Kiras, apply now to receive a gift from your very own shinigami, and return the favor by becoming a shinigami yourself. This is an exchange based on everyone's favorite manga series, Death Note! Rules page
L, Maki, and Near from L change the WorLd being a found family
Light, L, and/or Misa as magical girls
Personality swap! Can be whatever characters artist wants. (ex. a louder Near and calm Mello, eccentric Light and upstanding citizen L, etc) have fun with it!
Angst fic where Light struggles to handle the pressures of being perfect and/or being Kira. Can either end in hurt/comfort or hurt no comfort. Just include some hurt
An AU where L is the second Kira instead of Misa. How this impacts his relationship with Light is up to the writer
A look into the dark side of Wammy’s. Can include any successors from any piece of dn media. Just make it messed up
The Kira case from Matsuda’s perspective
What if L didn’t die in episode 25?
@jam-knife
A phone wallpaper-style art of L and Light with their famous red vs blue theme. You can choose whether it's Lawlight or not.
One or more of the male characters wearing skirts and dresses (you can pick who and how many). Bonus points if it's equal parts hilarious and serving c*nt.
Beyond Birthday in all his wicked, bloody glory. You could also include A and/or L if you want to; you can choose whether it's shippy or not.
L and Light have somehow escaped Japan and left the Kira case and everyone involved behind, and are now living together somewhere remote. Write a slice of life scene of them debating their morals (aka flirting like the f***ed up nerds they are) in a playful way as they go about their routine. You can keep it as serious or as funny as you want.
Beyond Birthday did not die in jail by Kira's hand, he just pretended to and escaped. What are his thoughts? What is he doing now? Will he get involved in the case to get closer to L? Will he try to live life on his own terms? Up to you.
How would've the foot massage scene progressed if it hadn't been interrupted? You can take this one wherever you want (they argue? They kiss? They reconcile? They fistfight? All of the above??? The sky's the limit).
@fandom-fae
Misa Amane looking in a mirror and her reflection looks different (maybe it shows a different emotion, or her pre-Kira version or something along those lines)
Mello and Near on a cute date in a coffee shop :>
Misa, L & Light hanging out together like a friend group, maybe playing games or just chatting
Linda sitting at a window in Wammy’s house and painting the scenery (maybe with appearances of other Wammy’s kids in the background if you want)
Misa as some kind of deity or just generally looking like a holy figure (maybe with Gelus and rem in the background if you want)
Light waking up again in the past (like on the day he got the death note) after he died at the end, with all his memories intact
Misa goes shopping and runs into Beyond Birthday at the mall and she decides to bring him back to hq and “introduce” him to L bc she thought they’d get along well (obviously this isn't very canon compliant but i think it could be fun lol)
Light’s parents die (maybe in a car accident?) and him and Sayu get sent to Wammy’s house - how would their first days at Wammy’s go and how would they get along with the other Wammy’s kids?
Mello’s last days at Wammy’s house before he left
How Misa found out about Light’s death, how she reacted, what she did immediately after etc (can be canon compliant, but doesn't have to be)
@gl6mp
Cute fluff ship art of transfem Light (longer hair) and cis man L. Can be any sort of pose!
(non-ship) art of older long-haired Near in decora kei + wearing a genderqueer pride flag pin.
Near with samoyed ears and a tail. Short or long-haired version works!
@nightfurynova1217
Misa getting ready for a photoshoot
Design a Shinigami of your own, it can be anything you want, but give it a skull head/face
Matsuda throwing a surprise party for Mogi, and L is only there because he's still handcuffed to Light (bonus if L and Light are ruffed up, because Light had to fight L to make him come)
A and B hanging out innocently as kids
Ryuk playing video games and getting WAY too into it
Near eating chocolate, alone, in a dimly lit room (bonus if there's a hint that it's Mello's birthday, via a cake with a candle, or a calendar in the back, etc.)
L trying, and failing, to cook breakfast on his own
Light as a demon in rehabilitation at Hazbin Hotel
Light as a Wammy's kid (bonus if he gets to interact with A and B)
L's reaction to A's death
Mikami finds the Death Note first and becomes Kira
Light doesn't die but is instead arrested, Sayu and Sachiko visit him in prison, just after they're told he was Kira the whole time
@wildernezz
The Task Force gang having a karaoke night!!
Misa doing Mogi's makeup
Sayu and L eating some sweets together
Teenage L and Light getting on each other's nerves in some sort of after school club that doesn't actually matter that much but they're taking it suupperrr seriously
Something with L, Beyond, and Naomi. Preferably fluffy (maybe Beyond is getting on L's nerves lol)
Teenage L and Light bumping into each other at prom
Anonymous prompts:
Mogi after his name is written down by Light in musical-verse
Mogi is surrounded by animals Disney princess style
L and Mogi eating Japanese sweets together
Mogi is sent on a honey-trap mission with someone (up to the Shinigami to decide) and fumbles it
Why Mogi joined the Task Force and how he overcame the fear of Kira. His thought process after Soichiro tells everyone they're free to leave the case
Mogi's adventures as Misa's manager
Redraw of a Hatsune Miku song’s art but with Death Note characters instead (your choice of song and character)
Glittery Near with OwO face
Mello flirting with Matt in his delivery boy outfit
Mello with his gas mask on
Vampire Mello and/or werewolf Near
Near being demiromantic (can be shipping him with Mello, Matt, a gn!/m!reader, or no one in specific)
Mello living as a homeless teen after leaving Wammy’s
Matt invites Near to play co-op at Wammy’s while Mello and the other kids are outside. (platonic or romantic)
My gorgeous wife Halle Lidner... doing literally anything idrc , just being her iconic self I LOVE HER.
L being the funky little god defying man he is crawling around like a bug
Beyond Birthday working his ass off to find victims with those damn alliteration names oh my god HOW even.
Sachiko absolutely just. Losing it. Breaking down as everything around her just. Crumbles.
L acquires a rat. That’s right, just a pet rat. L and rat adventures. He should have. a rat. As a treat, as enrichment.
Light and L playing a game together
Misa’s birthday party
What animal would you assign a member (or each member) of the Task Force?
The Task Force and/or L learn that Light is some form of gay
Who took care of Misa’s bird when she was away/after the events of the last episode?
How did Matt react to Mello leaving Wammy's? Did he follow? Did he stay and they met up later?
Mello taking shots from a chocolate fountain and acting like he’s actually getting drunk from it
A redraw of that meme that’s like ‘I can still hear his voice…’ ‘gay gay homo sexual gay’ with Mello and Near OR Matt and Mello, whichever you prefer
Misa Amane dressed as Hatsune Miku and Kiyomi Takada dressed as Kasane Teto. Maybe they kiss?
Taro Kagami (from the manga pilot chapter) singing on a stage. Bonus points if Teru Mikami is somewhere in the audience
Rester teaching Near how to ice skate
A big massive chain of shipping that goes like this: (Naomi Misora) this is my boyfriend (Beyond Birthday) and his boyfriend (L) and his boyfriend (Light) and his boyfriend (Teru Mikami) and his boyfriend (Stephen Gevanni) and his boyfriend (Near) and his boyfriend (Mello) and his boyfriend (Matt)
Light likes Misa back for real but is very annoyed about it and pretends not to. Also they’re both girls
Ryuk tells Light that alternate universes are real and takes him to meet another version of himself
Taro Kagami (from the manga pilot chapter) and Misa Amane form a music duo together
Somehow, Beyond Birthday gets access to a Death Note. You can decide what he uses it for
Some poor newscaster on Sakura TV has to do a news report on gen alpha brainrot memes. L, for some reason, thinks this is relevant to the Kira investigation and ends up questioning Light about mustard or labubus or whatever it is kids talk about these days
L doing capoeira (preferably to kick someone, anyone, upside the face)
Kiyomi resolutely ignoring her reflection in a bathroom mirror, which shows Misa grinning back at her
Kiyomi resolutely ignoring her reflection in a bathroom mirror, which shows herself but with bloody hands and a noose around her neck
Task Force karaoke
Light and L eating sushi together and actually having fun for once (for whatever your definition of fun is)
Teru visiting his mom’s grave
Misa and Mogi hiding in a food truck together
A-Kira Near making a 3D model of Mello, like the one of Ryuk in canon
Light helping Misa aim a gun
Near + Mello + Matt playing Uno together
The whole “staying up all night to write names in the Death Note” thing finally catches up to Light, who falls asleep in front of everyone in Task Force headquarters, to L’s amusement/suspicion and Soichiro’s concern. (Pre-Yotsuba arc, gen or LawLight)
Werewolf Light Yagami (and feel free to make other cast members also supernatural creatures if you want)
Second-arc amnesiac Misa decides that if her wonderful fiancé wants Kira caught so badly, she’ll help investigate and figure out who Kira is herself! Independently. Without telling him.
Any exploration of post-canon Sayu and Sachiko
Lawlight first kiss which immediately escalates into making out
With our last submission posted, that's a wrap on this edition of the Secret Shinigami Exchange! A huge thank you from Mogi and the mod team to all participants for your wonderful creations. You are now free to post them on your own accounts and do with them as you please.
Keep an eye out for the prompt list which will be posted soon, and we hope to see you all next time!
Artist: @dragonkittyipod
For: @thats-pretty-gay-art
Prompt: Glittery Near with OwO face
Artist’s notes: hiya! i hope you’re having a good day :3 i had a lot of fun with your prompt and absolutely loved doing all the colors and adding the glitter!! i hope you like how it turned out <3
Title: Ballsy
Author: exAm (@main-exam)
For: @wildernezz
Pairings: LawLight (mild)
Rating/Warning: PG-13/Teen for language, beginnings of M/M relationship
Prompt: “teenage l and light getting on each other’s nerves in some sort of after school club that doesn’t actually matter that much but they’re taking it suupperrr seriously”
A/N: Thank you for letting me pinch hit. I hope this one is a little like what you were looking for, Kira. RIP to Aizawa’s sanity in advance.
When a “Ryuga Hideki” appeared on the student roster only three months before graduation, their prestigious private high school had buzzed with conspiratorial whispers. No one had ever heard of such a late transfer to their institution. And yet, suddenly, the school heralded a new multilingual polymath genius from England who had somehow, jaw-droppingly, tied with Light Yagami’s perfect scores in his first week.
Light concealed his irritation behind his perfect, if strained smile. But he noticed everything else wrong when the other students hadn’t, and right away. He’d always been a little too aware of everything.
The name—Ryuga Hideki? As in the idol and actor? Complete with the same stage name kanji that meant dragon’s cove. No. That was a big fat no. That couldn’t be real, it didn’t pass muster.
And the fucking posture—hunched forward in his chair like an inelegant gargoyle, knees drawn up to the apex of his sternum, thumb pressed to his lips and always slowly stroking the bottom one.
The shoes—the notable lack thereof. Bare feet on their imported marble floors. Since he’d arrived, he’d been in blatant violation of dress code. It somehow went unpunished.
Most infuriatingly, Hideki conducted himself in all things with brilliance that appeared to be an oxymoron, always successful despite sloppy execution. Perfect test scores though he appeared to pay no attention whatsoever.
“Transfer grades should not be considered so late in the year,” Light had reasoned with Dean Rem. “You couldn’t possibly be assured of the standards of this person’s prior institution.”
“His prior boarding school, Wammy’s House, exceeded our standards,” Dean Rem replied, keen to get this new troublemaker off her neck, adjusting her tortoiseshell glasses. “He put in years of hard work just as you did.”
Light’s right eye twitched. “There’s no way this dude’s name is Ryuga Hideki, top actor in our entire country. Or even that he’s the same age as the rest of us.”
But Dean Rem dismissed his concerns, and Light was left watching this impossible person dismantle his academic dominance with the casual air of someone solving a puzzle they’d already finished repeatedly.
“I didn’t tell you to sit at lunch with me, did I!?”
An unwelcome but oblivious Hideki Ryuuga looked up from his tray of strawberries, just strawberries, eating them with his fingers like a gremlin. “Oh I’m sorry Mr. Can’t Do This Over Email, did we have some other free time today to plan logistics for the science fair submissions?”
Light paused, pen hovering over his meticulously organized notes. The accusation was accurate—they did need to coordinate their project. “Fair.”
“Are you going to eat your sticky honeybun?”
“No. I never understood why these are served with the bento lu—excuse me, did you just inhale that whole thing in the time it took me to say no?” The bottom of his chin quivered with his disgust.
Hideki licked his fingers with gusto, methodically. “Waste not, want not. Your loss has proved to be my gain, Yagami-kun.”
The casual use of an honorific made Light’s eye twitch. It would seem pointless to ask him if he knew his behavior defied social norms. Around them, their classmates buzzed with speculative conversations, and this strange barely human man had commanded everyone’s attention simply by existing in his own bizarre bubble where norms could be discarded at will.
“You are only undermining yourself,” Light said, watching Hideki consume sugar as if what he really needed was an IV of the stuff. “All your brilliance will never matter if you insist on letting yourself seem like a joke.”
Hideki loudly plopped another strawberry into his face. “And yet, despite their laughter and not-so-subtle pointing, I would seem to be your equal. Maybe even a little better than you. In fact, I believe I am. Curious, isn’t it?”
Light’s fist clenched so tight his hand started to go white with the force.
Light found the weirdo there after hours, surrounded by glowing monitors, looking as though he were some kind of technological spider only temporarily inhabiting a human suit. The room should have been locked. Hideki shouldn’t have even been able to get access.
“School policy clearly states the computer lab closes at 6,” Light said.
“School policy says a fair number of things.” Hideki didn’t turn his illuminated face from his screens. Code streamed across one monitor, what looked like financial reports across another. “Did you know someone’s been accessing our school’s administrative database? Padding extracurricular records, inflating volunteer hours, that sort of thing. What a curious choice.”
Light’s blood turned to icewater. His own careful modifications to the system—inflated volunteer hours, fabricated leadership positions, enhanced athletic achievements—had been elegant. Undetectable.
“That’s a terrible accusation.”
“It is.” Hideki agreed mildly and finally swiveled his chair around, eyes bright with something that definitely wasn’t academic curiosity. “Lucky for whoever’s doing it, I always found rule-breaking more fascinating than offensive. Especially, when it’s done with this amount of elegance.”
The silence stretched between them, heavy with its unspoken accusations.
“What makes you think I’d know anything about that?” Light heard himself ask, distantly.
“Because, Light Yagami,” Hideki said, and there was something almost fond in his voice, “you’re the only person in this building with a snowball’s chance in hell of providing me a meaningful challenge.”
The school’s only career guidance counselor, Aizawa-sensei, was dying a little inside each consecutive time he had to try and advise Hideki.
“As we covered last time, we are here to discuss career options.”
“Yes. Great. I intend to be a rich shadow entity who amorally solves interesting cases for fun.”
“Ryuuga-san, the police already do that. As, um, morally as they can. They have all the data and resources in place—”
“Nothing I can’t hack into or buy better.”
“What you’re describing is an illegal vigilante. That’s not a career.”
“I’m not sure anything appeals to me other than shadow entity. I’ll have to ponder it. What were my other options?”
“With your science scores you could be a published researcher.” Aizawa rubbed his temples. “Try and think how that will sound at your 10-year reunion, Hideki.”
“I don’t really intend to live that long. What do you think will sound good by prom?”
Meanwhile, in the hallway, Light overheard this exchange and felt a chill run down his spine. Not because of the content—though that had been absurd, as if Hideki were merely in attendance to mess with the counselor—yet Hideki seriously seemed to mean it.
Who was this person? What kind of seventeen-year-old spoke about not living to see thirty with such casual certainty?
Aizawa found himself wondering if the massive anonymous donation for new gymnasium facilities had anything to do with this dubious transfer student, but then he pushed the thought away as too paranoid for his tastes.
“Yagami-san, please, take your seat. Let’s discuss your post-graduation plans.”
Aizawa felt done with life—more tired than usual, if that were possible. Light settled into the chair across from the guidance counselor’s desk with his customary perfect posture.
“I’ve been thinking about my potential for leadership roles,” Light began, his smile bright and confident. “Perhaps I’ll do something in government. Prime Minister seems like a natural fit.”
Aizawa blinked like the room had gone hazy instead of this conversation. “That’s… mighty ambitious of you. Most of our top students have started with university plans, maybe for you law school—”
“I will only bother with Tokyo University, of course. I’ll be starting with a law and political science double major. But I’ve been considering the trajectory beyond that.” Light leaned forward slightly, his eyes gleaming with the kind of fervor that made Aizawa’s stomach clench. “Japan needs young, visionary leadership. Someone who understands how to guide a country that has lost its way into a brighter future.”
“Right. Prime Minister. A realistic aim for that might be by the time you are, what, forty?”
“Why should I wait?” Light’s smile widened. “Or, alternatively, I’ve been wondering if His Majesty the Emperor might appreciate some assistance. Perhaps he’d benefit from taking a well-deserved break while someone with fresh perspectives takes the helm.”
Aizawa stared at him, flabbergasted. The blasé way Light had suggested replacing the Emperor made him want to scream. The young man had sounded as if it were a gauntlet to run rather than an impossibility.
“Yagami-san,” he meted out carefully, “you do understand that this country we live in is a constitutional monarchy? The Emperor doesn’t accept outside—”
“Those are details,” Light waved a hand dismissively. “The systems can be adjusted. Efficiencies which could improve all of our lives.”
The silence stretched between them, Light appearing perfectly at ease while Aizawa found himself ruminating and worried about Hideki’s casual mention of not intending to live to thirty, and now Light’s equally casual discussion of restructuring the Japanese government.
What was the deal with his students this year? Were they possessed?
“Perhaps,” Aizawa said weakly, “you might consider starting with student government at university?”
Light’s expression suggested this was particularly pedestrian of his counselor. “If you think that’s best, Aizawa-sensei. Though, I do hope you’ll keep an open mind about the bigger picture. Even the newspaper said we’ve never had such a promising graduate as me before.”
After Light left, Aizawa sat in his empty office, thinking about the little rinky-dink local paper that had tried to hype up the prefecture, and seriously considered whether early retirement was looking more appealing by the day.
Light found Hideki buried in a near ceiling-high pile of books he’d had on loan. Advanced criminology texts. Forensic psychology. Tomes that had nothing to do with their school curriculum.
“Why would you need these for our final exams?” Light observed.
“Oh? I don’t,” Hideki replied, not looking up, “but they’re useful for understanding how the teachers think.”
“Or you’re showing off.”
“I don’t show off.” Hideki’s thumb pressed against his lips in that habitual gesture. “Though I suspect you do, and you don’t seem to know much about how to do that.”
“So you’re following me to the library… that was on purpose?”
Heat crept up Light’s neck. He hadn’t realized he’d been so obvious. “I was simply—”
“Curious.” Hideki finally looked at him, and the directness caught Light off guard. Those dark eyes seemed unreadable. “About what I’m reading. About why I’m here. About who I really am.”
The directness caught Light off guard. “Should I be?”
Ryuuga’s slowly spreading smile proved an enigma. “That depends. How comfortable are you with mysteries containing riddles you’ll never solve?”
At the yearly Sports Festival, Light cleared the high jump flawlessly, all power and precision. Applause rippled through the stands outdoors.
Hideki shuffled forward next, looking like he’d never seen athletic equipment before. He approached the bar in a bizarre tangle of limbs, flopped over in a way that should have resulted in catastrophic failure—and somehow cleared it.
The class laughed, but it wasn’t mockery anymore. It was the kind of delighted laughter reserved for magic tricks.
Light’s jaw clenched. Even Hideki’s failures became successes through sheer impossibility.
“How?” Light demanded afterward, catching Hideki by the equipment shed.
Hideki blinked owlishly. “How what?”
“Well for one thing your form was appalling, your lead-up was flawed, you could have only reasonably failed—”
“But I didn’t.”
“That’s not an answer for how you pulled this off.”
Hideki tilted his head, studying Light with his unsettling intensity. “You seem frustrated.”
“I’m not frustrated, I’m disgusted you can’t follow through with basic best-practice steps.”
“Ah.” Hideki’s expression brightened. “Now you’re beginning to understand the problem.”
Light stared at him. “What are we talking about now?”
But Hideki was already walking away, leaving Light with the uncomfortable sensation that he’d just been given a clue.
“You’re still answering to a lie,” Light told him, cornering Hideki after classes. “Every time someone calls ‘Ryuga,’ you indulge in this fiction. Tell me, why this farce, do you even remember your real name?”
Hideki’s gaze was steady. “Do you?”
The question landed like a physical blow. “What on earth is that supposed to mean?”
“Light Yagami. Perfect student. Perfect son. Maybe our future Prime Minister.” Hideki’s voice was soft, almost gentle. “Tell me, Light-kun, which parts of that are real, and which parts of you are performance?”
Light’s stomach clenched for being called out. “That’s different than what you are up to.”
“Is it?”
“I’m not hiding behind a totally false identity.”
“Aren’t you, though?” Hideki stepped closer, and Light caught the faint scent of sugar and something else, something sharp and antiseptic. “The difference between us isn’t that you’re honest and I’m a liar. The difference is that you’ve convinced yourself your mask is your face.”
Light wanted to argue, to tear apart Hideki’s logic, to prove him wrong. Instead, he found himself asking, “Then what are you running from?”
Hideki’s smile was sad and knowing. “The same thing you are, Light-kun. The same thing most brilliant people spend their lives hiding from.”
“Which is?”
“The reality of what we’re capable of.”
By the time Light realized the scope of Hideki’s deception, it was too late to be anything but impressed (and annoyed).
The boarding school records? Fabricated, but so expertly so that they’d fooled professional administrators. The transfer timing? Calculated to maximize disruption during the final semester and throw him off-kilter. The academic performance? Genuine brilliance masked as academic competition.
But it had been the financial records, or what little were publicly available anyhow, that had truly given Hideki away. No seventeen-year-old had access to the kind of resources Hideki casually deployed to pay an army of staff. He returned home at night to an estate he paid for. The connections with local law enforcement that had lent him the ability to simply appear at an elite private school and integrate bumpily into its social ecosystem.
“I knew it. I knew you weren’t a student,” Light said, waving the public tax records in front of him and having found Hideki on the school rooftop during lunch. “You’re not even close to our age, what are you?”
Hideki didn’t deny it. He sat perched on the ledge, eating cake from a small container, legs drawn up like always. “Does it matter, all these hard truths?”
“Yes. It matters that you lied to everyone.”
“Did I?” Hideki’s gaze was thoughtful. “I’m one of those people that doesn’t enjoy being lied to. I’m also one whose never claimed to be seventeen. I never claimed to be a normal transfer student. I’ve allowed the people around me to assume.”
“Why would you go to this trouble?” His query sounded more desperate than Light intended. “Why target this school? Why disrupt everything just to—to what? Prove you could?”
Hideki was quiet for a long stretch, his gaze skyward and watching clouds drift lazily across the Tokyo skyline. “That would have been a waste of my time. No. Because someone here had caught my attention about five months back,” he said finally and Light’s eyes widened at the mentioned timeframe. “Someone who solved a problem I couldn’t solve first. Someone who might be worth the trouble of my understanding.”
Light’s breath hitched with panic.The financial fraud case. How could anyone know he’d identified the corporate entity hiding its paper trials.
“It was confounded who might be quicker on the uptake.” Hideki’s laugh was sharp and delighted. “Of course, I found out. The question now is: what are you going to do about it, Light Yagami?”
“It depends on who you are, fraudster. Answer me that.”
Hideki set down his cake container, the glass clinking, and looked directly at Light for the first time in the conversation. When he spoke, his voice was quiet but carried unmistakable weight.
“Maybe you’ve heard of me. I’m L.”
Light Yagami, who never needed to steady himself, who always found his footing, had to sit down.
Aizawa found them in the computer lab three days before graduation, working side by side on something that wasn’t remotely schoolwork. Crime scene photos were scattered everywhere. Police reports were pinned to walls. Evidence logs filled spreadsheets on every open computer and a few hauled-in laptops.
“Gentlemen, good day,” he said wearily, “should I even ask?”
Light looked up, his smile perfectly polite and utterly terrifying. “Just studying, Aizawa-sensei. Thank you for your concern.”
“For what? Creating some kind of advanced criminology simulator?”
Hideki didn’t look away from his monitor. “I’m prepping for my Rich Shadow Entity Operations. Very specialized field. Your encouragement was greatly appreciated.”
Aizawa stared hopelessly at them both. He had not given this man “encouragement.” Here were the model student and the impossible transfer, and he realized he was looking at something far more dangerous than late teenage rebellion.
He was looking at their future and it was absolutely terrifying.
“I don’t suppose either of you might consider enjoying a nice, quiet career in accounting?”
“No,” the two young men chorused in unison, not so much as looking away from their work.
Aizawa closed the door behind him, wishing it were vacuum-sealed against whatever was going on behind these walls. Then he went to update his resignation letter, though he hadn’t had the stomach to print it out yet.
Some battles were too far above his pay grade.
Behind him, through the glass, two minds had found their perfect match and continued their dance of escalating competition, unaware that they were reshaping the very concept of what it meant to be dangerous.
The night before graduation, Light found L alone in the empty gymnasium, sitting in the center of the polished floor like some strange monument to solitude. The building was dark except for the emergency lighting that cast long shadows across the walls.
“Tomorrow we will go our separate ways,” Light said, his voice echoing in the vast space.
L didn’t turn around. “Will we?”
“You’ll disappear back to whatever mysterious world you came from. I’ll go on to Tokyo University.” Light moved closer, his footsteps unnaturally loud. “That will be the conclusion of this elaborate game of yours.”
“Is that so?” L finally looked up at him, and in the dim light his eyes seemed deeper, more knowing than ever. “Do you imagine this was only a game for me?”
Light felt something twist in his chest. “Isn’t that the obvious conclusion?”
“You tell me.” L unfolded himself from a fetal position, standing with a peculiar grace at odds with positions he often held himself in. “Was it a game when you stayed up until three in the morning solving that case I left on your desk yesterday? That’s what I came here for. In hopes you were the person I thought.”
The admission that L had come here seeking him landed swift as a blow—it almost staggered him. Light opened his mouth to deny it, to maintain the careful distance he’d always kept between himself and everyone else who’d tried to get close.
“I don’t understand what it is you could possibly want from me,” he’d admitted instead, and hated how vulnerable that sounded. “Why did any of this matter?”
L forced his way a little closer, coming near enough that Light could make out the dark circles under his eyes, the way his hair fell across his forehead in that perpetually messy way that somehow looked intentional.
“I’d like for Yagami-kun to stop his pretending,” L said softly. “And soon. I want for him to stop hiding behind the version of who he thinks he should be, what he feels you owe this world. Find the answers himself in the unknowable.”
“You don’t understand what you’re asking of me.”
“I think I might.” L’s hand moved, almost hesitantly, toward Light’s. “I think it’s because I’ve been asking the same thing of myself.”
For a moment, they stood frozen in that space between decision and action. Light stared down at L’s pale, long-fingered hand hovering inches from his own. It would be so easy to step away, to maintain the walls he’d built so carefully around himself for years.
This guy was, factually, a stalker. He hadn’t been particularly creepy about it and he’d given a reason—however much that reason circumvented more conventional approaches like, oh Light didn’t know, perhaps a high-priority email or conference call. And yet…
He was also, most certainly, the world’s top detective. Light had seen his capabilities now and realized they were partly due to the idiosyncratic way L chose to maneuver through the world. Was this version of him even real? The possibilities thrilled Light. Moreover, he’d seen a Rolls Royce. A helicopter. And more shocking than all of that, a private helipad at the end of their route.
Light found himself remembering every moment of the past three months—every petty argument, every charged glance across the classroom, every time L had challenged him to be better, less focused on appearances and doing what he thought he had to do. Less automaton and more honest than he’d ever dared to be with anyone.
Slowly, tentatively, experimentally, Light reached out and let his fingers contact L’s. L’s hand gripped his whole hand in response, cool and firm.
This was the most confident Light had ever felt.
In the morning, Aizawa knocked on Dean Rem’s office door, resignation letter freshly print.
“Aizawa-sensei,” Rem glanced up from her paperwork and put down her calligraphy pen. “What brings you to my office so early?”
He placed the letter on her desk. “I’m afraid I need to submit my resignation, effective immediately.”
Rem glanced at the letter, then back at him with raised eyebrows. “This is a rather sudden development. Could I ask what’s prompted this decision?”
“I no longer believe I’m equipped to handle the unique challenges our current student body presents.”
Rem leaned back in her chair, a knowing smile playing at her lips. “Ah. Light Yagami and Ryuuga Hideki.”
“Among others, yes.”
“Aizawa, a friendly piece of advice—I’d challenge you to stay and see how next year goes first,” Rem said, sliding the letter back across the desk.
Aizawa stared at the returned letter. “And if next year is worse?”
“Then I’ll personally write all needed recommendation letters,” Rem replied. “I suspect you’ll find our incoming students refreshingly ordinary.”
As Aizawa-sensei was leaving, the dean warmly reminded him, “We have so much to look forward to, Aizawa-sensei. Our updated gym is being constructed with a hot tub!”
Author: @kiyomitakada
For: @fandom-fae
Pairings/Characters: L, Light, Misa, Beyond; L&Light&Misa&Beyond + background Light/L (Light->L, you can decide how reciprocated it is) + flirting-level Beyond/everyone except Light
Rating/Warnings: Teen & Up
Prompt: misa goes shopping and runs into beyond birthday at the mall and she decides to bring him back to hq and “introduce” him to L bc she thought they’d get along well (obviously this isn’t very canon compliant but i think it could be fun lol)
Author’s notes: i saw “obviously this isn’t very canon compliant” in the prompt and due to my nature immediately took it as a challenge
“Watari,” L says, when his remote meeting with the NPA is over.
His speakers crackle. “Yes?”
“I want you to scrub all records of Beyond Birthday’s face from the internet.”
A silence.
“Did you hear that, Watari?”
“…Yes. I’ll do so right away.”
“Thank you,” L says, clicking his microphone off.
He isn’t sure why he did that. He’s already sort of regretting it.
The good thing about having Touta Matsuda as a manager is that he has no idea what shooting a movie is like, at all, and doesn’t seem interested in ever learning; so he doesn’t bat an eye when Misa declares that buying three extra wigs is not only a normal request from a movie director but also absolutely essential to the success of Spring Eighteen, honestly, Matsu-chan, don’t you know anything?
So here she is, staring down an aisle of potential disguises with her hands on her hips and a puppy dog of a police officer at her heel.
“Matsu?”
“Hmm?”
“You really don’t need to be here, you know? I’ll just call you back when I’m done picking out stuff.”
Matsuda actually considers this for a second. Then he shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Misa-Misa,” he says mournfully, somehow transforming into even more of a puppy dog. “But it’s my job to always keep watch over you, so…”
Darn. Oh well, it’s not like she had concrete plans to do anything with the gap in supervision. She sighs a “You’re so boring, Matsu” just to watch him crumble slightly regardless, before striding down the aisle to the long black wig she’s had her eye on — plain, but once she brushes it out she’ll look just like Nori. Oh, and she should get a short one too, to make up for the one she left in her apartment…
Her hand brushes over someone else’s.
“Sorry,” says the other person, pulling back.
Pale, knobby fingers. Nails bitten to the quick.
Misa turns.
“Ryuzaki?”
-
What.
He’s read the news articles on himself. Beyond Birthday, insane serial killer, karmic justice, so on and so forth. None of them had ever mentioned a Rue Ryuzaki. Misora, for whatever reason, had kept his alias out of the press.
(He spares her a flicker of emotion; it had been upsetting, looking her up as soon as he left prison and seeing only blank space over her photograph. Unsurprising, of course she’d go after Kira, but still upsetting. She really had been wasted on the FBI.)
But just who is this girl?
He scans her quickly. The name above her head is Misa Amane. She’ll die in less than a decade provided Kira doesn’t interfere. She seems entirely ordinary.
All right. First move: play dumb…
The lifespan over her head flickers.
“My eyes are down here, you know,” Misa Amane tells him. She giggles uneasily. “First time I’ve had to say that! Are you okay?”
No one has used ‘okay’ to describe Beyond in his life, but right now may be the furthest he has ever been from the word. He stares. The numbers stare back, taunting him with their returned facade of normality — but he’s sure he saw —
“I’m sorry,” he says, eyes snapping down to meet hers. Blue eyes. Contacts, probably. The part of him still playing Rue starts crafting a meganekko joke. “I thought I recognized you from somewhere, but my name isn’t Ryuzaki. Is that a friend of yours?”
-
Ohhh, okay, he’s being odd because he knows her face. She could get used to this!
Then she registers the rest of his sentence. Ryuzaki? Friend? Has there ever been anyone who was less of a friend? “Nope! He’s actually a weird depressed detective freak and he’s stealing my boyfriend.”
That gets apparently-not-Ryuzaki to laugh. Hoarse, a little bit of anime villain to it, not like Ryuzaki at all.
Huh. Okay, yeah: now that she’s looking properly, it’s obvious they’re different people. The burn scars, for one thing — he’s covered them up with makeup except for one part right over his left eye, which is so carefully stylized that he probably wants people to assume it’s a fake. It’s skilled, really skilled; she’s kind of impressed.
Misa’s good at makeup, though. She can tell.
Still! She’d have guessed, like, fraternal twin or something. He doesn’t know Ryuzaki at all? They’re wearing the same outfit! They even slouch the same!
“Should I be offended that I’ve been mistaken for him?” asks not-Ryuzaki, pushing a thumb into his lower lip, eyes suddenly aglow with mirth.
“You’re not a weird depressed detective freak,” Misa dismisses. He does seem close — just missing the second and third words in that phrase — but he’s so much more tolerable than the real Ryuzaki that she is willing to overlook this. “You actually go outside, for one thing.”
“Ha! I do, don’t I.” Not-Ryuzaki is beaming. “What about us is similar then, miss…?”
“Misa Amane! You probably recognized me from magazines. I’m kinda famous.” She does a peace sign. “And I dunno, everything? Same shirt, same jeans, same hair, you even do that thing with the finger on your mouth… Hey, what’s your name?”
“Raphael Ryusuke,” he says immediately. “I’m from abroad.”
Misa goggles at him. “You even have similar names!”
“What a coincidence.” His eyes go wide and round, exactly like his spiritual twin’s. “I almost want to meet him now.”
Misa stops.
Thinks.
“You know what?”
-
“Misa-Misa, this is a really bad idea,” hisses Touta Matsuda (time of death: far enough away that Beyond puts it out of mind instantly) as they walk. “You know he won’t be able to even get into the building, right?”
“We don’t need to get him into the building! We just need to get him into the lobby.” Misa Amane switches on a grin. “Come on, aren’t you even a little bit curious? What if they’re long-lost twins?”
“Alas, I am an only child.”
“That you know of!”
“I admit I’ve always wanted a sibling.” Beyond looks up at the sky with dramatic woe. “The Viola to my Sebastian…”
“The wha to your who?” Matsuda asks.
“Ugh, Matsu, you are so uncultured!” Amane turns to Beyond in a huff. “Just ignore him.”
“Hey!”
“So, why are you in Japan, Ryusuke — Ryu? Can I call you Ryu?”
“You don’t call your Ryuzaki that?”
“He doesn’t deserve a nickname.”
“I’m an exchange student,” he lies. He’s too high on the fumes of his sheer luck, not to mention Amane’s purifying and joyous hatred of L, not to mention Ryuzaki, to think of something less verifiably false. It doesn’t matter, anyway. L will know who he is in a heartbeat. “I engage myself with the study of literature and foreign languages.”
“Wow. How many languages do you know, Ryu?”
“Nine,” he says, preening a little. Ten, in fact, but nine is more aesthetically pleasing: it’s an upside-down lowercase b. (Also, he’s out of practice with Hokkien.)
“Whoa!” Matsuda’s eyes widen. “You could give Ryuzaki a run for his money!”
This is easily the best day he has ever had. “Could I really?”
“He says he knows French, and English, and… probably some other things?” Amane ticks them off on her fingers. “We’ve never actually heard him speak in anything but Japanese, though.”
“How nice. I happen to know both of those.” Beyond beams. “Perhaps we really will get along.”
“Of course you will!” Amane beams right back. “Misa is always right.”
-
The intercom buzz interrupts Light halfway through a discussion with his dad about whether the slight uptick in white-collar criminals being killed by Kira means anything.
He sighs. It’ll be nice to have Matsuda back to work on the heart attack database, but he is not looking forward to Misa’s hug. “Ryuzaki, can you get that?”
“Hmm?” Ryuzaki swivels his neck sideways. He’s been staring at his dark monitor for the past two hours, despite Light’s best efforts to draw him out by making coffee.
“The intercom,” Light says patiently.
“Oh. Yes.”
Conversation with Dad forgotten, Light watches Ryuzaki reach for the speaker button at glacial speeds. He flicks through resentment-worry-resentment at the emptiness of those tired eyes in the time it takes for Ryuzaki to nudge the microphone on and drawl, “Welcome back.”
“Ryuuuzaaaakiiii!” Light blinks, surprised — Misa always calls for Light first. “I’ve got someone I really think you should meet!”
“Misa-san, no one is allowed to bring interlopers into this building. Especially not you.”
“I’m sorry,” that’s Matsuda’s voice, “I swear I tried to stop her…”
“Just turn the camera on,” Misa insists, “just for a second! Light, you’re there, right? You tell him.”
What makes her think Light has any authority over the person who chained him to his wrist is a mystery to him. He pulls the microphone his way for a moment. “Is this a friend of yours, Misa?”
“No! Or, well, yeah, but a new one—”
“Hello, twin,” says a voice Light doesn’t recognize.
Ryuzaki freezes.
“I’ve been told I look a lot like you,” the voice continues. “Is that right, Ryuzaki-san?”
Ryuzaki clicks the microphone off.
“Do you know this person?” asks Soichiro from his position still hovering behind Light.
Ryuzaki rolls his head back to stare at the ceiling.
Soichiro looks worried. “Ryuzaki?”
“Yes,” Ryuzaki says, in the tone of voice that people generally use for Fuck my entire life.
At some point Aizawa set down the stack of files he was looking through; he’s peering at the intercom over Ryuzaki’s left shoulder now. “Who is he?”
Ryuzaki is silent for another moment. His gaze, inexplicably, slides over to Light, then forward again.
“He’s my ex.”
Light immediately feels as though he has been casually tossed off a boat into the ocean.
“Friend,” Ryuzaki tacks on.
Oh, Light thinks, resurfacing for metaphorical air.
“In any case, I knew him once” — and after a somber pause the bastard turns to Light and, horrifyingly coquettishly, winks.
Nope! Ocean it is again. “I thought,” he says, voice coming out calm and collected, “that you said I was your first friend.”
“There’s no need to be jealous, Light-kun. You’re my first-ever real friend.”
“I’m not—”
The intercom buzzes again, either saving or damning him. Aizawa is the one to press it this time, and the surveillance function too besides. “Finally!” comes Misa’s voice. “Honestly, you’re so rude, Ryuzaki!”
Aizawa glances at Ryuzaki. Ryuzaki lifts a shoulder at him, which he takes as permission to speak into the microphone: “What’s your name?”
“Raphael Ryusuke,” says Ryuzaki’s probably-ex. Ryuzaki huffs a laugh at this for no reason Light can discern. “I’m a literature student.”
Light cranes his head over to see, and… oh, whoa. The twin comment makes sense now. Is this Ryuzaki’s type? Damn. “Someone’s egotistical,” he mutters under his breath.
“Is it a crime to like how you look in the mirror, Light-kun?”
“I guess not.”
“Can we come up, Ryuzaki? Pleeease?” Misa widens her eyes on-screen, pinpointing the surveillance camera location with somewhat terrifying accuracy. “He really wants to meet you!”
“No.” Ryuzaki pulls the microphone towards him again. “Matsuda-san, please escort Ryusuke-san to floor thirteen. Make sure he goes through the metal detectors. Then please escort Misa-san to her room.”
“Okay,” sighs Matsuda long-sufferingly.
“See you,” Ryusuke adds.
Ryuzaki boops the intercom and it falls silent.
“Ryuzaki,” says Soichiro, “not that I’m not glad you’re” — showing signs of life for the first time in a month, Light thinks — “meeting a friend, but is it truly safe to bring him in here?”
“Yeah, you’re the one always telling us to be careful,” Aizawa adds.
Ryuzaki flaps his hand. “Don’t worry, everyone. The thirteenth floor is armored and cut off from the rest of the system. You won’t be at any risk, since I’ll go alone.”
Light lifts his handcuffed wrist pointedly.
“Oh, right, I forgot,” Ryuzaki says. “Light and I will go alone.”
-
There isn’t any point in speculating about what B is up to, not really, so L keeps an eye on the other end of his chain to pacify his mind’s unhappiness at having nothing to gnaw on. He occupies his mouth with his fingernail and his unconscious mind with mentally practicing capoeira just-in-case as they idle by the elevators, but mostly he observes Light glance at his handcuff, scowl, put his hand down, and then glance at his handcuff again.
“Is something wrong?” L asks, on the fourth loop.
“Nothing,” Light says, then sighs. “You can’t expect someone to be happy on a leash.”
It’s the first time he’s objected in a while. L tilts his head. “You don’t want to meet Ryusuke-san?”
“That’s not his real name, is it?”
L almost smiles. “Why do you think so?”
“It’s not hard to guess.” Light looks pleased despite this. “Everyone knows L is investigating Kira. You wouldn’t… be friends with… someone who wouldn’t think to use a fake name under those circumstances. And then there’s his initials. Either R.R. or L.L.”
“He might not know I’m L. His name could be a coincidence.”
Light frowns. “True. But you laughed when he introduced himself. And… I don’t know. The way he said Ryuzaki.”
The elevator doors open. “Keep thinking, Light-kun,” L says, and drags him in.
-
“Hey Matsu,” Misa says, after they deposit Ryusuke in his room and arrive on floor 7. He’s already swiped his ID card and opened the door of her room for her, but Misa appears uninclined to go in. She leans against the doorframe with a contemplative frown. “This might sound weird, but… Didn’t it kinda seem like those two Ryus… already knew each other?”
Touta blinks at her. “No? He said he didn’t have any siblings.”
“Maybe not in a sibling way,” Misa agrees. “But — ugh, I don’t know! The way he said Ryuzaki—”
“I think you’re thinking about it too much, Misa-Misa,” Touta interrupts hurriedly before this conversation gets the opportunity to spiral into his actual not-manager work time. “See you tomorrow, okay?”
“Wait, Matsu!” Misa snags his sleeve. “Last thing, I promise — which of these look better on me?”
She’s pointing at the three overflowing bags at her feet. Touta stares at her. “Out of… all of them?”
“No, silly! Just the spaghetti-strap blue one or the one with flowers on it.”
“They all have flowers on them,” Touta says. He is pretty sure this is true.
“Just pick,” Misa demands. “You’re my manager, aren’t you? You’re supposed to manage me.”
“Fine, fine.” He crouches awkwardly down to rustle through the bags. Misa scoots behind him to loom ineffectually over his shoulder. He finds the blue pretty fast, but the other one… It’s the opposite of what he assumed; all of these are vaguely floral but none of them have actual flowers anywhere.
“Don’t put them on the floor, Matsu!”
“Sorry, sorry!” He stuffs the fabric back in as he goes, groaning internally at how much harder this makes the search. Nothing in bag one, he finally determines. Nothing in bag two. Nothing in bag three — no, wait! Finally! Touta pulls out a bright yellow skirt with tiny sunflowers sewn on the hem. “Do you mean this one?”
“Yep, thanks a lot!” Misa dances back around him to take the two from him. “Sooo? Thoughts?”
“Um… they both look good?”
“Matsu!”
“Okay, okay! The yellow one.” He really doesn’t have an opinion, but he feels obligated to not let his hard work go to waste. “I’m gonna go now. See you, Misa-Misa.”
“Seeya!” She picks up all three bags and steps back, giving him the space he needs to close the door. It locks with a click.
Kind of a shame she can’t go anywhere else in this building, Touta thinks, stretching his arms over his head as he heads for the elevator. But she is a suspect… and the evidence was pretty damning…
Ugh, this line of thought always gives him a headache. Being a manager is more tolerable when he frames it as being in charge of a dangerous criminal, even if it mostly involves holding said criminal’s bags for her, but he also doesn’t want a sweet girl like Misa-Misa to be Kira — and how could she be, when the killings kept going after both her and Light were in jail?
He sighs as the elevator opens for him. Better just keep looking through heart attack data. At least Light doesn’t make him feel useless, most of the time.
“Heya, Chief!” he calls, when he finally reaches the floor of their home base. “Where are Light and Ryuzaki?”
“They’re meeting with Ryusuke,” Soichiro says. “Apparently he’s a friend of Ryuzaki’s.”
Touta’s mouth drops open. “Misa-Misa was right?!”
“What?”
“Er, nothing.” He sits down at his desk, simultaneously grateful and annoyed the others don’t even look over at his outburst. It’s work time.
This is going to be so much harder without Light…
None of them notice the elevator display ticking back up to 7.
-
Perks of being an actress: since Misa has to go shoot the movie almost every day, they can’t actually take away her going-outside privileges. Even if she slips the key to her freedom out of someone’s back pocket. Isn’t that funny?
Matsuda is way too easy to steal from, honestly.
It does mean that Ryuzaki’s probably going to be even more annoying on her dates with Light, but oh well! She’s not a “long-term consequences” kind of girl anyway. She boops the button for floor 13, bounces up and down, holds up a peace sign to the mirror as she grins: if there’s one thing Misa Amane likes, it’s getting answers.
-
Beyond Birthday learned how to pick traditional locks when he was nine. He learned how to bypass their electric cousins when he was ten. It took another few weeks to figure out how to leave no evidence of his tampering before he could finally, finally slip into L’s room like the god of death he was supposed to be.
Not when L was around; all he had to do then was ask nicely. But L wasn’t around, not most of the time, and Beyond missed him — or maybe it was something better-worse even then, maybe he’d always wanted to surpass L and becoming him was (he’d thought in the halcyon days before A’s time ran out) a necessary step on that ladder. But quibbling over motivation mattered to him then as little as it does now. What mattered was this: stepping into a rectangular prism of all white, dazzling white, its occupant king gone as if he were never there, in his place a bundle of wires snaking from the corner of the room to the center like trails of dried blood. As a kid he’d wondered if the reason L never bothered to tuck away his charging cables after unplugging his laptop was that he wanted Beyond to find them. If he wanted Beyond to preserve any evidence he had once existed.
He knows better now. L simply leaves destruction in his wake, much like the perpetrator of the Los Angeles B.B. Murder Cases.
“Floor 13,” Beyond says aloud. He strides onto his newest stage using his most confident slouch, footsteps ringing over the same padded-white floor he’d laid down on all those years ago, echoing off the same padded-white walls he used to trace invisible patterns into. He reaches the center, spins 360 degrees. Ah, how nostalgic. “Just for me, L?”
Probably not. Beyond does attempt to be realistic. Still, he smiles. How pathetic of L to build a replica of his childhood room in this skyscraper; how human. Wammy’s haunts them all.
By the time the elevator dings, he’s settled into a crouch at the center of the room. All that’s missing is the laptop.
And then the door slides open, and—
-
The first thing Light notices is the scar. The surveillance camera footage was fuzzy, but up close it’s unmistakable: two gashes intersect right over “Ryusuke’s” left eye, one angled, one straight down. Like the numeral four. A coincidence?
The second thing Light notices is that Ryusuke sits exactly like Ryuzaki does.
The third thing Light notices is that Ryusuke’s smile is not something he has ever seen on Ryuzaki’s face.
“Ryuzaki.”
Ryuzaki lifts his thumb to his mouth. “Ryusuke.”
Ryusuke tilts his head ninety degrees, a parody of the movement Light sees in their shared bathroom mirror every morning. Ryuzaki mirrors him. Light stares. He isn’t sure whether to look at source or reflection.
At last Ryusuke says in English: “New pet?”
That snaps Light out of it. Fuck this guy. “I’m so sorry, I was distracted by your scar,” he says, also in English, putting on the bland smile he uses when he wants to be astonishingly rude. “I mean, it’s horrific. What happened?”
The chain twitches. Light darts a glance at Ryuzaki and finds him staring expressionlessly into nothing.
“Oh, that was a long time ago.” Ryusuke, unruffled, tilts his head 180 degrees in the opposite direction. “I couldn’t remember if I tried. I was different then, inexperienced, reckless… I stopped for no traffic light… You know what they say: your twenties are for doing extremely ill-advised things. Getting rabies, for example. Though I’m sure you wouldn’t understand. Oh well. You should enjoy your youth.”
“You are twenty-two,” Ryuzaki says in Japanese.
Ryusuke slides into the same language with ease, to Light’s annoyance. “Unbelievable, isn’t it?”
“His name is Light Asahi,” Ryuzaki adds. Light eyes him to see if he’ll continue, and he’s my investigative partner, not my pet. He doesn’t.
“Nice to meet you,” Light says, adjusting his bland smile slightly to indicate he hopes Ryusuke falls into a ditch.
“Yes, a pleasure.” Ryusuke finally rotates his head back to the standard position. “Ryuzaki. I wanted to talk to you.”
“It’s important, is it,” Ryuzaki muses. “Or you wouldn’t have risked this.”
“It is important.” Something in Ryusuke’s voice shifts — some ephemeral airiness falling away. “It’s about the Kira case.”
“Anything you say in front of me, you can say in front of him.”
“Ah.” Ryusuke’s eyes narrow in almost feline delight. “So that’s it. He’s your Boswell.”
“Close enough.”
Light is not admitting he doesn’t know what that means in front of this… poser. He grits his teeth, keeps smiling. “We’re always looking for new leads,” he says. “We’d be grateful if you had any information, or at least we would be, if it was actually useful.”
“Hmm.” Ryusuke unfolds himself, steps forward. He doesn’t slouch. “You’ve got teeth, Yagami. Incidentally, your name is fascinating: night, god, moon. How evocative. My compliments to your parents.”
Light jolts. How does he know—?
“B,” says Ryuzaki, inexplicably.
“Oh, don’t worry, I won’t hurt him. I’d be a fool to do it here.” He’s within arm’s reach of them both now. Light folds his arms and glares. Is this meant to scare him? It’s not working. “All I wish to propose is a trade.”
Light waits on instinct for Ryuzaki to say something. Five seconds. Ten. He turns to look.
Ryuzaki is staring, wide-eyed and distant, tracking an invisible meteor falling from orbit, caught between awe and horror.
It takes Light a moment to place the expression. A memory from a few months and a lifetime ago: We can confirm it by showing each other our Shinigami.
“But that’s not possible,” Ryuzaki says, almost a whisper. “You can’t—”
The door slams open behind them.
-
“RYU!”
Ryuzaki points at himself like, who, me? Misa ignores him in favor of glaring daggers at Ryusuke, who has the gall to smile at her. “Hello, Miss Amane. Long time no see.”
Misa crosses her arms. “Raphael Ryusuke — if that even is your real name…”
“Hey, Misa,” says Light belatedly.
“Oh, hi, Light!” She skips over to hug his arm to her chest. “Did I interrupt anything?”
“Nothing important,” Light says. He sounds annoyed, but for once, not at her. “Ryusuke wants to offer Ryuzaki some kind of deal.”
“That’s not his name,” Misa hisses into his ear.
“Yeah, I figured — ow.” He pats her on the head awkwardly. “Can you let go of me now?”
“Oh… sure.” She loosens her grip.
“Is this your boyfriend?” Ryusuke asks. “He’s very polite.”
“That’s Light for you!” Misa sets aside her intent to interrogate him for the moment. If Ryusuke’s nice to Light, then he can’t be all that bad. “He’s such a gentleman.”
“Yes, very gentlemanly,” Ryuzaki agrees. His gaze is flicking back and forth between her and Ryusuke. He looks almost… troubled? Is that it? Probably he’s just being a creep again. “How did you find your way here, Misa-san?”
“That’s right,” Light says, turning to frown at Misa, “how did you? You’d need a keycard.”
Misa ignores the familiar stab of pain that her boyfriend thinks she’s a serial killer. What does she say? All she really needs is to not get kicked out immediately… Eh, simple is best. “Matsu dropped his card.”
“That does sound like something Matsuda would do,” Ryuzaki mumbles.
Ryusuke shoots her a sharp smile, knowing. Misa returns it blade-first.
“But why did you use it to come up here?” Light presses.
Misa makes big pleading eyes at him. “I just missed you so much! We haven’t had a date in forever.”
“Oh.”
“It’s okay,” Misa consoles, “I know you’re busy. Anyway!” Targets sufficiently distracted! “Did you say something about a trade?”
-
It’s not possible. It explains everything. It’s not possible. It explains…
The second Kira killing without a name — I don’t think you have the eyes — Light calling Amane’s phone after she saw his face for the first time — the younger one has a particular talent for identity deduction — B always looked over people’s heads when he first met them, he’d thought he was hiding it — Amane had done the same to him the day she’d been arrested — that child is a security risk — Aoyama — love at first sight —
(“He’s figuring it out,” says B to Amane distantly, tipping his head in L’s direction. “Give him a moment.”)
Light’s name is public information, B had a million ways of finding it — no one outside this building knows where Light Yagami is, he’d made sure of that — unless Amane or Matsuda had told him on the way here — but why would they mention the individual kanji — B could have asked — then his plan would fall apart as soon as L questioned either of them — unless they were co-conspirators —
No. What B implies is so easily disprovable that he must genuinely believe it.
L feels very much like falling to the floor.
He doesn’t. He says: “You’re telling me this now?”
B laughs. It’s his real laugh; L is, regrettably, able to tell the difference. “Surprise!”
“You did the locked rooms remotely?” Extremely unlikely considering the wara ningyo trick, but…
“Oh, no, I don’t have the killing power. That was all me.”
L isn’t sure whether to feel more or less sick. It doesn’t matter. “How did you get them? When?”
“I’ve had them since I was born.” Just for a moment, B looks wistful. “Since before I was born.”
You know my name.
He should have let Kira kill him, maybe. He still isn’t sure why he didn’t.
“We’re going to test it, of course.” L scowls internally at the way his voice shakes. “I hope you’re ready for that.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
“Okay, what the fuck,” says Amane.
L snaps out of it. He had briefly forgotten there were other people in the room. His tunnel vision is useful most of the time but it does, on occasion, get in the way. “Apologies. Ryusuke is offering a clue to the Kira investigation, in exchange for” — it takes him no time at all to guess — “protection from the police and a space to live.”
“Ryuzaki keeps stealing my lines,” B stage-whispers to Amane.
L resists the urge to roll his eyes. “Once is once.”
“Wait, protection from the police?” Amane squints. “Are you a gang member?”
Light turns to L and says, very calmly, “What was that about locked rooms?”
“Not important,” L decides. This new Light (and probably the old one as well, to be fair) would launch into a whole tirade about how terrible it is to kill innocent children and while L would agree with his posturing for once, the investigation lead is priority. He fishes out his cell phone and pulls out the file he had on the twelve dead FBI agents, crops out everything but their faces. He holds it up. “Tell me these people’s names.”
B casts the file a single glance. “I can’t. They’re dead.”
“It only works for people who are alive?”
“Yes. I don’t know why.”
L chews the corner of his mouth. Fine. He fires off a request to Watari for twenty mugshots of death row inmates whose arrests were hidden from the public, feeling an awful amount of deja vu. Faces all around the world, ideally — and only the ones processed in the last two years —
“You might want to sit,” he says off-handedly. “This could take a while.”
-
Ryusuke is the only one who takes the suggestion. He does it criss-cross applesauce. The dissonance of seeing a spitting image of Ryuzaki sitting this way throws Light off so badly that he has to close his eyes. He digs his thumb into the cold metal around his wrist and breathes.
What the hell is going on?
It’s strange not knowing what Ryuzaki is talking about. Like the sting in his knobby elementary-school knees after being knocked sprawling to the ground when his partner in a three-legged race fumbled one step. Like missing a shot in tennis. By all rights he was never on the same wavelength as Ryuzaki in the first place — the guy thinks he’s Kira! — but at least he was the only one to recognize Ryuzaki’s murder accusations for what they were, at least they had some secret language that Ryuzaki used exclusively to annoy him, at least…
This isn’t important. Ryuzaki had assumed Ryusuke had ‘the killing power.’ Kira’s. The locked rooms — locked room murders? Light read piles of mystery novels on the subject as a kid. But if Ryusuke’s a murderer, then why would Ryuzaki keep talking to him?
Personal fondness? No. Because he has some other power. Not the killing one, but — the fake, the second Kira, the one that could kill with just a face —
“Hey!” That’s Misa’s voice. “Answer my question!”
Light reopens his eyes to find her exploiting all 152 centimeters of her height to tower menacingly over Ryusuke. Ryusuke peers up at her from his cross-legged position; he has to crane his neck back a little, which he is evidently struggling to do while also maintaining a nonchalant prop of his chin on his hand.
“I’m sorry we had to meet like this, Miss Amane,” says Ryusuke, so contritely that Light almost grimaces. Misa does not. Her glare intensifies. “Your company was very charming while it lasted.”
“Don’t try to flirt with me! I’m taken!” Misa leans in further. “What’s your real name, mister?”
“If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”
“I’m the one doing the death threats here,” Misa proclaims, poking him on the forehead with one manicured nail. “Why can’t you tell us? Are you afraid of Kira? Are you afraid of your own crimes?”
Ryusuke cocks his head. “Should I be?”
“No,” she’s really getting into it now, “you should be disgusted with yourself.”
“No one still in the realm of the living is more disgusted by myself than I am. I can swear to that.”
What am I watching, a soap opera? “Ryuzaki?”
“Busy, Light.”
Oh, so one month of trying to bounce leads off this depressed brick wall and his possibly-a-serial-killer ex is what gets his attention. Fine. Whatever. Why does Light even bother.
“—…Do you believe in heaven and hell, Miss Amane?”
“I—” Misa falters for a moment. “I don’t think you’re getting into either—”
“Hey,” Light interrupts. Misa casts him an excessively grateful look that he weathers with grace. “You’ve had the power to see people’s names since before you were born?”
Misa jumps. “What?!”
“Hm. I can see why he likes you.” Ryusuke blinks very slowly at him. “Though I have to say, you seem rather unfazed.”
Good! He can’t tell Light is very fazed! “Well, this is an investigation to track down someone who murders with heart attacks.” He laughs a carefully normal laugh while his mind keeps spinning on overdrive. If this guy is a murderer, Light has to get civilians (Misa) away from him. “It’s amazing the things you get used to, huh?”
“Oh my god.” Misa’s eyes are very wide. “Are you the second Kira? Ryuzaki, is L gonna torture this guy?”
“No,” Ryuzaki says, not looking up from the phone. “He’s not a Kira.”
“Darn,” Misa mutters.
That doesn’t rule out the possibility of an accomplice. Could Ryusuke have been working with the second Kira, providing them with the eyes while they killed? But everything had pointed to that Kira being an independent actor… everything had pointed to them being Misa…
“I assure you, Yagami-kun, he has nothing to do with Kira at all.”
“Your faith in me is as touching as always, Ryuzaki.”
“Okay why do you say his name like that,” Misa snaps.
“It’s a funny story! Why don’t you tell her, Ryuzaki?”
“It’s not relevant.” Ryuzaki looks up from his phone. “Anyway, I got the faces. Look over here.”
“Don’t taze me.” But Ryusuke leans into the phone. He rattles off a string of words, half of which are in languages Light doesn’t recognize. “How was that?”
“…Impressive,” Ryuzaki allows.
For a split second, Ryusuke’s expression cracks open: he looks simultaneously pleased and deeply unhappy about being pleased, a feeling Light is unfortunately familiar with.
Then it’s wiped clean again, like sand, like sea glass. “Proof enough for you? Can we talk alone now?”
Light folds his arms. “What are your intentions with Ryuzaki?”
“Is this a shovel talk? I promise to return him before ten p.m.” Ryusuke presses a hand to his heart. “I promise to lend him jackets under the appropriate temperature conditions. I promise to never commit any untoward acts unto your delicate flower, at least without his enthusiastic consent—”
“Ew!” Misa yelps.
Ryusuke pauses. “Are you homophobic?”
“I’m Ryuzakiphobic.”
Ryuzaki rolls his eyes toward the ceiling. “Again, anything you want to say can be said in front of Light and Misa-san.”
“Mm… Maybe later, then. When I’ve worked up the nerve. You frighten me greatly, Miss Amane.”
Misa beams from ear to ear. “Yay!”
Light scowls. And I don’t?
“Anyway,” Ryuzaki says, “you’ll be staying here for the time being. I need to confer with the others. I’ll return shortly with something for you to sleep on.”
“I actually enjoy the cold, hard floor. You should try it sometime, without the chair. It does wonders for your posture.”
Ryuzaki stares at him in silence.
“All right, I don’t,” Ryusuke acquiesces. “Don’t take too long.”
“Or you’ll start killing hostages?” Ryuzaki’s already heading for the door. “Come on, Light-kun.”
“What about me?” Misa asks.
“You too.”
Misa pouts. “But I’m not done with him.”
“You can talk to him later. Though I’m not sure how good of an idea that is…”
“Goodbye, Miss Amane,” Ryusuke calls as they traipse out. “It was nice to meet you and your little boyfriend.”
“He is not little—”
Misa’s indignant cry is cut off by Ryuzaki sliding the door shut. The lock engages with a click. He bolts it, then glances at Light. “Do you have a chair to block this with?”
“Why would I have a chair,” Light says.
“Good point. All right then.” Ryuzaki tilts his head upward, blank expression sagging into vicious exhaustion. “Misa-san, what were you thinking bringing him here? Don’t answer that.”
“How do you know him anyway?” Misa crosses her arms. “And why didn’t you know before now that he’s, like, magic or something? You’re a detective!”
“Yes, and I’ve done it for long enough that I know magic doesn’t exist. Except, apparently, when it comes to you people.”
“I’m not Kira,” Light says for the thousandth time.
Misa slings an arm around his shoulder. “That’s right, we’re not Kira!”
Ryuzaki ignores them. “It’s a useful skill to have on our side, but this complicates the operation massively. We can’t let him see any members of the task force.”
“Umm… he’s already met Matsu.”
“Oh good, Matsuda-san can carry the mattress. I wasn’t looking forward to that.” He was definitely going to make Light do it, wasn’t he. “No one else on the task force, then. We’ll say he’s dangerous and shouldn’t be approached.”
“They’re going to think he’s your prisoner, Ryuzaki,” Light points out.
“You two were actual prisoners and they didn’t protest, did they?”
Don’t punch him in the face. Do not punch him in the face. “But he’s in the same building as us. Couldn’t you turn off their keycard access to this floor?”
Ryuzaki pauses. “That is a good idea. Fine.” He pulls out his phone again and starts texting.
“Now are you going to tell us his deal?” Misa presses.
“The locked rooms.” Light’s done police work before, he’s not squeamish, but he strains his voice to make it sound more human. “Is — has Ryusuke killed people before?”
Misa gasps. “I knew it! I could smell it on him!”
“It’s not relevant,” Ryuzaki repeats.
“I think we deserve to know if a murderer knows our real names. I mean, he was threatening Misa.”
“What?” Misa frowns. “No he wasn’t. I was doing that.”
“He said he’d kill you if he figured out your name, remember?”
“It was a joke, Light!”
“Lighten up, Light,” Ryuzaki contributes.
Light is very close to throwing his arms into the air. “Am I the only one who’s worried about the safety of Misa talking to a murderer?”
Misa’s eyes widen. “Are you jealous?”
“No!” What is with people accusing him of jealousy today?! “I’m trying to be a good citizen!”
“Oh, Light, you’re so cute. Don’t worry, I won’t let him kill me.” She pats him on the arm like he’s the one who needs comfort.
“It’s not a question of whether or not you’ll let him—”
“He’s been neutralized and has no motive to attack either of you,” Ryuzaki says, closing the phone and sliding it back into his pocket. “Now give me that keycard, Misa-san.”
“Aww.” Misa lets it fall from her sleeve into her hand, proffering it with the air of a martyr. “I thought you forgot.”
Ryuzaki plucks the card from her as gingerly as one would a bomb. “I don’t forget anything.”
“What do you mean, neutralized?” Light asks.
“I could put a shock collar on him if you like?”
“Whoa.” Misa, for once, looks almost impressed. “You are a pervert.”
“That might be a good idea,” Light says, before his moral compass catches up to him. “If it wasn’t animal cruelty, I mean.”
“Ryusuke-san isn’t an animal, so that isn’t a problem—”
“Ryuzaki!”
“Fine, fine. We’ll discuss this later. Let’s escort Misa-san back to her room, shall we?”
Misa looks like she’s on the verge of laughter and hates it. “Why are you so old-fashioned, Ryuzaki? I can go myself.”
“You are a suspect in a murder investigation.”
“Boring,” Misa sighs. “C’mon, Light! We can have a date once we get there!”
“Wait—”
But he’s already being dragged along behind the two of them. Damn it. At least it’ll be a nice distraction from ignoring the existential crisis and strange fondness building to a headache behind his eyes.
-
The one time Beyond tries to be considerate and not inform civilians that their times of death are predetermined by divine forces…
(He hadn’t really done it out of consideration. It was more that he thinks if anyone else must be cursed with the knowledge — and it would be necessary, considering Kira is playing with the very same divine forces — it should be L and L alone. But still! Once again, Beyond Birthday proves the nonexistence of karma.)
“If only I could see the death of the world,” he mutters, attempting to cheer himself up while scouring every millimeter of the room. “The sun. The universe.”
L has not, in fact, built any secret communicators in the room for Beyond to use. He does find a covered power strip in one corner, heavy with dust, and a regulation-size drain in the other; he amuses himself briefly by imagining L making old man Wammy deal with constructors and building safety laws before he sighs and lies down in the center of the room.
He idly, artfully arranges his limbs into the most corpse-like pose he can muster as he contemplates his predicament. It truly isn’t comfortable. He could break out, but he doesn’t trust L to not throw him right back where he started if he doesn’t play nice.
How is Beyond Birthday going to play this?
The House, according to the data he got from his hacking skills and half-remembered passwords, is doing just fine. The old man cracked the code to stop driving his kid geniuses insane, apparently; these days they’re plain depressed, a marked improvement. L will have a successor all ready to go by the time he reaches his natural deadline. If he reaches his natural deadline.
It’s going to be harder to prove his ability to see lifespans. He could gesture to his success rate in regards to murder victims, but he can’t help but feel like LABB becomes less impressive that way — preserving a little of his crowning glory would be nice, even if it collapsed onto itself by the end, like a sad soufflé. (He’d tried to hate Misora for it and failed. She’d won fair and square: the perfect dark horse candidate. He’d toasted her, the one time she came to visit, but since there was nothing in his hand he’s never been quite sure if she got it or not.) L can’t pull his favorite trick of exploiting death row prisoners as candidates because not only are their execution dates known, they’re also Kira’s primary quarry, so they could die much sooner than their numbers say. He’d have to use civilians. Good.
Would L ask when he’d die?
Crick in his neck. He jerks his head in the other direction.
Here is the crux of it. Kira does not get to have L Lawliet. His two housepets with the almost-flickering lifespans especially do not get to have L Lawliet. Beyond doesn’t particularly want to kill L, because getting past L’s security is borderline impossible (well. Typically. He still can’t quite believe today’s luck; Amane must have meant it when she called L depressed) and because he simply didn’t want to wait that long before going up in flames, but if he did — if he had to — it would be at the proper time. He’d make it beautiful. Kira is a careless child tearing the fabric of the universe apart and he refuses to watch L die that way, caught in the riptide of some arrogant toddler defying the only truth that has ever existed.
No. L is L’s. If Beyond can’t surpass him, no one can.
“Kya ha ha ha ha,” he mumbles to himself.
After two years of bouncing it off concrete prison walls, the laugh has somewhat lost its ring. Oh well. Having something to live for is, he supposes, not all that bad; all he has to do now is not blow it.
Artist: @lightsturtleneck (Maple!)
For: @gl6mp
Prompt: cute fluff ship art of transfem light (longer hair) and cis man L. can be any sort of pose!
Artist's notes: Had technical difficulties at the last second so my submission is a picture of a picture ahah! However, I wanted to convey some tenderness between the transfem Light and her L. I would title this one "Just Before" since it's intended to be before their first kiss.
Thank you for the lovely prompt gl6mp!!
Artist: @lunchtea
For: @main-exam
Prompt: Rem and Misa enjoying eachother’s company.
Artist’s notes: I like to think Misa took a lot of photos with Rem so I thought this would be cute
Title: An Hour on the Ice
Author/Artist: NightfuryNova ( @nightfurynova1217 )
For: @lunchtea
Pairings/Characters: Rester & Near
Rating/Warnings: General Audiences
Prompt: Rester teaching Near how to ice skate
Author/Artist’s notes: You had such amazing prompts it was so hard to pick! Settled on this one because I love ice skating and I love Near, so thanks for the great opportunity to write for him for the first time. Also hope you like the pic to accompany the fic!
Word Count: 2443
Near was shaking. Whether from the cold or because of nerves, he didn’t know. Neither were preferable. He was bundled in a winter coat and puffy snow pants—not unlike the pair found on Matt’s body a few years ago—sitting on the benches just outside of the rink. He was twirling a lock of hair as he waited for Commander Rester to return with the rental skates. Rester already owned a pair of his own, but obviously Near didn’t.
It wasn’t even terribly cold. The ice rink was indoors and therefore open for skating year-round. As a matter of fact, it was early spring in the northern hemisphere, and the temperatures in the mid-west US on the warmer days were reaching the average heat expected in a British summer. And whereas it was of course rather chill inside, the coat should have been plenty sufficient to maintain his body heat.
Near groaned to himself. Great. The shaking was nerves.
He had no rational reason to be nervous. Rester was plenty competent and would surely be patient amidst Near’s inexperience. It was perhaps just the aspect of never having done it before that was getting to him. It was the fear of falling and getting hurt, made even worse that such a failure was almost inevitable.
When Rester suggested the idea, and Near jokingly agreed—followed quickly by a double-take when Rester proceeded as though there was no sarcasm—Near hadn’t even the slightest clue of what ice skating would physically demand of him. Upon discovering he was going to experience it first-hand, he took the time to do a little bit of research, so at the very least he would know what he was suddenly in for.
Reading about it didn’t seem bad. Watching videos, well, of course the professionals made it look easy. But overall the simple techniques seemed rather low-effort. Really, the only reason why he didn’t completely veto the trip was because he supposed it was something he could reasonably accomplish, even if he clung to the sides the entire time.
But he knew that it would be a new sensation, and that balance was key. And there was no way to even get remotely decent except through practice. He had no intentions to make it a regular activity, but while he was there, may as well try. Rester had already gone through the effort to plan it anyway, and it was something he enjoyed. Near owed it to him.
Retrieving the ice skates took less than a minute. Lacing them up however, was another matter. It was a simple enough task, but Near had to undo, then retie them up again when he didn’t have enough lace leftover to knot it at the top, because apparently they weren’t tight enough. Rester corrected him on the mistake, and when Near protested, saying they were tight enough to function, Rester grinned and assured him that they absolutely were not.
Rester asked if he wanted to keep his coat on. Near stared at him, dumbfounded—now taking note of the fact that Rester had only a loose, long sleeved shirt covering his torso, not even a sweater—and asked why wouldn’t he want it. Apparently, once they got moving, they’d keep warm enough that the cold wouldn’t bother them. Near emphatically disagreed and kept it on. Besides, it also acted as armor alongside the snow pants for when he’d eventually tumble to the ground.
Walking to the rink entrance… was one of the clunkiest, most awkward, and uncomfortable endeavors Near had ever endured just to walk. It was a foreign concept to his muscle memory for his weight to be balanced on a single, straight line down the center of his feet, and to be raised an inch above the ground. Rester made it look effortless—because of course he did—and he offered his hand to help stabilize Near, which he quickly took. Honestly, storming out of the SPK office while it was under attack, may not have necessarily been preferable due to the danger of the situation, but at least it felt more doable.
Near quietly sighed, hoping Rester didn’t hear his clear disdain and regret for everything already. Then he grit his teeth. It was Near’s fault he was there in the first place. If he didn’t want it to get that far, he should have spoken up beforehand, which he had plenty of opportunities to. May as well commit.
Which was far easier said than done once they finally reached the ice. Near hesitated and tightened his grip on Rester’s hand. Rester squeezed back and gently pat his back, reassuring him with some fatherly encouragement that Near only partially took to heart. Slowly, Rester stepped onto the ice—Near noticed the shift in his ankles and knees as he quickly adjusted to the slippery ground, before standing confidently still—softly tugging Near along, but not enough to usher him faster than he was prepared for.
Near took a deep breath, attempting to still his trembling, and very, very slowly, made his first step onto the ice.
Just as suspected, it was a radically new sensation, one that no amount of reading could prepare him for. His hand tensed again, but Rester had a secure hold right back, giving him further assurance and gently urged him forward. Near reluctantly obliged, repeatedly internally reminding himself that he made a commitment. Besides, he could at least make one round, even if he hated it the entire time. That would be a sufficient trial run to formulate an appropriate opinion.
Near placed his other hand on the rim—which had a vastly inconvenient amount of space to actually grip onto—and eventually made his second step, landing both his feet on the ice. Rester was incredibly patient, and Near was ever grateful. They stood still for a moment before Near nodded, allowing them to continue.
Rester insisted that they proceed at whatever pace Near set. On the one hand, Near appreciated the sentiment. On the other, he knew it’d go faster, and he’d be done much sooner, if Rester took the lead. Not to any outrageous speed of course, Near would never agree to anything of the sort. But to be encouraged to go faster—even outside of his comfort zone—didn’t seem like much of a bad idea right now.
The shaking still had yet to cease. And now that he was within the glass entrapment that had all the building’s cooling elements trained on it, he felt it may have gotten worse. Either that or his nervousness reached a new peak.
Or both. It was likely both.
About a quarter-way around, Rester offered to give him advice. Near agreed. Apparently, he’d have more stability and control over his movements if he kept his knees bent, and ankles straight. Near’s gaze immediately dropped down to his feet and he asked how he wasn’t already following the latter instruction. With another patient grin, Rester explained that it wasn’t supposed to feel like standing on solid ground, and that, if done correctly, ice skating used different muscles that took time and practice to strengthen.
Near inquired further, and Rester explained: in order to get the proper stance, it was supposed to feel like he was leaning on the sides of his feet. At least at first, until he’d get used to it.
Though, with a light chuckle, Rester admitted that he didn’t anticipate Near would become a regular at the rink, so he assured him that it wasn’t imperative for him to adhere to the proper form if he didn’t want to, and that he wouldn’t hurt himself if he didn’t. Near tried anyway, for no other reason than to keep some part of his mind focused on something else, hoping it would help calm the shivering.
In a small way, it did.
At two-thirds, Near observed how the more practiced skaters accelerated and decelerated without any external aid. He asked about it, and what techniques were used to accomplish it. According to Rester, it was all in the position, angle, and pressure on the feet, or more specifically the blades they stood on.
A large part of the control that came with formal ankle posture was directly tied to that aspect. When it came to braking, doing so too quickly would send a skater tumbling if they didn’t have the necessary muscles—and practiced balance—to keep their ankles from buckling. There were a couple methods to brake, but the one Rester defaulted to was turning one foot inward and slightly angled sideways, then increasing pressure on it to scrape to a stop. Per Near’s request, he let go of his hand and demonstrated a few times so Near could study.
Likewise with acceleration, a glide was much smoother when the blades were flat against the ice—and pointing straight ahead—rather than tilted at any angle.
For the last quarter or so, though he was still clinging to the edge, Near practiced a few short glides and experimented more with balance. He kept his hand securely on the ledge, but by the time they made a full loop and got back to the open door, he found himself relying more upon Rester’s secure hand.
Near looked up. Well, he made it all the way around. He could get off now and could honestly say that he at least tried it… But in a way, he was only just starting to get a taste of it. Before stepping onto the ice he thought one loop would be plenty to form an opinion, but after talking to Rester, and receiving tips from him, he was beginning to realize that wasn’t a fair assessment. Now he was becoming curious.
He decided to remain quiet, and acted before Rester could speak if he had anything to say. As they drew nearer, he kicked off into another short glide past the gap and reached for the ledge again. Though he’d begun to lean more towards Rester anyway, it still felt nerve-wracking to have one of his hands completely unoccupied while he was moving. Only then did he start shaking again, though, thankfully, it was only for that short moment before quickly calming himself again.
Which was precisely when he realized that he’d stopped shivering at all at some point.
Out of the corner of Near’s eye, Rester looked surprised, but delighted, though didn’t say anything either. Then as though nothing was silently communicated, they continued.
Near proceeded to experiment, but kept himself extremely careful from getting overconfident, even with Rester as his immediate safety net. He was becoming more comfortable on the ice, especially after receiving direct instruction, minor corrections, and further demonstrations from Rester. So whereas he was quite a bit faster the second time around, he kept himself at a very slow, cautious pace.
When they closed in toward the entrance again, Near looked up at Rester and told him he was free to skate away and have his own fun. Rester assured him that Near wasn’t a bother, then followed the statement by asking if he intended to step off the ice. Near responded in the negative and plainly explained that he wanted to try being on his own, and see how he felt about it.
Once they reached the gap, and as Near made another leap-of-sorts past it, Rester kindly asked if he was sure, to which Near nodded and confirmed his decision. Rester nodded back and told him that if he changed his mind, or decided he was done, that he was more than welcome to say so.
His nerves spiked again when Rester let go and skated away, but he was able to relax himself, then slowly began to make his way around for the third time.
He alternated between the proper stance with bent knees and straightened ankles, and with what felt natural, experimenting. Of course, considering that there was an established posture cultivated by professionals in the first place, the formal method was obviously the better choice. But he felt a certain satisfaction in testing it himself—and personally feeling the difference—to come to the same conclusion by his own choice.
Very rarely did he encounter another skater, especially someone who was also close to the edge. Rester made sure to schedule the activity at a time and day when it was least likely to be crowded, and was accurate in his prediction. Most other skaters were very skilled and kept closer to the center of the rink. Including Rester’s wife and three daughters.
The six of them had drove together, and the women immediately got on the ice after lacing up their skates. Both Rester and Near insisted they shouldn’t have to wait.
Periodically, Near would glance at them together as a family, never long enough for them to notice, but sufficiently for his own entertainment between glides. He wasn’t a part of them. But they included him. Without hesitation or prejudice he was invited on their family outing. They were under the pretense that Near was a coworker, a peer of Rester’s, rather than immediate superior. There was already very little Rester could speak about his work to his family, so there was virtually nothing they could have possibly known about Near upon meeting him for the first time. But he was greeted with nothing but kindness.
Midway through his sixth time around, Near found himself smiling. He wouldn’t quite say that he was getting the hang of it, and by no means would he ever suggest he was even decent, but he was noticeably steadier than when he’d first started. Even better than that, he was more confident now than when Rester had first stepped away.
Only once—after more than half-an-hour on the ice—did Rester skate up to him and ask how he was doing. A brief conversation brewed upon Near’s positive response, then before long they parted ways again. Near was left comfortably alone to his own devices, and Rester was allowed to… relax.
Within the workplace, Near had only ever seen him completely serious and unwaveringly dutiful, which was immeasurably more valuable than any words of affirmation Near could possibly give him. Yet, despite Rester’s status as Near’s most trusted ally, he rarely ever saw his softer side. Those short moments were reserved exclusively in-between cases, and such an occasion was what sparked the whole trip in the first place.
Near held his gaze on their little group for longer than he felt he should have, risking the possibility that they’d see him. A soft smile touched his lips as he listened to their laughter, and watched their joy.
It was a sight and sound he wouldn’t mind beholding more often.
Artist: @mapsareforbraindeads
For: @adam-whiteley
Prompt: Mogi is surrounded by animals Disney princess style
Artist’s notes: i’ve never really made mogi content before, so learning to draw him was really fun. i loved being able to step out of my comfort zone for this one <3
Artist: @dictator-picklez
For: @jam-knife
Prompt: One or more of the male characters wearing skirts and dresses (you can pick who and how many). Bonus points if it’s equal parts hilarious and serving c*nt.
Artist’s notes: I am so sorry it’s not the best i could offer, i onky just finished the process of switching schools and etc uhh i hope it’s up to par i loved your request
Author: @adam-whiteley
For: @nightfurynova1217
Pairings/Characters: Teru Mikami, Ryuk
Rating/Warnings: T, No Warnings Apply
Prompt: Mikami finds the Death Note first and becomes Kira
Author’s notes: i apologize in advance if it has any mistakes qwq. there isn’t much plot here, sadly, but there is much Mikami
It was raining.
Heavy, disgustingly loud droplets were barreling down on windows of every building and disrupting work; for however rhythmic was the sound, it was just that – a distraction. Mikami Teru neither hated rain, nor loved it. He thought it foolish to have any strong feelings towards something he had no control over.
Yet, today, he couldn’t help feeling annoyed. Perhaps it was a combination of that rain, a burning sensation in his eyes and hunger – a microwave in his office wasn’t working, and Teru despised cold food. Teru pulled off his glasses, carefully placed them on the table, and stared out the window. Up – down, left – right. A horizontal ‘eight’. A circle. Repeat a few times, until you can work again without any distractions.
Nothing could be seen outside. It was dark, it was raining, and there was a tree right next to the window, which blocked little light that could have reached his eyes. But in that darkness, he saw an even blacker shadow falling down, along with the rainwater. Teru bolted from his chair and closed the distance between himself and the window. He looked down at the pavement, trying to make out something in the dark.
“I couldn’t have imagined it,” Teru said aloud. He saw the shadow clearly with his two eyes. His eyesight wasn’t ideal, but he never just… hallucinated things.
Maybe it was just a random cat. A cat that jumped off the damned tree and disappeared into the night. Teru didn’t like cats for a reason he couldn’t quite place, which he hated.
“Imagined what?” his coworker asked curiously. Teru shot her a blank glance and returned to his chair. He still had until 18 PM to give his utmost to the work.
He waited until the slow ticking of the clock announced the end of the workday and then, with methodical slowness, gathered his coat and briefcase. The rain hadn’t stopped. It hadn’t lessened. It had only become more obstinate, as if the world itself was trying to scrub something away.
He walked without hurry, but without hesitation. With this pace, he should be home by half past six. The umbrella he carried was black, plain, and entirely utilitarian. He had opened it before taking a step under the rain. Teru mildly disliked the feeling of wet fabric clinging to his body and the smell it had while drying.
On the sidewalk below the office building, toward the base of the tree he had watched from the window, there was something on the pavement. For a moment it appeared to be a dark bundle of wet paper, flattened and draped with fresh rain. For another moment his brain told him it might be an empty carton or a plastic bag. Teru stopped. He tilted his head to gauge exactly where that shadow had landed.
The object resembled, closest of all, a book the cover of which had been sodden and clung shut. He crouched without thinking, chest tight, eyes narrowed. The umbrella cast a black shadow over the pile of supposed trash; the sound of rain seemed to retreat into the background, as if the city were respectfully making space for whatever was happening on the wet concrete.
Teru reached out with gloved hands and picked it up.
It was heavier than it looked. Mud slithered off its corners. A small pool had collected at the top edge and threatened to slide between the pages. The cover was black and rough with grime, but when he pried it open, the title caught his eye in sharp, careless strokes of cheap-looking white ink: Death Note.
At first Teru recoiled. The thing in his hands smelled of damp cardboard and the sour tang of garbage. It looked obscene – like an aftermath of a sick prank, abandoned by its receiver. He almost let it fall back into the puddle. He pictured how such an object would look like in his neat flat, and shuddered again.
But the ink on the front would not let him close his eyes to it. Death Note. The words were not flashy. They were not grand. They were merely there; an accusation and a promise molded into a pair of words that rarely went together. He turned the book over. The back bore no clue, only more water and smudged streaks of more mud.
Teru’s mind, always sharp for symbols, began to index possibilities: was it a hoax? a social experiment? Each was plausible, and yet a greater part of him recognized an uncomfortable truth – that the illegibility of its origins could point to something larger – maybe divine. Unknowns had a way of upsetting neat systems. They demanded an explanation. He had spent his life demanding explanations.
He brushed rain from the pages and lifted it to his face. The paper was unusually thin, yet it held together; the white ink inside did not bleed, though the water tried its best to seep under margins. He flipped it open.
The front flyleaf bore a line printed in the same rough hand as the cover:
The human whose name is written in this note shall die.
Teru read it twice, three times. The words were sterile and straightforward, like a statute he might find in some legal code he was used to. No flourish. No margin notes. Just that rule – an absolute rule – and the whiff of something ridiculous and impossible.
He should have laughed. He should have closed the book, thrown it away and told himself never to think of it again. Instead, a small, precise part of him – the part trained to handle facts, probabilities, cause and effect – leaned forward, curious in a way that bordered on clinical.
Back at his apartment his hands moved with practiced efficiency. He locked the door, put his briefcase on the table near that door, turned on lights in his cabinet, then a table lamp, and sat down. The Death Note lay between his palms like some dangerous heirloom. He considered the rule and then, with no grandiose breath and no prayers, he wrote a test name in the space allotted.
Ueno Seiichi
It wasn’t any random name. His hands remembered every stroke, for he had written it maybe hundreds of times, and he had seen the face that went along with it for hours on end during several court meetings. After all, he couldn’t allow himself forget one of his mistakes – another dangerous beast he couldn’t keep from harming others. If anyone deserved a place in a notebook of death, it would be him.
Then Teru paused. He looked down at the notebook – the Death Note, he thought again – and stood up. The notebook was another dangerous distraction, and no wise adult would allow it to consume his mind. Yet Teru allowed it to disrupt his schedule and hold him back from walking through the familiar routines. That was less than desirable, but hardly something to worry about.
The notebook found its place on a window sill, and Teru continued on with his evening. There was nothing he could do to confirm if the strange object indeed carried some deadly power or if it was a hoax, which meant he should stop thinking about it entirely to keep his peace of mind.
But it didn’t want to leave his brain. He usually fell asleep easily, as a man who has nothing to hide or fear. That was true for that night as well. What was unheard of, was the dream. He could not put into words what he saw once he had woken up. A strange flurry of papers, with printed names in them highlighted in bright, aggressive red. A sort of presence that Teru usually felt at work, guiding him towards light of justice. An elusive feeling of finally being confirmed right about everything, a sweet promise of being chosen.
Teru Mikami woke up in the usual hour and went through the usual steps in the bathroom. He brewed his coffee in a usual fashion and took a usual route to work. He had left the black notebook at home because it had no place at his workplace and he was hesitant to throw it away just yet.
He simply nodded to the person who finally broke the news: Ueno Seiichi was found dead in his flat. He could tell a livelier reaction was expected of him, but the death felt so consequential, he couldn’t bring himself to express any joy.
It was right the way lights shine when someone turns them on, the way a knife drips with blood when it plunges into flesh. Teru had already helped a great deal of people get the punishment they deserve, and now Ueno Seiichi joined them all in hell.
It wasn’t worth celebrating what was predetermined. Thus, Teru didn’t feel triumphant. He felt like a man who had executed an equation on paper and found, with a calmness that startled him, that the numbers matched. A precise alignment. His heart did not pound. He breathed through his nose, measuring breaths as he always had in moments of calculation. He had a lot of work to do.
Teru had a clear view of a world as it should be in mind. As a prosecutor, he was wont to observe, find injustices and get rid of them in the most efficient manner. The Death Note was the ultimate weapon of justice, cutting out unnecessary middlemen and all the waiting time. With a stroke of a pen, Teru solved what their entire justice system couldn’t.
And there wasn’t a person better equipped for the job.
~*~
The air smells faintly of disinfectant and old paper. Mikami Teru sits at the small kitchen table, fingers wrapped around a mug that has long gone cold. His hair is neat, his suit pressed; there is a steadiness to him that is more suited to a courtroom than a dwelling place.
Teru straightens. A week. Seven days since the black notebook arrived at his feet, left as if placed by providence. Seven days of killings, a whole week of cleaning up corrupt systems and judging those who escaped their just punishment. He has not slept much. He does not need to.
The world had noticed him; and the god had noticed him. The god was a skeletal figure in a tattered garment. With his flashing yellow eyes and a sharp-toothed grin he looked more like a demonic entity, but calling a god of justice that would be heretic.
His name was Ryuk, and he held a specific fondness for apples. So, Teru made sure to have a stash always available. He rather enjoyed having something he could do to please the god, to thank him and make his stay in the human world worth the trouble.
“You still didn’t answer,” Teru said. “How did you find me?”
Ryuk finished the apple and tossed the core away with a flick of his unnaturally long, bony wrist. He watched Teru with the teasing patience of someone who has been amused for an eternity but still finds new things entertaining. “You picked it up,” he said simply. His voice was dry, detached – one that scraped like sandpaper. “That’s usually how it goes.”
Teru’s jaw tightened. For him, the answer was not enough. He needed meaning. He needed validation that that string of events is not random madness, that the choice is ordained.
“You were sent,“ he insisted. “Someone chose me to judge. The world is corrupt. Order must be restored. You are the angel of justice–”
Ryuk’s laughter was a low, delighted ripple. He isn’t cruel; he was amused. “Angel? Justice?” He tilted his head. “You’re giving me pretty titles, huh? I don’t hand out crowns. I don’t pick favorites. I drop the book where people will find it and wait for the show.”
Teru’s eyes flash, not with doubt but with a sharpened certainty that makes him almost harsh. “You dropped it here because I am capable. Because I will use it correctly. Because I will cleanse the world with it. I am merely asking how exactly you found me. That must have been a responsible, thought-out choice.”
There was reverence in Teru’s words. He must not anger the god. He was generously granted the power to restore the justice, but it could be taken away easily.
Ryuk regarded him. For a moment, the shinigami’s eyes flicked to the open page of the notebook that sat between them, to the neat, precise entries – names, short descriptions. “People always think they know how to use it,” Ryuk says. “They always think they know what ‘correct’ means.”
Teru’s fingers curled around the mug and pressed until he felt a pleasant pain in his joints. “I am not like them. I have judged before in small ways. I weigh evidence. I remove threats. This is just… an efficient extension of that.”
“Efficient,” Ryuk drawled, as though tasting the word. The shinigami’s grin widened, something almost like satisfaction – or perhaps hunger. ‘You think you’re chosen, huh? That this is your place in the world. That’s a dangerous kind of certainty.”
Teru inhaled, his voice steadier than he felt. “Dangerous for those who deserve it,” he answered. “Necessary for the rest. You will surely see this one day.”
Artist: @wildernezz / @nezz-cringe-crib
For: @a-story-of-such-woe
Prompt: halle lidner being her iconic self!!!
Artist’s notes: i hope i could do halle justice for u! :D u have def converted me into a halle lidner lover (GAH ive loved staring at her sm). thank u for opening my eyes to her beauty jfjdjd :3
Author: Webkinder (@thats-pretty-gay-art)
For: @lightsturtleneck
Pairings/Characters: Mello/Matt (can be viewed platonically or romantically)
Rating/Warnings: T (for mild swearing)
Prompt: How did Matt react to Mello leaving Wammys? Did he follow? Did he stay and they met up later?
Author’s notes: Sorry this ended up so long, haha. There’s just not that much info about Matt and Mello’s relationship in canon, so I wanted to establish their relationship in the fic itself. Hopefully, it doesn’t stray too much from the original prompt. This is meant to be broken up into two chapters, but due to the formatting of it being fit into one post, I just listed the chapter titles. I hope you enjoy it! (Word count: 7,871)
Chapter 1: November 27th, 2004 - December 5, 2004
Tiptoeing around the locked door in front of him, a boy with goggles on his head peeks through a clouded window, desperately searching for a spot that allows him to see the broad range of the room behind it. Skimming his eyes across the desks inside, he tries to gather what was left on them. After a few moments, he backed away. The sound of steps could now be faintly heard; the sharp, solid quality to them indicated they belonged to one of the adults who worked at the orphanage. Only they would wear the heels required to make that sound. The boy takes it as his cue to leave before he’s caught. Sulking back to his room, he successfully evades any workers that might have caught him snooping through the staff-only section of Wammy’s.
Lazily pushing his weight onto the lever handle of a white, wooden door with a room number plastered on the front. It swings open, thumping against the springed door stop above the wall’s molding. Stepping inside, he hooks the base of the door with his foot, kicking it backward to slam it shut, all the while his hands remain in his jeans pockets. A paper flutters a few inches across the floor in the wake of it. Looming above it are stacks consisting of more papers and an endless amount of books crowded around one of the room’s desks, itself weighed down by even more textbooks and study material. At it sat a blonde boy, engrossed in his study process. He didn’t spare a glance at his roommate’s clumsy entrance. Pausing to observe the blonde boy, he lightly kissed his teeth before walking over to his bed on the other side of the room, flopping down on it, and letting out an unreasonably loud and melodramatic sigh.
…
When he receives no response, he sharply inhales with intent to let out an even louder one— but is interrupted before he makes it any further.
“What?” The other boy snaps at him.
”Turning from your precious study time for little-ol’me? I’m ho-“
“Cut the shit, Matt. What do you want to tell me? Or did you just come here to bother me out of boredom?”
He shifts on the bed, now lying on his stomach with his folded arms propping his head up. “A little bit of both.” He admits. The blonde kid turns just enough for his furrowed brow to be visible from the bed. Huffing, Matt continues, “Ms. Davison confiscated my Game Boy Advance,“ he pouts.
“Then go play on the GameCube in the common area.” He rolls his eyes at the minuscule inconvenience he’s been dragged into dealing with. ”It’s the middle of the day,” Matt whines, “if I go out, there’s gonna be other people. I don’t want to interact with anyone right now.”
“Rich, considering all you’ve done about it is come bother me so you can have someone to bitch and complain to.”
“You’re an exception and you know it.” Mello doesn’t refute, instead wearing a soft smirk at the words, although his vision remains focused on the rough equations in his notebook.
Matt relaxes and looks to the other half of the room, neat save for school supplies stacked on the floor and chocolate wrappers pouring from the mini trash can the orphanage provided them. A stark contrast to the clutter that littered the foot of the bed Matt rested on, clothes draped on the bed frame, empty chip bags across the floor, crumbs that had fallen from them, and the only school supplies dumped to the side of the nightstand. Compounded with the messy bed sheets, the only organized corner of Matt’s side of the room was his desk, holding his computer and other electronics, and his tightly nestled bookshelf, which stored a handful of minimally worn textbooks alongside various DVD and game cases.
“I’m starting to realize why you’re so mad at Near all the time. I swear he could do an entire papier-mache project in the middle of a class and the teachers won’t say shit. I’m honestly kind of jealous.”
“Yeah…” Mello grinds his teeth as he spits the word out to restrain himself from going further at the name of his rival, “You know they only do that because they think you’re not applying yourself, right?”
“Which is bullshit.”
Mello stops his pen for the first time since Matt entered the room. He leans back, twisting around to stare at his friend. He catches Matt’s attention, now looking up innocently from his spot on the bed. Mello’s eyebrows raised, now tucked behind his bangs, as Matt blinked back.
“You’re joking?”
“Uh, no?“
Mello turns back around, plopping his hands on the edge of the desk, pen still in hand, creating a click sound alongside the loud thumps. Huffing, he locks his arms and leans back in his chair. He speaks under his breath, “Jesus Christ.”
Matt flounders to sit up. “What?” he shouts.
“We are in the same history class.”
“And?”
Mello swipes a book from beneath one of the shallow piles of papers on his desk. “This is our textbook.” It’s lined with colorful sticky notes protruding from the pages. He drops it, the hardcover smacking the wood of the desk. “Where’s your copy?”
Matt cringes and glances at his bookshelf, where the said textbook graces the top shelf, still covered in its shrink wrap.
“Thought so,” Mello sits back down, returning to his work, irritation pinching his face. “Unlike you, I’ve got work. So go find someone else to cry to.”
Matt shuffles and swings his legs off the bed. He perches his heels on the metal frame poking out from beneath the mattress, looking down out of habit, despite not having his Game Boy anymore. ”What’s the score?”
Mello grips his pen tightly, “Four points. I got a ninety-five; he beat me by four points in the last exam,” He mumbles.
He glances back at Matt again. His stiff anger relaxes, and his voice changes to a stern but softer tone, “Stop doing that.”
Matt’s head shoots up, initially confused. Following Mello’s gaze, his eyes land on his fingers. He’d been picking at his cuticles again. The ring finger of his left hand was lightly bleeding. Matt had been staring straight at his hands before and still didn’t notice he had relapsed on the habit, completely zoned out while focusing on Mello’s words.
“Sorry,” Matt rubs his nail beds against his jeans, wiping the small amount of blood and soothing lingering irritation. He stands, lightly bouncing his leg. “Maybe I’ll go play on the GameCube after all…”
“Don’t say sorry.”
He pauses before the door… then turns and smiles at his friend. “Good luck with your studying, you’ve got this,” he punctuates with a wide grin.
Mello continues to stare at the door, even after Matt leaves.
As the day progresses, the common room is flooded with traffic from other children, then abandoned, then flooded again, and then abandoned once more. The cycle repeats with spikes and lulls in the room’s occupation, fluctuating as evening approaches. The only constant was a boy on the couch, completely negligent of the environment around him and unresponsive to any attempts to speak with him.
Footsteps approached, unbeknownst to Matt, still fixated on the screen. The loud clicks of his controller buttons echo in the now nearly empty room as he carefully makes his way across the platforms featured by his console. They get smaller and further apart as his character ascended; a particularly steep jump preceded the level exit. Delicately flicking the joystick back and forth, dancing along the ledge until an opportune moment strikes—
“Arg!”
Matt’s focus is shattered by his body jerking forward, causing his controller to slip from his hands. A deep and unbearable screech claws across the tile. His reflexes kick in as he slaps his hands together on the controller, catching it mid-air and barely keeping it from hitting the floor.
“Get up.”
Turning as the panic cools off, Matt sees Mello standing above him. He looks around the room, desperately searching for any context that would make Mello’s presence make sense. “Uhh, what? Aren’t you supposed to be studying for that exam?”
Mello scowls, “Shut it and take my help.”
“Your help?”
Matt realizes Mello is carrying something in his left hand as he tosses a small cellphone with an LED screen. “Your Game Boy is still in the teacher’s lounge, right? Why sulk on the couch when you can just take it back?”
Matt huffs, shoulders slouching and head lolling back, “Dude, I tried. There’s no way to get in there without being caught.”
Mello smirks and begins strutting toward the hall, “I’ve got it covered.”
Staring into the back of his head, the other boy paused, befuddled by Mello’s behavior. He shook the feeling off and rushed to catch up. Jogging through the shallows of the hallway, he finds Mello progressing to its end, slowing his usual stride for him. Riffing under the rim of his baggy shirt, Mello pulls a bar coated in tinfoil from the waist of his pants. He tears the foil from it, revealing chocolate underneath, balling it up and tucking it into his back pocket. Digging his teeth in, the bar snaps, sound bouncing through the hallway. Smiling softly at his friend’s idiosyncrasies, Matt quickens his pace, now walking shoulder to shoulder. Albeit lopsidedly, as Mello had yet to finish going through his growth spurts, leaving Matt half a foot and some change taller.
Nearing the bend of the hall, Mello cuts Matt off by jutting his arm in front of Matt’s chest, forcing him to skid to a stop. Crossing in front, Mello wraps his fingers around the chipped drywall at the corner of the hallway, leaning into it and peaking past, cautiously waiting. Unable to see in the direction the other was monitoring, Matt rests his hands in his jean pockets, stepping back and closing his eyes. He holds an aloof posture but listens closely, hoping to make up for his lack of a view with his ears.
“What time is it?”
Matt peeks an eye open. Remembering the phone in his hand, he pulls it up, looking at its screen, “Hm, 7:01.”
Mello clicks his tongue and releases an aggressive huff. “It should be any second now…”
Both eyes now open, he gapes and plants his feet firmly to the ground, “Dude, what are we trying to do here?” his question falls on deaf ears as Mello continues staring down the remaining length of the hall.
Dropping his shoulders, Matt moves away from the wall, “Mello, what-“
Mello throws himself around, spinning on his heel so fast that a loud screech would have given them away if he weren’t barefoot. He roughly grabs Matt’s arm, yanking him around. Disoriented Matt dizzily stumbles along as Mello drags them back down the hall, pivoting halfway and diving into the boys’ bathroom. Matt uses the tentative grasp he has on his surroundings to narrowly avoid falling over when they suddenly stop. Leaning his forearm on the wall, the one that Mello didn’t currently have in his grasp, he swayed, shaking off the newfound disorientation. Squeezing his eyes shut with a minute tip of his chin down, he rapidly blinks. Bringing himself back to the space around him, his eyes catch the harsh fluorescent lighting pouring through his bangs. “Dude,” the word reverberates loudly across the room due to the bathroom’s acoustics. He flinches and continues at a subdued volume, “You’ve gotta’ explain what’s happening, I’m seriously losing the plot. How does playing hide and seek get me my Game Boy back?”
Mello glares at him, muttering through gritted teeth, “It’s the teachers.” Taken aback, Matt stops the conversation, focusing on his hearing once again. Sure enough, the clack of multiple pairs of shoes and a dull but frenzied dialogue played from the hall. Confusion grips his face, “What’s going on? That sounded like half the teachers here.”
“And the other half are probably all there already.”
Glancing back at his friend, he catches a wicked grin, melting any of the boy’s prior frustration. Despite Matt’s excessive doubts on their current plan of action, he relaxes; Mello’s confidence leagues more contagious than it ought to be.
Matt chuckles, “So?”
“We can’t get into staff-only areas with so many teachers; we’ll get caught.”
“No shit, but why the hell are they ditching?”
He brings the chocolate to his lips, maintaining his smile throughout, “I managed to… arrange a profitable scenario for us.”
“Huh?”
“You familiar with that obnoxious kid who got called to the office for vandalizing a classroom?”
“Uh,” Matt sheepishly sinks back, aware how oblivious he tended to be when it came to the world around him, “nope.”
“Of course,” Mello rolls his eyes, “well, it happened. I snatched his backpack while him and a bunch of others were playing football. Dug through it and found twenty quid.”
Matt whistles, “Damn, and here I thought we were the only ones stealing from teachers.”
Mello’s smile lightly broadened at the quip, “I took the cash and then dumped the bag by someone else’s belongings. The staff call the games off at around 6:45 so that everyone has time to pack up and be inside by our 7:00 pm curfew. Incidentally, fifteen minutes is just enough time for news about a fight breaking out to reach the adults around the school.”
Matt’s eyes widen, enraptured by the scheme, “No shit… so what from here?”
“We need to be quick.” His smile fades to a focused pinch, “The lounge is probably still locked, but at least one of the teachers had to have left their keys in the commotion. We need to find one of those key rings and take a photo of it, that way we can leave it in the exact same position as we found it when we’re done.” Matt’s fingers graze over the cell phone in his hand.
“The rest is pretty straightforward. Get in, find the console, and get out. I can stand guard while you’re looking for it.”
A bright grin grows on Matt’s face, eyes shining with admiration at his friend’s brilliance. He takes a moment to soak in the scene. Upon catching the stare, Mello flounders and looks away, red blotches giving away his embarrassment. He locks his eyes to the bathroom tile, unable to respond, and finally lets go of Matt’s right sleeve. Noticing Mello’s freezing, Matt shakes off his trance, though still smiling.
“Come on. Let’s do this while we still have the time.” Quickly recollecting himself, Mello nods in agreement, and the two jog through the halls with a new bounce to their gait, soon reaching the corner of the building dedicated to classrooms. Not bothering with locked doors, they enter each open room, glance at the front desks for discarded items, and leave when none are spotted. That is, until Matt spots a burgundy purse lying on a signature rolling chair. Jumping over to it, he peeks inside, careful not to disturb it. Once he sees a glimmer of light reflecting from inside, he whips the cell out of his pocket and documents the purse’s position. Opening it, he repeats this with its contents, then yanks the keys and speeds out to alert Mello of his findings. They rushed to the teachers’ lounge Matt had been stalking around earlier that day. Testing each key until they find the correct one, they finally gain access to the lounge. While they call the room a lounge for lack of a better term, it really functioned more like a shared office. Desks and stations with computers filled the center of the room; some were clean, but the majority were littered with papers, sticky notes, and various other office supplies. Cabinets lined the walls, most not much cleaner than the desks. Matt had been in trouble enough times to know where confiscated items were usually kept. Making his way across the room, he slides a bin off a shelf above his head, careful not to reflexively drop it at the weight. Lowering it as softly as possible, it falls to the counter with a deep thud and rattle. As he skims the objects it held, he grew increasingly concerned at the lack of any handheld console inside, reasoning it should be at the top of the pile, considering how recently it was taken. He begins digging through, remaining empty-handed. He hears scolding from the entrance, “Just grab it already, Matt!” Mello stresses, eyes still scanning outside of the room. “I’m trying! It’s not where it’s supposed to be.” Matt drums his fingers on the bin’s edge, combing through his memories to find a location it might be. A potential answer dawns on him. He returns the bin then quickly circles around the room, staring down each desk for indications of who they might belong to. He skids to a stop when he sees one with a vacation photo featuring his teacher and her husband pinned to its cubicle-esque divider. Sliding each drawer open, letting the end of each track slam against its wheels. At the bottom drawer, he strikes gold. The exact handheld they’ve been looking for was wedged between comic books, toy guns, and MP3 players. Grabbing it, he proudly lifts it above his head. Closing every drawer, he makes a dash for the entrance. “Got it!”
Mello nodded strongly, “Finally.” Matt makes his way out briskly, then waits impatiently as Mello relocks the door. The moment a solid click is heard, they rip the key out, bringing it back to the classroom. Peering through a doorway to see the burgundy bag exactly how he left it, Matt goes to the chair, kneeling in front of it, and whipping out the phone to reference how it was previously placed. Mello leaned over his shoulder, checking his work as he put the original scene back together. Stuffing the keys back into their designated spot, Matt catches a flare of blonde move from the corner of his eye. Turning back, he looks up to Mello, attention glued to something in the distance that Matt is not yet aware of. “Did you hear that?”
Stilling his movements to prevent any unintentional noise, he joins Mello’s search. Until he catches it.
“Damn,” Mello hisses, “they’re already in the hall, they’ll see it if we close the door.”
A pair of heels snapped rhythmically down the hall, coupled with exasperated mumbling.
“Who is it?”
“Ngh!” Mello’s caught off guard, “ it sounds like… Miss Pryce. Why the fuck does it matter? We need to buy time,” He stresses.
Before fully closing the purse, Matt pulls out a different flip phone that was buried in the purse’s contents. Navigating its menus, the clicks grow louder and louder. “Matt, what the hell are y-“ Matt jolts up and wraps his hand across Mello’s mouth, cutting him off. Hitting one last button, a dial plays- but is quickly cut off by a distant ringtone. Footsteps stop at its sudden appearance. The dial soon stops in tandem with the halting of the ringer. “What can I do for you?” is played by garbled cheap speakers, immediately after a similar question echoes from the hall. Matt lets go of Mello, the other’s face painted somewhere between fury and befuddlement, eyes nearly popping from his head. Cupping his hand around the phone’s mic, Matt brings his mouth close, “Hey, Miss P.” Silence falls for a moment. “Who is this? Why do you have Bradly’s phone?”
Maintaining an uninvested tone, he responds, “Hmm, Matt. I found this phone on the floor earlier. Figured you’d know whose it was.”
A sigh flows through the speaker, “Of course, can you bring it to my classroom, I’ll return it to her.”
“Uhh. Aren’t I supposed to stay in my room past curfew?”
“Why are you calling now if you’re still in your room? Could you not have just done this when you found it?” Frustration engulfed the comment.
“Don’t know, forgot, I guess.”
Her response is delayed, Matt crosses his fingers, hoping his excuse didn’t give them away. Finally, “Fine, I’ll stop by your room to pick it up. Please have it ready immediately.”
“No problem mam’.”
Matt ends the call before she has an opportunity to respond. A curt sigh is released just outside the door, and footsteps begin once again, this time fading from earshot.
Mello finally cools down from his previous freak out, “You are so lucky all of the teachers know how goddamn lazy you are.”
Matt smirks and tilts his head, winking in Mello’s direction. Shaking his bangs, Mello grins warmly, “Put the purse back, we can hop through the window and rush back to our room before she gets there.”
“On it.”
…
Slamming the door, Matt closed his eyes, and his head leaned back, bumping the piece of wood. It stops to lie just above his shoulder blades, already spread out against it.
“So?”
He peeks an eye open to meet Mello’s gaze. Sat on his bed with an inquisitive eyebrow raised and an unreasonably relaxed posture, given what they had just been through.
“She bought it.”
Mello smirks as he shifts back, stretching his arms above his head and flopping over onto his pillow. “I envy your reputation sometimes, Matt.”
“Oh, please,” he braces his elbows and launches himself off the door, “you could pull the same thing off if you wanted to.”
“You really think the teachers would believe me if I just ‘forgot’?”
“No, but they’re too scared of you to call you out on it.”
“Tsk.” He dismisses it, but Matt knows the comment bolstered his ego. Matt slowly struts to his side of the room, eventually falling back to the edge of his bed. Digging into his jean pocket, he retrieves the console they’d spent the evening getting back. He runs his fingers across its smooth screen, sliding down, and they reach its bottom swiftly snapping the left-most switch into a new confirmation. The console powers on rainbow lettering flashing across the screen before action-packed low resolution tunes erupt from it. Tilting the Game Boy Advance, he’s halted by lamp light illuminating the immediate area. It shines on his console, making the non-backlit screen brighten with color. Following the light, he notices Mello retracting his hand from his lamp’s metal chain. “Thanks.”
“Better than you keeping me awake all night with the overhead lights.” He stands to flip the light switch on the other side of the room. “I mean for the whole thing. I know you’re busy with studying and important stuff.”
“Anytime, Matt.” he sits back down on his own bed. “That’s what partners are for, isn’t it?”
Matt snorts at the name, a familiar title he’d given the two of them years back. A reminder that whenever they got in trouble for a scheme at Wammy’s, it was always together.
“Yeah, it is.”
…
Chatter from other children and layered footsteps fill the halls of Wammy’s as students flood out of their classrooms. An orange tint begins to slowly color the white tiles, affirming the clock above their heads, using its hands to display the time 6:45 pm. Buried among the crowd is Matt, too engulfed with the Game Boy in his hands to pay mind to the riot being caused around him. His muscle memory guides him along, taking turns along with the rapidly thinning herd of children. Pulling open his door, he shuts it behind him without breaking eye contact with his game console. He’s interrupted when the door fully closes, cutting off any light reaching the room beyond the faint sunset from the window. The darkness wipes any visibility from his gamescreen, forcing him to look up and find a solution in the space around him. He turns, reaching the light switch on habit, but stops when a difference in the room registers in his peripheral vision. Even in the dark of the room, he could feel the absence of certain belongings. It had been cleaned, even from Matt’s side of the room, but it wasn’t the only piece missing. Books and notes, boxes of stored chocolate, black clothing hanging from the laundry basket, trays of previously written papers, all of it was gone. He tossed the console on the now-empty desk, rushing to Mello’s side of the room and crouching to inspect it all in more detail. Sure enough, all that was usually under the bed or in the nightstand drawers was missing. All of it was vacant. Reeling at the discovery, Matt leaned back on the balls of his feet, balancing himself with the pads of his right fingers touching the floor.
Is he… What happened? Why would he just gut the place? He can’t be… I just saw him this morning, and nothing was different; he couldn’t have. Okay. Wait. What’s the last place I know he was? In mid-afternoon, he was in Roger’s office. I heard one of the others gossiping about him being in trouble again. I assumed they were just spreading rumors, but if they’re not and he actually did do something severe enough, is that why? Did he get kicked out? No, there’s no way, if he did something serious like that, I would know. Either it would be something he did today, and I would have heard about it, or he would have told me. Can I ask Roger? Will he tell me?
He fully falls to the floor, legs pulled out from under him and tangled as his heels hit the ground. Not able to conjure the strength for it anymore. He takes deep breaths, slowing his thoughts to solve the situation.
His eyes shoot open, an epiphany having made its way to him.
Near. They were saying Near got in trouble, too.
A glance at the clock above their nightstands tells him it’s now 7:01 pm. Everyone should be in their rooms. He jumps up, but as he exits, his hand lingers on the handle once more. He walks to Mello’s desk and swipes his Game Boy, safely tucking it in his pocket, then finally leaves the dorm. He proceeds cautiously, aware that any sighting of an adult would mean getting sent back with no answers. Tiptoeing over, he finds himself in front of a door, room 108 written on its plaque. There’s no obvious indicator of who the room belongs to, but Matt had been here so long he knew. He timidly knocked on the door, careful not to alert the rooms around it. Staring at his hands, he waits patiently, aware of Near’s sluggishness, particularly when standing. The torn cuticles had finally begun to heal since his foray into the teacher’s lounge with Mello. He has his handheld now, after all, he doesn’t need bad habits to busy his hands.
The clunk of a dead bolt sliding from its place draws him back. The door creaks open to reveal a short-statured boy, draped in white pajamas and looking to him with eyes partially obscured by messy bangs and a slight downward tilt of his head. He doesn’t look at all surprised by Matt’s appearance. From the sliver that Matt could see, his room contained a large series of trays and tunnels, all designed to transport and roll the metal marbles currently resting at its base. The structure only left a narrow space for Near to climb onto his bed, which was leveled lower than most of the bed frames at Wammy’s. The space left from a lack of any roommate must have been taken up with bins of his toys or even more space for his marble slide. Slowly blinking, Near stares at him for a moment. The boys sit in awkward silence, prolonged by the social aptitude both of them lack. Neither had ever been good at striking up a conversation.
“What can I help you with?” Near started.
“You and Mello were called to Roger’s office earlier, yeah?” Matt speaks through a knot in his throat, swallowing to force his Adam’s apple back in place. Near continued to stare at him, obviously aware of the rhetorical question. “What- what for?”
Near averts his eyes down to his feet. As he shuffles them, he also reaches up to wrap a lock of hair around his index finger. “We received updates on the state of the Kira case.” Matt straightened his posture, attention now fully held by Near. “And… what changed?” Matt responded.
Near flicks his eyes back up to Matt before returning them to the floor.
“L is dead.”
He whispers it, so quietly Matt questioned whether he had truly heard him right at first.
His best friend is suddenly gone, and now he learns of his idol, their idol, being defeated. The facts that made up his reality were breaking under the weight of this information. Between just those two changes, his entire view has become tilted. “So, then… Where did Mello go?”
Near shrugs, shoulders falling limp after. Although most would write it off as indifference, the abnormal squint of his eyes tells Matt he does care, that he is worried. Although pitiful when it comes to general social cues, Matt can notice when a difference appears, be it expressions or object organization; he has a shockingly keen eye when he wants to. Near typically isn’t one for change; any difference is concerning with him. “Upon being instructed to work with me, he announced he was leaving the orphanage. I’m presuming by your presence here that he’s already gone, but I have no idea of his whereabouts.” He ducks his head lower, fully covering his eyes with his hair, “I’m sorry.”
Matt leans on the door frame, expending too much energy to hold himself upright, and processes the news.
So he really is gone…
“…Thanks, Near. Have a good night.”
Near looks back up, then nods. Matt clumsily pushes himself from the door frame. He waltzes back to his room. Near’s eyes follow him until he turns the corner and disappears.
Shutting himself back in his and Mello’s dorm room. Or just his dorm room now, he supposes. He sinks to the floor, exhausted. He lays his head on his arms, folded, and left to rest on his propped-up knees. While relaxing himself he ends up peeking through his arms. Through them, he can see Mello’s trash can, it had yet to be taken out. Crawling over to it, he peers over the lip. Among the many reflective chocolate wrappers, a duller sheet is visible. Reaching in, he fetches it out of the bin. It’s a stapled pile of printer paper. Unfolding it, Matt can see it’s an exam, the one Mello was studying for the day they got back his Game Boy. A red circle at the top highlights the final score of the exam.
“An 86%.”
Twisting to reach his back pocket, he takes out his Game Boy, this time delicately clutching it with both hands.
“You gave up study time for this, didn’t you?”
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath through his nose. Opening them back up, now relaxed, a wave of determination comes to him. He smirks, turning his head until he can see the trash bin in his peripheral view.
“It’s gonna take a lot more than that to keep me away, Mello.”
——————-
Chapter 2: December 19th, 2008
The roar of an engine blared, drowning out the crunch of broken asphalt below the wheels on its worn motorbike. Chipped and scratched paint decorated its sides, suggesting a long history; its filter was relatively fresh, but the metal casing for it was cloudy. The surprisingly well-secured license plate had been dented and scraped, plucked from a junkyard, it had been thrown in after the original owner had noticed its expiration date. Any reflectiveness came from a sloppily applied coat of clear paint, designed to obscure its numbers from would-be photographers.
Despite the generous size of the road, headlights from other vehicles were sparse, contributing to the pitch black of the surrounding area. The motorist braces themself and swerves towards the road’s edge, neglecting any use of turn signals. Just as they spot a decrepit road quickly approaching, the bike is whipped to its side, skidding and sharply turning before booking it off the highway and down the detour. The path lacked guidelines, unlike the previous one, forcing the motorist to use distant street lights to identify direction. Slowing themself upon reaching the lit parking lot, they lower their feet and scrape them across the ground. Swinging off, they nudge down their bike’s stand and only then turn the ignition off with the twist of a key. The street lights flicker, giving away how close to death each one was. Given their distance from the main road, it seemed a miracle they were even getting power.
Stomping around to the other side of the motorcycle, they grab their helmet and yank it off, flippantly dropping it to the ground in favor of dedicating all attention to a beeping device strapped to the motorcycle’s handle. Growling, he leaned over it carefully, inspecting the blinking red dot and rudimentary map on its screen, blonde hair spilling over his shoulders.
“Arg!”
Jerking upright again, he takes a step back. His fists ball, the tension inching its way up his arms. Teeth clench and muffle angry grunts.
“Damn it!” He yells, no restraint deemed necessary for such a seemingly abandoned area. Leaning in once again, he fiddles with the screen, flipping back and forth between various menus. “There’s no way this is correct, so why the fuck did this junk lead me here?”
He types in an address, one different from before, yet entering it results in the same destination, the exact parking lot he’s standing in.
Riling himself up, he grasps and tears the navigation system from its perch, raising his arm, he pitches it towards the ground. It tumbles down the floor and its plastic coat chips, but the device remains functional. Preparing to finally do it in he raises his boot.
“Hey.”
The voice echoes throughout the lot. Freezing, he realizes his lack of diligence in checking his surroundings, too upset to be observant when he arrived.
“If your GPS is acting up, I have one of my own, ya know?” A stifled snicker lay under the stranger’s words.
He twists his neck in the direction of the taunts to catch a glance. A boy leans against his car, only slightly visible from his position at the edge of the lot. The boy shuffles and then tucks his hand into a pocket. The motorist subtly starts to slide his hand to his waist, prepared to make it out of the situation by any means necessary. He flinches, a victim of his own heavy trigger finger, as the boy’s hand drags something out of it. A brief ring of metal is heard, again and again. He hears it once more, this time in sync with a dim flame. The boy lights a cigarette; his face is illuminated by the lighter. The inattentive posture, extraneous goggles, and shaggy hair ignited a strong sense of recognition. While he was taller and his previously dyed hair had grown out with stark, naturally colored roots, it was obvious who he was.
Matt…
Now unconcerned with his own safety and in disbelief at the situation, Mello pulls his hand from his holster. He swings his body around to confront him.” How-“ he starts in bewilderment, but stills as he sees the grin creeping up his friend’s face. Shooting a glance back at the faulty GPS, his expression sours, and he turns back to Matt.
“You could’ve just called, you know,” he grunts. Matt’s smile drops, he grabs his cigarette from his lips, huffing smoke out, “With what number? You didn’t exactly leave me one.”
“If you can tamper with my GPS signal, there is no way in hell you don’t have my burner.” Mello advances with each word. “You mean burners?” Matt retorts.
Mello grits his teeth, “Case in point.”
“Like you would have listened. It’s not my first time trying to get in contact with you,“ he rolls his eyes, “but you know that, don’t you?”
“I don’t have time for your bullshit, Matt.”
A frown tugs at Matt’s face, his posture straightens as he backs off from the car, face morphing to a pout along with a cartoonish sigh. “You’ve gotta make this harder than it has to be.”
Mello raises an eyebrow, taping the toe of his boot impatiently. “Tsk, what do you plan on doing about it?”
“I don’t have to do anything.”
“Excuse me?”
“Unless you’ve got a backup, that GPS ain’t gonna do you much good. You’ve got somewhere to be, yeah? Can’t imagine the LA mafia would be cool with you asking for directions from the gas station clerk.”
“Shh!” Mello hisses through his teeth, “can you not announce confidential shit out loud?”
Matt rolls his eyes. “We’re in an abandoned parking lot, dude, you can cool the spy thriller nonsense.”
Mello bashfully pulls away and bites his cheek, making eye contact with the asphalt. Considering the situation, Matt was right; they’re so far into the highway that he wouldn’t be able to find another map or GPS system in time. Going along with whatever Matt’s dubious plan was likely the only way he could get to the meetup spot on time.
“Fine.” He spats under his breath. For as apathetic and lazy as the boy was, he could also be obnoxiously clever when he wanted to.
A smile stretches across Matt’s face. Without turning around, he backs up to grab the door handle. Popping open the door, the car’s internal lights flash on, illuminating the immediate area around them with a warm hue. Swinging it open and swerving around it, Matt plops himself on the edge of the driver’s seat. He leans down, hand gripping the steering wheel for balance as he sifts through the junk on his floor.
As he does, Mello looks across the items in his passenger seat and the cab. Wires were draped across the back seat to unfamiliar electronics, leading across the center console and into his passenger seat. Each was either secured to an outlet adapter or hooked up to the laptop sitting there. Energy drink tins littered the front floorboards, and although Mello couldn’t see the cab’s floor from where he was standing, they presumably occupied that area as well. Wrappers from fast food joints were stuffed in various locations, and the upper cup holder in the door was sprinkled with ashes and snuffed cigarette buds. Had it been anyone else’s car, Mello would have reeled with disgust, but even after being apart for years, he’s still desensitized to Matt’s brand of messiness.
“Ah ha.”
Matt tugs an item up, untangling it and raising it above his head in victory, light crumbs falling off of it. Mello furrows his brow incredulously, unimpressed at the sight before him. Matt’s eyes narrow from a wry grin. He turns and plugs it into the laptop using an adapter cord. It’s curiously already attached to a pair of antennas. ”This,” Matt begins powering the laptop on, “is a KVM, a ‘kernel-based virtual machine’, it’s been running for about a week straight. No power cycles, no resets.” Scoffing at Matt’s eagerness to show off his tech, Mello considers the acronym.
I can’t tell what makes it ‘kernel-based,’ whatever the hell that means. A virtual machine, though… I have to guess he’s using it to keep whatever he’s doing off the main portion of his laptop. Why would he bother maintaining a separate operating system to do that? Did he seriously do something to get the police on his tail already?
After waiting for boot up and entering the necessary passwords, Matt launched the virtual machine, revealing an incredibly barebones system. Mello leaned in, squinting as he tried to parse the words on screen, “… what is this?”
”My contributions to the case.” Matt propped his elbow up and leaned back in an aloof posture, though the position did offer Mello more space to read closely.
Skimming his eyes across the text as Mello absorbed the content and respective timestamps of what he was reading, his eyes latched onto one particular character.
N.
His eyes widen, and a light gasp escapes his lips. “Near…” he clenches his fists. “This is all of Near’s correspondence.” Matt nodded, laissez-faire to Mello’s reaction. “Was able to track down their communication methods and intercept the messages so they get delivered to this machine,” he points to the KVM, “too. Of course, I can only get info when the system is online, so anything sent prior to me setting this up a month or so ago, along with any messages that happen to get sent when the system is down, are basically unattainable.”
Mello drags the laptop by its screen and scrolls through the reams of back-and-forth conversation. “He’s planning on going to the US president?” Peaking over to see what Mello was reacting to, he replies, “There’s more about his reasoning, around 5:15, December third, I think.” True to his word, a message at exactly 5:15 from what appears to be Roger’s emails. Mello leans back, considering what to do with the information given to him. Matt patiently waits, tapping rhythmically on the car seat leather.
While still staring into nothing, Mello speaks as he puts the pieces together himself. “Approaching the US government because of a lack of manpower… he must be hoping to get the FBI to work with him. I can’t see him functioning without a team under him, so that makes sense. If he wants a minimum on the amount of evidence collected from his independent investigation before approaching them about it, that means he likely won’t be assembling a team for a while, 6 months, maybe a year or more.” He snaps a piece off his chocolate. “We have some time.” His eyes widen as a smile slowly spreads to his face. “This tracking isn’t going to mean much when he begins working with them in person, and I could never be present to keep an eye on his investigation, but someone else can.”
Matt tilts his head fondly. “What’s the plan, boss?”
Mello walks to the other side of the car, harshly pulling the door open and falling into the passenger seat. The equipment left there is shoved to the side, Mello puts a heel on the dashboard, and once again digs his teeth into his chocolate bar. “We need to set up a spy for when Near’s team is formed in the United States. We can either find an existing government agent and draw them to work with us, or we can sneak one of our people into a government agent position. The first would likely be more foolproof; a long-time employee is more likely to be given access to a secret organization to begin with, but it’s more difficult to accomplish, and loyalty is less assured. However, six months is just barely enough time to get someone with the preexisting qualifications into an agent position; if that’s successful, they’ll be much more reliable.” He chuckles to himself. “Either way, having Near do some of our work for us will be incredibly useful. And I can keep an eye on him in case he gets ahead of me.” His face contorts in anger. “He’s not going to win.”
Matt’s light laugh draws him from his focus. “Glad my hard work wasn’t for nothing.” Mello looks to Matt, now properly out of his thoughts. Tracing up and down Matt’s figure, he soaks in his presence, reminded of how comfortable he is around him compared to others. “Why did you do it?” Mello speaks softly
Matt turns to look at him, confused, “What do ya’ mean?”
“Oh, please.” Mello straightens his slouch as he drags his heel back to the car floor, thumping against the carpet-covered plastic, “You hate doing work, there’s no way you would have gone through with this without an incentive.“
Matt shifts his gaze to the steering wheel. “I miss being partners.” A subdued shock reaches Mello’s face. “I was upset when you took off, sure, but I always said to myself that it was whatever. ‘Cause we’ll meet up again eventually. But when it was finally the right time to get back in contact with you, you never let me. Lo and behold, I find out it’s because you’re working on the Kira case, which I guess I should have puzzled out on my own.”
Mello’s mouth thins into a tense line as Matt leans backwards and stretches his arms. “So, I assumed you were doing this for one of three reasons: to keep confidential information secret, prevent me from getting involved for my own benefit, or to keep me from distracting you.” Mello lowers his head and bites his tongue, avoiding looking in Matt’s direction with tensed shoulders. Unbeknownst to Matt, all three were on the money. “So, I figured if I wanna be your partner again, I should take care of all those concerns for you.”
“How have you taken care of even a single one of those? Going off of this stunt, you still lack any self-preservation instinct a normal person would have.”
“You don’t have to worry about those problems because it’s already too late! I’ve got access to confidential information on both your and Near’s end. I’ve already illegally cracked into secure databases, plus I’m carpooling you to your criminal organization meeting, and I’m providing useful information so I can help you instead of distracting you. Every problem accounted for.”
Mello turns around and gawks at Matt.
“What the hell?” Mello shouts.
Matt just continues grinning, “It looks like you’ll have to let me on board now.”
“This isn’t some fucking joke, Matt-“
“I’m not joking.” His face turns uncharacteristically stern. Mello reels back in surprise. “I promised to be in your corner till the end, and I’m going to make good on that. That’s what I’m choosing to do with my life.”
A quiet moment passes. Mello relaxes in his seat, almost limp as he stares down at his gloved hands. After a weak sigh, he conjures up the will to answer, “Yeah, okay… together. Let’s get going.” Matt loosens up, exhaustion peaking through the wrinkles under his eyes. “I’ve got bungee cables in the trunk, so you want to tie up the bike?”
“Nah, it’s an old piece of junk anyway.”
Matt shrugs and starts the ignition to his car; both boys tuck their legs inside and shut the car doors. Matt backs out of the parking lot. Mello shifts his feet to push away brown paper bags from various fast food chains, trying to make room for his legs. Mello scolds him, “Remind me to clean this car soon, I have no idea how you function like this.”
Matt chuckles, “Gladly.”
“…Thank you, Matt.”
Without breaking eye contact with the road, Matt says, “Anytime, Mello.”
Artist: @jam-knife (main: @godoftrashandmisfortune)
For: @mapsareforbraindeads
Prompt: anything related to one of my fics (mapsareforbraindeads on ao3)
Artist’s notes: Hi! I chose your fic ‘Barriers’ as inspiration for this. But let me thank you for writing this prompt! Because of it I got to read through many of your fics and they’re really great! I had a hard time making up my mind on which one to choose. That being said I hope you like this! Feel free to upload it as a cover for the fic if you want too (with credit pls <3)
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