Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

If anyone were to ask, Light Yagami was here of his own volition. That he had chosen to sign up to support a struggling group within the school’s clubs. That he secretly loved theater arts, and was so glad to act upon a guilty pleasure of his. Any one of those well-practiced answers, with a perfectly timed smile or a sheepish shrug, a perfect human with natural flaws and such.

He’d say any and all of those answers to cover the truth: he quite frankly didn’t pay attention to whatever the incompetent fool that his Japanese instructor (excuse him, Shibata-sensei) was dithering on about; he had merely smiled and nodded in autopilot.

Well, that was until the middle-aged crisis in human’s form had bowed pathetically with a “I really appreciate you agreeing to fill in for Ishikawa-kun for the fall show, Yagami-kun, we’ll meet in the auditorium after school finishes to get you up to speed with lines.”

Which. No. No, that was the exact opposite of the type of person Light Yagami was supposed to be. A theater kid? He’d sooner die than diminish himself in such a way; as if he’d allow himself to be made a fool in front of dozens of people’s unrelenting attention.

And yet, here he stands, in this frankly vile excuse for a school auditorium. Look down, and the stage’s black painted wooden floor is covered in various splatters of color, and peeling at random sites. Look up, the curtains are slightly discolored, and the various lights hanging from above seem old; they certainly give off enough heat for him to feel it. Look out, and the seats in the audience are falling apart, ripped up and ugly yellow foam lying around the ground. Left, right, there’s not even space to move as the entire area is cluttered with various props and strewn about costumes. For such an esteemed high school, it does not seem to care much for its auditorium.

A man, who is certainly not Shibata—which begs the question of where that particular nuisance is—comes to greet him. He carries a clipboard, and does not seem to adhere to any particular dress code. He’s quite frankly, unattractive. 

“Yagami, right?” the man grunts, “I’m Osamu Nagamine, the Auditorium Director. I’m the director for Daikoku Theatre Company, as well.”

Oh, Light notes, wryly. I see the correlation.

“Shibata-san told me you were coming,” Nagamine continues. “Thank you for helping us out. What do you know of theater?”

Light puts on a sheepish smile, and ducks his head to the left just so, a portrayal of (albeit false) vulnerability.

“Not much, I’m afraid. Most of my life I’ve devoted to studying or tennis—I wish to be a police officer, you see.”

Nagamine nods seriously, before setting down his clipboard on a cart. He picks up a thick packet, and unceremoniously gives it to Light. A quick glance and Light sees “Into the Woods” written on the front of the papers, in English. Concerning.

“This is your script. You’ll be playing the part of the Baker.”

“This is… a western show?” Light confirms.

“Yes, it’s western, however the translation is well done,” Nagamine drawls.

I really doubt that. Light snorts internally. I mean, really, I’m sure the translation quality of this script is abysmal. Does this guy understand that there’s plenty of Japanese alternatives? Mizumachi, for one. Pretty sure Ishinha did that a few years ago. 

As if to prove the point to himself, Light begins to flip through the pages of the packet. Nagamine, having apparently said his piece, wanders off somewhere else. Eventually Light makes it to the music portion of the script. It’s been a while since he’s had to read treble clef, and the lettering of the lyrics is unfortunately small but he can still figure out the songs well enough that they should be stage ready in a week.

Wait—

Songs?

Oh, fuck no. No, Light refuses to be part of a Western musical of all things. It’s bad enough to act on stage in a standard context of scenes and lines; he refuses to be part of a living Disney movie. Fuck that. He’s Light Yagami, for God’s sake. He’s above all of this nonsense, all of this trivial stupidity. They could pay him a million yen, and he’d still never go in front of a crowd to sing some cheesy pop song and do some stupid kids’ dance. No, no, no.

Light’s internal monologue was rudely interrupted by the entrance of a seemingly well-kept third year. He wore a smug self-satisfied smirk, acting as if he was the king of the auditorium. Light immediately found himself quite irritated by this stranger, for what was he against perfection?

“You’re Light Yagami-san, right? I’m Tatsuo Nagato, and I’m a third year. I play the character of Jack—you know, like Jack and the Beanstalk.”

“I know what Jack and the Beanstalk is, yes,” Light says, coolly.

“Uh-huh. Well, anyway. Feel free to come to me anytime, I know this must be too much for someone of your… caliber.”

Light seethed. Who is this man? No, I need to calm down. I can’t afford to let the mask slip now, disrespect to upperclassmen is not becoming of the perfect student.

“Ey, Nagato, Miyoshi-sensei wants to speak with you. Something about Giants in the Sky,” a new voice drawls. “Oh, is that—?”

Light turns to face the newcomer. He has medium length hair, gray eyes, and headphones around his neck. He’s utterly unremarkable.

“Miare-kun, this is Yagami-san,” Nagato introduces, cheerfully. “He’ll be the Baker from now on. Yagami-san, this is Akito Miare-kun. He’s our sound designer.”

“Yagami-kun’s in my year,” Miare says flatly, with a half nod of acknowledgement, before returning to Nagato. “So you gonna go, Nagato? I don’t need Nagamine breathing down my neck.”

“Honorifics, Miare-kun,” Nagato chides.

“Honorifics, Miare-kun,” Miare mocks.

Nagato rolls his eyes, before storming off.

“Ugh, I hate that bastard,” Miare grumbles. “Hey, if Dickhead and the Beanstalk there gets on your case too much, talk to Funai-senpai. She’s the only one who can wrangle him. Girlfriend privileges, or some bull like that.”

Light blinks, gaze sharpening somewhat. It appears that Miare and Nagato have an antagonistic relationship. While he shared distaste for Nagato, it was still something he could exploit. He hums some noncommittal thing, flipping through the pages of the script.

“So what do you know about theater, anyway?” Miare probes.

“Not very much,” Light replies, acting embarrassed. “I’m not sure why I agreed—I’ll only drag the show down.”

The other boy snorts. “This entire production is a shitshow, don’t worry. Hell, maybe you’ll be better at the role than Ishikawa. But that’s a low bar. Anyway, c’mon. I’ll give you the insider’s run-down.”

Thus Miare launches into a pretty decent tour, all things considered. He’s not a bad public speaker; his words display knowledge but are conveyed with sarcasm. There were times where Light was almost genuinely interested: even if those moments were rare and fleeting. Miare points out various points of interest, from the logical to the unconventional.

“These are the guys’ dressing rooms, don’t leave your stuff in there unless you want it to smell like sweat and teenage anguish,” he says, pointing to a door on the left of a small, somewhat musty hallway.

He pauses, then points out a small corner containing a chair covered in stickers. “That’s Sugihara’s pre-show cry corner. Every performance, without fail, she’ll sit there a half hour before opening and just sob—she says it helps with her stage fright. Pro tip, don’t bother her if she’s there. It’s not worth it.”

Which is, in Light’s opinion, stupid.

Still, the tour continues as the duo gravitates to the other side of the stage.

“This is the stage left wing. You see these ropes?” 

Miare points to a system of ropes with red levers and notes in messy scrawl. Each rope has a varying number of weights attached to it, evidently some sort of counterweight system. A quick glance tells Light that attached to each set of ropes is an object suspended above the stage, be it: curtain, lights, or set. 

“This is the fly system. Keeps all of the set hanging above the stage like some kinda circus performance. You wanna move one? Call out whatever the thing is, then say going down, or up, whatever the direction. Make sure the people on stage respond with ‘thank you’ and that object before moving it.”

Light nods.

“Make sure you do that; safety procedures are like the one thing Nagamine actually gives a shit about.”

“I understand,” Light reassures.

“Mkay, that’s it then,” Miare shrugs. “You have questions, don’t ask me. Unless it’s about sound cues.”

With that, Miare sets off towards the booth.

Light shrugs, and gets to work trying to figure out a way out of this musical. Perhaps if he fakes an injury? But, no, that would take too much effort pretending outside to care. “Accidentally” ruining the script? No, someone would just give him a copy.

Perhaps if he just pretends to be terrible? That would add a complexity to his image, showing the world that Light Yagami works to be perfect at everything, which would be good. Yes, all he’d have to do is look like he is making a genuine effort, while still being terrible at singing, dancing, acting, what not; the directors will have no choice but to kick him and find a better person for the lead role.

At some point while Light is contemplating, Nagato walks with an unparalleled confidence, looking self-satisfied. Evidently not realizing that the third year is rudely interrupting Light’s internal monologue, he begins to speak.

“Yagami-san? Do you have any questions about the script? It’s understandable if you’re having issues with it,” Nagato said with a sweet tone.

Light wants to hit this guy with his old racket.

“I’m doing well with it, thank you Nagato-senpai,” Light replies, agreeably. “The Baker and Jack seem to have a fair number of scenes together.”

“Yes, let’s both do our best to make our families proud—nothing like being the best, hm?”

Oh. Family. That is… an oversight. Sayu would be overjoyed to know Light was part of a play, wouldn’t she? It would be nice to finish the play, so that Sayu could have something to look forward to. He can tell she’s been feeling cut off from him, but he never really knew how to reach out. Maybe she could talk to him about her favorite movies, and he could compare it to theater? It would be a shame to lose Sayu. Despite it all, he does care about her.

“Then again, isn’t your father chief of the NPA, Yagami-san? Perhaps he wouldn’t like this choice of yours at all. It would be such a shame if you had to quit so soon, but I’d understand if you did. Not everyone’s cut out for this sort of life.”

Nagato speaks with a smile and a purr but his eyes hold a condescension that irritates Light beyond words. How dare he pretend to know what’s going on in Light’s life; how dare this man assume that Light can’t do anything he sets his mind to? Light’ll show Nagato why he is inherently superior.

This guy’s getting the hard side of the racket, and the hell of Light’s fury.

From this day forward, Light Yagami will set out to become the best actor there is, outshining everyone including that pathetic Nagato. He’ll put 110% into his singing, his dancing, every single line. Everyone will watch this production and think “Light Yagami is what made this show good.”

Nagato may think he is the best, but Light will show him. Light will show him, and when he does, he’ll crush Nagato’s hopes and dreams with it.

Poetic justice at its finest.

•••

Akito Miare watches the interaction—and Light’s downright menacing grin afterwards—with amusement.

“I think Jack and the Beanstalk just woke the Giant,” he snorts, before turning back to the soundboard, gleefully.

•••

Light arrives home with a new purpose. His mother greets him expectantly, holding out her hands to check on his latest grades. Light acquiesces as always, handing her the report of his perfect marks as if it’d be anything less. Sayu cheers from the other room, before the scampering of feet rushes to greet him.

“Light! Where were you?”

“Well, I… volunteered to help out the school’s theater club,” Light admits, acting sheepish.

Both Sayu and his mother’s eyes widen, but while Sayu grins, his mother falters.

“Oh! Light, that’s so cool! What play are you doing, can I come watch you?” Sayu clamors. “What’s your part like?”

“It’s a western show, Into the Woods. It’s about a few fairytales intersecting, I stepped up to replace the person who plays the Baker. He wants to reverse a curse put on his family so that he and his wife can have children.”

“Well, Light, I’m proud of you for helping out your classmates, but… will you have time to study?” Sachiko tries. “It’d be a shame if your grades slipped now, after you’ve worked so hard for your perfect marks all along.”

Light bites the inside of his lip to prevent his smile from flattening.

“Mom, it might be good for me to try to expand my horizons like this,” Light advocates. I can’t get a clear view of the world if I’m always doing the same thing. Besides, if I know what acting looks like, I might be able to pick up on lies when I’m working for the police.”

“Well…” Sachiko trails off.

Sayu turns to her, with a pleading look. “C’mon Mom, when was the last time Light genuinely asked for something?”

Light felt something soften. Thank you, Sayu. I’ll help you with homework whenever you like, I promise.

Sachiko sighs, and nods. “Alright, Light, I agree, but your father… we’ll have to discuss it when he comes home. Go work on your homework, dinner will be ready soon.”

He clenches his fist, but nods softly. “Thank you, Mom, I will.”

“You better tell me all about the show at dinner, Light!” Sayu yells after him as he climbs the stairs into his bedroom.

Dad can yell at me all he wants for me choosing to do this, Light decides. At least it’d mean he’d be home again.

Chapter Text

Daikoku Private Academy has two music rooms. One—for the orchestra and band students—is full of extremely expensive instruments that are not being kept in any sort of care at all. Chairs and music stands lie strewn about. If Light were to look, he’s certain to see cracks in the brass instruments and broken bridges on the strings; the woodwinds wouldn’t have good reeds, and would be missing parts. To top off the atrocities, there would also be spit on the ground that no-one ever cleans up.

The other music room is where Light finds himself: the chorale room. It exchanges stands for seating on roomwide steps, and decent acoustic insulating. A grand piano sits in the middle of the room. He’s learned recently that Daikoku Theater Company (or DTC for short) is allowed use of this room on Tuesdays and Thursdays during musical season, as part of some agreement to rent out the auditorium whenever the choir needs it.

It’s loud. Voices overlap each other, gaining in intensity as each person walks into the music room. People divide into small groups, laughing and yelling and talking to one another; Light is left in the shadows.

Ironic.

Miare—who had apparently arrived sometime while he was observing the room—sits in a corner on one of the steps, his script out with highlighters and pencils strewn about. He has his earphones on, looking like he exists in his own world. The second and third year actors around occasionally note his presence with sympathetic glances. Odd.

Nagato enters behind him, trailed by a somewhat pathetic looking first year. He radiates confidence as always, and Light is immediately overcome by that sense of competition that dragged him into this.

“Hello, Nagato-senpai,” he greets with a plastic smile.

“Hello, Yagami-san. Have you met Fujita-kun here? This is his first show, and thus he’s asked for my help. Perhaps you two should get to know each other.”

Light takes one look at Fujita, who had been cowering behind Nagato’s back until he was directly addressed. The younger student puts on a confident smile, and bows. Light decides that he amounts to a worthless pawn, at best; he treats the fearful student as such.

“Hello, Fujita-san. Thank you for your offer, senpai, however I’ll decline.”

“A shame,” Nagato says.

It looked like he was about to say more, however a short woman looking to be in her late twenties stumbles into the room. She looks accurately disheveled, and her papers bounce around on top of a pink binder. She has a soft face, one conventionally considered pretty, but is overall unremarkable.

“Good afternoon, Tsuji-sensei,” the cast choruses.

“Hello, everyone! Please forgive my tardiness, I was held up in the office by an administrator wanting to check in on my lesson plans.”

She locks eyes with Light, before perking up.

“Ah, are you Ishikawa’s replacement? Ahm, Light Yagami, is it? Thank you ever so much for offering to step up. This school needs more men like you. I’m Rei Tsuji, I’m the music instructor here at Daikoku. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Miare steps up beside him, with a smirk. “She’s sweet, but don’t get on her bad side.”

“Miare-kun,” Tsuji chides affectionately. “Your antics never change, do they?”

“Sorry, sorry. You know me. Gotta carry the legacy somehow.”

“Well, we need to get started, so let’s settle down, okay? Miare, you’re welcome to stay, but the same rules apply—no bothering the cast when we’re working, alright?”

“You got it, sensei,” Miare replies, with a lazy salute.

Tsuji points to a seat on the second row. “That’s where you’re going to sit, okay, Yagami-san? Feel free to get your binder out, we’ll be starting with the Prologue.”

Light nods, making his way over to said seat. It was hard, and plastic, and peeling at some of the edges, but he was able to get comfortable after a bit of awkward shuffling. He pulls out his binder, setting it on his lap patiently, ready to begin.

 The crowd seems to follow him as Tsuji settles down at the piano.

“Now repeat after me,” Tsuji clears her throat, and begins to sing along with notes on the piano. “Mi, mi, mi, mi, mi, mi, mi, mi, mi.”

“Mi, mi, mi, mi, mi, mi, mi, mi, mi,” the chorus replies.

She does the same thing, but slightly higher pitched; every time the chorus replies like an echo in a canyon. Light follows the crowd effortlessly, but the entire time he wonders how no-one thinks the things they’re saying are odd. Or downright stupid.

Either work.

She does similar things with other nonsensical phrases and words like “zippie-zey, zippie-zo, zippie-zah” or various sounds like “ah” or “la”. Light can’t help but feel like a fool, singing out these nothings. His face feels like it's burning and his fists clench.

Nagato notices this, and winks, with a smirk. When the exercise ends, the upperclassman mouths the word “baby” and Light forces himself not to react.

How dare he—?!

“Next we’re going to do sirens,” Tsuji decides.

What.

She makes a sound with her mouth that, to be fair, does sound like a siren. It's sort of a “wa-wa-woo” but more shrill, and seemingly comes with an odd set of hand motions where a finger points to the ceiling and is spun around by wrist and arm. The echoes respond in kind, hand waving and all; Light however remains silent purely out of surprise.

Miare spares a glance at him and snorts. Bitch.

The sirens continue, changing in variety and pitch. Light manages to recover enough sanity to join it when they finally end, and Tsuji seems satisfied.

“Alright, let’s begin.”

Then what was that?! Light screams internally.

The rehearsal proceeds into something more understandable: Tsuji guiding the group through various sections of a single piece, separating vocal range—the Baker is a baritone, apparently—before combining them. Nagato tries to outperform him, which isn’t that hard of a task right now and thus a waste of effort and mildly pathetic. Miare keeps a darkened eye on the upperclassman, glowering when he throws quiet insults to Light thinking nobody could hear.

“You’re flatter than paper, Yagami-san,” the elder hisses at one point. “Are you deaf? Keep up.”

He had had enough, Light was about to retort, when—

“You bitch!” one of the soprano girls, a first year, yells.

“Language,” Tsuji chides.

“Oh, shut up Yamada,” a second year student rolls her eyes.

“You kicked me, Hoshino!” Yamada screeches.

Half of the cast winces, the other half deadpans. Nagato smiles, while Light forces his face to be neutral. 

Miare snorts from behind, whispering, “Here we go again.”

“I didn’t mean to, no need to get all hormonal about it,” Hoshino raises an unimpressed eyebrow.

“Hormonal?!”

“You’re acting like such a child, Yamada, honestly, go back to middle school.”

“You think you’re such a queen bee, that everyone will kneel down and kiss your ass like it’s some western statue.”

“Yamada, language!” Tsuji repeats. “Both of you, stop this right now.”

“Aww, thank you Yamada. You think I’m like one of those fancy statues, I’ll be your art piece honey, don’t worry,” Hoshino winks.

“Ugh, that sounded so gay,” Nagato grumbles under his breath. “I wouldn’t be surprised if those two were a couple of—”

“Oh, that’s it! I’ve had enough of you, Miss Everybody!” Yamada glares, before storming out.

The entire group falls silent as she leaves. The moment after, Hoshino breaks out into giggles. Tsuji tries to calm the group down, and the pattern continues.

•••

Rehearsal finishes without much extra fuss. Tsuji had Light stay a little later to make sure he was comfortable with the music and role—to which Light replied with a few reassurances and a few empty words of gratitude. Whatever.

Now Light’s wandering the halls of Daikoku, which were unfamiliar and dark without all the lights on. Sunlight filters through the occasional window.

But, no, Light isn’t lost. That would be preposterous. He’s just… familiarizing himself with the route between the stage, music rooms, and exit. Right. He could leave whenever he wants to. He knows where to go. Definitely.

 “What the fuck, Nagato?” Miare’s voice comes from a room nearby. He sounds pissed. 

Light pauses, ducking out of sight but close enough to hear. Anything he can exploit between these two is useful, especially against Nagato.

“You’re doing this again?” Miare spits. “You are seriously so threatened by the fact that people could be better than you, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Miare-kun,” Nagato replies, cooly.

“Oh… you do. We both know exactly what I’m thinking of. Yagami-kun did nothing to you, Nagato.”

“I have nothing against Yagami-san, rest assured. He is a talented actor, and we’re lucky to have him.”

“Oh, yeah,” Miare snorts. “You say that, but you took every opportunity to demean him during rehearsal today. I’m surprised Tsuji-sensei didn’t chew your ass off.”

“I was merely pointing out places he could improve.”

“Yes, telling Yagami-kun that he was, what did you say? Right, ‘flatter than paper.’ That was so constructive.”

“I said nothing of that sort,” Nagato replied, seemingly offended. “Ask anyone.”

“Yagami-kun heard it, and so did I, asshole.”

Light leans against the cart beside the door, intrigued and excited. Whatever dynamics exist between these two are interesting, and he’s already found places to poke in his hooks if needed. Just a little more information… it’s all he’d need to play them both like puppets.

Indeed, Light was sure this was his purpose. He’s no god, but he’s determined to exact justice in any way possible. Nagato has proven to be an interesting opponent in this quest for right and wrong. He’ll suck all the worth out of Miare and Nagato.

“I’m a model student, Miare-kun. No-one would believe your accusations against me. Besides, it’s unbecoming of a second year student to show such disrespect to his upperclassman.”

 “Oh… disrespect, you say,” Miare seethes. “How about we talk about the disrespect you showed to—”

The cart slips, and crashes. Light instinctively bounces back, putting himself in the middle of the hallway; he’s utterly and horribly exposed.

“Did you hear that?” Nagato asks.

Miare snorts, and walks out of the room the two were arguing. He and Light lock eyes, and Light’s running calculations in his head to figure out what the best thing to say is.

“Oh, Yagami-kun.”

“Ah, sorry, Miare-kun, did I bother you? I wasn’t paying enough attention and walked into that cart,” Light apologizes, giving a little nervous laugh.

“Mhm,” Miare hums flatly.

The sound technician’s unimpressed gaze seems to pierce him, poking and prodding at Light’s layers to find a place to wiggle in. Light has never felt so awkward and unsettled before. The other boy carries his look as he cracks his neck, and grabs his headphones.

“What’re you doing back here, Yagami-kun? The only reason anyone comes back here is the sound room and props loft, which I don’t think you need.”

Light blanches. He’s never been caught in such a situation. He can’t think of a lie, and the truth would be terrible for his carefully crafted image of perfection. But whatever he let slip in his momentary panic was enough, because Miare lets out a short, sharp laugh, and smirks.

“All right, Mr. Top Student, let’s head to the station, mkay? I’m assuming you don’t live around here.”

Light blinks, curses social convention, and nods pleasantly. “Alright.”

Miare grins lazily, and starts striding away from the room. Light pauses, and follows. The hallways pass by while Miare messes with the wires of his headphones, pulling out an mp3 player and pressing some buttons on it.

“What’s on there?” Light wonders, allowing himself a moment of curiosity.

“A variety of stuff, but right now I’m listening to an official recording of Into the Woods that I had managed to get. Wanted to get ahead on the feel for the sound.”

Miare shrugs, then offers one of the earphones over to Light. He stares at it for a moment, silently debating, before grabbing the earphone and placing it on his right ear. Miare grins, and unpauses the music as they walk towards the exit, sunset filtering in through the glass doors at the front of the school.

“Play me something you like,” Light says, quietly.

It’s nothing personal, Miare, Light muses as the first notes of Voulez-Vous filters into his ears. Really, it isn’t. I’m not singling you out, you’re just a convenient pawn against Nagato. This show is a game, and I’m determined to win. So, I’ll pretend to be interested in you, that I want to learn all about you—and I’ll use this all to find just where you’re effective.

Then, once Nagato’s down, then there won’t be anything to stop me from sinking my hooks into Nagamine, and taking control of this measly Theater Company. Then, I will truly be perfect in everything: arts, sports, academics. The world would be mine.

And maybe, I’ll never be bored again.

Chapter Text

Despite portraying himself as sociable, Light tends to spend lunch by himself. He tells the classmates he pretends to be friends with that it’s so he can study while he eats, really it’s just an excuse for him to get some goddamn peace and quiet for once.

Other people are exhausting.

His favorite place to eat, by far, is this little nook in the school’s courtyard. There’s a small picnic table that he can place random papers on to pretend he actually cares about studying, and set aside enough to portray an aura of “leave me alone” to the random curious first year. While the courtyard is generally flooded with people, especially during spring before the rainy season, the nook is a great place to clear his head, and the concrete walls dampen the sound waves of the ramblings of the lesser people around him.

Because it’s January, most people have elected to stay inside, which makes the nook even more peaceful. But what Light didn’t account for is his recently developed ability to always be where Miare is, even if he doesn’t actually want to talk to the sound technician at all.

“Yagami-kun? What’re doing out here in this emo ass corner?”

Fuck. Mask up, Yagami, more social interaction, Light sighs internally.

“I eat my lunch here usually,” he gestures to the bento his mother had made. “It’s a good spot for revising.”

“Mm. Kay. Do you mind if I crash on the other side? I need a workspace and my classmates are being dicks again.”

“Sure,” Light lies.

Miare smirks, before dropping a bag onto the table unceremoniously. A couple of parts fall out, including a handful of gears in various sizes, a spool of red wire, a box of screws, and a small slab of wood. Miare grabs a few of the gears before pushing everything else into the bag. Next, out comes a screwdriver and a thin metal sheet. He begins lining up various gears along the metal sheet, marking where the center point is above the gear.

Light can’t help it, curiosity gets the better of him.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m working on my prototype soundboard,” the other boy replies lazily, before digging out a semi-constructed board with various sliding pieces—faders, if Light’s memory serves correctly.

“How long have you been working on that?”

“Uhh, three months? It’s been kind of slow.”

Light blinks, vaguely impressed.

“So you want to be an engineer?” he guesses.

“Yep,” Miare nods, lazily. “Been working to get into To-Oh for it pretty much all my life. At least since the first day I held a wrench. I got a couple of prototypes of all sorts of different things.”

“You’re looking to get into To-Oh, too?”

“Yep. Worried about the language parts though, everyone knows that’s Et—erm. Not my specialty. Sound guy, y’know.”

Light raises an eyebrow at the slip, but doesn’t comment on it. He can poke at that later, better not scare the other boy off yet. Still, the scrap of something deeper is interesting. This boy will make a beautiful project, that’s for certain.

“What’s it like, building those prototypes?” Light tilts his head, putting on a wide eyed look of interest. “I’m not really an engineer.”

“It’s fun,” the brunet smiles genuinely for what seems like the first time that Light has seen. “I like getting my hands dirty. Nothing like seeing something you’ve built piece by piece finally come together.”

He pauses, dragging his front teeth across his lips idly as he works on the board. His eyes glisten with something akin to passion and love, before they sour with something darker.

“The shittiest part has definitely been getting the supplies—getting enough money for them, anyway. Hard to save up enough, and things have been getting expensive lately, it’s annoying,” Miare continues, grumbling.

“Can’t you ask your parents to buy it for you?”

“My family’s low income, I’m here on a scholarship, and even that’s dubious,” Miare says, looking away.

Light puts on a sympathetic smile, and says nothing more.

The two work in relative peace after that—although work is a relative term here, Light is mostly pretending to stare at old homework while he watches Miare make adjustments to the prototype. The way Miare moves his hands is beautiful, deft and dedicated; Light could watch for hours.

“Oh my gosh!” a high pitched voice rings out, followed by frantic steps. “Yagami-san, Miare-kun, hello! What are you guys doing over here? I didn’t know you ate in the courtyard, Miare-kun! Oh, Miare, what is that? Did you buy it?”

Miare sighs, then smiles tiredly. “Hello, Yoshida-san.”

”Oh! That’s right, I haven’t introduced myself to Yagami-san yet! I’m Hamuko Yoshida, I’m the ASM for DTC. ASM stands for Assistant Stage Manager, by the way. It’s great to be working with you now! Oh, I love meeting new people, especially new actors because then I get to make new friends, and it’s so lovely to make new friends, wouldn’t you agree Yagami-san? I mean you’re so popular! You must have plenty of friends!”

Miare’s smile seems to grow more strained, and he fiddles with his headphones awkwardly.

“Yes, Yoshida-san,” Light replies, feeling just as tired as Miare looks.

If nothing else, it’s reassuring to know someone else is suffering as much as Light is.

•••

Light spends the rest of the school day thinking about Miare. The boy seems to present himself as someone unbothered and moderately intelligent, but the way he talked about engineering shows that he’s hiding his true brain power. Plus, there’s something off, a hidden mystery to this boy that Light wants to uncover. Needs to discover.

When class finishes, finally, Light finds himself up on stage staring at a white man. The white man looks unimpressed and tired, and wears a suit and tie.

“Hello, Miyoshi-sensei!” Yamada greets as she walks in, with a bow.

Light stops, and rethinks everything.

“Same rules applies, Yamada, go change into your gym clothes,” Miyoshi drawls. 

“Aw,” she pouts. “But Miyoshi-sensei, the sweatpants make my ass look flat.”

“I don’t care, Yamada.”

The first year huffs, and storms off towards the girls’ dressing rooms.

“You’re Yagami, right? I’m Erik Miyoshi, I’m the choreographer for the musicals. You should have been told to bring your school PE clothing. Change into them in the boys’ dressing room here, and then I’ll get you up to speed. Fair warning, though, I don’t tolerate much bullshit.”

Light’s face sours. He had not, in fact, been told that. He relays that information to Miyoshi and Nagato, who was walking by, smirks to himself. Light glares back at him.

“No excuses. Go get them, now. I expect you to be prepared next time, Yagami-kun, it’s unbecoming of a top student like yourself.”

Light schools his reaction into something remorseful to hide the utter loathing underneath. “My apologies, sensei. It won’t happen again.”

“See that it doesn’t.”

Light clenches his fist as he makes the trek towards the school’s practice building to collect his PE clothes. How humiliating. He’s sure that Nagato was supposed to tell Light to bring his clothes, and didn’t deliberately in order to make Light look bad.

The school is quiet after most of the population leaves. His brisk footsteps echo across the hallways as he walks back to the hooded pathway towards the practice building. He quickly strides over to his locker, and collects the old PE clothes. He makes his way back at a quick pace, arriving back to the auditorium at about the same time as some of the other members of the play.

He makes his way to the boys dressing room, and enters. He’s immediately attacked by the strong scent of sweat, along with something musty and overbearing.

It smells like sweat and teenage anguish in here, Light thinks, amused. Wait, why is that phrase familiar? I’m not sure…it must be nothing.

A number of other male cast members are dotted across the expansive room, in various states of dress. Light ducks his head down, trying not to draw any unnecessary attention to himself. He finds a stall in the back of the dressing room to change in quickly, finding locker rooms and other things of the sort incredibly awkward, even if he’d never say that aloud.

After changing, Light puts the jacket of his PE uniform in one of the dressing room’s lockers, alongside his clothes. It’s not ideal, but he doesn’t know where else to keep the clothes yet. He then makes his way onto the stage. Miyoshi glances at him, raising an eyebrow but otherwise seeming impressed with his speed. Light tries to force down his prideful smile, especially when he notices Nagato glowering in response. Miyoshi, once everyone is on the stage, groups people into lines.

“5 minutes of full body warm up. You know what you need to do,” he declares. “Yagami, let me run you through what you need to do for warmups.”

“No need, sensei,” Light says, ducking his head away just so as to appear ashamed that he was denying a teacher. “I learned a number of warmups back when I used to do tennis.”

The man appears impressed, but shakes his head. “It’s better than nothing, but most of those probably aren’t good enough for your legs in dance. C’mon.”

Light bows, then makes his way over. Miyoshi gestures for him to start his upper body warmup routine, which Light does. He can feel the tension he wasn’t aware of in his body slowly start to dissipate as he works through each arm and back warm up he knows of. Miyoshi nods approvingly, before leading Light through a few various lower body focused stretches.

When he finishes, he takes a deep breath, and turns to find a bunch of the other theater kids staring at him. Some looked flushed, while some had a vacant stare, and others were suspiciously looking away. The final group of students watched the scene with some amusement—save for Nagato, who wore an irritated expression at Funai’s shameless one.

That’s a thought… I could try to steal his girlfriend, Light contemplated. Except, then what would I do with her? She’d just be another girl I tote around. I still haven’t found the right one yet, evidentially.

“Okay, everyone, we’re going to run First Midnight again,” Miyoshi says, before beginning to bark out orders. “Everyone, get in position! No, not like that Suzuki, you know this! There you go… that’s it, took you long enough. Yagami, you go in that gap there, see it?”

Light looks to where the man is pointing, and nods, making his way in that direction.

“Yes? Okay, good. I don’t know if Tsuji-san did First Midnight with you guys…”

“She did,” a girl offers.

“Thank you, Kimura. Okay, in that case, I want you all to start trying to do your lines during this. Get a feel for balancing the oxygen you need to speak and for doing the movements in this scene.”

He presses a button, and music comes out of a mediocre quality speaker. There’s a couple of notes of an orchestra and Miyoshi points at Light. He makes his way on stage, and Miyoshi nods, pointing right. 

A moment later, another guy comes out from the opposite side of the stage, awkwardly proclaiming, “No knot unties itself!”

More and more characters cross the stage in various fashion: from quick strides to dainty steps to literal ballet leaps, creating a weird layering effect as the actors cross the stage. Light can’t help but watch in fascination at the foray, despite how wrong it looks from the side.

That is until a crash is heard from behind him, followed by Hoshino’s angered yelp of, “Yamada!”

“What?” Yamada asks, innocently.

“You did that on purpose, you absolute child! There was no reason for you to walk that close other than to push me!”

“I’m sorry senpai, I really wasn’t paying attention,” Yamada pouted.

“You absolute…” Hoshino growls. “You ruined my makeup!”

“Come on guys, let’s not do this again, please,” a tall boy interjects. “That really isn’t the spirit of theater, you know. It’s bad enough that Miare and Nagato can’t leave each other alone, let’s not darken this sacred art’s light with your bickering as well.”

The two fall silent, before in perfect timing, they bark, “Shut up, Mayeda!”

Mayeda blinks, then puts his arms up in surrender, stepping back a few. Someone nearby snorts.

“But seriously, Hoshino-senpai, I thought school rules said no makeup?” Yamada says, sweetly.

“Ngh, I—” Hishino cuts off, scoffing. “As if you don’t wear it either. No face like that is natural, I bet you cover it in foundation and blush because you’d look awful otherwise.”

“Ugh! As if! This is all natural, you’re just jealous that you can’t get looks like mine naturally. You have to pay for it like the pathetic little cat you are.”

“Don’t talk about pathetic, Miss ‘I’m So Insecure I have to Pick Fights With Upperclassmen,’ I know what you’re trying here.”

“Insecure?! Oh puh-lease, you wish you could be half like me.”

“Stop it you two!” another girl screams, slight tears in her eyes. “We’re not gonna play this game again! Not this year, or any year after! Haven’t we learned our lesson about what could happen when we treat each other like this! Stop it, stop it, stop it!”

Hoshino looks taken aback, before her face darkens and she turns away. “Apologies, Bando-senpai.”

“But—!” Yamada screeches.

“Drop it, Yamada,” Hoshino says, coldly. “Ok?”

The girl trembles angrily, but nods.

What had happened last year that caused Hoshino to freeze up like that? That girl seems like such a diva, so whatever this thing last year was, it was important. Something to do with Miare and Nagato? That Mayeda guy said stuff about them, so maybe Nagato did something to Miare that started all that tension. If I could find out what that is…

Just one clue to make the puzzle pieces slide into place, to move the chessboard into check. That’s all I need. Even if theater is nothing quite like I expected, I’ll still win this game and be the champion supreme. My perfect victory, as always. Just you wait, Nagato. You’ll see what happens when you play against Light Yagami.

Chapter Text

Light has been in theater for two weeks now, and he’s come to learn two facts about DTC.

Fact one: the cast is divided. People jump at each other’s throats all the time. Hoshino and Yamada cannot go a day without a bitch fight. Ito, a living trainwreck by the fact that he cannot stop tripping over things, gets yelled at every time he accidentally stumbles into person or set piece. A first year by the name of Fuji provokes the notoriously intense Kimura into clashing against Funai’s strict stage management regime.

It’s a miracle anything gets done in this program, honestly. Miyoshi runs rough choreography rehearsals, granted, but neither of the other three adults seem to be all that tight leashed.

Fact two: Tatsuo Nagato is annoying. Very annoying. Light is tired of his attitude, the way that he acts so high and mighty despite honestly just being pathetic. To say that Light is sick of him is an understatement; Light is actively dreaming of his downfall at this point.

He’s dreaming of ripping Nagato away from whatever gilded foil throne he’s made for himself. Of crushing Nagato’s soul in such a way that he will learn to never  cross the name of Light Yagami again; that Light is good and righteous and Nagato is not.

The only benefit is that Nagato is a year older, so Light will never risk seeing him in the following school year. If they were to somehow see each other again after this show, Light hopes it comes with Nagato bursting into tears.

Despite everything, though, Light has found he’s enjoying working in this production far more than he thought he would. It’s interesting to dive into the character of the Baker, the childless baker whose family was cursed due to the greed of his mother.

It’s different to the masks that Light puts on for the people around him, somehow more comfortable than anything he ever pretends to be. Instead of being Light Yagami—the obedient son, the talented student, the popular socialite—he can be the Baker, whose expectations and story arc is entirely fictional and thus worth very little outside of when he is Light-Baker.

Miare has also proven himself to be at least tolerable company. They’ve been eating together a lot recently. The sound technician, while still seemingly unavoidable, makes for a tolerable debate partner, and Light’s found that he enjoys watching the other work on his various engineering projects.

Miare, conversely, pokes at Light’s characterization in useful ways. For a non-actor, he offers solid advice (albeit, mixed in with several layers of sarcasm) and Light’s found himself bouncing ideas of Miare for what direction to take the Baker’s character.

The two work together in a bunch of seemingly inconsequential ways that add up. Light’s never found it so easy to just be with a person. Usually everyone he interacts with is so similarly dull: the same boring interests of the same boring shows, with the same boring ideas and the same boring interests and desires. Miare, in that regard, is the most fascinating person Light’s ever met.

It’s a shame that Light will have to one day break him.

•••

Soichiro Yagami loves his family. This is a fact. He loves the people they are, and the ones they’re becoming: perfect members of society, with their own strengths. His wife’s unwavering care and support. His daughter’s energy and inner strength. His son’s intelligence and tenacity.

His son especially has never ceased to make Soichiro proud. Light had always seemed so eager to please, willing to strive for top marks through determination to make them proud. He is kind to everyone, sociable and popular but still focused on the future. He always seemed so content with his life.

Every case Light volunteers to work on goes smoothly: the criminal gets caught quickly and effectively. He brings home perfect grades in every single test and assignment he completes, becoming the top student in the entire country.

He talks about his plans to work towards becoming Chief of Police following Soichiro, of getting into To-Oh and studying criminal justice. He speaks of one day finding a girl he loves, and building a family like the one he was raised in. He’s sharp and caring, soft smiles and big gestures. There’s no denying it. Light is everything Soichiro could’ve dreamed for in a son, and Soichiro couldn’t be more proud of where he’s going.

Except, Soichiro has never seen Light so happy than in the two weeks Light has been going to the theater club he’s joined.

And listening to him practice lines as Sayu watches with unfiltered amusement, he’s not perfect at it. But it’s clear to Soichiro, in the way that only a parent could tell, that Light is meant for this. His intellect and wit are shaped in such a way that it seems to bring this character to life. He’s expressive, passionate, and raw in a way that Soichiro hasn’t seen, that even the most deceptive criminals he’s had to face can never match.

And… looking at Light, the son he’s watched grow for nearly seventeen years, Soichiro knows he’s at a crossroads. Does he choose to let his son continue this but risk losing valuable study time, or force his son to quit so that Light can pursue the dream they had.

Well. When he puts it like that, the answer’s obvious, isn’t it? What else would he pick but his son’s happiness?

Soichiro Yagami loves his family, after all.

•••

Light enters the auditorium to find Miare and Nagato arguing. Miare’s glaring at Nagato, who is waving around what looks like a block with a little, dirty wire coming out of it. Light makes his way over to the two. His presence is ignored.

“No, Nagato, shut the fuck up. I keep telling you. I can’t fucking reroute the mics like that. It literally takes too much voltage, and these receivers aren’t the greatest quality out there,” Miare growls.

“But I need the house to pick up on the sound effects my props make, Miare-kun,” Nagato replies, icily. “It’s important to the scene that you can hear the harp.”

“Is it really,” Miare deadpans. “Where in the script is that? Act 7?”

“I’ve had enough of your bitchy attitude, Miare-kun. You should do well to respect your upperclassmen. You’d certainly not be To-Oh material that way, nevermind the fact that you can’t afford it.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, To-Oh students are proper, respectful, intelligent people that will be our generation’s trailblazers to further Japan. With your family name and wealth, you’d be lucky to get into college at all.”

Miare’s face darkens. “You’re one to talk about respect, Nagato-senpai.”

“Am I? I’d like to think I’m the pinnacle of society, in fact.”

“Don’t make me laugh, Nagato, the only thing you’ve done is ruin people’s lives.”

Nagato’s face turns sour. “Oh, don’t you dare start trying to—”

”I’ve had it with you and your high and mighty attitude when everyone here knows the goddamn truth about who you are as a person! Rotten inside and out without a damn care in the world. It’s surprising Funai-senpai even puts up with you, you miserable excuse of a human being!”

Light blinks, taken aback by the sheer intensity of Miare. His face is red, and his eyes are steel. A crowd has gathered around the two, silent observers but nonetheless very ready for what Light assumes is new gossip material.

“You’re just upset that you’re the reason Tanaka-chan tried to kill herself,” Nagato replies, coolly.

Miare stills.

And trembles.

His hands shake.

His face falls.

The theater is dead quiet; the air feels thick. Light wants to move, to say something, but something oppressive around him prevents him from doing so. Nagato looks down, a mixture of boredom and condescension covering his features.

Suicide is not a word Light hears in his household. Murder, yes; accident, yes; even collateral damage is spoken of. But never suicide. Dad has nothing to do with it, and Mom spends her life with housewives like her, mothers of happy, normal families. Sayu is the age where it’s more obstacle than tragedy; her soap operas dramatize everything and make death look like a merely temporary obstacle in the path of true love.

“You leave Etsuko’s name out of your mouth, you bastard!” Miare screams through silent tears.

Then the boy—puffy-eyed and red-faced and quaking with rage and anguish—runs.

Suicide is not a word that Light had ever given much of a thought to before. But to find it here, in the dust of his fleeing classmate and the memories of the ones who watch, Light’s starting to wish he had.

Chapter Text

Ever since Nagato and Miare’s argument, the atmosphere of every rehearsal has been tense. No-one cracks a smile when Ito trips over something. Funai won’t look at Nagato. Yamada and Hoshino even stop arguing.

Miare is nowhere to be seen.

Funai tries to lead a group of first-years—who are all as confused as Light is to what the context is for all this tension—to begin setting up personal mics for the actors, but without Miare the process is slow and confusing.

Light’s had enough. But he’s not stupid enough or that much of an apathetic asshole to complain outright. He’s well aware that suicide is not a topic to be taken lightly, and he needs to be careful with the words he says and how he says them. But still, he needs context. He’ll make his next move from there. But who to ask?

Bando picks up her bags from the stage left house seats, and Light quickly walks over to her before she can leave. He puts on a confused and concerned face.

“Bando-senpai,” Light probes. “Why has Miare-kun not been coming to rehearsal? And… who is Tanaka?”

Bando hangs her head down, before sitting on one of the auditorium seats, gesturing for Light to do the same. When he gets settled, Bando sighs.

“Etsuko Tanaka-chan… she’s Miare-kun’s best friend,” Bando starts. “The two were inseparable last year. Every rehearsal Tanaka-chan had to go to, Miare-kun followed. Miare said that they were childhood friends that only got closer through rough patches in each other’s lives.”

“It was Tanaka-chan who was one who brought them both into DTC. She had supposedly won some sort of bet or competition that Miare-kun would have to join theater with her in high school. He wasn’t the actor, evidently, so he picked a random tech role. Sound.

“Tanaka-chan, though, she was… she was brilliant. I had never seen an actress like her before. Every single role she had, she played to 200%. I’ve never seen so many shows where people would look like they exited a changed person. She did that.

“I fully believe it was Tanaka-chan who put DTC on the map. She was the star. Nagato-kun is a very envious person. I think you can tell. So when he realized that Tanaka-chan was outperforming him in practically every way despite being a year younger, well… he didn’t take it well.”

Bando pauses here, staring at her lap. She looks remorseful.

“He started bullying her. Fat-shaming, calling her a trust fund baby, saying that she was only getting the good roles because her dad’s high up in some corporation and can afford to pay off Nagamine a little.

“Then when that didn’t do anything, he would start making her look bad in front of the directors. Upstaging her subtly, messing with her props and forcing her to be late for entrances, hiding pieces of her costume and ripping up other parts. Making marks on her lines and score. Moving her script around.

 “Miare-kun, headstrong as he is, was not having it. He kept telling Nagato off. He was the only one who really outwardly supported her. I’m ashamed of that.”

Bando blinks back tears.

“But… it wasn’t enough. Miare-kun gave everything for her, but even then, it wasn’t enough. Etsuko Tanaka-chan… she, she attempted suicide last March. Hanging, Miare said. She was hospitalized. Coma. If she had been found even a minute later, the doctors say she wouldn’t have survived.”

Bando’s weeping now, big tears flowing down her face as her makeup smudges. The room feels so loud despite there not being any sound.

Oh. His cheek is wet. Light’s crying too.

Bando spins, facing Light, eyes filled with desperation. Her fist clenches, and she leans towards him.

“Yagami-kun, Nagato was wrong. Miare-kun had no part in Tanaka-chan's attempt. It was all Nagato’s fault for treating her like that and it was the rest of the company’s fault for not stopping him. Miare-kun is innocent! Never believe anything otherwise.”

Bando sniffles, her voice going quiet. “Please, Yagami-kun. We can all tell you’re talented. If Nagato tries anything with you, I’ll stand by you. For Tanaka-chan. I swear it.”

•••

Light stumbles out of the auditorium feeling off-balance and enraged. He’s always known that this world, humanity, was rotten, and this vile story was just proof of it. A talented and bright young girl getting abused and tortured with only one person desperately trying to support her? Evil is everywhere.

In retrospect, Miare had always seemed somewhat withdrawn from the group. Light had attributed this to just being a booth technician in a group of stagehands and actors who would interact more, but it likely was a result of lingering resentment towards the people who could’ve supported Tanaka and chose not to.

The hostility between Miare and Nagato seemed much more understandable as well. Yes, Nagato was an asshole anyway, and Miare’s general disposition was inclined towards tension to people of this sort of nature, but a targeted attack on Miare’s closest and oldest friend that would ultimately result in a suicide attempt and hospitalization? If Light were in Miare’s shoes, he would have made sure Nagato was ruined beyond repair.

Miare kept moving forward instead, keeping the tension to sharp words only. Light respects it, even if it’s not something he truly understands. Perhaps some kind of defense mechanism? Or, maybe he just simply doesn’t want to give Nagato the satisfaction.

A memory comes to the forefront of his mind, unbidden. Frustration from his confusion at singing rehearsals, melting away into morbid curiosity when he stumbled upon an argument. He had ducked out of sight to listen in on their heated back-and-forth, with layers of meaning he didn’t understand at the time.

“You’re doing this again?” Miare spits. “You are seriously so threatened by the fact that people could be better than you, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Miare-kun,” Nagato replies, cooly.

“Oh… you do. We both know exactly what I’m thinking of. Yagami-kun did nothing to you, Nagato.”

Was Miare trying to defend him? They barely knew each other at the time, it was his second day. If there’s one thing Light’s learned about Miare in the various moments they’ve spent together, it’s that Miare isn't like Light. He doesn’t disguise how he feels about people. Which means, for whatever reason, that Miare had felt Light was important enough to defend, for whatever reason.

It’s a warm feeling that Light isn’t sure how to process.

People don’t just genuinely care about others with no reason, that’s not how the world works. People are mean, and untrusting, and assume the worst of each other because everyone knows the worst of humanity. So why didn’t Miare…?

Light startles from his stupor, surprised he’s standing in front of his house. Had he been on autopilot that much? Taking a breath, he shelves the turmoil aside for later, and confidently strides into the house; he’s Light Yagami, perfect son, once more.

“Light, you’re home!” Sayu cheers. “Can you help me with my math homework, now?”

“Hi Sayu,” he greets, affectionately.

“Oh, leave your brother alone for a few minutes, Sayu,” Sachiko chides.

“It’s alright, Mom,” he reassures. “Let me change out of my uniform first, and then I’ll help you, okay?”

•••

It is a nice enough day that Light finds himself in the courtyard once more, methodically placing down his work and bento in his normal positions. Light stifles a yawn. He stayed up too late studying the night before, and now he is paying for it.

The sound of shuffling breaks Light out of his stupor. He looks up to make contact with Miare, who is biting softly at his lip and avoiding eye contact.

“Miare-kun,” Light says, allowing some surprise to color his tone. “It’s… been a while.”

“Yeah, I… took some time off from theater,” Miare says. 

“I know. Funai recruited a bunch of the first years to begin setting up the mics. It’s not gone well.”

“We’re not starting mic rehearsals for another two weeks.”

“Yeah, but I think she wanted to distract them from asking too many questions. It’s been tense since you left.”

“Mmm,” he replies, not really paying attention.

“Bando-senpai told me what happened,” Light reveals, softly.

“Oh.”

“She said she regrets not doing anything.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Miare replies, bitter.

Light pauses, looking at Miare softly. He’s chewing on his lip, resting his hand on his earphone. The warm feeling in Light’s chest is back, but that’s not his goal. Right now, it’s about Miare.

“Tell me about her,” Light requests. “Tanaka-san.”

“Etsuko… she’s my oldest friend. I’ve known her since elementary school. She came up to me one day, and proudly declared that I was going to be her husband,” Miare begins, slowly. “I was confused, and it must have been obvious, because she giggled and told me, ‘In house, silly.’ From then on, we would always play together whenever we had the chance. She was imaginative and had the mark of a great actor ever since she was young.”

Miare smiles, a little proud.

“We would always hype each other up to reach our goals. I’ve been into engineering ever since I was young, and she would always ask me what new thing I was making. In return, I always played the second part in whatever scene she was acting out this time. We learned how to sing together, although her voice is much better than mine. When we joined DTC, I thought that this was it. The culmination of our friendship was so obviously that.”

Miare’s smile falters, and he looks down.

“I could tell things were getting worse with her, but she didn’t reach out to me, and I was terrified of pushing her too far. I guess… I guess I didn’t push enough.”

Miare sighs, and shakes his head.

“She’s woken up now, and is in physical and mental therapy to try and heal the damage. She’s gotten so much better, and I’m so proud of her, but… I just. I think it had only hit me then that she’ll never truly be the same again. I think I just needed the time to mourn the bits of her that are impossible to heal.”

Light paused and took Miare’s words in, absorbing them. He allowed himself to sit in the somber mood before he took a breath and looked into Miare’s eyes.

“You defended me against Nagato. I didn’t understand then, but I do now. So, thank you, Miare-kun.”

Miare’s eyes widen somewhat, and he brushes some hair behind his ear. The surprise then fades into something more solid and he smirks, cheeky and a little mischievous.

“Of course,” Miare replies. “I’m not gonna let that bastard win.”

Light offered a small, sharp smile back in return. He likes the sound of that.

Chapter Text

Emi Kataoka is mad. 

This club has had too much emotional drama. The tension this year has been through the roof, and that’s even compared to Nagato at his most Nagato last year.

For one, Hoshino and Yamada have problems, like the “get these fuckers in therapy” kind. They do not go a single day without having some sort of bitch fight about the most inconsequential things. It’s gotten so bad that Emi’s pretty sure Yamada stole Hoshino’s lipstick and has proceeded to make it her mission to use it up.

Ikari is stressing everyone out. Sugihara will not stop fucking crying like the baby she is. Mayeda is pissing everyone off with his elitist talk. While these things aren’t new by any means, it’s still infuriating.

But all of this pales in comparison to everything that prick Yagami has caused in the short amount of time since he’s stepped in. While Miare seems happier than he used to, the tensions between him and Yagami against Nagato have coated this place in the black sludge of hate. Needless to say, morale is awful.

But Emi Kataoka has an Idea.

Ito has been even more annoying than usual. It’s like someone found his programming and changed the clumsy meter from a 7 out of 10 to a 9 out of 10. Okay, to be fair, normally this would be funny. The dude falls on his face so often he probably has brain damage.

But two days ago, he tripped over a cord, hitting the stage manager’s table where Emi had put her homework. The open water bottle there shook from the impact, falling and spilling all over her homework. It ruined her math grade. (And her English project, but she cares less about that).

So why not kill two birds with one stone, so to speak? She’s been itching to launch another prank, and if she can target Ito with a prank so good that it could lift the mood of DTC? Well, that’s the best possible outcome.

Hm. What prank? It has to be on the nicer side, or else DTC wouldn’t laugh. Definitely needs to be easy to set up, as well, because the longer it takes the less good the revenge is, and the more likely someone is going to snap. She scans her room idly, trying to come up with decent ideas.

Her eyes lock on a small, half used acrylic paint bottle, and… bingo. Paint can trap! Simple but effective, and the only real damage it would do is to his uniform. It’s not like she wouldn’t pay for a replacement set if needs be. She’s not that heartless.

Having decided, she quickly makes her way to the local hardware store in her neighborhood. The plan is simple: get a full paint can, and attach it to a thin but sturdy piece of wire that she can use to make sure the paint can stays suspended in the air until the target arrives. With the pain can and wire attached, she’ll get into the theater early, and put the can over an open door. Then she’ll just pull on the wire until Ito arrives, at which point she’ll let it go slack. He’ll push open the door, and splat! Paint all over him.

Truly a classic.

•••

Light is not stupid, or oblivious. He noticed the strange arrangement of the door straight away, and thus the paint hovering precariously on the door’s ledge attached to a thin metal wire. He traced the wire back to a mischievous Kataoka, and pursed his lips. He doesn’t know much about Kataoka other than how quiet she is—but judging by the way Miare’s face paled upon following Light’s gaze, something is about to go very poorly.

“Step back,” Miare whispers.

“Is this a thing that—?”

“Yes, now get the fuck back,” Miare hisses.

Light steps backwards, following Miare to the other side of the stage. Even far away from the door, Miare still looks tense, and something in the air makes even Light feel nervous. Something is coming.

One by one, people file in, and note the tense air. Some people notice Kataoka immediately, others only realize after someone whispers and points with an anxious frown.

And then Ito walks in. Light watches her grip relax at the same time he pushes the door open more, and sees the disaster before it happens. Because Ito, who normally wears contacts, is wearing his glasses today. The can tumbles, and the paint falls, covering Ito in a vibrant pastel pink. He stumbles, and with his glasses covered, he can’t save himself.

He stumbles off to the right, directly towards Chishu, the props manager, who is currently carting the Milky White puppet behind her.

“Chishu, watch out!” Kimura yells, too late.

Chishu reacts in time, but her swinging out of the way causes Milky White to move directly into the crash zone. The entire cast is silent at the loud cracking as Ito collides with the puppet.

“Oh, shit,” Miare swears under his breath.

But it doesn’t stop there.

The base Milky White was on recoils from the impact, rushing towards Sugihara who lets out a yelp, and jumps back directly into the stage flats. Another loud crack, and boom as te stage flat she collides with breaks in two. Like dominoes, one by one, the duct tape holding the series of stage flats together rips, and they fall onto the ground.

Like a cherry on top, the far stage left flat lands beside the props table, catching on the red cloak meant for Little Red Riding Hood, and tears a chunk of the red fabric off.

Everyone stares upon the carnage in horror. No one says a word. For once the entire company is silent. Bando walks over to help Sugihara up, checking her for wounds. Wanatabe and Suzuki follow her lead, checking up on Ito. Funai walks over with a roll of paper towel, and the trio try to get the worst of the paint off Ito. 

Kataoka trembles, before rushing over to help get the paint off Ito, chanting loud apologies as she does so. She does look genuinely remorseful, which is probably the only reason Funai hasn’t started lecturing her yet.

“We’re two weeks behind on production, and opening night is in a month!” Yoshida wails. “It’s over, we’re doomed.”

For a moment, it’s dead silence. Then, the room explodes. People screaming and crying. Several people rush to the carnage, trying to see what could be salvaged from the wreck, to save time. Others start pacing, muttering to themselves. Some stand still, staring into nothing. Light turns to Miare, only to find him swearing under his breath. Nagamine enters, and pales.

And then Ikari screams.

He runs out. He doesn’t return.

“So… we need another replacement actor, huh? It’s catching,” Miare attempts to joke.

Chapter Text

The world ended on a Tuesday.

Well, okay. That was hyperbole. It was neither the end of the world, nor a Tuesday. But for a moment, it felt like that.

Picture this scenario. It’s the seventh scene, set in the Daikoku High School Auditorium. Saturday, at 3:12 P.M. It was a Saturday, which meant rehearsal was an extra thirty minutes. It also meant that Nagamine was at his most insufferable, be it due to exhaustion or whatever.

Throughout his time working on Into the Woods with the other DTC students, Light’s learned one fundamental truth: the only thing that will ever truly unite everyone is their mutual loathing for Osamu Nagamine.

No-one likes him. He’s rude, entitled, and frankly demeaning at times. He’s made even some of the stronger willed cast and crew cry; poor Sugihara cannot go a single one-on-one interaction with him without bursting into tears at one point or another.

Saturdays are everyone’s least favorite day.

“Where is Chishu?” Nagamine’s voice cuts in, layered with his trademark passive-aggressive apathy. “Didn’t she say she was bringing in a replacement for Ikari? Where is that guy? Opening night is soon, people.”

The entire cast exchanges glances, and turns away with forced casualness. No-one ever wants to look him in the eye, save for a few brave (or stupid) souls. His gaze flattens, landing on a pair of second years.

“Miare, Yagami. You hunt her down.”

Light fights back a groan as he plasters on his “good student smile” and nods. Miare doesn’t hold back, letting out an irritated noise at the director.

“I need to fix—” Miare tries.

“Now, Miare.”

The boy groans. “Fine. C’mon, Yagami-kun. Let’s check the Props Loft, first.”

Light trudges behind the engineer obediently. He leads Light to a hallway off to the side of the auditorium that Light soon recognizes as the hallway where he once heard Miare and Nagato arguing. They make a turn to the left, where an old door lingers.

“The door’s shut,” Miare observes. “She’s probably not in there.”

“How would you know?” Light wonders.

“The door’s got a bad reputation for being pretty much unopenable when you're inside the loft.”

“Maybe she got stuck in there and fell asleep,” Light replies, shrugging. “Doesn’t hurt to look, right?”

Miare pauses, shrugs, then grabs the door. “Pick up the doorstop, there?”

Light nods, and grabs the mentioned object as Miare opens the door. It makes an odd, uncomfortable groaning noise that is a bit too much like the ones Dad makes when he comes home after an exceptionally hard case. Miare evidently notices his disgust and laughs, pushing the door against the wall with a wry grin. 

“After you, good sir.”

Light takes a moment to recover before he gives a brief snicker and  walks into the props loft with exaggerated grandiosity. He looks around for a bit, before  noticing a chain connected to an older looking lightbulb in the ceiling, which he pulls. The light splutters on with an annoying hum, and he turns around to watch as Miare slowly enters. Light holds out the doorstop to Miare, who reaches out to grab it, but stumbles on a bit of uneven concrete and falls, releasing his grip on the door. It shuts with a bang.

The silence after is even louder.

“We’re fucked,” Miare says. “Oh, we’re so fucking screwed.”

“Miare,” Light tries.

“Nagamine’s gonna kick our asses. I needed to get the stage mics working again, and I didn’t finish, but I didn’t want to argue with him about it.”

“Miare.”

“And now we’re trapped in one of the most remote parts of the theater, and—oh, fuck, I didn’t tell anyone where we were going like I was supposed to.”

“Miare.”

“We could be trapped in here for hours!”

“Miare!” Light yells.

The other boy stops, and looks at Light. He looks upset, and a little scared. It feels so out of character for the profile Light’s built of him. Miare… everything about him is an enigma. There are so many layers to the boy, masks of dry humor and apathy, of a teen with average intelligence, a background job in a background club, of a background character. He stands out in the way that he seems so natural wherever he goes.

Light had never seen someone who could play pretend like he did.

But this reaction, as odd and out of character as it is, is genuine. Honest. Which begs the question Light’s almost afraid to ask, even in the safety of his own mind. Why drop the pretense now? Why him?

“Miare,” Light repeats, softer. “Calm down. It’s going to be alright.”

The boy swallows, and looks at Light with a strange sort of vulnerability that makes something swell in Light’s chest uncomfortably. Miare takes a breath, pauses for a moment, then grins.

“Yeah, you’re right. If nothing else, we can rely on Dickhead and the Beanstalk trying to draw attention to our absence to shame us, or some bullshit like that.”

Miare pauses, then smirks.

“What’s that expression for, Miare-kun?”

“I was just thinking, this feels like a cheesy plot point in one of those American teen movies, y’know? Getting locked in a room with someone?”

“Why do you know that?” Light asks, because he doesn’t want to think about how most teen movies are love stories.

Miare’s smirk shifts into a sad smile. “Etsuko used to make me watch them with her and her family, when I would stay over at their house. We would always watch them in English, even in the rare cases when Japanese dubs were available. She said it would be more authentic, that way. We used to sit and watch Grease together. That was one of our favorites. She’d sing along with all the Sandy parts, while I would work on my Greased Lightning model.”

“Why don’t you guys watch the ones in Japanese?”

“Etsuko likes to pretend that it’s because the American ones are better, but… I think it’s because she wanted to help me. You know I like engineering. My pipe dream was always to get into a great engineering school, like MIT. But my English wasn’t that good. I think she wanted me to get some practice in, while we spent time together.”

“She sounds great.”

“Yeah, Etsuko… she’s amazing. She’ll pull through. I know she will.”

Miare smiles, softly. Light offers a smile in return.

“Well, my younger sister, Sayu, prefers Japanese teen movies. Although, I think that’s just because she has a crush on Hideki Ryuga, honestly.”

Miare snorts, “I can’t tell if her taste is amazing or terrible.”

“Terrible,” Light says, flatly.

Miare snorts again. “That bad?”

“I can’t escape him when I go home,” Light groans. “Studying has become my freedom from his awful acting. It’s so annoying.”

“God, I can’t imagine. Some American movies are awful, I don’t think I would survive them on repeat.”

“Not Grease, though?”

“Nah. It’s not the greatest quality movie, I’ll admit, but I love it.”

Light smiles softly. “You’ll have to show me it sometime. Grease.”

“Your English any good?”

“Excuse you, it’s nearly flawless,” Light pretends to boast, before shrugging. “I’d need it to be.”

“Huh? How come?” Miare blinks.

“My dad is chief of the NPA. I’m planning on following in his footsteps. If I’m going to be chief some day, I’ll need good English skills—just in case I have to work internationally. I’ve been working for that role my entire life, honestly. I’ve even started helping Dad with some cases.”

Miare’s face sours. “Ah.”

“What?”

“It’s nothing,” Miare dismisses, pressing his lips into a thin line.

“Your body language and tone disagree.”

“Ugh, nosy motherfucker,” Miare groans. “Fine.”

Light shifts, grabbing and settling down on one of the nearby chairs. Miare sighs, and sits on the ground and crosses his legs. He looks uncomfortable, before taking another breath and sighing.

“Back in August, my dad was arrested for a crime unfairly.”

Light freezes.

“There was… there was, uh, an accident. It was late. Me and Dad were driving back from this one hardware store with good gears ‘n’ shit. So we were sitting and laughing and stuff, and the light went green. So, dad pulled away, but uhm. Out of nowhere, some dude blew a red light, and Dad swerved to avoid the other car, but he, uh, miscalculated. We crashed into this little grocery store, and the owner—the uhm. The owner was hit, uh. He died.”

Miare takes a breath, rubbing at his eyes.

“So, someone watched the crash happen, and called the police. The officers that arrive see the crash, and the owner… and they decide that because of the angle of the crash that it was targeted. I watched as they pushed Dad down, and bound him in handcuffs. And Dad was crying. He was crying because that man was dead.

“I fought in Dad’s defense at the courtroom. Screamed and yelled and pleaded because my Dad is the best person I know. He would never deliberately take a life. And no matter how much I repeated the truth, they dismissed my accounts of the red light runner. And because we live in Japan. Japan, where every person is always guilty for whatever crime they were arrested for, with its bullshit 99% conviction rate. Because we live in Japan, no matter what I did, my Dad was always going to be sentenced for life.”

Miare growls, choking on sobs.

“I hate this fucking Justice System! I hate that so many innocents are being brought in and arrested and sentenced for things they didn’t do! I hate that my Mom is forced to overwork herself with three jobs just so we can keep our house and heating and electricity and food on the table. I hate the fact that Dad once promised me the world, and then I watched as he lost his.”

Tears paint Miare’s face once more, as he clenches his fist and looks to his lap.

Light feels paralyzed. 

All his life, he’s been taught the same thing: the justice system is good. That it exists to protect innocent people from suffering, and prevent the bad people from causing further harm to themselves and others. That what the police and the prosecutors did were good.

His own dad, Soichiro Yagami, was proof of that. He devoted his life to finding and destroying evil to protect the good of society. He had always been the model that Light based all of his principles on. Dad was Justice, in a way. Light just strived to match those ideals.

Yet here he is, watching someone innocent suffer because his father was good and suffering too. It’s the type of thing that’s never supposed to happen in a fair and just world like everyone described. That’s not the ideals he had been raised to believe in.

And… a 99% conviction rate. Light had thought that the rate was because officers and detectives were good at rooting out the right evil, but now it sounds as though so many innocents are locked away for crimes they didn’t commit.

It’s world breaking, in a way. Because if justice has failed people, what else can they believe in to keep them safe? What has Light devoted himself to, if not goodness?

Miare shivers and buries himself in his arms. Light wants to comfort him, to say something meaningful and idealistic that will make the boy the way he was. But there’s no words that could fix this. There’s only the truth, raw and uncomfortable as it is.

“I… don’t know what to say,” Light admits, and tries to pretend it isn’t a failure. “I… always thought the system was good. That evil gets punished to make a safer world for the good.”

Miare coughs, an attempt at a snort. “Yeah. I’ve noticed that’s a common thing. So black and white.”

“Black and white…” Light repeats. “I always thought that was the right way to see things when it came to crime and evil.”

“There’s so many shades of gray out there, Yagami,” Miare shakes his head and wipes his eyes. “Uh, think about something like this. Say there’s a person who shoplifts. That’s theft, yeah? But they’re working a tough, low paying job, and have two kids that they can’t afford to provide for. Is that so evil? It’s a crime.”

Light falls quiet.

“Or, how about a lady who causes the death of a man. But this man was threatening her, and had signs that he was planning to assault her. It’s murder, right?”

“That’s self defense!” Light argues.

“She’d still be arrested,” Miare counters. “Likely sentenced for 10, 20 years at best. If she’d be released before she dies, she’d have a black mark on her record for the rest of her life.”

Light lets out a sharp breath and clenches his hand. “That’s… not fair.”

“No. It really isn’t.”

“Why hasn’t anyone done something?”

“One person can’t change the system,” Miare says flatly. “Say what you want, but when one person makes all the choices, we usually call that a dictatorship.”

Light recoils. “That’s…”

“That’s,” Miare mocks.

He’s right, Light reluctantly thinks. I didn’t even realize… I would have fought tooth and nail to make the change, and I would have just made a different system, with my own biases. I would have just wanted to be the one who was right. The winner. That’s not justice, that’s just…evil. The same evil I would’ve claimed I was fighting.

“I’ve been standing for a lie,” Light mutters, defeated.

“It’s a good one,” Miare replies, bitter. “Most people don’t even realize the flaws with it. They just see the 99% conviction rate, and praise the system for keeping them safe. Why would they stop to consider what else it could mean?”

Light sighs. “I don’t want… I don’t want to perpetrate that.”

“You don’t have to.”

“It’s what I’ve worked for my entire life. I don’t want that effort to be so meaningless.”

“You don’t have to let it be,” Miare laughs. “We’ve got our whole lives ahead of us. Take it slow. Enjoy what’s left of the teenage glory years before they’re gone.”

“Like watching Grease?” Light jokes.

“Yeah,” Miare smirks. “Exactly.”

They fall into a comfortable silence. The sound of Miare’s breaths slowly leveling out is reassuring, in a way. At least it means he’s okay. 

Light knows, realistically, he has to face this. But he can wait for a few minutes. He can afford the small time that is letting him connect with Miare, connecting strings in this rare show of honesty. 

With one last breath in, Miare jumps up and grins. The engineer reaches out his hand to let Light grab hold, pulling them both up. He reaches out to brush the hair away from Light’s ear, plopping on one of his earphones to replace it with a cheeky grin. He presses a button and the first notes of another musical flows in. He raises a questioning eyebrow.

“Hairspray,” Miare answers.

The two linger like that for a while, just waiting until they’re free from this glorified closet. Miare bumps his shoulder at times, and Light obliges to attempt to sing along with the song playing. It’s not quite right, and the other student laughs at him a lot for it. But the shame, for the first time, is pleasant. Eventually, the door jostles and they jump up eagerly.

“Ready to get our asses kicked?” Light grins as he hands Miare back the earphone.

Miare winks, and grins. “Only if you wanna hang out tonight. I could show you my favorite spot in all of Tokyo. I mean, it is Saturday.”

Light grins back, and is surprised to find he means it.

The world ended on a Tuesday. It was neither a Tuesday, nor the end of the world. It was Saturday, and the start of a rebirth. A better world for just two souls, finding their way in existence.