She looks at him like he’s slapped her. Something about him cursing, seeming authoritative, aggressive, seems… wrong. The boy – man – person – in front of her looks like a child. Like L, but younger, and yet… not quite like L. Uncanny. Misa does not like him.
“He kept us for months. H-he never found anything – he let us go. We – we didn’t do it.”
Her gaze moves around the room for napkins, paper towels, anything, and she peels herself up slowly to do as asked. It doesn’t matter anymore. They’re going to question her again; they’re going to restrain her again; they’re going to drug her and torture her and this time Light won’t be waiting save her. Justice is a corpse on a metal table now.
She is going to die. One way or another, she knows this.
Her eyes are burning and her hands are shaking as she cleans up the mess; she keeps going after the floor is finally clean, dragging a paper towel across the floor even when nothing is there anymore. There is something distant and glassy in her gaze, and Misa watches herself go through the motions from outside of her own body, disconnected, cold, far away.
he watches her cry. simple as that. his eyes are on the tears and not the cleaning hands, a boy in white pajamas who even as he told the BITCH to clean still twirled his fingers round the hem of his shirt. face and hair as cold as snow, he watches by the frigid body of a god, a god whose goddess now swept the floors she used to own.
❝he let you go and you killed him. i won’t make the same mistake.❞ as soon as she was finished, he gestures to the military man standing nearby. ❝as i said before, you’re going to be interrogated. rester? handcuffs.❞
the blond looks at him, eyebrow raised; near addressed him as though he were the janitor. this was no time to question it, however--he’d have a talk with his son later about this change in attitude. seizing one of misa’s hands, he pinned it behind her back to clap the first cuff on her wrist--pausing only when near steps forward, one hand opened to receive.
he’d quivered in FEAR before the god, but he had none left for the hidden horror of the angel. he would not show fear for this girl. no, he was not afraid, he knew the words do not be afraid. was he about to try and prove himself against a defenseless young thing, only a few years older (and yet so much younger) than himself? of course. he was a child, and yet he seemed older, and yet he was young enough to prove himself on the back of someone else.
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