes sense to you.
In two big steps, you're next to your desk, crouching down to grab your purse with your phone in it.
Straightening up, you look for Linda's contact and press call. Bringing the phone to your ears, you adjust your chair to sit in it comfortably and look out of the window.
It takes a while for her to pick up, but eventually you hear the muffled sound of air and then, "Hey, what's up?"
Your legs rest on top of the windowsill, arm resting on your stomach. Hearing your best friend's voice brings tears to the corners of your eyes. Her voice—the thing that pushes you over the edge.
"Hey," your voice is already shaking; however, the connection isn't great, so you doubt she'll hear your misery.
"Can we talk later? I'm kinda busy right now." It's not until then that you notice her voice sounds like you caught her mid-step. "Or is it important? You know I'm late for class, but if it's urgent, I can skip," she adds.
Stifling your sniffs with the back of your hand, you nod quickly, as if she might see. "No, no, you're good. I was just…," another sniff. "I was just trying to check in. All good over here, don't worry."
Linda hesitates; you kinda hope she noticed, but she only sighs. "Okay, I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I'll call you later, I promise. Love ya. Bye."
The call ends. "Bye," you whisper on deaf ears.
You freeze for a second, waiting for the few tears you shed to dry on their own. Then you toss your phone onto your bed, and take one last look in the mirror to see if you still look presentable.
Maybe sitting with the only sane person in this building will help?
That's probably what you need. A good distraction. After practicing your smile a couple of times, you leave the bedroom behind you.
Matt doesn't look up from his game as he clears his throat to draw your attention to him. "You're not as annoying as you usually are," his tone is teasing, but it doesn't land in the way it needs to. "Maybe you should go crash."
You hesitate for a moment, fully aware that you don't want to be on your own right now—can't be.
If you don't move now or say something back, he'll know something is off. Maybe that's what you want. Maybe that's something he should be aware of?
"You're right," the words come out dull. There's nothing else to add; no response you can expect. Still, you wait for two seconds, scanning his face in frantic precision. Nothing.
Matt's eyes are fixed on the screen; they don't even flicker to you for his own reassurance. Maybe it's because of the yellow-tint—or maybe he really doesn't care.
Suddenly, you feel the room grow smaller, chest tightening in quiet disappointment. The only thing you hear is the clicking of his controller and the faint sounds of his game merging into one big abyss of solitude.
"Goodnight, Matt," you whisper.
No response.
With that, you get up, arms numb, legs moving on their own, away from the single place in this godforsaken building that reminds you that life goes on, even when you stand still.
Digging deep inside your memory, you allow your mind to wander to find the cure to stop this nonsensical overthinking. Your mother always used to bathe you in warm water when you cried so hard you almost forgot how to breathe. Sleeping used to be so much easier after this little ritual.
The hot water runs down your body, and yet you keep replaying every micro-reaction, every glance that didn't happen. Linda's voice, telling you she can't call right now. L's voice, telling you that now is not the time. Everyone is moving, attending their own lives, but you're stuck. You've always been stuck. Goosebumps form on your body, though the water is almost boiling.
'Now is not the time, Y/N."
'Can we talk later? I'm kinda busy right now."
'Maybe you should go crash.'
'There.'
Your breathing stops for a moment, hands frozen to either side of your head mid-shampooing. Not knowing where that last line came from, if it ever meant anything to you. Maybe it did to a different version of you in a distant memory, in a different life. Nevermind.
All you want is for your mind to shut up, just this once. Just for one night of peace. You can't take this anymore. Even if it's self-inflicted, you can't make it stop. The glass is foggy, your lungs scream for air as the room is filled with thick clouds of steam. It almost embarrasses you how your body doesn't want to cooperate, robbing you once again of something that reminds you of the few remaining memories of home.
Defeated, you rest your head on the tiles, the water is pooling at your feet, eyes heavy, your skin screaming in sensitivity. With shaking hands, you wash your body to get this over with.
When you finally turn the water off, the silence becomes loud again. No running water to protect you from hearing.
And now that you stand here, freshly showered, pearls of water clinging to your skin, damp hair, you're too tired to dry off, you wonder if sleep will even find you tonight.
With half-lidded eyes, you open up the bathroom mirror, behind it revealing various hygiene products and the tiny bottle of sleeping pills you brought. Back then, when you went through your breakup, you needed them. It was the only way to get your mind to be quiet.
You lift them, opening the lid. There's not much in it anymore. Without thinking, you shake some of them out in your open palm. You don't count them, don't estimate the weight, you just put them in your mouth. Your mind is blank, not thinking about anything other than the possibility of escaping yourself for one night. One night. Nothing more.
There's a bitter taste of chalk in your mouth as they dissolve before you're able to swallow them. And then you bring the cup to the side of the sink to your mouth, tasting the lukewarm water. You swallow. Hard. Absolute. No going back.
You turn on your heel. Slipping a fresh set of pajamas on, already feeling fuzzy.
Everything from then onward is blurry. You stumble out of the bathroom without a word. Maybe Matt saw you, maybe he didn't. Does any of it really matter now?
Only half there, you fall into your bed, you don't even care to put a blanket over yourself. Lying on your back, the ceiling starts to spin as your breathing slows, hands growing numb, the feeling of heaviness presses down on your chest. Instead of feeling scared, you almost feel at peace. Then your eyes flutter shut. Darkness swallows you whole.
·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·
L is there, in his usual position, in the same chair from the night before. The monitors are on, not blue this time—they're monochrome, illuminating the space just enough to know he's there, but there's no sound. There's only the sound of L turning in his chair, slowly looking up at you.
"You're awake," he says softly, almost hopeful, anticipating your closeness.
You inhale sharply, feeling the oxygen filling your lungs after being deprived of it for so long.
"I am," you respond almost inaudibly, stepping closer.
This moment right there feels like Groundhog Day, but this time everything's done right—you did everything right. You didn't give him a reason to turn away. L sees you, takes in your whole presence, down to every movement of your chest rising and sinking.
"What do you want?" It doesn't sound annoyed or sharp in a way that would cause you to feel ashamed for existing, too gentle for someone like him.
Your lips part, the words lying on the tip of your tongue, but it's impossible to speak when he's looking at you like this. Not blinking, not looking away for even a second. Allowing you to exist, without forcing you to explain yourself.
Then you close the aching distance, standing only inches away from him as both of you exist in the same orbit, relieved, no pressure. For a moment, neither of you moves. You stand so close, holding eye contact, close enough for you to see the gray in his eyes thinning, pupils expanding, swallowing any remaining color.
His hands move up slowly and deliberately, settling on your hips, fingers gripping the fabric of your clothing, grounding himself just as much as you need it too. The touch is neither rough nor is it gentle. It's heavy, feeling the warmth of his palms burning invisible marks of forbidden desire into your skin.
You know you should pull back, go back upstairs, but you can't; he's anchoring you into place.
L's hands begin to move upward along your side, tracing your torso, in a painfully slow motion, never breaking eye contact. Your skin is vibrating under his touch, shivering as he rises with every movement, unfolding his full height in front of you, causing your chest to flutter.
You can feel the ghost of his breath hovering over your body, hot and heavy, as he nears your collarbones, dangerously close, bowing his head slightly. Every muscle in your body tenses, anticipating the touch of his lips, but it never arrives. The air shifts. It feels too real. Too intimate. Too much.
Your heart stops beating, the room freezes, he waits for your permission, you don't know how to give yet. In panic, you look to the side of the room, only to find the monitors flickering, the noise static filling your ears, and the entire room. Green lines across every screen shift the lighting of the room, filling it in viridescent hues.
The room pulls away under your feet, the sensation, L, everything vanishes from you like it was never meant to last in the first place.
·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·
[♫Play: Climbing Up the Walls by Radiohead♫]
You're back in your room, panting heavily. Head hurting, and bones aching. The memories of your dream slowly resurface once you have your eyes fully open.
Distressed, you bury your head into your pillow, blaming the distant humming of the outside traffic for your inability to find comfort to sleep. Every time you close your eyes, you keep replaying the memories of the night before, this dream, the moment you sat down, and he barely looked at you. Everything points to the damning conclusion that you really misread the signals of lingering glances, softness you didn't expect to find.
A feeling that L is punishing you for your indiscretion, steals the oxygen out of the air, making it impossible for you to breathe in this realm you're supposed to exist safely in. You turn around on your back, resting your arm over your face, forcing darkness upon your eyes.
But why do you care?
This is work. Nothing personal about that.
Then why does his quiet formality feel like treason?
You take a deep breath, turning to your other side, searching for grounding in the coldness of the untouched side of your bed. This is embarrassing.
He told you not now. There will be a time. He implied there will be a time. This is nothing. He didn't dismiss you. This is normal. Stop it.
You grip the side of your pillow. Breathe in. Breathe deep. Breathe out.
And maybe that's your fatal flaw. This is why nothing ever works out for you. You confuse attention with affection. Imagine intimacy when there is none because you crave it too badly. You're pathetic.
You turn again, blanket tangled between your legs, your mind won't stop racing. Misa's eyes, so full of life, blonde hair reflecting in the sun. Porcelain skin, flawless in every way a human can be. Then the thought reappears in your head—silent and shameful.
Back when you were sitting at that table, Misa. The images flash in front of your eyes. How L tied her to the chair, tortured her until she begged to be killed. You know this was necessary. Or was it?
You've seen the footage—heard it. The way she accused L of being some kind of paraphiliac. Your nails dig into your palm so hard, you can feel the skin tear, burning with sensitivity. He watched her. Day and night. Pleading, helpless, how she flinched in terror. Did he find her beautiful like that? Did the control do something to him?
Desperate, you press your palms into your eyes until it physically hurts, running from the darkest corner of your mind. What kind of person thinks that? What does this say about you? What sick person does it take to feel like someone stabbed you right into your lungs at the pure thought of him enjoying seeing her unravel like this?
You're rotten for thinking this way, you know that. Yet, you don't even know what you are to him. Why do you feel this way about him to begin with? Everything you thought was true was imagined. Of course it was. Why would it ever be anything else?
Did his eyes ever wander, even for just a second too long? You can picture it, maybe a little too well for your own liking. L cataloging every moment, memorizing every helpless wail, every expression she made. That same focus, the one you thought he reserved for you. You feel sick to your stomach.
This is exactly why no one ever stays: the need to feel singular. Chosen, hell, even irreplaceable, claimed in a way that can't be undone, without ever asking for it, without having to do anything at all. Starving for an ounce of approval, to the point you take crumbs for meals.
Utterly terrified of yourself, you sit up straight in your bed. This has to stop, right here, right now. You want to, no, need to see him. Have proof that this never meant anything. Or maybe that it did.
Before you can overthink what you do next, your bare feet meet the floor, moving on their own once again. This time, however, you have no excuse, no state of euphoria, only unwarranted teenage petulance.
As you walk down the hall, almost ghost-like, you don't think about the consequences. Maybe he will be there, maybe not. There's only one way to find out if Schrödinger's cat is dead or not. One push, one hum, the elevator opens.
Notes:
I love cock blocking y'all <333 see u next chapter (if u still like me lmao 💔)
-Maeve🦦
List of every referenced Book and Movie
btw: thank u sm for the kind comments and ppl who engage with this it genuinely means so much🥹❤️🩹
Tumblr: maeveely