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secretshinigami · 7 years ago

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Title: Hiraeth Author: @mihaelkeehl For: @pensulliwen Pairings/Characters: Misa Amane, Light Yagami, Sachiko Yagami, Sayu Yagami Rating/Warnings: Teen, Death mention Prompt: Misa has been ghosted by the Task Force following Light’s death and it falls on Sachiko and Sayu to break the news when she shows up at their house, unannounced and distraught. Author’s notes: I decided to have this happen shortly after Light’s death and Sayu would still be recovering so it falls to Sachiko. I hope you enjoy it!

It wasn’t unusual for Misa to come home to a dark silent apartment. These days it happened more often than not with Light working the Kira case, or as Misa and Light had secretly dubbed it, the catch new L case. Misa was aware Light was up to something, that something she wasn’t sure of and she didn’t try to press Light into telling her. He would tell her himself if he thought that it was important or needed her help, which he evidentially did not need as he pulled on his coat and shoes, kissed her cheek and walked out the door without another word as Misa bid him farewell.

Misa flipped on the lights, kicked off her shoes and flopped onto the couch relishing in the soft plush cushions for a moment before turning her phone back on and checking her emails. She was excited for Light to come home so she could tell him about how she had landed the new contract she was after and had he also seen that the smarmy Miss To-Oh was nearly kidnapped by a masked assailant wouldn’t that knock her down a peg. Misa rolled over to face the television and clicked onto some mindless variety show, the kind she would watch as a child while her dad laughed at jokes she was too young to understand. Before long she fell asleep to the laughter of the crowd and the ticking of their living room clock.

There were no messages on Misa’s phone when she left for the work the next day, the apartment still silent and empty. There was none when she arrived home to the exact same space she left. Light’s pyjamas were still strewn on the bed, his coffee mug rinsed and left to dry on the dishes rack from a few days ago. There was nothing the next day, or the next, or the next. Until Misa found herself staring at her phone with a mix of worry and self-scolding. She was being ridiculous, Light would be furious if he was interrupted during something important and he was probably all caught up in his work like he constantly was these days. She did the only thing she could think of, flipped through her contacts until she landed on the familiar name of Matsuda, the person who would leak a little information to her without realising, and hit call.

This person you are trying to reach is out of area or has their phone switched off. Please try again later.

Misa frowned at her phone and tried again. And again. And again.

Then Mogi.

Aizawa.

Ide.

This person you are trying to reach is out of area or has their phone switched off. Please try again later.

Finally, after a little hesitation she tried Light.

This person you are trying to reach is out of area or has their phone switched off. Please try again later.

Misa swallowed the lump in her throat, blinked away the tears forming in the corners of her eyes as the sudden panic enveloped her and pulled her jacket on. If they were going to ignore her she would just go to the office and find out what was going on for herself.

There was no one there.

It was if the office never existed to begin with. The computers and files had been removed, the only implication that the space had once been in use was the large monitor hung on the wall, one which Light had used to look over surveillance videos late into the night.

It was too much.

Her hands trembled as pushed on the locked door into the building as if it would suddenly open and show her a different scene to what she was seeing through the tinted windows. Panicked tears ran down her face as she switched from pushing to pulling, maybe she had just forgotten how the doors worked. They would open, and she’d see Matsuda sitting at a table sipping coffee while pouring over old arrest records, Mogi quietly and diligently labelling files and making phone calls, Aizawa stressed as ever elbow deep in maps and data. And finally, Light, not even facing her, watching he screens as he always did, with a notepad on his lap as he carefully planned their next move.

The door stayed locked and Misa crumpled to her knees.

It didn’t take long for Misa to compose herself, wiping away her tears on the sleeves of her jacket and dusting the dirt from her knees as she stood up. She had always been quick to recover, a trait she was seeming be grateful for on a more regular basis lately. She only had one option left, Light’s parents’ house. She hadn’t visited there much since Soichiro passed away. Light said it was difficult to be in the house without his father there and as such he avoided going home. It would complicate things he said. However, Misa knew she still spoke to Sachiko on a regular basis and got updates about Sayu’s recovery. She clenched her hands into tight fists for a moment before leaning out into the road, arm outstretched to flag down a taxi. She had to have answers and she+ had to have them now.

It didn’t take long for the cab to pull up into the street just off from Light’s childhood home. Misa fumbled with a couple of notes, pushing them into the driver’s hand as she practically fell out of the car and raced down the street, deaf to the cries of the driver about giving Misa her change. As she stood outside the door she quickly composed herself into a more presentable state, but she could not stop the trembling of her hand as her knuckles rapped against the cold hard wood in quick succession.

It took a moment before the door creaked open. The face of a haggard Sachiko appeared, sallow and gaunt. Like she hadn’t slept properly in days. She didn’t seem surprised to see Misa on her door step, in fact she didn’t seem like anything, just blank faced as she beckoned in an increasingly scared Misa.

The house was quiet, Misa noted as she took off her boots and pulled on the guest slippers. There was no TV playing in the background or Sayu gushing to her friends on the phone. Light wasn’t sat at the kitchen table like she’d hoped he’d be, telling his mother all about how he had been kept at work so late and could he just sleep here it was closer to work. It was silent. Only the ticking of the clock and the scrape of a chair as it was pulled out from the dining table. Sachiko placed a cup of tea in front of Misa as she sat down, two sugars and a little milk, just how Misa liked it.

Sachiko didn’t speak for a little while. Neither did Misa. She clasped her hands firmly around the mug denying what she already knew in the pit of her stomach. Begging, praying Sachiko would tell her something else. Anything else.

“Sayu is doing better.” Sachiko began. “She talks about wanting you to visit sometimes. She heard you got that contract with Hideki Ryuga. She’s happy for you.”

“I’m glad to hear she’s doing well.” Misa replied, uncomfortable with the heavy silence that sparked up once again and sat between them until Misa cleared her throat once more. “Have you heard from Light I haven’t in a while. He won’t pick up his phone, he hasn’t come home, the office is empty, no one will talk to me. Have…Has he been here?”

Sachiko’s lips pressed into a thin line.

“We got the news a few days ago. Aizawa showed up. And Matsuda. Mogi. They all did.” Sachiko said, seemingly oblivious to the fat tears running down her face. “They said it was Kira. That Kira….he did…There was nothing they could do. Not against Kira. But he took him down. Light stopped him. That he was so brave. He saved us all from that monster.”

Sachiko continued to talk but Misa heard nothing except the loud ringing in her ears. She could feel the bile rise up in the back of her throat. She stood up suddenly, upsetting the cup of tea which spilled across the table and dripped onto the floor. She grabbed her bag from the floor and hurried out the door in the guest slippers, leaving her boots behind. It was impossible. Kira couldn’t have killed Kira he was Kira. So, he couldn’t be dead. It was impossible, unfathomable, inconceivable.

And yet as Misa collapsed to her knees at the end of the street, heavy sobs and deep breaths wracking her body, she knew it to be true.

Kira had killed Light.

Light had gotten himself killed.

Sachiko placed a hand on Misa’s shoulder, having followed her out of the house to try and help, and sank to her knees to offer her a hug as Misa held onto the hand on her shoulder tightly.

Misa pulled her in close and continued sobbing into her chest. Sachiko pet her hair, her own silent tears running down her face.

Light wouldn’t know what he had left behind.

And Kira wouldn’t care.

#fanfiction #submission #Light Yagami #Misa Amane #Sachiko Yagami #Sayu Yagami #Super Star Sayu 2k18

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secretshinigami · 7 years ago

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Artist: @pensulliwen For: @hhikaris Prompt: Light and Misa as a Kira power couple Artist’s notes: Thanks for the awesome prompts! It was hard to choose just one, but the idea of Light and Misa late-night Kira-ing as an unfairly gorgeous couple got me.

#fanart #submission #light yagami #misa amane #Super Star Sayu 2k18 #pairing: lightxmisa

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secretshinigami · 7 years ago

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Title: Your Father’s Son Author: @translightyagami (aka james, lmao) For: @abbadon-abandon Pairings/Characters: Light Yagami, Soichiro Yagami Rating/Warnings: Gen, No Warnings Prompt: Soichiro and Light Male Bonding time after Light comes out as trans Author’s notes: Ahhh this one was fun to write. I’m always a fan of tooling around with the Yagami family and Light is the most trans man character in the world. i hope that you enjoy this bc i enjoyed writing it :)

Light examined the scar on his knee. It was healed over after a month but still echoed the torn skin, the fresh blood and the dark mark left on the green tennis court. Eyes trained on that scar, he heard his father’s voice as background music to his own thoughts. Nothing being said to him stuck to the insides of his ears, instead floating in and out of his consciousness without any attention paid.

A hand shook his shoulder and Light glanced up to his father’s face.

“Light,” his father said. “Tell me again. Why are you quitting tennis?”

“I’m just not interested in it anymore.” Light shrugged and reached down to pick at his scar. In the summer sun, his binder started to squeeze his ribs, all slick with sweat. The outdoor café they sat at had a scattered amount of tables—about six from what Light could see. Each one had a bright umbrella cast over it and white painted metal chairs. Light’s own chair creaked when he moved as though in pain from the slight weight of him pressing down on it.

“It just isn’t like you to quit,” his father continued and folded his arms onto the table. He leaned forward with his glasses covered by a sharp sun glare. Without the cue of his father’s eyes, Light fidgeted, hand still on his knee, and tried to place his face into the correct position. “You’ve never asked to leave anything else.”

“Yeah.” A waiter passed them carrying a tray with two tea cups. Their quaint and girlish pink appearance sent a spike of derision through Light’s spine. His father had taken him to this café before, on his tenth birthday, and given him a charm bracelet with a tiny tennis racket dangling from the chain. He brought his hands to the table. “Well. I need to focus on my studies anyway. High school is soon.”

His father tilted his head down and his eyes became clear again. A long look of concern pulled at his features that Light didn’t enjoy seeing. Concern wasn’t a good look on his father, not when it was directed toward Light.

“Is this because of your—,” his father hesitated and sighed. “Are you quitting because of this whole transgender thing?”

Over a few years, the prickle of embarrassment that followed any mention of “the transgender thing” faded, but still the feeling ran over Light’s skin. The words bounced off his bones until they landed, heavy, in the pit of his stomach. Shame welled in the back of his throat, but Light swallowed it and met his father’s eyes. At a different table, a group of girls sang happy birthday to their friend.

As Light readied himself to answer, a waiter slid to the side of their table. His slicked back hair revealed a tall forehead speckled with pimples. Summoning more politeness than he liked, Light kept his attention on the man’s nose to avoid staring. His father, hands tucked together and body too large for the chair he sat in, regarded the waiter with a cool, nearly disappointed air. Obviously, he hadn’t expected to be interrupted just yet.

“Hello,” the waiter said. “I apologize for the wait. Seems there’s a lot to celebrate today.”

“Hm.” Light watched his father’s serious expression remain unchanged.

“So. What can I get for you today?” The waiter gulped nervously before pulling out an order pad.

“Oh.” Light took the small menu from the center of the table and flipped it open. His hands shook just enough to jumble the small printed words, his mind still occupied by the previous, unfinished conversation. Without having read a single thing, he shut the menu and passed it to his father. “I’ll have a small coffee, please.”

“Light.” His father’s voice was stern. “You’re too young for coffee.”

“Dad. I’m thirteen,” Light said. “It’s fine. I’ll be fine.”

“Hm.” Setting the menu down without a glance, Light’s father spoke to the waiter while still staring at Light. “I’ll have the same as my son.”

“Ah. Yes.” The waiter cleared his throat and, when Light chanced a look, his eyes were flat with discomfort. At the back of Light’s neck, his long hair, just brushing the collar of his shirt, was heavy as a rope pulling him down. He sat up straighter, back rigid, and fixed a tepid gaze on the man. His father gave out a strong, pointed cough. The waiter snapped back to him and a sanguine smile pasted over his surprise. “Two small coffees. I’ll be back soon.”

The waiter scrambled off with the shifting steps of a lizard chased into grass. Light’s lip twitched, still held in stiff obligation, but the line of it weakened upon looking at his father. Brow heavy over his dark, focused eyes, Light’s father’s face barely shifted as he regarded his son. He brought his intertwined hands to his cover the lower half of his face with elbows propped on the table.

“You shouldn’t feel like you have to hide things from me,” his father said. “You can be honest about why you’re quitting. I’ll understand.”

In the sky, a cloud trail spelled out nothing but a long line spun from a tiny jet. Light held his hands in his lap, fidgeting with the urge to gnaw savagely on his nails. Oh, if only his reasons were so normal as to be about his transgender issues. Those would be digestible for his father and fill in the appropriate gaps. After all, wasn’t he supposed to suffer for his identity? Wasn’t that the correct narrative to write out in the blue sky in clouds near ephemeral in their texture?

The truth was Light quit because he was bored. He was bored of winning every match against girls who could hardly hold a racket let alone place an actual shot. He was bored of always hearing them talk about pop idols instead of proper backhand grip and bored of the mind-numbing lack of effort it took to be the best. It wasn’t worth it, really, when there wasn’t any challenge. But boredom wasn’t enough of an excuse to trot out, not the cruel pointed boredom Light had in his stomach. So he feigned a sigh and looked at the table. He thought for a moment about letting his lip protrude into a pout, but decided against it. Better not to play up any kind of childishness; it would be a distraction from the realism of his transgender plight.

“I just don’t feel right playing on the girl’s team.” Light tried to shake his voice into a slight melancholy, but the balance of it tipped into depression. Clearing his throat, he lifted his gaze back to his father and tried again. “It’s been really hard, you know, still wearing those skirts. I just don’t think I belong there anymore.”

“Oh.” Light’s father took a breath, a deep uncomfortable timbre lining his voice. Part of Light rolled his eyes in the back of his head. After an entire year of him being out to his parents and still rumbles, still the shudders of discomfort. His father squeezed one hand into a fist and then a smile, small and blindingly genuine, curled on his lips.

“Light,” he said. “You’re a very smart—,” here he coughed and then continued, “—young man. If you don’t fit on that team, we can always find a new one. Maybe there’s a boys’ league you can join.”

A throb of frustration pinched between Light’s eyebrows and he began to restructure his plan. So playing the transgender card wouldn’t work? Maybe he had to be short and blunt. Of course. He should have thought of that approach first; clear cut language was the only kind his father understood.

“I don’t want to play tennis at all.” Light kicked his feet against the rungs on the metal chair. Dull pings echoed from his motions. “I’m not interested in it anymore.”

“Not interested?”

“No.” Over his father’s shoulder, the waiter came into view with a plastic tray crowned by two white ceramic mugs. “I don’t like it.”

Expression carefully neutral, the waiter set a mug in front of Light and his father. As quickly as he came, the waiter folded himself up and walked off to a table of women laughing.

Light hooked a finger into the handle of his mug and turned it to face the right. He grabbed two French vanilla creamers then paused, attention flickering to his father, who had already started to sip his coffee black. Light dithered with the creamers between his fingers before dropping one back. A palatable silence laid flat over their table while Light poured his creamer in and then used his pinkie to stir his coffee into a light brown.

As he took his first drink, his father set his mug down and nodded absentmindedly.

“So,” Light’s father said. “What are you interested in?”

Light paused. His mind’s delicate gears squealed trying to find a quick answer but there wasn’t one. A great deal of things interested Light—architecture, the way people yelled in reality television shows, the way ants looked when you dripped water on them until they drowned. But none of those things held his attention for longer than a moment and even then he felt his interest fading in every interaction. He waited, coffee mug on the table and losing steam, until one gear turned and rang out the answer he needed.

“Mysteries.” Light looked his father in the eye. “I’m interested in solving mysteries.”

His father put a hand over his mouth and closed his eyes, still nodding. He breathed in deeply, features drawn in concentration, and Light felt off kilter. He’d introduced the subject in hopes that his father might take the bait and be led away from the topic of tennis. But now he wasn’t sure where the idea would take them.

Finally, his father took his hand from his face and met Light’s gaze. He wasn’t smiling but his eyes were so clear that Light felt important, recognized.

“There are a few cases at the department we’ve been having trouble with,” his father said. “We’ve been at them for a bit but haven’t made progress. I know you’re smart, Light, so maybe you’d like to help with them. If you have some time between your studies, of course.”

The beat of Light’s heart stuttered like a butterfly stopped in time. Working on a case? He took a long sip of coffee to hide the excitement welling up in his expression.

His father had never invited him to participate in something so adult with a not insignificant air of masculinity surrounding it. The police force, his father’s department, was a locked room with a handle that Light’s hands slipped on when he tried to turn it. All those men with their backs turned to him, only acknowledging him in passing “what a smart girl” comments that made Light’s palms grow slicker with a panicked sweat. Yet here was his father, holding the door open and telling Light to come inside.

“I do.” His voice cracked and Light winced at the horrible little peep. “I mean. I can make time.”

“Your help would be appreciated.” Reaching across the table, his father patted Light’s hand. “I know you’ll do well. You’ve always been good at figuring things out.”

The solid weight of his father’s hand on his sent a fidget through Light, but he remained still. He couldn’t jeopardize the good will he was being offered. Instead, he grew a soft smile with no teeth showing—perfectly harmless.

“Thank you, Dad,” Light said. “I won’t let you down.”

#fanfiction #submission #Super Star Sayu 2k18 #Light Yagami #soichiro yagami

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secretshinigami · 7 years ago

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Artist: @almond-melk

For: @niahana

Prompt: Meronia as voltron paladins! romantic or angsty is fine~ / 2. Light/L beach day! / 3. Misa and Takada going on a shopping trip!

Artist’s Notes: Yeah I combined pretty much all the prompts together because I’m always a slut for beach days. I hope the girls shopping at a beach gift shop is okay! They’re buying Near and Mello paladin keychains ;)

#fanart #submission #l lawliet #light yagami #kiyomi takada #misa amane #mello #near #Super Star Sayu 2k18

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secretshinigami · 7 years ago

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In A Flash

Author: @complicatedmerary For: @resilicns Pairings/Characters: Sayu Yagami, Light Yagami, Sachiko Yagami, and Soichiro Yagami Rating/Warnings: General. My only warning is that if you smile, you lose! Prompt: A drabble on Sayu and Light as children Author’s notes: Something tells me you wanted this particular prompt to be a nice, calming breath of air and I hope I was able to accomplish that. Enjoy!

The baby girl blinked her small eyes awake and stared at her older brother. The older child wrapped its tiny hand around the even smaller hand, marveling about how delicate she looked. She didn’t speak; she closed and opened her mouth slightly, her breathy cooing sounds released in such a manner that it could make a grown man cry from the adorableness.

“Light,” His mother spoke, letting him have a closer look on the baby. “This is your new little sister, Sayu. When you get older, I want you to look after her and promise her that you’ll be the best big brother she’ll ever have.”

The child barely understood one word that his mother said, but the message was clear. He was the older sibling now and this meant that he was going to share his toys and house with her. Suddenly, it felt like a great responsibility weighting on his shoulders.

He couldn’t wait for her to learn how to walk and follow his every step.

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“You are under arrest!”

“You’ll never catch me!” Sayu ran away as fast as she could from Light and attempted to hide to avoid going to jail. In this imaginary game, Light was the police officer catching the person responsible for stealing the mayor’s wife’s expensive jewelry. Heavy breathing, Sayu clutched the cheap necklace that came with one of her dolls and grabbed her mom’s big coat to disguise herself and fool the police officer.

Slowly tiptoeing around the house, she looked around for any signs of him and went towards her room, which was considered the goal of the thief, ending the game.

“This isn’t over! I caught you, you have to surrender now.”

No, I was so close!

“Never!” Sayu raised the cheap necklace. “The necklace is mine and I’m about to enter the room. Go away, Officer Yagami! You lost.”

“What’s going on in here?” Soichiro Yagami barely came back from work and caught his two children playing the game.

“The thief won’t surrender, I may have to take extreme measures.” Light said in an overtly professional voice.

“Oh, yeah? Like what?” Sayu challenged.

Light glanced around the hallway and caught sight of a stuffed animal lying with its face on the floor. This might be the thing to end this once and for all.

“Run, thief, or else the tiger might take that necklace with its claws!” Light placed the tiger over him, using its legs as a weapon. Sayu screamed at the sight and ran inside her room, dropping the necklace from her hand.

“Surrender!” Light continued to use the tiger as a tactic and after several minutes, the screams turned to laughter.

Despite his best efforts, Soichiro couldn’t help but chuckle softly.

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“Light, what are you reading?”

Forwarding years later, the recently turned teenager lowered his book to regard his curious sister. “Oh, this? Dad allowed me borrow one of his books and this just so happened to be one about how criminal law works here in Japan.”

“You are making it sound as if you stumbled on it by accident,” Sayu said teasingly. “You don’t need to read a book about it, you can just ask Dad. He’ll be happy to answer, future Chief of the NPA.”

“Wow, if only. One could only hope.” He sounded amused. “The only way I’ll be there is through hard work, nothing more. That’s beside the point, Dad is busy almost all day, I doubt he has the energy for questions. It doesn’t matter, this book is so easy to understand I might get a head start when I began working there in a few years.”

He closed the book shut. “Enough about me. I’m assuming you are here because you need homework help?” He wanted to add “again?” to tease her even more, but nevertheless, he welcomed the opportunity to guide her and help her succeed at school. When it came to Sayu, the door was never locked, especially when she needed him most. Even if she wouldn’t see it herself, Sayu was more intelligent than she was given credit for. Despite her young age, she communicated with people with ease and had a knack to work situations in her favor. One great example was her ability to reduce her stress with her assignments by letting Light do a majority (sometimes almost all of it) of the work since it was faster and he did not mind a quick, easy exercise to entertain himself. They both knew this and it had become part of this household’s routine.

And he will absolutely allow her to continue this little manipulation game until at least he graduated high school. It shouldn’t be a struggle by this point, right?

“Yes, math again!” She handed him the paper assignment and pulled a chair that was near his desk to sit beside him. “I did pay attention to the board and yet I’m having some trouble.”

This is too easy, I’m going to finish this in less than five minutes! Light couldn’t help but smile at the lack of effort he had to enforce. While his own homework took longer compared to this (and it was still easy), sometimes he was amazed that not much was challenging him anymore. He didn’t have to worry, however. Once he was out of school and working for the NPA, he will have the time of his life.

“Look carefully at this problem. It is asking you to multiply the two results and then find the percentage of the past problem. The way to do this is like this.” It took him barely any time to scribbled the numbers down and solve the equation correctly.

“Wow, Light, you really are so smart!” Sayu exclaimed in awe, mostly out of flattery, but there was a deep respect laced in that statement.

“And that’s it for today. Hopefully you got it this time.” It was doubtful, but he didn’t mind at all.

“Yay! And it’s finished just in time for my show to start. Thanks, Light, you are the best!”

“It’s that the one with that Tatsuya guy that you are so in love with? Don’t forget to invite me to the wedding.” He said teasingly.

“Tatsuya?” She was confused. “Oh, no, I’m over him ever since I find out he is dating that annoyingly sweet pop idol that does not deserve to be mentioned by me. It’s all about Sakamoto from now on. Compared to Tatsuya, he is dreamy and loyal.”

“Were you ever going to tell me that the wedding has been cancelled?” He continued to joke. “What I am supposed to do with the guest list? You are going to break Mom’s heart.”

“It’s not funny to mock how he betrayed me, Light.” She rolled her eyes playfully and sighed. “Don’t forget dinner is going to be ready in an hour, so don’t overdo yourself.”

“I won’t.” He replied shortly before she left and continued reading his book.

#fanfiction #submission #Sayu Yagami #Light Yagami #soichiro yagami #Sachiko Yagami #Super Star Sayu 2k18

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secretshinigami · 7 years ago

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Happy Birthday, Sayu! A warm welcome to the fourth Secret Shinigami Exchange!

This is a Death Note gift exchange of fanart and fanfiction that works just like Secret Santa. You will receive a gift of art or writing from your very own Secret Shinigami, and return the favour by creating a gift for your very own Kira. This time, we’re celebrating Sayu’s birthday!

How can I get involved?

Read the rules!

Fill out the survey. You have until May 10 to sign up.

If you want, join the discord for easier updates and communication!

You will receive your Kira’s requests by May 15.

Shinigami have until June 16 to submit gifts to this blog.

On Sayu’s birthday, June 18, we will begin to publish your fanart and fanfic to this blog.

If you have any questions that aren’t covered in our FAQ, feel free to send a message. Reblog and help spread the word!

#Super Star Sayu 2k18 #death note #sayu yagami #light yagami #ty mod K for the spicy banner!

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secretshinigami · 7 years ago

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Artist: @niatsuki For: @eyecicles Prompt: Something with Kiyomi and Halle

#fanart #submission #Kiyomi Takada #halle lidner #Super Star Sayu 2k18

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secretshinigami · 7 years ago

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Title: In His Service

Author: @weusedtotalktilmidnight

For: @invcnio-patcr

Pairings/Characters: L, Watari, Roger, Roillsh (Roger Ruvie x Quillsh Wammy)

Rating/Warnings: Mostly G, like one sentence towards the end of T

Author’s Note: Editing credit to @kiranatrix because otherwise this piece would be in unenviable shape.

“How do you and Roger know each other anyhow?” L was trashing emails from INTERPOL without opening them as Watari watched.

L took a small, delicate sip of his TWG Earl Grey, and calmly continued in his monotone, “He’s never deserved your loyalty. But then, neither have I.” Today was a rare day of personal questions and a not so rare day of self doubts though those were seldom vocalized, “Young sir,” Watari took his hat off to underscore his deliberate choice of words, “Regardless of titles, I have only ever been in the service of royalty.”

He paused before giving an answer. He’d been L’s caretaker since he’d adopted him at 6 years old, and L had maybe asked a personal question once every few years. He supposed L was old enough to handle the information, “We met in a government program in our youth. He was there as a researcher and I was there as an operative.”

—————-

I was around 30 at the time, and tasked to brainstorm with another agent about the logistics of a lab break in the US. I remembered the first time I saw Roger, his pronounced hook nose had been buried deep in some dusty tome. He’d glanced up to glower intensely at me when I sat down, but it wasn’t as if I had sat down uninvited. I’d been forced to tap Roger on the wrist when he wouldn’t look up again after the glare ended, “You are Roger Ruvie, if I am not mistaken?” The hawkish man gave a dissatisfied huff, sitting up in his fine tweed jacket tailored to his thin form, and continued with his earlier glare. “And you’re Wammy, Quillish. Code name Watari. 30 years and half that in experience. I’ve finished my side of this assignment and already sent in my results, so you should check your inbox at the headquarters. All the details are there regarding what you should avoid upon entry into the facilities, as well as how you might extract the chemical agent without coming to very much harm.” “Very much, eh? Our superiors have asked I discuss this chemical weapons lab with you directly. Not that I merely read your exhaustive missive.” “Alright.” Roger heaved haughtily, then spoke to me like a child. “The coordinates are for an underground lab in Rochester, New York. Yes, the chemical agent you’re procuring is known to have deleterious effects on the central nervous system, in a manner that maims but does not kill its victims. In the mood to shoot some things? Well, don’t. The whole lab may contaminated by placei has storage of the compound if you do. Honestly what more is there to say? You will be fine as long as you carefully observe all my advice and heed my warnings. There. We’ve fully discussed this matter now, and my advice is still to read my research very carefully should you wish to avoid harm.” “Yes, you are making it very clear you believe I am incapable of reading comprehension.” “Godspeed. May you be successful on England’s behalf. Should you fail it will jeopardize my own career.” “Long live the Queen.” I was amused because Roger looked practically ready to spit in my face when all I’d done was sit down and ask basic questions. It was time to needle him. “You aren’t a bloke that fancies company much?” Needle met steel. “What I fancy, Mr. Wammy, is the respect due to my profession… which should inform your own but need not interact a position such as yours, sniper.” I laughed tastefully and took my heavy wool coat off to drape it across the back of the chair, indicating I intended to stay awhile longer. “I’m a chemist as well as a marksman, you know. Quite a few of us in the Royal Service have an intellect that matches our physicality . It was a bit more selective than university.” Roger reddened at my cool one-upsmanship. I noticed the beads of sweat forming on Roger’s brow, and that his hands were slightly shaking on the table beside his book. He really wasn’t one for confrontation was he? An uncouth glee came over me and I continued my verbal assault, “You’re on temporary contract to the crown. That makes me your boss.” I realized Roger answered to me within this hierarchy and not the other way around. “What is your point? Are we done here?” “No.” I laughed, “We will discuss this over a drink in front of my hearth later since you can’t relax enough to stop repeating yourself like a broken record. Roger Ruvie, you will report to my quarters at 19:00 or I will have to throw out your research and send for another scientist.” Roger looked like he was weighing an option between being set on fire or drowning. Finally he replied, “Fine. I will make sure this is the last assignment I ever have with you, but you will not waste 4 months of my work because I offended your ridiculous need for attention.” When Roger left the table abruptly, he left the book behind. I picked up the English translation of Dante’s Inferno and went to check it out myself. I bet this man was a romantic. It turned out that Roger had no tolerance for alcohol. And I had no tolerance for more words. Instead of a meeting of minds, we snogged in my study, the tension releasing from both of us and Roger sighing into my neck, cutely enraged. No, I won’t tell L that part. Instead I simplified all those crazy death defying years, and stated that Roger and I met in the service of the Queen. Then remained on in the service of one another.

#fanfiction #submission #l lawliet #quillish wammy #Roger Ruvie #roillsh #rogerxwammy #Super Star Sayu 2k18

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secretshinigami · 7 years ago

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Title: It’s the little things Author: @hazblogs, Arthur For: @naive-archiviste Pairings/Characters: L Lawliet, Light Yagami, Watari, Misa Amane, A (mention), Beyond Birthday (mention) Rating/Warnings: Teen, TW for mental health discussion, dermatillomania, slight transphobia, vague description of a panic attack, some internalised ableism Prompt: 1. A story of how L and Light meet a psychologist and unexpectedly get diagnosed with something, L with Asperger’s syndrome, Light with high-functioning sociopathy. Author’s notes: Hey hey hey !!!! Here’s your gift for the sse !!!! I’m so happy to have written for you and as you’ve certainly noticed I had a lot of fun filling out your prompt. The Ryuk one was simply amazing but I don’t have the skill to write poetry (one day, one day ;^; i will maybe be strong enough !). Thank you for participating in this exchange, and I do hope you enjoy this little text. There is no pairing because you didn’t say if you wanted one and I thought it was safest not to put any, just in case. I also had… lots of fun putting some of my headcanons in, I hope you don’t mind.

This text got… kinda long haha, it’s about 7k ? And I can’t find the readmore button, which might make viewing the post complicated, sorry for that.

See you on AO3 where I will also post this story, I hope everyone likes it !

Thank you also to the mods of sse for making this exchange possible !

It’s the little things

Light looks at the therapist with nothing but distant interest – this could be useful, this could help him get hold of new techniques, this woman knows about making people talk after all. He can’t bring himself to care. Misa insisted he come, he’s here for her, no matter how stupid that sounds to him, and he’s not here to… what. Get help ? Help for what ?

He’s been silent too long and the therapist fidgets. She’s a cute woman, he thinks offhandedly, but he can’t bring himself to care. He wants to get out of here.

“The outpatient program is very nice, you’ll see,” she says eventually, probably sensing that if she doesn’t speak first, no conversation will take place. Light still isn’t sure he wants to answer, but she adds, “There’s group therapy, so you’ll meet other people who have similar issues. Well, not exactly the same,” and Light sighs internally, because what issues is she talking about, he barely opened his mouth, “but still, I think it’ll be good for you to meet other people who empathize with what you’re going through.”

This time, he actually sighs. There’s a headache starting behind his temples and his leg feels jittery, which is never a good sign. But Light is good, he doesn’t lose his temper, and waits until the end of the appointment to say, “I don’t think I need to come back.”

“I know it’s hard,” the woman answers with a sympathetic smile, “but you’ll see, it gets better. With time – and with dedication, but I’m sure you’re a very driven person, considering how much you managed to achieve in such a poor condition.”

He wants to scream. “Poor condition”, my ass. Light is perfectly ok.

His left leg has started to bounce slightly and he can’t make it stop.

ooo

L looks at the man with something akin to disgust. No, that word is too strong to be conciliated with his unending disinterest. The therapist is talking to Wammy and L drowns them out easily, focusing on the last case he had. She was found dead in her bed, front door left ajar, and not a speck left to prove there had ever been an intruder. It was such a boring case he didn’t even need to leave his room to solve it. Better this way. Less people to see him and figure out. He always hates when people figure him out.

“Ryuuzaki, please, pay attention,” Wammy says, probably not for the first time. L doesn’t really care, and wouldn’t have reacted if the nickname hadn’t been so bothering to him. Why they had to come to Japan to do this, he doesn’t know, but at least it’s better than in the States where someone might have connected the dots. He’s not as popular in Japan, if “popular” is a thing he even is.

“Ryuuzaki.”

This time, Wammy’s voice is stern enough for him to be considered somewhat serious. L thinks about why they’re here, but this time with his head tilted up, so he can pretend he’s listening. Wammy has some strange ideas. Some work, like the washing machine, some… some are like this one. “Oh, learn how to fire a gun, Lawliet, it’ll sure come in handy. Learn this, learn that, what am I gonna do with you dear god”. Ok, he might have added the last part himself – but it’s true. L sees it in the way he holds his head when L forgets to sleep or when he makes some rude comment again. Though L doesn’t personally think he’s very rude. People are.

That’s it, he thinks.

“…ki, can you repeat what I’ve just said ?” the therapist says, his eyes fixated a little too low to be looking at L’s face. Not that he’s been staring back – he actually has no idea what the man looks like – but still, this is strange, people usually insist they look at each other “in the eye” or something resembling that. L belatedly realises that he should answer. He has no idea what the man said.

Wammy sighs, like he knows L wasn’t paying attention, and the therapist repeats, “You’ll be attending group therapy as well as weekly sessions with me. I’ll also have meetings with Mr Watari, since he is your designated caretaker. Is that alright ?”

L wonders if he’s allowed to say no. Probably not, so he nods, and puts his head on his knees. They are bunched up against his chest, his bare feet clinging to the edge of the seat. He didn’t even notice he kicked his sneakers off… Wammy is gonna chide him about that afterwards, he’s sure. Oh well. Never mind. At least this time he wasn’t forced to wear socks.

“Stop biting your thumb,” Wammy says when they exit the therapist’s office. “You’re bleeding again.”

“Hm,” L murmurs, without really paying attention. “This therapist didn’t even ask for my first name.”

“That’s because he knows who you are,” he answers.

“Oh. That’s a bother, then. Why not call me L ?”

“What if people listen ?” Wammy gently says back, because he knows L hates nicknames.

L doesn’t answer, kicks his shoes off again, and dozes out for the rest of the car ride back to their hotel room.

ooo

“Light !” Misa’s shrill voice exclaims. “I knew it !” She sits down in front of him, and almost tears his newspaper apart in her haste to put it away. “I knew you weren’t going to therapy ! The doctor called me, you know ? She says you haven’t been to the last three sessions. And you’ve never even gone to group therapy.”

“It’s none of your business,” Light answers through gritted teeth. “Who are you to nag at me like that, my girlfriend ?”

Misa’s face flashes briefly with hurt before closing off. “Well,” she says, “I’m your friend.”

Right, Light thinks. Friend. He doesn’t really have any, does he ? No people close enough to him to be called that, though Misa is in fact closer than most – closer than anyone but Sayu, actually, but Sayu is his sister so it’s normal, it makes sense, while Misa is just someone who invited herself in his life without even bothering to ask if it was ok. Light doesn’t like how people look at him when he is with Misa, how their eyes go big and how they ask if they’re dating. Misa always says yes, partly to bother him, partly because it helps her with, he doesn’t know, PR stuff maybe ? Or just to be left alone. They did meet because someone was stalking her, after all.

“Light ?” she eventually says, soft and cautious. “You don’t have to go if you really don’t want to, but I am your friend, I want to help.”

“Fine,” he answers, teeth still clenched. “I’ll go to the next appointment. I’ll book one when I go home.”

“I already did,” Misa says, sheepish. “Same time next Saturday. You know, I also talked to the doctor you saw at the hospital – he’s been wondering where you’ve gone, after you left so abruptly.”

The hospital ? Light hoped he’d never hear about it again in his life, unless maybe he went there because of a job accident, but certainly not because Misa thought it was appropriate to call his father on him. There was no reason for his stay there – short stay, if he may had, he had been discharged after only three days, but it was the most humiliating experience of his life. He’d barely left his room, talked to no one but the nurses, and pretended to swallow the pills they gave him without even considering taking them.

He isn’t – what, crazy ? No, he isn’t crazy. He was just tired, and he is sleeping better now, and there is no need for Misa to interfere. His next appointment would be better used by someone else, who wouldn’t waste the therapist’s time with non-existent problems.

ooo

L watches a speck of dust float through the air, suspended in between people’s heads, like it’s held up by a beam of light, before it flutters away and disappears. It forces him to pay attention to the person the dust disappeared behind, a young man with chestnut hair and very tired eyes. He doesn’t have dark circles though, and L briefly wonders if he wears concealer.

He does, L realises after the man moves and a sheen of sweat makes the skin under his eyes appear too textured for it to not be make-up. It’s applied so sloppily even Beyond could do better, which is saying a lot. There’s traces of concealer on his cheeks too, and L briefly wonders if he should do the same, wear concealer and stop people from looking. But then again, that’d mean using pretty much an entire bottle of concealer in a week, and though he doesn’t lack money, he certainly does lack the motivation to hide the various rashes on his skin. Or whatever it’s called when it’s you who scratched it.

“Welcome !” someone says, with a cheerful voice that doesn’t sound too forced. “Group therapy for the adults who are younger but not young adults – or as we liked to call it, the ‘not old yet’ group therapy !”

She has a casual shirt on, with some words in Japanese that mean “sun” and “moon”, and L has to tear his gaze out of her breast area where a pretty necklace is dangling – it’s a present, she has a fiancé – yes she has a ring, no tan mark yet, it must be new, hence the present – ok, this has to stop. He’s not here for that.

Contrary to what he assumed, L has been enjoying group therapy. It’s like detective work but easier and with more crazy people in it – he’s not quite sure he’s part of them yet but the group has organically absorbed him without asking questions. So there’s that. He has a group now. Not friends – he’d laughed at the idea of having friends, once, and Beyond acted offended, and then Adeline cried, and he never heard the end of it. But it’s a funny group nonetheless.

“Today, we say hello to a new member – say hi to Yagami Light ! Yagami-kun, this is the three pm group therapy… well, it’s your group now.”

Light looks utterly disgusted as a chorus of “Hi, Yagami-kun” echo around the circle. They’re all seated down on little cushions, and Light is in a seiza so perfect it must hurt. L has opted for his usual pose, knees drawn to the chest, and he sways lightly from side to side as he inspects the members present in the circle today.

“The topic for today is – who remembers ? Yes, Mikami-kun ?”

“Diagnosis,” he says, lowering his head with a frown – not that he has any other expressions, but L still finds it funny to remark on it in his head.

“Right !” the nurse says. L is bad with names, so “nurse” will have to do for now. “So, anyone wants to share their diagnoses with us today ? Or the process of getting one ?”

Nobody answers. It’s usually like that, L noticed, no one answers in the first ten minutes and then a few scattered comments. Mostly from the people in outpatient – the people in inpatient seem to have a harder time making things out, deciding if speaking isn’t worth their time or if it’ll alleviate some of their boredom. They look so bored, that’s what intrigued L the most about them, how their eyes looked empty. He sees something else there now.

Light still has that disgusted expression on, and it only deepens as someone dares to speak. She’s a young woman, probably not much older than L himself, and she shares her story with being diagnosed as bipolar II with the crowd. They all nod, like they know what it means, and L’s brain supplies the textbook definition before he raises his hand to ask – “Bipolar II disorder is a form of mental illness similar to bipolar I, with moods cycling between high and low over time. However in bipolar II the ‘up’ moods never reach full-blown mania. These less intense elevated moods are called hypomania”. Interesting, L thinks. Or not, as the woman drones on and on about how difficult it was for her family to accept her diagnosis. He’s sure it must have been, considering how private and closed-off the Japanese are, compared to the English, and even there, some people never care until it’s too late.

Himself included. Adeline would smirk sadly and turn her back on him if she saw where he was now.

ooo

There’s some pressure in the air and Light isn’t sure it comes from the unblinking gaze of Mikami, who hasn’t stopped staring at him since he arrived. When he finally locates the source of the eyes he felt resting on top of his head, he’s not surprised to see it’s one of the weirdest in the group – staring is usually considered too polite by most people, though obviously Mikami and the strange man don’t seem to understand.

Light doesn’t participate in the discussion at all. First because he has nothing to say, having started therapy sessions the day before, but mostly because he finds the idea of sharing something so personal to be abhorrent to his basic need for privacy. Mikami also doesn’t speak much, except for correcting people on their own diagnoses, which is funnier than it should be considering the man is so stuck up he is half expecting to see an off-switch button on the side of his head. There isn’t one, but Light has a nagging need to check from up-close, to dig his fingers into his own head and find that damn off-switch and tune his fucking brain out for ten seconds.

Admitting that, even in the comfort of his own head, scares him. What is it that he needs to run away from ? If not his intellect, what is left that makes him valuable ?

The end of group therapy is a welcome distraction. “It’s not as long as you probably expect,” the therapist had warned, “so don’t hesitate to speak if you feel the need to”. Right, he thinks. If he feels the need to.

Immediately after the nurse dismisses them, Mikami turns to him, and unfolds a whole speech on the importance of freedom of speech. He hasn’t even introduced himself. Light sighs, and sighs again when he turns to find the strange guy on his other side.

“Light-kun, he says, my name is –” he narrows his eyes, then, and continues, “are you with the police ?”

Mikami’s eyes open wide and he gapes a bit, before frowning some more and excusing himself. Light is left staring at the other guy’s strange face and mannerism – he is biting his thumb and scratching what looks like a scab on his shoulder, which, with the dark circles under his eyes, gives him the appearance of a very frog-like raccoon.

“I am,” Light says carefully.

The other man smiles, like this is a big secret he’s proud of guessing.

“You can call me Hideki Ryuuga,” he says, which is a ridiculous false name to give. “But most people call me L.”

“Oh,” Light says, because there’s nothing else he can say without being impolite – and then it clicks. L. That man is casually saying he’s the best detective in the world. Go figure. People here definitely give him the creeps.

ooo

L ticks when the therapist says his name for the seventh time. Or at least that’s what he says, that he’s called him seven times, but L really didn’t hear – he was focused on the paper the man gave him, with some basic questions about his mental health.

“What does it mean, ‘repetitive behaviours’ ?” L asks, while scratching his left leg. There’s a rash visible there already, he’s probably been scratching for a good ten minutes. Fuck. At least Wammy isn’t here to nitpick at everything.

The therapist sighs, and takes back his paper without a word. Oh well, L tried. He’s checked off a good quantity of boxes, but there are some questions that just seem absurd – of course people like routine, of course people have foods they don’t like. What kind of psych eval is that ?

His brain zooms out of his present situation and goes back to the nearest interesting puzzle. Presently, its name is Light Yagami, and L has already used up most of his detective resources tracking the life out of this guy. It’s a wonder he’s not a serial killer, if L may say so, considering the absolutely perfect record he has, like he’s never taken a wrong turn in his life. Apart from maybe being gay, but that’s hardly a bother. L doubts he knows himself, considering how uptight he seemed. Yeah, that’s it, closeted, model policeman Light Yagami. God this man is uninteresting, yet somehow L finds his attention snaps back to him without fail.

Like there’s something more.

He didn’t look like he belonged at a group therapy, maybe because he thought so hard that if he willed himself away he wouldn’t have to stay, but L can detect something brewing underneath, a darkness that doesn’t have a name yet.

What is he on about anyway ? It’s not like him to want to talk to someone, and to reveal his identity within the first five seconds of speaking. It’s not like him and yet this is maybe the most spontaneous he’s been in years. Wammy should be proud, really. Or… yeah, L made the good choice by not telling him. Old man would worry his hair out.

Next time they see each other is in the corridors of the institution. L blinks once, twice, and catches up with Light. He blinks, too, and his mouth turns into a sour little line.

L does what he does best: puzzles.

“Do you like tennis, Light Yagami ?”

ooo

Weirdo L is here again and is asking him – what ?

“I don’t think they have a tennis court here,” he answers.

“Oh,” the man says, “I’m not in inpatient.”

Really ? Light would never have guessed, and he says so without any intention of joking. That seems to amuse the man – Hideki Ryuuga, his mind supplies, also known in his mind as “gigantic-assface”. Well, that was a bit mean. He hopes the man can’t see it – he hopes he hasn’t been to disdainful, too harsh, too impolite, he hopes he didn’t come across as…

Breathe. If there’s one thing three sessions of therapy have taught him, it’s that his face is the perfect ask he wants it to be, so he has nothing to worry about. He is perfectly neutral and the man isn’t upset.

“I haven’t played in years, why ?” Light says, trying to keep his tone conversational.

“I don’t know, it was the first thing I thought I’d say to see if you’d answer. You seem like a pretty harsh guy, Mr Policeman.”

“Don’t call me that,” Light can’t help but hiss, because so far three people have reacted negatively to learning that, and he isn’t fond of the look of vague fear and distrust it evokes. Why, he doesn’t understand, but the police doesn’t seem well-liked in the institution. Maybe it has to do with… His mind comes up blank. The police doesn’t seem to be in the wrong.

“Would you mind a match ?” the man says, swinging his arms next to his face like he holds a tennis racket and isn’t afraid to use it. This makes him appear even thinner under his baggy clothing, his shirt three sizes too big and his jeans barely hanging on his hips. Light can see that this is misleading. His movements are a bit sluggish, like he hasn’t slept (which would explain his very pronounced dark circles) and like he eats poorly (which could explain his acne, is that acne ?).

Light knows his skin isn’t in the best of shapes either, but it’s because… of oil, probably, he has been eating a bit of greasy food. Takeout isn’t that great, but he doesn’t have the time or energy to cook, and it’s easier to order than to go down to the convenience store or the hole-in-the-wall next to his place. Less chance of meeting people this way, though that does make him seem like a recluse, which isn’t true at all. There’s a sneaky voice whispering in his ear that it’ been a while since he’s had clear skin, and that it all started in middle school, but who doesn’t have some acne back then ? It’s normal – he’s normal. It’ll be ok soon.

It’s already ok.

“Why not ?” Light finally answers, and he feels like it’s been a while – since the man talked and since he played tennis both, but it’s fine, he doesn’t look bothered.

“I already have your number, I’ll text you the details,” the man says, and Light squints. “I’m L, remember ?” he says. “Got all the data I could ever need on you.”

“That sounds like a threat,” Light coolly lets out, because he needs to say something – is he really L ? He thought that was just the crazy speaking, but maybe there’s some truth to it. He’ll see, if he receives a text, then, it might be true.

Maybe-L smiles and cocks his head to the side, his expression more frog-like than ever.

“It might be.”

ooo

[To: Light-kun] hry itd l

[To: Light-kun] its hll

[To: Light-kun] srry the phone is too smll

[From: Light-kun] Are you really L ?

[To: Light-kun] couldn u tell

[From: Light-kun] No, I could not.

[To: Light-kun] Event shared: tnnis mtach

[From: Light-kun] Are your fingers shaking ?

[To: Light-kun] nno this phone is juts oo small

[From: Light-kun] Can you even play tennis ?

[To: Light-kun] yea y.?

[To: Light-kun] see u on court yeggami

[From: Light-kun] That’s not how it’s spelled.

[To: Light-kun] i kno lol

ooo

Light looks at his therapist with something akin to horror.

“I am not taking pills,” he says, trying to hide the tremor in his voice. “I will not.”

“I know it sounds scary,” she answers, and it’s not that, she doesn’t understand, “but I do think it would help you greatly with your anxiety.”

“What. Anxiety,” Light manages to spit out, because oh no this is getting out of hand he knew he shouldn’t have come this isn’t how it was supposed to go no no no-

“Yagami-san, calm down,” the therapist says, “you’re hyperventilating. Please remember the breathing exercise I taught you. Breathe in for five seconds, and out for ten. I’ll count down for you, here, listen to my voice.”

Light distantly hears her start a countdown, but he’s too far gone – this is like the time Misa called his father, oh god, he’s gonna be hospitalised again, fuck, this isn’t how things were supposed to go. This isn’t the plan.

What was the plan anyway ? He’s right where he wants to be, the youngest policeman in his unit, fresh out of university, it’s just. It’s great, right ? It’s not like the feeling of emptiness keeps him awake at night and that his job is so boring he could sleep on it and still manage to be decent. It’s not like this isn’t what he wanted at all. It’s not.

Maybe it is.

That’s one thing the therapist says – Mrs Onaka, he remembers, he should start calling her by her name – that “bad” isn’t a bad word. That sometimes things are bad and it’s ok, that sometimes you’re not sure and it’s fine, that sometimes you don’t have a plan and all you have to go with are shady guidelines like that time he built a shelf for his apartment and Misa lost half the nails and they still made it work.

“It’s good, Light,” Mrs Onaka says, very softly. “You’re calming down, that’s good.”

“I- I don’t want to-”

“Don’t try to speak yet, it’s ok. We won’t try the pills if you really don’t want to. But I think they could help,” she adds, still it that maddeningly soft voice, like he’s gonna break if pushed too far.

He wonders if he would.

Sometimes letting go seems like the better option, but that loss of control is so scary, so unlike himself – holding on feels like the only other option to… what exactly he doesn’t know, but the alternative is darker and scarier than he gives it credit for.

Light leaves the room with a prescription, sweat stains on the back of his shirt, and the taste of ash and loss in his mouth.

ooo

The tennis court is dimly lit when L gets there, the net barely visible in the shadows, sunbeams reaching the ground and lighting up dust on their way – Light must not be there yet, or he would have turned on the light. Haha. That was a joke. He’s happy he made one, it so rarely happens.

L takes the opportunity to pause, and reflect on his quite unusual behaviour. Wammy’s face when he said “I made a friend, we’re gonna play tennis” was a nice cherry on top, no matter how egregious that lie was. Light is not his friend, not for a long shot, not someone he’d trust with something else than his name, which is already a lot considering the circumstances.

There’s noise on the court, and someone enters from a door on the other side. It’s Light, he realises, but he must not have seen him, because he stands in one of the beams, facing the sun, his eyes straining to stay open in the face of unblinking light. Something should be said about the total abandon Light looks up with. For a man who seems to live shrouded in lies, that’s a lot to say.

L takes a few more seconds to carve this moment into his memory, to close his eyes and let the silence put a mark on his face like the ones he already has – only this one is beautiful, only this one is shining and bright and everything he’s not.

“Light-kun, fancy meeting you here,” he says at last, because he needs an ice breaker and he’s nothing if not the most unsubtle twat.

“You invited me.”

Light is dressed in tennis shorts and a sports t-shirt, which kinda contradicts his claim of not having played tennis since middle school, but maybe this is just his regular sports attire – he is a policeman after all, he must have to stay healthy, though L doubts he’s the type to do all the dirty field work, he must be an office worker, yeah, that’s actually the most likely choice, his nails are pretty long for someone who should use them. Maybe he’s just too unbothered to cut them, whatever the reason. L knows that without Wammy, he would be.

Maybe that’s what Wammy meant. That being unable to take care of oneself leads to this, whatever Light is, and that it’s bad – that it’s a problem. L can understand, faintly if at all, that the issues with him are similar in some way, and that Light isn’t so far from him in terms of uselessness. Funny, since Light would definitely hate being compared to L in any capacity, and he doesn’t feel particularly inclined to be compared to an uptight law officer as well.

“So, you you wanna play ?” L ends up saying, because they need to say something otherwise the tension will start to build up and L isn’t sure Light would react well to that. Sports are an excellent way of releasing tension, which is why Wammy insisted he do some, and thankfully they sticked. L does think he’d have gone crazy without a physical relief for all the energy he sometimes feel brewing inside.

“That’s what I came hear from,” Light answers, and all L hears is, “I came to win”.

ooo

There is something deeply satisfying in the swing and release of tennis. Something in the way the ball hits the racket, a little kick he gets from smashing as hard as he can. Strangely enough for someone who seems to have minus one muscles, L meets him where he stands, fighting back with surprising force and accuracy. There’s a weird moment where Light thinks he’s gonna lose the first set but they end up with a tie, and they play the rest of the afternoon without keeping score, each ball hitting the wall behind them with much more strength than necessary.

“I didn’t think you’d play this well,” L ends up saying, barely out of breath – or hiding it well. Light is truly out of shape, even more than he thought he’d be. He’s panting so much he has a hard time uttering an answer – a whispered “Likewise”, that feels a little like admitting defeat. No matter what he lost, it still feels bitter.

“Do you want to go home, Light ?” L asks, eyeing him with what he can only guess is mock concern – L doesn’t seem interested in other people’s wellbeing, that he’s sure of.

Light nods, not daring to speak yet, and he can only feel some sort of stale pride at the thought that even in this bad a shape he still managed to hold up to L. Who thought the best detective in the world would have that much stamina ? For someone who doesn’t even look like he goes outside… he truly is exceptional.

Incredible.

Model citizen.

Perfect future.

The words ring in his ears, reminiscent of those said to him a long time ago, and suddenly Light wants to throw up. What was he thinking ? That he’d make a friend ? He doesn’t have friends. He has Sayu, and he reluctantly has Misa, but… that’s all he needs. That’s more than he needs – he isn’t paying for therapy to meet weirdos and play tennis.

“I’ll go home now,” he says eventually, and as he makes a move to gather his stuff and leave, L grabs his arm.

“Wait, Light. Would you like a rematch ?”

“No,” Light ends up answering. He doesn’t think it’s a good idea. He doesn’t think at all before shaking L’s grip off and walking straight for the exit.

ooo

“And we had a tennis match, it was good,” L’s voice trails off. He hadn’t planned on talking about it to the therapist but he expressed an interest in L’s friends, and seemed kind of distraught when L answered that he didn’t have any, and never had. “That’s no good,” he said, “you certainly must have had meaningful connections ?”

He did. Those, he managed to form, somehow – with Beyond, and Adeline, as best as they could, but it never went far – he always pushed them away, and Beyond was far too dangerous, and Adeline was far too sad. He had no need for them in his life, and he doesn’t regret this decision per se, it’s just that sometimes people look at him like he has two heads when he says he’d rather be alone, and Adeline, the poor girl, he never understood why she couldn’t let go…

“I guess I made a friend, yeah,” L says, and Wammy smiles from his seat – he knows that’s not true, but this is all about pretending, right ? Learning how to make do well enough so that people don’t ask questions. So that he can take care of himself when Wammy is gone, which shouldn’t take too long, to be honest.

The rest of the session is a blur, L being too interested in the pattern on the therapist’s carpet to really pay attention, but there is at least something positive in all of this. L is learning stuff. It hadn’t happened in a while, and that’s mostly the reason why he agreed to therapy. So he could lift up the boredom a little, have a challenge. He likes challenges. That’s a quality, right ? See, he has some.

ooo

[To: L] Stop sending me messages at five am.

[From: L] bt ymur awake

[From: L] i knew it

[To: L] What is that supposed to mean ?

[From: L] that u dont slep

[To: L] And ?

[From: L] idk i was rihgt

[To: L] Leave me alone.

[From: L] y??

[To: L] You’re not my friend.

[From: L] wataris guna b disapointd

Light looks up from his phone just in time to see Mrs Onoda enter the room, and he shuts it off quickly before she can see anything when she walks around his chair to her own. The dark circles under his eyes are proof of what L is saying – he truly hasn’t been sleeping well – and this time, he was too tired to even bother with concealer. He won’t see anyone of importance today, only Misa and Mrs Onoda, so it doesn’t matter much.

“Hello, Yagami-kun,” she says when she finally sits down. “How have you been ?”

“Fine,” he grits out. “I wanted to ask you a question.”

“Yes ?” she says, tone hopeful.

“I want to stop going to group therapy. It’s not helping me, and it’s a waste of everyone’s resources.”

Another reason is, the people there give him the creeps – L, Mikami, that bipolar woman who manages to speak every time about something inconsequential. He doesn’t belong there. He’s not like them, he’s not… he isn’t crazy.

“I was afraid you’d say that…” Mrs Onoda says. “Alright, then. I think it’s better if we see each other every week instead.”

Wait, what. No. This isn’t what he meant – more sessions ? He doesn’t need – he’s not – he didn’t think she’d find it necessary, what is wrong with her ?

What is wrong with him ?

ooo

They see each other again, for a coffee. They talk about everything but themselves, and L finds the conversation flows much more freely than anticipated. He doesn’t find it that bad. Maybe he truly is making a friend, no matter how weird it may seem.

They have a fight. It’s about something inconsequential – well, L doesn’t think it holds that much importance, but Light obviously does, since he did punch him – and it brings about a whole new set of interaction requirements. L doesn’t think it’s so bad, doesn’t think of this as much more than a social experiment, but it does tell him about how invested Light could be. It reminds L of Beyond, once again, of dark places and strawberry jam, of cold fingers in his and a hand on his mouth. It’s not a good thing.

But perhaps, it’s too late to stop.

L wants to make a quip but the fire in Light’s eyes is blazing, a sure sign he needs to stop. Well, he should have five remarks ago, or, rather, he shouldn’t have started this conversation at all. Light is shaking his fist like he can’t believe he hit him (that’s sure to bruise, and L will poke and tear at the skin until it bleeds just so he doesn’t have to focus on his boring new case).

“I can’t believe you’re so nonchalant about it,” Light says eventually, no trace of the hurt in his voice. Only hard, cold anger – only stale, rehashed bitterness. “If someone harassed her because she was transgender, you should have stepped up.”

“Adeline knew what she was doing,” L answers. “She didn’t need a babysitter. Neither do I,” he continues, just to test the waters.

Light hasn’t figured him out. Or maybe he has and doesn’t care, which would be a first. How it is to be trans, L, he can hear at all times. How does it feel how does it look, do you want this, that operation, do you need – he doesn’t. He wants to be left alone, he wants to deal with his hurt like a small animal, licking the wounds and healing at his own pace. Adeline wouldn’t approve, but he doesn’t care.

Light’s look is fearless.

“If you needed anything someone should have helped you get it,” he says, “acceptance is a bigger gift than you make it out to be. Even though that’s not how it should work.”

“You know that,” L says softly.

“I’m not as… blind as you make me out to be. Give me some credit,” he answers disinterestedly. “I’ve known I was gay since middle school.”

“Well,” L says with a smile, “good things come to those who wait.”

ooo

They see each other again, and again, and a fourth time to boot. Light doesn’t quite hate it, and that’s terrifying.

L is the worst human being he has ever known. No morals, no code of conduct, nothing to make him stand out as the paragon of justice people make him out to be. There literally is nothing righteous about L, and that is so annoying Light doesn’t know where his hatred ends and when… the rest beings. Because he can’t deny the rest.

L looks ugly. That’s a fact, that even L himself is aware of. But he has a strange charm about him, some aura of mystery, for a lack of better words, and Light feels drawn in at such tremendous speed he doesn’t have time to stop himself before agreeing to a fifth coffee date. If those can be called dates, which he does in the secret of his own head, and wouldn’t reveal to the world on penalty of death.

Mrs Onoda catches up with him one day, just after L leaves him stranded in the middle of the institution’s corridor, and she says, “Oh, looks like you made a friend. You didn’t talk about him in your sessions,” she smiles, “but it seems like you’re very close ! I’m glad you’re seeing people.”

Light doesn’t know what made her think they’re close. Maybe because L grabbed his arm, but that seems to be a purely Western thing, this lack of personal space. Maybe because L looks at him like a puzzle with that damn frog-like smile on his face, which could be mistaken for interest (he knows it’s not, he knows better than to hope and be let down). They’re not friends.

“Yeah,” Light ends up saying, “right.”

“Well I’ll see you next week,” Mrs Onoda says before leaving.

Therapy is going… surprisingly well ? He’s not sure this is how sessions are supposed to go but he manages to talk, now. He doesn’t think he says anything important – he came out, he talked about his sister and Misa, he talked about being bored – but that’s not… it’s not who he is, deep down, is it ? It’s not what matters.

What does matter, exactly ?

The longer he talks, the less sure he is.

ooo

“And I gave your diagnosis material to Mr Watari,” the therapist says, with his what he probably hopes is a stern voice. It doesn’t work. L has already guessed everything that’s on the paper, he’s the best detective in the world after all, it’s got to come in handy. “You can look at it if he allows you to.”

L wants to retort that he’s not a child, but his diagnosis does come with a lot of infantilisation, and he’s aware that keeping his identity a secret is probably what saved him from being babied his entire life by people who don’t know better. Wammy will probably not treat him any differently, since he’s known about L’s difficulties for so long… but the thought of suddenly losing any grip he might have had on his own situation is kind of frightening.

“So I’m autistic,” L says, just to see the look on his therapist’s face.

“Aspergers, yes,” the man answers, and though he’s a licensed psychiatrist, he probably doesn’t know that they’re the same diagnosis now and that the difference between the two was only due to ableism.

“Great, it’s cool to have a word for it,” L lies. He doesn’t care. He is scratching behind his ear with vigour but that doesn’t count, right ?

“It’s a diagnosis, not a prison,” Wammy pipes in, like L needs to be reassured or something.

“I know,” he answers. Like his Gender Dysphoria diagnosis isn’t a prison, like whatever that scratching thing is isn’t a prison. The world is made of cages and he just… doesn’t have the energy to abide to them.

“You’ll probably not want to see me anymore, I assume ?” the man says, to Wammy more than to L, and he doesn’t look surprised when Wammy answers that indeed, they’ll probably stop therapy really soon. As in “right now”, L wants to say, but he keeps quiet.

“That doesn’t mean we’ll leave Japan right away, does it ?” L asks way once they’re in the car, his shoes long forgotten under the back seat.

“If you want to stay, we will,” Wammy replies, “you can work from cases here.”

“Good,” and L falls asleep, lulled by the movement of the car.

ooo

“Where is she, now ? Adeline,” Light adds, when L doesn’t seem to recognise who he is talking about.

“Oh, she’s dead,” he answers casually, “suicide.”

He says that… like it’s the simplest thing in the world. Like it’s no big deal, like she’ll just wake up and run towards him again. Light understands with a pit in his stomach that L doesn’t care, and that he’s in too deep. Both realisations don’t come as a shock, as they’re less realisations and more… self-actualisation of his beliefs. He knew – he knew this whole time, and he still got caught like an idiot.

“Oh,” Light tries to keep his tone even, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Don’t bother,” L says, “it’s been a while.” He makes a strange face at that, like he didn’t fully realise how long it’d been – like he kind of forgot.

Light can’t quite forgive him for this disinterest, even for a person he’s barely heard of. Adeline seems so close to him, from the glimpses he’s caught, so close to his own thought process that it’s almost terrifying to hear of her death. Even in his darkest moments, Light never thought he could end his own life, and hearing of someone who did seems kind of like breaking a taboo, like saying something he wasn’t ever meant to hear.

He’s still thinking about it by his next therapy session, and tries to ask Mrs Onoda as lightly as he can – “Is it normal I’ve never thought of suicide ? I thought people who felt bad often did.”

“Lots of people don’t,” she answers, “it’s just a matter of what you’re dealing with and how you do it. You’re doing well,” she says softly, “you’re doing very well.”

“That’s reassuring,” he sighs, and for once he means it.

He’s still thinking about it a week later when he says to Mrs Onoda, “How is one supposed to react to suicide ?”

“With compassion,” is her answer, and it leaves a sour taste in his mouth.

He’s still thinking about it when he sees L again. He’s exiting Mrs Onoda’s office and L just springs up next to him before he has time to make a move. He hears himself gurgle some words, that he doesn’t remember seconds after saying them, and he dashes out.

He deletes L’s phone number and blocks him in a daze. He is hyperventilating, and barely remembers the breathing exercise that has helped him so much by now. He hates himself, so bad, for ever thinking this could be good for him.

He tries his best not to think about it at his next appointment when he tells Mrs Onoda he wants to stop coming.

ooo

When L sees him, he is existing his therapist’s office, face ashen. Light doesn’t seem to have heard any good news there, which is a shame, since L was hoping to catch him in a good mood to ask him why he avoided him now. Blocked number, no more coffee dates… Yeah, Light is avoiding him – and does again, ducking to a nearby corridor as soon as he sees L going his way.

Well. L isn’t here to play games – and he has something to say.

“Hey, Light,” he calls after him, but to no avail. Light has already entered some room and L can’t be bothered to check which one. For a moment he considers yelling, “I’m leaving Japan, bye !” – but he doesn’t. Let Light guess whatever he wants.

With a small smile, L turns around and leaves.

ooo

It’s been… five months. Misa bounces happily next to him and holds his hand. Light is too embarrassed to tell her to let go, and he still feels the back of his neck burn unhappily, but it’s getting better – he’s getting used to it. They’re… fake dating ? It’s become annoying to keep tabs on what Misa is thinking, if she really is serious when she says that of course she doesn’t love him, what, is he so self-absorbed ? Light just kind of… gave up.

He hasn’t seen L in six months. He hasn’t tried to, he doesn’t want to, well, maybe a little, but it’s fine – it’s ok – he’s dealing well with the loss. If it can be called that.

It’s been eight months and he’s stopped taking the anxiety meds altogether. Misa doesn’t insist so much on going to therapy, especially since the couple therapy session Light forced her into, and the meds weren’t helping anything anyway.

It’s been a year.

#fanfiction #submission #Light Yagami #L Lawliet #Super Star Sayu 2k18

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