Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Disgustingly loud pop music burst through the house, reverberating in L’s spine and causing his teeth to chatter. He couldn’t even hear what it said, the speakers were busted— all you could hear was the bass and the beat, but I guess that’s all people wanted anyway. There were people in the distance screaming the lyrics, but the night had already been long. If they weren’t on the verge of vomiting on their heels, they had consumed enough alcohol to be scarily close to it. None of them made sense, it was incessant wailing overpowered by even more incessant bass.

Not only that, he couldn’t stand the smell— he wasn’t joking about the vomit. He’d decided to not try to find a bathroom, because there was no way there was a clean one in a mile radius. He’d been here for hours— no one smelled good anymore, even if they smelled good at the start of the night. Perfumes had worn away and sweat had reigned supreme. If he had to describe it, he’d say the room smelled pungently of adrenaline and bad decisions, whether they’d been made or were about to be made. He’d created a sort of game with himself to pass time. He looked around and would find someone, and guess at what bad decision they’d made maybe just minutes prior to his scrutiny. She’s said yes to a few too many dances and is going to collapse. He’s had four too many drinks and may die if not sobered. They forgot to take their birth control. She looks yellow— is it possible to be jaundiced from a single night of liver destruction? He would ask someone about that later.

He’d had a drink, but decided it was a dangerous game to play, having any more— who knows, he might need to pee. That was the worst fate he could be dealt in a place like this. He was so distrustful of the floors he wore shoes. No matter what, before he got into bed he’d be showering. The sheer filth radiating off of his peers was enough to make him want a bath now— the room was so stuffed it was like even the walls and furniture were sweating, if not coated with grime from spilled drinks and snacks. 

Why does he still let Light drag him places?

It’s not like they’re close. It’s not like Light likes parties, either. As much as he can lie, L can see right through him, he’s always been able to— it’s what drew them together in the first place. He knew Light hates this environment as much as he does. The poor boy was sterility personified. He didn’t listen to music, and if he had to, it was just loud enough for you to hear it, but not loud enough to blare into your ears like an alarm and fill your mind with dread hearing it actively break the speakers. He didn’t sweat— he played tennis, sure, and did workout, but he wasn’t fond of the grime that came with it. He was an austere, bland person. He only came to these parties to save face, set a precedent, and show off. He feigned being sociable though he couldn’t care less if anyone ever talked to him again, and this was part of the act. L sort of wished he didn’t know Light so intimately. Looking into him was like looking straight into a mirror and analyzing yourself for hours on end. He’d rather not look too far in— he was bound to find something new to loathe himself for.

He supposed he couldn’t judge Light much. They were essentially the same person in slightly varied fonts. He too had crafted a persona for himself— he’d just taken the route of unpleasantness. He’d learned from a stressfully young age that if he could unsettle people enough, he could get under their skin while simultaneously distancing them. So, he begun to buy twenty pairs of the same jeans and matching long sleeved linen shirts in white and black. He disregarded shoes in most scenarios (though he had to admit, he was far more comfortable without them anyway—) and opted even for skipping socks, walking barefoot on cold, wet concrete around campus. It kept him alert, kept him present, and most importantly: kept others at bay. He was only here because Wammy— Watari, he reminded himself, as they had new names in this new place— had encouraged him to further his education as much as humanly possible. He had one more year until he’d reached his masters degree like Watari had told him, and then he could retire at the ripe age of twenty-two into a (hopefully) long and prosperous life of holing up in his room all day solving criminal cases, eating an egregious amount of sweets and balancing it out with the occasional protein shake and salad, and maybe even petting a cat or two as he worked.

He checked his watch. 03:27. Sunrise was in roughly two hours, when he expected any last stragglers would collapse, throw up, run away for even seedier nightlife, or maybe a combination of the three. He wasn’t in the mood to watch the vehement amounts of throw up get even larger, and he had lurked in corners and sat unbelievably still at bars enough for one night. Light had already left— ever the goody-two-shoes, he was gone as the clock struck midnight, like if Cinderella was a dreadful person and also a man. L’s time here was up, and oh was he glad for it.

He was upstairs, lurking in the middle of the hallway, leaning against a wall. Pushing through what must have been a dozen or so people, he made it to the stairs and nearly tripped on a girl in his first class. She seemed timid enough, respectfully reserved. Now, she was sprawled and unconscious on the stairs. L nudged her with his foot and she stirred, so he deduced she was alive and probably well. Nothing to stop for. She seemed to be having a good time.

He got to the end of the staircase and looked around, unsure of where the front door was. For whatever reason, the stairs were in the kitchen, but the front door was in the living room. He made his way into the living room, his teeth almost vibrating with the sheer force of the music. It essentially melted his resolve down to nothing. He felt trapped in the odor of sweat and feeling of underlying despair that always came packaged with events like this. Everyone was shit-faced, sure, but there's a reason they're all avoiding something. He can see it in their eyes. He only partially liked that feeling-- being able to see the woes of others is only comfortable for so long. Eventually he feels guilty for not helping them and adds it to the laundry list of Reasons To Hate Me. 

He supposed everyone felt trapped in their own little ways. Trapped in relationships, in cycles, in situations. He wasn't alone in that, at the very least. It was easy to pick out those people, too. They always carried a certain fear in their eyes that the cycle would start anew.

It was even easier to pick out someone who's trapped when their hair is bright blonde and their lipstick is vibrant red.

Light's girlfriend was being harassed, it seemed. A man with closely cropped hair and unsettlingly large ears was leaning over her, forcing her into a corner. From his posture, L deduced he was drunk. It wouldn't be very hard to get past him.

L hovered closer to them, pushing past tired partygoers who were on their last limbs dancing. 

“I have a—” She hiccuped and wiped her mouth. “—boyfriend. I don't want you.”

“I don't see him here. Do you know how cool it would be for me?”

“Misa doesn't care! Go away!”

“Come on, your boyfriend isn't here, it's okay—”

L fixed his posture, cleared his throat, and walked in a way that made his jeans conceal his feet, and therefore his lack of shoes. Shooting his chauffeur a text to meet him, he approached the two. “Her boyfriend's right here. Leave her alone.”

Misa squinted at him. Looking him up and down, she seemed to be considering whether or not L actually was her boyfriend, rather than just considering whether or not to go along with him. 

She decided, and almost made L fall back with the force of the hug she'd given him. “Darling!” She looked up at him. Her breath smelled of booze and she had lipstick on her teeth. “I thought you left!”

“Just for a minute. Are you ready to leave?”

She was giddy. If this was just going along with it, she was selling the “drunken girlfriend” act very well. “Of course! Let me just get my coat.” She looked around, confused. “Uhm.. my coat.”

“It's on the coat rack, Misa. Come on, I'll grab it.”

Mr. Big Ears rolled his eyes and shrugged himself away as they talked. L offered Misa his arm, and she took it, leaning into him. She was cold, frigid and nearly shivering. She'd worn a leather minidress and not much else, of course she was cold. He didn't mind her trying to bury herself in his shirt. It was charity work. That's it.

She still didn't unstick from him when they got her jacket, though. He just wrote it off as her still being cold. Usually, Misa would rather die than cling to him like this. She'd rather spend her days trailing behind Light, a lovesick puppy following him until he got tired of it and shooed her away.

They both stepped into the back of the limousine, L holding the door for her as she stumbled in and found her place curled up in the very middle of the seats. When L climbed in after her, she curled into him instead, resting her head on his chest and forcing him to put his arm around her. She wasn't cold anymore. He supposed it was fine for her to rest, though. It must be tiring chasing after Light all day, anyway. He didn't mind. 

Misa snored lightly under him. Assuming from her lack of purse and sorely pocketless outfit, she probably didn't have her house keys on her. He couldn't drop her off on her front porch. Light certainly wasn't awake at this hour, and even if he was, he wouldn't want to take care of her. 

To his house, then.

Misa was embarrassed. No— mortified. She was mortified, and angry, and disgusted. Sitting up in the dark, warmly decorated room in the far too comfortable comforter, she was livid. She had drank too much, but definitely not enough. She remembered exactly what she had, and exactly what she did, and exactly why her head is pounding and why she's in a leather minidress. In all of the plush, invitingness of the bed she sat in, she stared at the remnants of the party last night. Last nights makeup was smeared on the white pillowcases, shades of reds and peaches from her lipstick and blush and black and gray sparkly eyeshadows smeared over the ivory. The body glitter she'd donned had found itself all over the sheets, giving a light glitter to the bedding.

Light had informed her of the party. Her brilliant, charming, beautiful Light was always so considerate in telling her these things. He was so smart— infuriatingly so, sometimes. He heard everything before she did. She was ecstatic to be invited, especially as Light's date. She had convinced herself they would dance and they would drink and they would kiss and it'd be a perfect night and she’d be as sober as a corpse so she could remember it all the next day. He'd also have hearts in his eyes and a winged baby would appear to shoot him in the back so he was hers forever. As any romantic fantasy usually goes.

When she realized about an hour into the party that her wishful thinking was exactly that— wishful— she drank a little heavier. Eventually her four consecutive vodka cranberries knocked her down a peg or two, so to make herself feel better, she opted for a dirty shirley— and she found herself being harassed at three a.m. Light had left long before. He never would stay with her, and he never told her when he left. She knew that she was the textbook definition of insane— trying the same thing over, and over, and over, expecting, no— hoping, no— praying that eventually it would turn a positive result. She didn't care. She felt okay, this way. She was a mad scientist content in her lab, comfortable around the dangerous chemicals that engulfed her and ruined her senses. Reasonably, she knew the lab would spell her end. Not so reasonably, her heart ached when Light Yagami wasn’t near. As she was now alone in a mysterious bed that she knew did not belong to Light, the experiment had definitely not turned out to be a positive result.

A knock sounded on the door. Instinctively, she rolled over in bed, throwing the covers on her face, trying to pretend she wasn't awake. She usually only did that for her alarm in the mornings. As much as she loved her job, and wouldn’t trade it for the world, hearing her alarm sound so early in the morning, screaming at her to get up for this shoot, or this audition, or this conference… it made her want to quit her job, quit her life, and retreat into lifelong solitude for the rest of her life. The door opened anyway, as it usually did when you were a child desperately trying to avoid something, and she held her breath, as if whoever came in wouldn’t be able to see the human shaped blob curled into the comforter.

“You still hide under the covers?” Oh my god. Of course, why didn't she think about that? L was the one who took her home. She was honestly embarrassed she didn't connect the dots sooner. Was this his bed? Oh God, was she sleeping in his bed? Had he been in it with her?

She didn’t unfurl herself, just mumbled through the roll of blanket around her. “And what if I do?”

As always, he sounded infuriatingly bored. “That’s okay, I guess. We all have something… odd… that we do.”

Now, she unfurled herself. Glaring at him through her tangled hair, she sat up so fast vertigo nearly took her back down. “You’re one to talk about odd. Seriously, L, taking a girl home after a night of her clearly being drunk?”

He was wearing a light blue pajama set, and it made Misa giggle thinking of him holding a candlestick in the night, yelling Who goes there? into the quiet of his own halls. “You have the audacity to think I brought you home because I was attracted to you?”

Obviously she didn’t think that, but he didn’t have to know her mind.“Well, you have the audacity to suggest you’re not attracted to me.”

He was silent for a moment, considering but not dumbfounded. “Touché.”

“Hm.” She stretched and got out of the bed, her feet landing on cold hardwood floors. She looked out of the large windows on the wall. Beneath her were curated gardens and forestry, like there was someone on the grounds working on it daily. She had to admit, she was mesmerized. She herself only had a small dorm with a few other girls, and Light’s was no better— he'd paid extra for his own dorm, but it was like hers— it was barely any bigger than his childhood bedroom. Not feeling cramped where you're supposed to feel at home suddenly struck her as a luxury. She leaned on the cold window sill, staring down at the greenery, ignoring the other person in the room. How childish of her. First hiding under the covers to avoid someone, now playing “if I can't see you, you can't see me” hoping he'll leave so she can slip away and call a friend to pick her up. Again, it didn't work, and he walked up next to her in silence, watching the unmoving gardens with her.

“Who takes care of them?” She blurted, her curiosity overriding her desire to not speak.

He didn't mind the question. “Watari. In retirement, he took up gardening. He's rather good at it.”

She was honestly surprised. “At his age?”

“He doesn't wish for help.”

She hummed in response, still staring at the carefully cut bushes and trees that lined the pathways.

“There's breakfast,” L said, not making eye contact with her. “Pancakes and nattō, though I'm sure there's something available if you don’t like either.”

“That's one hell of a combo.”

“The pancakes are for me, the nattō is for Watari. He says it pairs well with tea, though I personally think that the mere notion is sacrilege.”

Misa giggled. “I’ll take pancakes.”

Misa had to admit, she didn't know whether to be comforted or unsettled by the quiet. Usually, the girls she dormed with never ate breakfast together, and she imagined the cacophony would be worse if they did. If Misa was eating, Emiko was using her hairdryer on its highest setting the room over, and Rem was still in bed, snoring her day away. If Maeko wasn't already making her commute to campus, she'd be zooming through the house trying to get there as early as her professor demanded of her. Misa had to admit, she was apart of it- she had friends still in Kyoto whom she never had time to talk to during the day, so instead, she chose 5:00 sharp, unintentionally waking the other girls. It was what they were all used to.

Instead of hair dryers, early morning showers, snoring and girls running amok the glorified bedroom of a dorm filled with the smell of perfume and hairspray, there the three of them sat in the large, spacious dining room eating breakfast. Watari had asked how she had slept, and about L's morning, but that was it. They seemed comfortable in their silence, the older man's only sounds being the clinking of his teacup and saucer. The room smelled nicely of flowers and pancakes. She had decided on it- despite her devouring the pancakes, and the energy of the room healing a certain part of her soul, she was deeply unsettled. She missed her dorm, she missed her friends, she missed her bed. More importantly: she missed Light. He was busy just about every day but the weekends- she could miss her chance.

“I should probably get going now. I've got to check in with Light.”

Watari took a sip of his tea, savored it for a moment, and then spoke. The movement sort of made her uncomfortable, like he was considering not letting her leave. “Very well. I will prepare the car.”

“I'll go make sure you haven't left anything,” L said, standing up after scarfing down one last pancake. “I'm not sure where to return anything you may lose.”

She didn't like the idea of him knowing where she and three other girls resided. “Let's keep it that way.”

His expression was unwavering. He placed a sarcastic hand over his heart. “You wound me, Misa,” He said, and walked back up the stairs, leaving her alone in a disturbingly homey house for L to live in. She didn't know what she expected of him, honestly. He rarely wore shoes, for starters. She wouldn't allow him into her house without slippers for the sake of her floors. She wouldn't be surprised if he sat in a padded room all day, playing video games and sitting in silence or whatever he does. Seeing such a… “normal” home kind of confused her. Far too many creature comforts than what she was expecting. She may have misjudged him. Just maybe, though.

Once she heard a door close behind Watari and L had gone far enough up the stairs, she stood up and begun to explore. The room over was a living room. It had the largest bay window she'd ever seen- from floor to ceiling, the cleanest window panes showcased the butler's work. Topiaries and flowerbeds, carefully curated pathways and bird baths. She had to admit, she sat on the cushion, pushing her nose to the glass admiring the handiwork. It had to require daily maintenance, if not several times a day. She was utterly mesmerized by the detail in every shape and color, like a baby when keys are jingled in front of them. She thought if she got any closer to the glass she'd drool.

“You left your heels, Misa-chan,” L called to her, coming down the staircase. Seeing her on the windowsill, staring at the garden again, he asked: “Have you ever had a garden of your own?”

“My mother had a garden. I helped her take care of it a little. I don't have room for one anyway.”

He kneeled before her, putting her heels on her feet as he talked. “I can ask if he's willing to give you something from it. Maybe send it with some instructions if you need a care package.”

She momentarily lost her train of thought, her head still turned to the window, but her eyes entirely on him. Was he usually the type of person to put shoes on people? Surely not. This was weird. This had to be weird. He wasn't making any sudden moves, and the little voice in her head told her it was fine, but people didn't do that. Light certainly didn't, and Light was her boyfriend!

“Uhm, I have a boyfriend, L.”

“Hm?” He raised his head, buckling her left stiletto without looking. “Oh. I assure you, Light is…” He hesitated, as if it was difficult to describe the many things Light was: intelligent, gorgeous, cunning- perfect. Misa had a feeling he meant none of those things, though. “...reasonable enough to know I am not one who steals.”

Despite its pretenses, she couldn't help but feel a little giddy thinking about him. “Yeah,” she lost herself in thought, the rose colored glasses blinding her. “No one could ever steal me from him- and he knows it!” She squealed.

L hummed an agreement and stood up, stretching his back before slouching into his usual posture. He extended a hand to Misa. “Shall we?”

She laughed at him, placing her hand in his. “We shall.”

Chapter Text

A few hours after Misa had left, L received a phone call. It was from Light. He assumed it was his routine “checkups.” He would call L and ask him small talk questions until he got bored of pretending he cared and hung up. It was not.

“Did you take Misa to your home last night?” His voice was clinical— different. There didn’t seem to be any chatter in the background like there usually was when he checked in with him.

It was a useless question, Light knew he did. “That depends, who's asking?”

“So, you did.”

L mustered his poutiest voice available. “Was that a transgression?” Light hated to be patronized. This was going to be so, so fun. “Next time should I leave her drunk and alone because her boyfriend who wasn't there didn't like it?”

His voice got louder, but the audio quality got worse and worse— L could only imagine him clutching his phone, gritting his teeth, his temper already breaking from him. L got a sort of satisfaction from it— schadenfreude, or whatever Watari called it. “I know what you're trying. She told me all about how you made her breakfast, and offered her gifts-”

“Watari made her breakfast. I offered her a leaf.” It wasn't technically a lie, but he knew it made Light angry, so it was perfect.

“She's my girlfriend, Lawliet. Just because I leave a party early once doesn't mean-”

If L could’ve rolled his eyes into the back of his head, he would’ve. “Since when did you care? You don't even like her. You make it painfully obvious.”

“I've always cared, Misa knows that.”

Light was a liar, but there was no point to lie like this. “This isn't about her, is it?”

“Of course it is.”

“No, it's not. You don't even like her, Light. Nevermind love her.”

“Who are you to tell me I don't like my girlfriend?”

Oh. He’s a bored child who wants a game, and L just served him one on a silver platter by trespassing into his territory.

Even more, he’s an arrogant child who has the audacity to believe he could win.

He had to stop himself from giggling. “Someone who likes her much more, obviously.”

Light had found his composure again, reserved, friendly, calm and sterile. His voice was about as comforting as a doctor telling you that there are 18 seperate tumors in your lungs and they’re all 4th stage and unable to be removed without killing you. “That's unlike you.”

“Hmm?” He chewed on his nail, strategizing how best to end this phone call so he could go have coffee jelly.

“Proving my point. You hate losing.”

“As do you. The game's already on, Light, and you're in last place.” He flopped backwards onto the sofa he sat on and pressed his phone flush to his face. “1-0. First to Misa's heart wins.” Before Light could retort something snarky, he snapped his phone shut, officially cutting him off. He hadn't meant to start any drama with Light, but if Light wanted a game, he'd give him a game. Of course, he'd also win. Not without making things fun, though.

Light was going to kill him. He was going to kill that little recluse dead, disposing of him entirely and no one would find his little recluse body because Light had gotten him. Light had outsmarted, outperformed, and overall outdone him.

Of course, that jealous little hermit was bored out of his mind and made it Light’s problem. He can't stand to see normalcy thriving. Business as usual must make him itch. If Light wasn’t careful, he could actually lose.

Who was he kidding? No, he couldn't. He flopped back on his bed, his perfectly trained Akita Inu climbing next to him. Light had curated every aspect of his life to portray who he needed to be, and that included dropping a downright unsavory amount of money to have a black-and-white patterned shelter dog trained and groomed to be just shaggy enough to play the role it needed to play. He’d even named the dog “boredom,” just to truly sell the idea that his dog wasn’t trained to act out in certain ways, he was just like that by nature. L couldn’t top that.

L was good, but he certainly was not great. Light was the pure embodiment of greatness- he'd crafted himself to be a golden statue. He was constantly upkeeping his appearance, forever picture perfect (and people did love to take pictures,) he was the most intelligent man at their college, if not in all of Japan, and he had a model girlfriend he'd eventually marry and be as emotionally distant as possible from until he eventually retired from his well-paying job and died a happy life, surrounded by a family that loved him. Maybe he'd even make a friend along the way.

And that model girlfriend? Utterly infatuated with him. He had helped his father solve a case involving her parents, and ever since she'd found him, there wasn't a single waking moment where she wasn't on Light's arm, or in his room. He was entirely uninterested in her, and there was really no way to think otherwise without insanity’s help, but Misa was beyond insane. She was so far gone her delusions had delusions. Light was glad to keep it that way if he won the game.

He was going to catch L off guard during this round. Usually in their fights, Light would play his role. Playing a 50/50 defense and offense, keeping the facade of a respectable colleague whose skill level definitely did not exceed your own. He would smile, and wipe his brow, and congratulate his opponent before returning inside for a shower like he always did. Now, he wouldn't even lift a finger. He would let L tire himself out and collapse on the floor, as he'd rather do that than admit defeat. He was almost glad L set their court. This game would be fun.

Brushing her hair after a much-needed shower that cleansed her of her Friday night sins as much as it did the physical dirt on her, Maeko burst into the door with a box wrapped in black and gold paper with a golden bow.

Misa jumped, her nervous system convincing her that the girl was about to murder her for a split second. “Oh my god, knock before you come in!”

“That weird friend of Light's left you a gift! He told me specifically, ‘it's for Ms. Amane.’” She slouched and made a weird face, doing an oddly accurate (but still rather offensive) impression of the “weird friend” in question. 

Misa laughed, but then grew impatient. “Well, are you going to let me open it?”

Maeko rolled her eyes, placed the gift in Misa's hands, and left. The box was heavy and there was dirt smeared on the bow. What a good presentation. 

Misa untied the bow and tore into the wrapping paper. Inside the box was a little decorative pot that seemed to be ceramic instead of terracotta that housed a little patch of small blue flowers. A little note hung off of the pot, and Misa almost expected it to say “Drink me!” but instead, it was directions on how to keep the plant alive.

She flipped the paper in her hands. On the back, it said:

“Forget-me-nots, or myosotis, are known for their fuzzy petals and spreading tendencies when not planted in a pot. They're considered a flower of love, remembrance, and dedication. The story goes that forget-me-nots got their name from a French knight, who collected the flower for his lady. He then fell into a river, threw the flower at her, and yelled “Don't forget me!”

I may not be drowning, but I'll still throw you flowers.

Yours truly, L”

Misa didn't know whether to laugh at the incredibly dorky flirtation or be endeared by it. His handwriting was neat and entirely even. There was a chance it was a font, but it had the charm of a nerd's concerningly clean handwriting.

She decided it'd be another day's concern, and instead chose to water the plant per its instructions, sitting it on her windowsill so she could see it when she woke up. A part of her thought to keep the pot secret, a little confidence between her and L and maybe Maeko, though she could tell Maeko a number of things. For all she knew, it was just a very heavy cupcake.

A cold hand tapped Misa’s shoulder, and she jumped before realizing it was just another roommate of hers— one who also had a chronic not knocking problem, and even worse— a terminal quiet as a mouse, great at sneaking around condition.

“Is that from Light?” Rem asked, peering over Misa’s shoulder at the vase. She seemed incredulous, like it was impossible for Light to give his girlfriend a gift.

“No, it’s something I asked L for.” She said, sweating under the scrutiny. “He has a lovely garden.”

Rem considered it, resting her chin on Misa’s shoulder for a moment, gazing from her to the flowers and back. Finally, she said: “No, it’s not.”

Misa sighed, almost relieved she didn’t have to continue lying to Rem. “Okay, fine. it’s a gift.” So much for a secret.

Rem stayed silent, expecting her to go on.

“It’s still from L, see?“ She flashed Rem the back of the paper, showing L’s little signature written in black ink. “I wasn’t lying about that.”

“Why is he giving you anything?”

“I think he likes me.”

Rem’s face lit up for a moment. “Are you getting rid of Light?”

“No, silly—I'd never.” She considered her options laid before her, flipping the paper in her fingers and twirling the cross that lay across her neck. “I may just… send a message, though.”

“What kind of message?”

Misa leaned against the girl behind her. Her face broke into a grin, and she made a sweeping motion with her arms, as if displaying a billboard. “‘I’m here.’”

Chapter Text

Misa loved being a girl. Better yet, she loved being the girl who was Light's girlfriend.

If she wasn’t partying, on Fridays, she had a date with Light. These dates were yet another reason to dress up, dress out, and do her very best to outdo any other girl that Light could look at. When she dressed up, no girl could compare to her, and she knew it. It was common fact, really— what other girl around Light had her face plastered on buildings and magazines? As far as Misa was aware, (and she’d checked,) not a single woman as talented as herself knew Light Yagami. The problem at hand was convincing Light that.

She’d rummaged through her entire closet three times. She’d thought of the minidress she wore last Friday, but Misa Amane was not an outfit repeater. She’d switched through six pink dresses and skirts, four with random patterns, and eight separate corsets. After rifling through it all, she settled on a red velvet dress with black lace detailing, and her usual accessories. Stockings, garters, bracelets, and earrings, a belt or two. There was no way to think she wasn't the most gorgeous girl anyone had ever seen. Light couldn't possibly dislike the outfit. In a nervous fit, she'd even had each of her roommates personally rate it before she kicked Emiko and Maeko out, shrugging Rem away by just telling her to go to sleep. The ratings were high, so there she lay on her couch, dutifully awaiting Light to come knocking so he could parade his beautiful girlfriend who'd spent an hour on her outfit and makeup each around campus and in fancy restaurants until the night became too long to justify any more meaningless small talk. How riveting! She couldn't wait!

Just as she'd known he would, her knight in shining armor came for her at exactly the time they'd designated. Not even a second late, he always knocked exactly on the minute. He was so punctual, always looking at his watch, making sure he wasn’t even a second late for his girlfriend! Misa jumped from her couch, fixed the pillows, and ran to the door.

“Hi Light!” She downright yelled, her greeting echoing into the hall as she pulled him in for a hug so tight it almost popped a button on his shirt. Somehow, he was less formal than usual. He wore a white button up and Business-Casual-Beige shorts. Light's usual “normal” was khaki pants. His formal outfits were even worse. That was maybe the one thing she hated about him. Just once, she wanted him to wear something that wasn't manager-chic.

“Hi Misa,” He said to her, not hugging her back. “Is it okay if we just stay in today? I'm rather tired.”

“You know I hate when you talk like that,” she complained, burying her face into his chest. “You don't have to be so formal, you're at home.”

“Okay.”

“Here, come to my room- Emiko and Maeko are gone, but Rem is sleeping right now. I wouldn't want to wake her.”

Light seemed uncomfortable with the idea, but it made no sense for him to be. Misa had been in his room plenty of times at ungodly hours. Though, he did always seem a little uneasy around her. She couldn't put her finger exactly on why. “Are you sure? It's kind of late to be alone in a room together.”

“We are dating, aren't we?”

Light smiled at her. The voice in the back of her mind told her it was facetious- that her dear boyfriend was a liar of the worst kind. She knew he was… “skilled” in social interactions, but she pushed the voice away from her mind. “We are.”

She couldn't help herself but feel unnecessarily giddy, like a child who won a giant teddy bear at a fair. It took all of her willpower to not jump around everywhere. “Okay! Come on, I have sweets!”

Rem hated Light Yagami.

There was no other way to put it. She loathed him and whatever spell he'd put on her dear Misa with her entire heart. He was single handedly the worst boy for Misa in the history of the world. Misa didn't see it, but Rem did clear as day- she was being used. She was being used, and if she wasn't useful, she would be discarded. Her poor Misa couldn't see that, and if she could, she just chose not to care, which was even worse! Light Yagami, no matter his wealth or reputation or admirers, was not worth the hours of getting ready to lay on her bed praying he'd decide she was worth something at all and maybe even kiss her. The problem at hand was just convincing Misa that.

She'd tried time after time to convince Misa to focus on her career, touting the excuse that having a boyfriend would drive away certain crowds. Misa loved modeling, she wanted to pose in front of cameras until the day she died. She'd told Rem she'd do mature women's clothing shoots when she got too old, and that she'd never settle as a housewife, even for her future husband. She'd be a working woman until the end of her days, staying in complete contact with her friends— she'd be of retirement age and still having sleepovers with Rem.

This attitude changed when she met Light Yagami. Immediately, the very day she met him she called Rem and began to gush about her new boyfriend. He hadn't been her boyfriend yet, but she had decided he was essentially her husband. Rem was happy to see her happy. Until she met him.

He smelled of Polite Cologne, but to Rem, he stank of lies. She knew immediately he wasn't right for Misa. Misa obviously dismissed her concerns, begging Rem to just understand he was “different.” Rem saw that she was starstruck, so she tried to believe that Light Yagami hung the moon too, but she just couldn't. She bit her tongue for Misa, but she begged the powers above to eliminate him and keep her safe. She didn't know if Light Yagami would hurt her, but she didn't want to take the chance.

Having him here was the chance to find out if he'd hurt her.

Usually Rem slept through whenever Light was over. She was pursuing the same degree Misa was, so it wasn't exactly difficult to hover behind her every moment of the day, a wraith of a bodyguard.

Today, Misa’s voice welcoming him in woke her up, and she couldn't find it in herself to go back to sleep. Once Misa had closed her bedroom door, Rem decided today was her chance. Creeping to the door, Rem silently placed her ear against it, listening for anything she could use.

“Light? What time is it?”

He glanced at his watch. “19:18,” He paused for a second. “Why?”

She raised herself off of him. “I have to water my forget-me-nots.”

“Your forget-me-nots?”

She gestured to the flowers as they sat on her windowsill. “The flowers L gave me, aren't they pretty?”

Light was silent for a minute. “They're pretty.”

“I know!” She lifted the water pitcher to the flowers, burying the end of it into the soil. “They're symbols for love. Isn't that cute?”

Light didn't answer. Misa didn’t notice, just pressing her hand to the soil to feel how dry it was.

Minutes later, Light spoke.

“Misa,” Light said, laid in her bed. He felt silly, dressed in pastels in a bed that could really only be described as Dracula’s coffin. The heart shaped throw pillows were blood red, and the blanket was pitch black. Misa had tackled him to it, forcing him into cuddling her. His shoes had been replaced by pink house slippers that Emiko provided for guests. Those slippers sat discarded on the floor next to her bed. Misa looked up and smiled at him. He didn't smile back. “You love me, right?”

Misa chuckled, incredulous. She waited for a minute to see if he was joking. He wasn't. “Yes, Light, unconditionally! What makes you think otherwise?”

“It's nothing, don't worry— I was just feeling a little… insecure.”

Misa became the most serious she'd ever been. A pit grew in her stomach, telling her that she needed Light to know she loved him. More than she needed food. “Never doubt me, Light. I'll love you until the sky falls and I'm above the moon.”

Light chuckled. It sounded hollow. “Okay. Thank you, Misa.”

 She propped herself up on her elbows. "You love me too, right?”

His answer felt automatic, like a computer program spitting text at you when you click a certain option. “I do.”

Her throat felt hoarse, but she pressed on. “Say it.”

“Hm?”

She gripped his arm, her nails seconds from digging into his skin. Her mind was racing, prepared to explode if he didn’t say what she needed him to. “Say “‘I love you, Misa.’” 

“I love you, Misa.”

She squealed, squeezing Light for all she could.

That was unusual. It took an idiot to even halfway believe that Misa wasn't fully and entirely infatuated with Light. She became manic whenever he was around. To Rem’s chagrin, she most definitely meant it when she said she would love Light Yagami until the sky fell. Sometimes Rem felt that she’d have to make the sky fall. Most of her waking thoughts were consumed by the mediocre at best boy, and Rem shuddered to think about her dreams.

So.. why?

Light wasn't stupid, Rem would give him that credit at the very least. He didn't say something if it wasn't necessary to say it exactly that way. He was cunning, annoyingly so. He had to be doing something. Even worse, Misa was involved somehow. Misa wouldn’t protect herself from this monster, so Rem had to take it into her own hands. Rem absolutely, under no circumstances, would let Light hurt her, even if she wanted him to. The only issue is that Misa really, really wanted him to.

Rem pressed her ear to the door again, determined to hear every last word said in the room until Light left.

And leave he did. Like clockwork, an hour and thirty minutes on the dot, he left as soon as he came, bidding Misa a half-hearted goodbye that didn’t even really have half of his heart in it (if he had one at all.) Taking her cue, Rem slid her sleeve into the locking mechanism on the front door to silence it, stepping into the poorly lit hallway behind Light. She was at a comfortable distance at which she could shrink away, but still close enough to hear every word he said— even if it was mumbled. Conveniently enough, she’d already worn black pajama pants and a gray shirt, perfect for sneaking behind someone in a pinch. Her footfalls were silent and in line with Light’s. If she were to step on a creaky spot in the floor, Light would just assume it was his own. If he noticed at all. She was light on her toes, essentially just a breeze behind him. If she was smart about this, he wouldn’t feel followed at all.

Light picked his phone out of his pocket and dialed a number before lifting it to his ear. The phone rang for a moment, then picked up, a small Hello coming from the line.

“Hold on,” he said, grabbing something from his pocket. Rem couldn’t see what it was in the dark, but she could hear it. Click! It was Misa’s voice saying just how much she loved Light Yagami, as she had a mere hour earlier. “Did you catch that, L?” I did. “Perfect. 1-Misa, then?”

The person on the other line laughed so loud the audio peaked and Light’s phone buffered. Rem got slightly closer. Don’t get ahead of yourself, Light. Nothing has changed yet. 1-1.

Light sighed and snapped his phone shut, clearly irritated. Rem stopped dead in her tracks, letting him leave her radar. She was confused beyond belief. A game? Light Yagami was using Misa to play a game? No— worse. Misa was the game, and Light Yagami was playing her. What happens when he gets angry and flips the table?

You can’t play a game if the board is moved out from under you. You can't lose a game if you're not playing.

Rem had to tell Misa. As soon as Light started to descend the stairs, Rem was going to run back and explain everything she knew to Misa. If she was lucky, Misa would listen to her, regain her senses, and at the very least dump him. It took a bit of convincing to for luck to shine any favors, though.

 Telling Misa was the easy part. The issue was just getting her to listen.

Misa sat on her bed still, burying herself in the cushion Light's head sat on. It still smelled like him. He had to use a certain fragrant shampoo, because it's all she could smell when she laid down. It smelled fresh, like spring. It vaguely reminded her of the smell of her mother's vegetable garden, like the days she’d spent out of school, digging in soil and listening to her mother drawl on how to care for plants. How romantic, she giggled to herself. Carrots.

A soft knock sounded on the door. Instinctively, she thought it was Light coming back to talk to her more because he loves her. Logically, she knew it wasn't. She slinked away from her bed and to the door, opening it for a visibly anxious Rem. She was ridiculously tall, towering over even Light, and she was ducking to fit in the door frame. In the shadow of the door, her eyelashes casted such a shadow that the bags under her eyes seemed endless, like an old woman nearing the end of her life. She wrung her wrists behind her. Misa could hear the fabric of her sleeves writhing together.

Misa's voice nearly broke looking at her, usually downright intimidating because of her composure. Rem was usually unusually calm. It honestly scared Misa a little to see her even the slightest bit disheveled.  “Rem?” She guided the girl inside, minding her gangly limbs. “What is it?”

Rem's voice was hoarse. Her bright eyes darted back and forth. “It's about Light.”

Misa sighed. She knew Rem didn't like him, but scaring her like that was uncalled for. “He's my boyfriend, Rem. I understand that you don't like him, but—”

Rem reached for Misa's hands. They were uncomfortably clammy, but Misa said nothing. “Please, Misa. Hear me out on him just this once, alright? If you don't believe me, you can do whatever you think is right. You need to know this.”

Misa pulled her vanity chair over to her bed, sitting facing Rem. “Okay. What is it? How does it have anything to do with Light?”

“It’s Light and his friend. The one who took you home last Friday.”

Misa chuckled. “What could L be doing?”

Rem sucked in a breath. “I don’t know everything, but when Light left—”

Misa was surprised.“You were awake?”

“I was— that’s unrelated.” She glanced down at her hands, still holding Misa’s.  “When Light left, I snuck out of the door behind him and watched him.”

Misa grit her teeth. “Rem, you know people hate when you do that!”

Rem felt sort of embarrassed, like a child getting scolded. She scratched her head. “I know, I know. But I was following him, and he called L and said something about a game. He played an audio of you saying how much you loved him from something in his pocket and said that he’d ‘won.’’

Misa squinted at Rem, tilting her head by habit. Rem didn’t seem to be lying, and Rem hadn’t lied to Misa ever (to her knowledge) for as long as they’d been friends. “Won what?”

“I don’t know, but it’s a game, and I don’t like that it involves you, Misa.”

Misa tried to sound convincing. She was failing at even convincing herself. “Light would never hurt me, Rem.”

Still, Rem pressed. “Why do you think he asked you whether or not you loved him?”

“He said so, he was feeling insecure.” Rem didn’t respond, only waiting for her to say something else. Misa hated when Rem looked at her like that. More often than not, Rem was right when she was giving Misa that look. A voice sprung in her head: Light knows you love him. He just wanted proof so someone else knew that too. “He loves me.”
The look kept on. It was starting to irritate Misa. “Does he?”

There that voice came again: No, he doesn’t. Him even letting you cuddle him in private is a step up from usual. Do you not remember the days he wouldn’t even give you hugs in public?

She shooed the voice away. “Yes, he loves me. He’s my boyfriend. My boyfriend loves me,” Misa squeezed Rem’s hands, talking to herself while staring into the other girl’s eyes. She couldn’t stand to think that Rem was right. There was no way she was. Misa had done so much to make sure things like this weren’t true.

“He made life worth living, Rem. He loves me.” Nothing about the taller girl’s face changed. Misa started to feel that she was short-circuiting, her wires pulling each other every which way and seizing on themselves. “He wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t love me. He put the man who killed my parents away, Rem. That’s love. He did that for me.”

“He was doing his father a favor. Not you.”

“Please, Rem, he loves me.” Rem didn’t answer. Misa started to cry. She felt like an overstimulated child, crying at the loud noises and colors and begging them to go away, begging mommy or daddy to come save her from what she didn’t want. Rem reached to comfort her, but Misa jerked away from her so hard her chair swiveled backwards. “Get out.” A voice spoke in her head, above the wailing child and the doubtful idiot who believed Rem’s every word. That’s right. Mommy and daddy are gone, the only savior here is Light. Rem is lying.

Now it was Rem’s turn to be surprised. Misa had said a lot of things to her before, but “get out” was new. “What?”

“Get out! Get out of my room, I never want to speak to you again!”

So, according to Misa’s wishes, Rem left. Albeit reluctant and confused, she closed the door all the way behind her, locking it on her way out as Misa always told her to. Misa jumped into her bed and wept. She choked on her own muffled wails, drowning in tears, wet cotton pillowcases, and the stupid, dopamine inducing smell of vegetable scented shampoo.

Chapter Text

Misa Amane was going to kill herself.

She did her makeup rather heavily. Black eyeshadow, the blackest she had, and her favorite red lipstick. It was formulated to be the very color of human blood, and she felt it look best on her out of everything.

Yes, that would fix this. Misa would draw a bath. She would slip in, graceful and divine, and drown. And as she ascended (or descended) to wherever she needed to go, she’d watch Light mourn the loss of his beautiful, talented, intelligent, loving, overall amazing girlfriend.

Misa changed into a sheer, black bath robe. She wrote a note in red pen, her tears splashing the gel.

He'd sob for hours on end over his Renaissance child girlfriend, and how pretty everything about her was until he couldn't cry anymore. He'd burn himself out buying real flowers for her grave, not even cheap plastic ones. He’d never asked her what her favorite flowers were, or even if she had a preference, but she knew it’s because deep down, he knew that she loved carnations. That’s why he didn’t ask. He'd never gotten her flowers, but he’d thought about it, probably.

Misa ran the bath like she liked them. She preferred her baths to be downright marinades, so that’s what she did. Salts and crystals and soaps and bath bombs and shower steamers and flowers and candles. It felt ritualistic, almost, and that’s what she liked about it. It provided a sort of comfort when she needed it. She definitely needed comfort now.

He'd beg his father to let him bury her ashes in his family plot, memorialized in his family forever, remembered as his. His father would protest, but give in after the cries of his son. His sister and mother would agree with Light, feeling that Misa was such a good girlfriend, friend, and confidant that she had earned her place among the Yagami family, much like she’d earned everything else in life.

She placed the note beside the tub, where various toiletries lay. She wanted to grab at her shampoo instinctively, washing her hair, but there was no need now. She reclined in the bathtub, submerging herself to her chin in the warm water. Her muscles relaxed and her bones decompressed, her entire body seemingly giving into the desire to die.

Or would he find her before she died, almost under the water’s surface, and push her further into her demise? If she were to die, would he even care? Would he attend her funeral? Would he tell the coroners she wanted to be in her favorite white dress at her wake, and that she liked her makeup a certain way, and to not cross her arms over her chest. Would anyone? Or would her last moments with all of her friends and what's left of her family be ruined by her poor outfitting? Would she be forced to spend her final days with a body mourning not her life, but her downright embarrassing outfit?

Suddenly, the voices that plagued Misa’s mind came back to her. They did not help.

He probably wouldn't care. It would be freeing for him. He'd hear news of your death and fake cry on the phone, maybe, but he'd rejoice. He would stay inside and celebrate, pretending to lock himself in his room to mourn. He'd finally be able to not have to go on your stupid dates, and maybe he'd even find someone he could stand. Maybe he'd even go and have celebratory sex with that Takada girl now that you're finally out of the question. She’s quieter than you are. He thinks you talk too much. She’d make a better housewife, and that’s what he wants.

Misa was better than Kiyomi. Kiyomi was a nobody. A tall, pretty, and incredibly intelligent nobody, sure, but brains don’t matter when you’re a nobody. Misa was not a nobody. Not even close, she was a model. Misa was better than being a housewife. She was a star, she wasn't meant for making sandwiches and rearing babies. It would ruin her figure.

Misa was better than this. Since when did Misa cry over boys who wore khaki pants? Since when did she cry over total nerds pursuing criminal justice degrees? Since when was Misa’s life ever difficult enough to warrant crying? She’d busted her ass to make a career and a name for herself.

Since she met Light. Meeting Light was when she changed so monumentally. Meeting Light was what ruined her, what caged her, chaining her to him. Killing herself would only unchain him. She’d stay chained.

She would not let that happen. 

So then, dying was out of the question. She was kind of sad to see the option go. Love-fueled suicide was the easiest option by far. And she looked so pretty, all dressed in her death-by-bathtub garb.

Misa reached for her shampoo, lathering it in her hands and washing her unstyled hair. She dipped herself in the water, letting it cleanse her of the unset makeup. The water had turned pink thanks to the bath bomb she had thrown in, but with the addition of her eyeshadow melting from her face, it turned a lovely shade of purple. Light never did like purple. She guessed it wasn’t that bad. She didn’t bother conditioning, just stepped out of the bathtub, leaving the robe in it, and drying herself off. She grabbed the note and set it aflame with one of the candles around her, letting it burn until it was just a little piece of charred pink. Maybe she'd burn the rest, maybe she'd frame it. She didn't know. She knew she had to do three things, in what order was yet to be decided:

Apologize to Rem, figure out the context and contents of the game, and win the game. Firstly, she would need Rem's help. More importantly, she would need Rem’s forgiveness. Rem would probably still be willing to help her regardless if she apologized or not, but that was irrelevant. Rem treated Misa like she was the center of the universe. It’d be selfish to not be decent to her. Misa knew she could be selfish at times, but she would be damned if she would make it Rem’s problem.

Misa knocked on the door. Rem never kept it locked for her, but it felt weird screaming at Rem like an asshole and barging into her room like nothing happened. Thinking about her last encounter with the poor thing made Misa a little queasy. She felt like an abusive boyfriend coming back for the millionth time. “Rem? Are you awake?”

Rem opened the door. She seemed forlorn, wearing the same stained shirt she was yesterday. It was Misa's fault it was stained. Some lip gloss she had been wearing smudged on the gray fabric, leaving a little pink spot on the middle of her chest while she was hugging Rem. Misa was kind of overwhelmed taking in her appearance. She may have been imagining it, but she could’ve sworn Rem's eyes were darker than usual, sad and cloudy. Misa noticed little things about her, like how she was slouching just a bit more than usual, how she hadn't addressed Misa yet, and yesterday's makeup that she hadn't washed. Her usual blue eyeshadow smeared her eyelids, smudged from a night’s sleep.

Misa melted. She couldn't help it. Crying into Rem's shirt, she squeezed the six-foot-seven girl for all she was worth. S he mumbled apologies through her cries, but whatever she had said was unintelligible anyway. Rem hugged her back. Misa loosened her grip little by little. When Misa was mostly done sobbing, Rem peeled her away. Her face was puffy and red, like she'd been crying for hours instead of seconds. “I'm so sorry Rem, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it.”

Rem stroked her hair, running her fingers through it as Misa talked. “I know. It's okay.”

“Thank you, Rem.” Misa wiped her tears. “I'm going to break up with Light, like you wanted. You're right.”

Rem froze, but her face didn't light up like Misa expected it to. She frowned for a moment, thinking. Misa loved to see that face on her. She was so smart. “I want you to be safe, Misa, you know that,” she said, grabbing Misa’s hand. Her fingers were long, eclipsing the tanner girl's hands almost entirely. “But are you sure you'd be happy?”

She looked down at her hands, now both intertwined in Rem's. “I want to get back at him, Rem. No— that's wrong. I need to get back at him. I need to win.” She looked up, meeting the yellow eyes that stared back at her. “That'd make me happy.”

Rem considered it. She squeezed Misa's hand. “If you're happy.”

“You're the best, Rem!” Misa threw her arms around Rem again. Grinning like a madman, she stepped away, thinking. “I'll need your help.”

At that, Rem smiled. “Anything.”

Misa clapped, joyful to see she wouldn’t have to do anything alone. “Perfect!”

“But, uh, Misa?” Rem averted her eyes, respectfully not looking down. “You may want to put something on first.”

Only now did Misa realize she hadn't gotten dressed when she stepped out of the bathtub. “Sorry, this was my first priority.”

“I don't mind.”

She giggled setting the table. Usually, when Misa had a “date,” she'd set the table for guests. Tastefully cluttered magazines and plants, coasters so you didn't get a talking to from Emiko, maybe little snacks if she felt she'd you might get hungry.

Today was different. Misa had laid out a puzzle for Light to solve. It was a thousand pieces, and it was needless to say it was intricate. It would take a normal person 10 hours, maybe a few days if you weren't skilled. Light was no normal man, though, and she assumed it would take him no more than two hours. Two hours was all she needed to extract the perfect information from him.

Misa picked out a cutesy puzzle and set a comforting tone. She'd worn a frilly pink nightgown and tied her hair as she usually did in two little ponytails at the top of her head. She didn't wear any makeup, deciding a few months too late that Light didn't care for what she looked like as long as she was useful.

It was just cold enough for you to need a blanket. She'd set out tea and cookies. The puzzle was a photo of two cats playing. Who wouldn't be at ease? She'd rehearsed the lines a million times in her head, she knew she was good at acting, she'd be fine in that regard. She supposed she would find kinks in her set design during the shoot. She'd already tested her recorders, making sure the pillows they hid behind weren't muffling any of the sound quality. They were really only for backup's sake anyway, she planned to be paying attention to nothing but Light Yagami. It was business as usual.

She didn't send anyone away. She typically told Emiko and Maeko to kick rocks for about an hour and a half, but today she decided against it. The more ears she has on anything Light says, the better, she supposed. The added buzz of studying and watching TV would add to the atmosphere. If she played her cards exactly as she intended to play them, she'd lull him into a false security, singing her usual sugar-sweet lullabies. She didn't want to psych herself too much, as she was bound to make herself a bit too jittery, but she couldn't help herself. It was a life or death situation just a few hours ago. This would be worth it. This had to be worth it. Misa wanted to scream at him, wanted to shout, and throw things, and in her wildest dreams, slap him. Those dreams would have to stay dreams for now, as she checked the time on her phone. It was 19:58. Roughly two minutes until showtime. As any good show manager did, she checked her sound, making sure the AC unit wasn't too loud, and the incessant typing and page turning coming from one of the closed doors was just loud enough. Lights were dimmed as she had set and reset them at least 8 times. She kept a few candles burning for fun. A healthy work-fun balance, if you will.

19:59. She took the tea she'd set earlier off of the stove. Misa added sugar to Light’s tea, Just enough to take any possible bitterness from it. She had half a mind to poison it, but she didn't have any on hand at the moment. What a downer.

20:00. Light's usual knock sounded on the door the second the clock turned.

Action!

“I didn't know you liked puzzles.”

She shot him her brightest smile. Today she was playing Ignorant: The Misa Who Loved Him. She honestly hated it. “What can Misa say? I'm full of surprises!”

”I guess you are.” He always chuckled when Misa said something wrong. He used to correct her when she spoke in the first person, but eventually just accepted it as her nature. He didn’t have to know it was only because she was flustered, and he definitely didn’t have to know she was faking it now.

She fiddled with an obvious corner piece in her fingers, making a show of not knowing where it would go. “Misa likes a lot of things! You, sweets, games..”

“Everyone likes games.”

What an astute observation, Light! I never would've thought that a concept designed to be fun wss fun! “You do?” She cocked her head. “I thought Light was all serious.. business and justice and whatnot.” She made a mocking voice, miming adjusting a suit and tie as she talked.

“I play tennis. I excel at it.” He smiled saying that, smug as ever. Misa had half of a mind to tell him he sucked.

She decided against herself. “You excel at everything,” she said, trying to give him the sweetest look she could. She dropped the pieces she was holding, pushing her elbows on the table to prop up her face.

“Thank you, Misa, but that's not true,” he placed his eighty—second piece of the night. Misa was counting, so she'd know when to stage a distraction and drag the night along. She'd placed two.“There are plenty of games that I lose— or even tie in.”

“Like what?”

“Well,” He paused for a minute. He seemed to be deliberating with himself. Excitement permeated her mind, forcing her every thought to be three times as fast as she stared intently into her boyfriend's soul. “L challenged me about a week ago to a game I've yet to win. It's a bit daunting, if I have to be honest.”

This was her chance! She damn near jumped over the table getting to Light, planning to beg him for any information. “What kind of game? I'll help!”

He raised his palms, as if blocking her advances. He failed. “There's no need to worry about it, Misa, it's fine.”

She curled into his side, placing one hand on his chest and the other around him. Maybe yesterday morning, this would've driven her crazy, but now it felt stupid. She couldn't explain how little she wanted touch Light Yagami ever again, but sacrifices had to be made in the name of acting, she supposed. “Please, Light, let me help you.” She pouted, pretending to be on the verge of tears, as if this was a serious enough situation to warrant tears. “I just want to be helpful to you…”

“I know, Misa, I know. You can help me, okay? Don't cry.” He honestly sounded more irritated with her than comforting. Part of her wanted to do something about that, but the rest of her knew better. She didn't care what he sounded like as long as she was winning. “It was a competition over you, actually. I felt insecure when he took you home from that party, and he made it a game. I'm sorry I didn't tell you.”

A little part of her heart welled up. It felt like a single butterfly had found its way into her stomach, knocking around every know and then. She didn't squash it, instead abusing it for all the theatrics it was worth, weaponizing her unfortunately interminable love for Light Yagami. “You were fighting over me? That's so sweet!” She squeezed him, knocking out all of his breath. He let out an audible wheeze. “I knew you loved me, Light, even with everything I've been told, I knew you loved me!”

He caught his breath, prying Misa’s arms away, loosening her grip. “I guess you were right, Misa.”

She looked up at him. “Hm?”

He grinned at her.“There isn't anything I can't win.”

She pushed herself off of him, finally tumbling free of his grasp. “The game isn't over yet, silly.”

Misa wished she had really gone all out and put up a camera. She wanted to frame the face Light was making. “What?”

She was finally back on her side of the table, mindlessly searching through the piles of pieces left in front of her. “It's not even round one, really. You haven't even tried to play! You still have to one up him.”

The poor thing was still confused. “What are you saying, Misa? I thought you loved me. Not him.”

“Of course I do, silly! Misa just… wants to give you the full experience of the game. You said it yourself, everyone loves games.”

“I love games even more when I know I've won them. You want to make me happy, right?” He leaned towards her. Misa couldn't tell if it was subconscious or if he was trying to intimidate her. Whatever the cause, it didn't work on her anymore.

“You'll be even happier if you win the real way, Light.” She placed a piece on the puzzle, completing one of the cat's noses. “A game's no fun if it's not even a game.”

“What do you mean ‘if’ I win?”

She returned her reply almost before he finished speaking. “I might.”

Light laughed. It sounded genuine. Far more genuine than he'd ever given her before. She wondered if this was the first time she'd truly made him laugh. “You aren't playing.”

“Who says?”

He was quiet, knowing it would be dumb to let instinct rule and tell her that he, infact, said so.

“Exactly. 1-0-1, dear, and you're the fat zero in the middle.” She glanced at the clock on the living room wall. 21:04. “You should be getting home, Light. It seems you're late. You may even be past curfew if you don't rush.”

Light looked at his watch, and then looked back at Misa, seeming a little dumbfounded that Misa was showing even a single sign of intelligence. She couldn't blame him, really, it was no one's fault but her own that her brain melted whenever he spoke. It would, however, be his fault that he couldn't keep up when he loses.

“I'll be going then,” He said, still sounding a little confused. “Bye, Misa.”

She switched back to the Misa she was when he walked in, like flipping light bulbs on and off. “Bye Light! Be safe, Misa loves you!”

Chapter Text

“Forget-me-nots, or myosotis, are known for their fuzzy petals and spreading tendencies when not planted in a pot. They're considered a flower of love, remembrance, and dedication. The story goes that forget-me-nots got their name from a French knight, who collected the flower for his lady. He then fell into a river, threw the flower at her, and yelled “Don't forget me!”

I may not be drowning, but I'll still throw you flowers.

Yours truly, L”

Writing that paragraph, he expected everything he was saying to be true. Now with Watari being so flora oriented, L decided to take up a little bit or research on things he found interesting. One such thing being the myths associated with certain plants. Specifically, he'd spent an hour or so reading articles and internalizing information on Forget-me-nots, like he was a student cramming for an important test.

Honestly, the myths and stories for the flower were predictable at best. He anticipated each story to be one of hilarity. There was the knight story he'd told Misa, there was a story of Greek origin with Zeus, there were stories of past romance, past peoples he recognized from history classes. All was to be expected. Old stories all end the same. It was foolish to expect differently.

He did not expect to be unable to stop thinking about the girl he gifted them to. He always had thought Misa was just a little too beautiful to be with Light. She had actual agencies scratching at walls just to get a few photos of her, hundreds; maybe thousands of people willing to follow her to war, and spent her days chasing a boy who’s had the same haircut since he had enough hair to even be cut? It didn’t seem exactly right to him, how Light managed to pull her in. It was honestly puzzling just how gorgeous she was compared to… him. It wasn’t his business, though, and he had to remind himself of that. He couldn’t distance himself from every living thing around him if he was too busy caught up in the dramas that came with Misa. He wouldn’t let it distract him from anything.

Except, he did. He let the picture of Misa staring at him, wide-eyed as he talked about plants follow his every waking moment. It felt like trying to go through daily life with a balloon tied to your wrist; it was irritating at best, but you couldn’t be mad when you turn around and see a balloon. How embarrassing would that be? To get angry at an inanimate object designed to look funny and make you laugh. Part of him was convinced that Misa hexed him, forcing him to think about her for every waking hour because he dared to try and steal her away from Light. Of course, logically, this was entirely implausible, but there was no real other way to describe it. He gave her a single gift and took her home from one party, and suddenly she pervades his dreams and when he’s out, he thinks about buying her things. He almost enters a designer clothing store because one of the mannequins in the window looked exactly like something Misa would like, entirely prepared to spend whatever the cost was before reminding himself that she, too, believed he was off putting, and turned around. He ended up turning back around and buying it anyway, stashing it away maybe for her birthday, or for Christmas, if she celebrated it. It was surely not his most dignified moment, but that’s what the privacy of throwing away receipts is for.

The idea of letting someone be nice to him was downright horrifying. He’d crafted this odd exterior with his own flesh and bone, morphing his already “off putting” personality into one where people would truly and entirely be put off. He’d taken his sweet time painstakingly crafted every detail, from the way he walked to the cadence which he talked. He’d let himself get so used to it, he honestly didn’t know if it was worth shedding. He didn’t know if it was necessary to shed it. If it was, would he be able to? That was the worst part. Maybe if he needed to, he wouldn’t be able. He’d have to stay stuck in his own ways for the rest of time. He'd always hated topics like that. The only thing he hated more than himself was the unknown. It's always what you don't expect that bites you.

Rather than spiraling into that neverending rabbit hole, he focused on what positives could come to him, if any at all. 

The idea of letting Misa be nice to him was tantalizing. Not only was it really his first actual chance at a companion, she wasn’t exactly a bad deal to end up with. If you could consider anyone a “bad deal,” it certainly was not Misa Amane. She was beautiful, and if he had to guess, smarter than she looked. Whether it was his hopeful desire to believe that no human being could actually be that unintelligent, or the fact that she was a highly regarded actress was yet to be decided. He leaned more towards the latter, but there was always the strong possibility he was lying to himself. Though, of course, she had gotten into this college as well with above average marks. Perhaps she just liked pretending to be dumb, like a millionaire begging on the street. Maybe she’d learned something that made her want to. Maybe that was part of the appeal to him. Solving her, or at least trying to, like a ceaseless puzzle. The inner workings of Misa’s mind was a labyrinth he was excited to explore. 

That was, if he won.

He guessed the game had higher stakes than he anticipated. Now, he’d be winning a game against Light, the privilege to treat Misa with respect, and even better, Misa herself. Maybe the so-frilly-it-can-barely-fold dress he had bought wouldn’t have to wait until Christmas after all.

            “Misa! You have a visitor!” Maeko yelled from the front door. Misa had an idea on who was visiting her, and she'd anticipated it. Why else would she be sitting at her vanity, toiling slowly away, giving a visitor the perfect early-morning time to come speak to her just as she got done getting ready?

“Let them in please! My door is open!” She yelled back, applying the last of a red lip gloss and fluffling her hair. Misa had always loved games. She learned how to play chess for a role she played, and ever since strategy was one of her favorite things. Getting into someone else's head, learning their thoughts and ideas, and using it to win- it was electrifying. She was so entirely ready for this round.

A knock came on her bedroom door. She told the mysterious visitor that it was open, and they entered and closed the door behind them.

In shuffled L, in his usual white shirt and jeans, carrying a large pink box with a pink bow. It didn't look like he'd wrapped it, instead looking like it'd come from a store with their own exclusive boxes for you to use. She didn't know how to feel about the idea of him spending so much money on her without even really knowing her, but it was sweet in his own little way, she supposed.

He held the box out to her. She couldn’t tell if he was feeling nervous or if he just always had that slight panicked expression about him. “It's for you, Ms. Amane.”

“Thank you, L.” She sat the box down on her vanity and slipped the ribbon off of the box. Opening it, the box was filled to the brim with an adorable black dress that she guessed fit her based on how it looked alone. She marveled at it for a moment, wondering where it had come from and if there were more. She must’ve been missing a store or two when she went shopping, and she would definitely need to correct that fatal mistake.

He shifted nervously. “You don't hate it, right?”

She laughed. “Why would I hate it?” Misa turned around and held the dress up, pulling it out of the box by the straps. It was lacey and intricately woven. The material was soft, not scratchy. Alternating layers of tulle and lace filled out the skirt. “This is beautiful!” She put the dress down, sitting it on her vanity, and charged at L. She enveloped him in a hug that nearly knocked him off of his balance. “Thank you so much, L!”

He didn’t dodge her like Light usually did, hugging her back sort of awkwardly. She supposed his demeanor could be a mixture of his nervousness and overall weirdness. “It's my pleasure.”

She let him go. Excited, she ran back to the dress and folded it on her arm. “Here, you stay here, and I'll go change into it so we can see how it fits.”

“Uhm, okay.” He sat down on the edge of her bed, feeling a bit awkward. Her room was almost exactly how he expected it to be. Tastefully messy and full of trinket dishes, jewelry, discarded leg warmers and garters on the floor, and a smell of cupcakes that seemed to saturate the air so heavily he could almost taste them. 

Admittedly, he also felt a little watched. It could have been irrational paranoia, or the cupcake fumes getting to his head, but he swore he felt eyes on him. Watchful eyes, the eyes of a collector curating their items. He didn't know whether it'd be more productive to squirm under the hypothetical watcher's scrutiny or to ignore it completely, write it off as unnecessary nerves. 

She didn’t take very long though, busting back through the door in record time.

She’d put on the dress, and in L’s opinion she looked amazing in it, but she seemed troubled. Her eyebrows had knit themselves together, and he could’ve sworn she was almost giving him puppy eyes. “It fits well, but I need a bit of help.”

“With what?”

She turned around. The dress did fit her well, but the zipper in the back was all the way down. “I can’t get the zipper up at all.” Her arms reached for the zipper, and she tried to pull it up, but failed. She turned her head. “Can you get it?”

“Yeah.” He stood up. “Zippers aren’t difficult.”

The zipper wasn’t the difficult part. The difficult part was looking at the zipper. Getting closer to her, he realized it was Misa that smelled so sweet. It was an intoxicating vanilla that clouded his senses more than they needed to be clouded. His hand grazed her back while he was grabbing the zipper, and he felt like an Edwardian boy seeing an ankle. His mind raced and it took all of his might not to say forget the zipper, I think I want to see something else on you, if that’s okay, and make a million bad decisions after that. He may need to step back. Stay far, far away and recalibrate his desires. Misa was dangerous. Deadlier than nightshade. Walking into that was like jumping into a pool with no ladders. He’d never be able to escape, no matter how much he wished. 

Yet he knew he’d gladly jump into that pool without a second thought. Let the water pull him under, who cares? His life plans were boring at best, and he had no true friends. Might as well let this woman sing you to your doom from her shore, waiting to devour you whole as soon as you get close enough to become her next meal.

“There you go.” He backed away from her, putting a respectable distance. She was still Light’s girlfriend for now. Nothing rash could be done, at least not yet.

She spun around and looked at herself in a floor length mirror that stood in the corner of her room. L couldn't help but stare, mesmerized by her. Black was entirely her color. He felt a bit of pride knowing he picked out a dress she liked for her.

“We should go somewhere sometime,” she told him, saying it like an afterthought. She was fixing the ruffles on the skirt as she talked, meticulously placing every pleat just right.

“I'm free today,” He croaked, suddenly too shy to speak.

Misa covered her mouth daintily, surprised. “Oh, I forgot about that! Of course we can go today! Where should we go?”

“I don't know. I don't go out much. Do you have any ideas?”

She placed a finger on her chin. L had trouble telling which mannerisms were truly her own and which was apart of her act, but it was as clear as day that she was center stage right now. She might as well have been reciting lines from a page. “There's this one dessert store that opened. Can we go to that?”

“Will anyone refuse dessert?”

“I hope not. Let me get my shoes, okay?” She looked around. “And maybe some stockings… and a necklace. Some more eyeshadow too…”

Misa was excited. No, ecstatic. She was so manic, full of electricity that she felt she’d explode if someone bumped into her. She was in her element in every sense of the word. Firstly, she loved, loved, loved, shopping. Being in her favorite store district, smelling the food samples and perfumes, seeing bright colors begging her for her attention everywhere, tasting the gloriously low-quality air. Today was an easier day, being a weekday, but it was still busy nonetheless. People always found time to shop, no matter the occasion. Misa included. 

Secondly, she was essentially playing hop-scotch on a chessboard. Toying with the inner workings of someone’s mind didn’t have to be all boring. You didn’t have to scowl and wear ugly suits and ties and be a corporate businessman. You didn't have to play your power moves with an ugly smirk. You could sing and dance during the game. You could wear your frilly skirts and cute hairstyles, you could force a higher voice to keep up appearances, you could charm everyone around with your pretty face and quick wit while they silently wondered where all of their pieces went. You could do whatever you want, twirling in the depths of whoever's mind you're playing against. All you needed was some glitter and a skirt, and suddenly everyone thinks you're so unintelligent it's comical. Your teachers cast you slide glances, wondering if your growth was stunted in some way, maybe if ”the incident“ scarred you, and whether or not it’d get better or worse with age. Your peers wonder if you've always just been “under the curve,” born and designed by God to be a secondary character, comedic relief when the plot gets too thick. 

It became easier with time to stay an airhead when in the company of others. Some of her faked mannerisms had molded themselves into her. She no longer noticed the way she skipped instead of ran, or how she tapped her chin when thinking. Part of her mourned that, citing the idea of a ballerina being stuck in a pirouette. Toes forever pointed, molded in vinyl and polystyrene like a human doll. Joints wooden, heavy, organs of stone. Everything else in her was excited- it was permanent method-acting! She didn't even have to pretend to be a murderer or anything, she could just be intentionally stupid! Oh, the bliss of fake ignorance! 

She felt like a mad scientist, content in her lab. The poisons she spent her days with surrounded her like friends, stung her like briars. She would always come back, spending her hours here. Maybe she’d even die here, content enough in her escapades to never leave, letting the fumes consume her. She’d thought she was dying several times over her lifetime. She’d yet to. Part of her wondered if, in this analogy, the poisons she threw herself into were just waiting to dispose of her. She wondered if there were any poisons at all, or if her woes were entirely psychosomatic. Was she crazy? She asked herself, letting it echo in her suddenly quiet mind. She didn’t answer back. She didn’t know.

It didn’t matter. No one knew everything, anyway. She pushed the thought away, deciding that madness wouldn’t spoil her fun today. The chatter erupted once more in her mind, allowing her to have her sort of peace. She looked to her left, seeing the awkward future-detective walking next to her. He walked surprisingly fast, keeping up with her manic pace. He didn’t have to, he wouldn’t be separated from her as there wasn’t much of a crowd. He probably shouldn't have, considering his jeans were long enough to drag and trip him, but he did anyway. 

Lost in thought, Misa forgot she was staring. It hadn't dawned on her that she could just cast him a sideways glance instead of fully turning her head and blowing any semblance of cover she had. He didn't lift his head to look back at her, just asking, “Is there something on my face?”

“Oh— no, sorry, Misa was just thinking.“ She turned her head back, face burning from embarrassment.

“It's okay, I was partially joking.” He looked over at her. His eyes were still as drowsy as ever, pools of obsidian forged in fire. She found herself not irritated by his  aloof expression as she typically was. “Though, please tell me if there's something on my face.”

She giggled. “It's okay, I will.” She looked the other way, realizing they had met their destination. It was a small store, with huge windows and even larger cushioned seats. Misa didn't usually spend very long in the store despite the accommodations. They had chargers, coffees, and free Wi-Fi for studying. She only used them a few times though, leaving the store with her goods after just a few minutes. She usually preferred her sweets when they sufficiently blocked out negative thoughts she couldn't shake. Whether it was walking and eating a full-sized birthday cake in one sitting, working out with an icecream cone in hand, singing with a hunk of bubblegum in her mouth, she wanted the thoughts out. All of the above were effective solutions. In certain cases, she'd spend an unsavory amount of money on the sweets and waste the entire night pacing her room. Her floors, both at home and in her dorm, had developed weak, creaky spots from her sleepless nights.

Wordlessly, she grasped L's cold hand and dragged him into the store with her, the bell on the door dinging as it closed. 

“Do you like it?” She asked L, eating another bite of the slice of strawberry shortcake she'd bought. He'd bought a slice of cheesecake, requesting it to be absolutely drowned in whipped cream. It'd run him a bit more, but he seemed to be enjoying it, no matter the money. Despite the way he dressed, Misa knew now that he most likely had never had to worry about money in his life. Or maybe he had, but now lived so lavishly he could forget about it all. The inability to look at him and just know frustrated her.

“It's great. I'm going to visit there a lot. Thank you for showing me that.”

“It's no problem,” she told him. She honestly marveled at him, wondering how he could even get a word out. She knew that logically, one could live off only sweets for a lifetime, but it certainly wouldn't be a happy or long time. Was that all he really ate, or had he been eating his proper fruits and vegetables when no one was around?

Was he acting too?

That shouldn't have hit her like it did. She knew that much. She was unsure of what that thought made her feel. In the annals of her mind, it brought up a lot of ideas that she was not fond of escaping her mouth. Another bite of cake will fix that, maybe.

L stopped walking. Misa stopped next to him, confused until she looked down at his feet. Next to his leg, rubbing its face against the hem of his jeans was a stray tabby cat. The cat meowed at him when he stopped walking, stepping in front of him as if it wanted to block his path. L kneeled down and petted the cat. Misa's eyes darted from him and the cat, her brain overloaded and not sure what to think about. How cute the cat was, or how cute L looked petting the cat seemed to be the winning contenders. Sne knew the second option was a risky path, considering he too was also her opponent in the game, but a hidden part of her mind relished in the idea like a teenage fangirl over a boy band.

L scooped a dollop of the whipped cream on his cheesecake onto his hand, letting the cat eat it. The ugly voice in her head popped up again, this time torturing her in a way never before: sexual thoughts about a boy who was currently barefoot on the sidewalk, hunched over and feeding a cat whipped cream. Even more humiliating, as much as she wished to never see him again, she had a boyfriend. Misa, like everyone, was capable of being cruel, but she would not cheat. Misa was honest. She didn't cheat.

The whore-ible voice in her head did not agree. That Misa has no moral qualms with cheating on Light. He was a bad boyfriend. And L is just so, so cute…

The logical voice spoke up, talking into the void of her mind. 2-0-1. Damn, he's winning.

Chapter Text

Once they had both walked back to Misa’s dorm, L was ready to bid her goodbye. Misa had a different idea.

L now sat on her couch, sipping from a warm mug of pleasantly sweet tea with Misa next to him. She'd changed into pajamas, which for Misa, were despicably short pink shorts and a silk tank top. She was cuddling under the same blanket as him. They weren't cuddling, but their arms were touching. He honestly wondered, was he winning a point, or was she winning him ?

He knew it was cliché to even think, but he seriously was considering writing about Misa. A short story, a poem, a song, anything. He found it hard to focus on anything but making her a muse for some magnum opus piece that he would dedicate his life to. It was honestly embarrassing to even think about. He was so good at disengaging from his peers, he almost prided himself on it. His crowning achievement was having no one to gloat to. Who was she, prancing into his life and suddenly knocking him from his first place shut-in pedestal? Who was he to let her?

That disgusting innate part of him wanted to declare it somehow, that he thought her face looked nice. He knew as good as she did, even if he did love her, it was far too early to give that notion. Common sense told him that his heart was an idiot of the worst kind, and he listened. Even though his heart was begging him to say otherwise, he settled on just liking her face. Her very pretty magazine cover face. The objective of the game was to get her to love him , not the other way around. Though, looking at her, it was sort of difficult to say the former wasn't plausible.

Sitting on the other edge of the loveseat was Rem, a respectable distance from the two with her own blanket. L had an odd feeling about her reason for being with them, but he wouldn't voice it. Rem seemed nice enough, and there wasn't anything to gain from being rude to her.

Misa had suggested a horror movie. L was fine with it. It seemed almost uncharacteristic of her, until he remembered the figures of eldritch monsters she kept on her shelves and the painting splattered with paint mimicking blood that hung above her bed. He made a mental note, almost sounding like a scientist's journal. Misa exhibits odd behaviors regarding gore. Will run further tests at a later date. 

The three of them together had chosen an exceptionally bloody movie. Misa had already watched it, and had been meaning to do so again, and neither Rem nor L had any objections. L wrote another note in his mental diary: Rem seems to not particularly care about trivial options. So far, she appears to not care about anything. Soon running tests on whether or not the last observation is true. It is possible that she's just bored. Results to be determined.

The movie had gotten to be a particularly shock-horror-esque scene. Instead of guts and all things bodily, the excruciatingly blonde protagonist had found herself alone in a house with the creature that had been established as bloodthirsty. The main character, whose name escaped him, was bloodspattered already. She wore a white shirt and a plaid skirt, despite not being school-age. She was hiding under a bed from The Thing, as she called it, and it was rather quickly closing in. When its feet-like-appendages had hit the front door, knocking it from its hinges, she squealed, alerting the creature of where she was.

Misa curled into the blanket a tad more. She was pouting and haphazardly shielding her face from the screen, as if something was going to jump out at her. “I hate this part,” she mumbled, just lightly enough for him to hear. She didn't seem to be talking to him, though. 

Another note: Misa seems to be speaking to herself, or just speaking to speak. This phenomenon has never been observed before.

The Thing stopped. Its grotesque head reared, its melted many faces searching for her. Just the creature turning its head made a sickening wet noise, almost like stepping in tar. Its nose sniffed, and then it climbed onto the bed she was under, misguidedly searching for her. The camera cut back to the woman. She had been holding her breath and covering her mouth, but one can only hold their breath for so long. She exhaled and heaved, her breath betraying her. The room fell silent. The woman began to take her hand away from her mouth, breathing slightly easier as if the creature had left, and the creature's face d--

Misa squealed, jumped, and buried her face into L's shoulder. She only slightly overshot her attempt at jumping to him, and instead jumped on him, now sitting in his lap. She’d knocked his tea out of his hand, and his mug now sat shattered on the floor with the sticky remnants of the tea. When the woman’s scream faded out, Misa removed her face from his arm, showing that she had cried a little. She looked at the now shattered mug. “I'm sorry, I'll clean it, I'll make you a new one,” she tried to push herself off of him, but he threw his arms around her, hugging her.

On the screen, the woman’s screaming had stopped. The creature fed on her face, and the special effects department spared no gruesome detail of the nature of the wound. L was almost disconcerted. He couldn’t be sure what he was seeing was accurate to what it was meant to be, but it certainly felt like it was. It was simple enough design to believe, but the more you looked at it, the more detailed it got. He wondered whether or not he'd prefer it to be realistic or if it was clearly fake. He wondered how they'd gotten a reference.There was no way to know unless you'd done it. He supposed it could wait. “That's okay. We can worry about it later. For now, should we choose a different movie?”

Rem spoke up. “I think so. I don't like this movie.”

“Agreed!” Misa squealed. They ended up choosing an entirely different genre, beginning a children's film about friendship. The characters were all animals, with the main character being an otter.

Minutes after the film started, Misa excused herself to the restroom, leaving the two contenders for Quietest Person on Earth alone in a room together. Neither of them made a sound. The only noise in the room at all was the movie, childish graphics with an overall adult narrative. L looked at Rem through his peripheral vision, and she seemed to be staring straight ahead, looking blankly at the wall. She was so unmoving that it felt like looking at a still image. Her breaths were almost undetectable, and he could barely tell that she was alive at all. Even under his scrutiny, she did not move. He did not know that she was using the same trick as he was, hiding her gaze behind her hair.

She spoke to him first, breaking the icy silence with an even colder conversation. She didn’t turn her head to look at him, still facing straight ahead, still as a statue.  “I take it you like Misa.”

He chuckled at her forwardness. “Should I assume you do too, then?”

She shrugged.“It’d be safe to say so.”

“So I’m your competition?”

Rem was quiet for a moment. It wasn’t a silence of confusion, he could tell. She was meticulous and carefully crafting her words before she said them. “No. She knows of your little game. As do I. I don’t intend to play.”

“Oh.” New entries: Misa, as suspected, is smarter than first assumed. Rem is not apathetic, just calculated. He felt a bit out of his own depth. He’d played with the possibility of Misa being intelligent, but had yet to think about her relationship to his game. Should she be counted on his scoreboard, then?

He remade his scoreboard, accounting for Misa. 2-1-?. Now knowing what he wished he knew when it was relevant, he tallied her score. The zipper escapade was a point. Showing him a shop was another. Jumping into his arms for a horror movie was another.

Good God, she was winning.

“Don’t discourage yourself.” She just now looked at him. He turned his head to look at her, agonizing over her facial expressions, deciphering every move. “I don’t believe Misa plans to leave this game alone. She doesn’t know my feelings for her, and even if she does, she’s better off pretending she doesn’t. It’s for her own good— I know she doesn’t feel the same, but I refuse to let anyone else hurt her. If I’m not an option, it’s just you and Light.”

He smiled at her. “We can share.”

She smiled. “You understand. Don’t disappoint me, and sharing will be fine.”

L opened his mouth to say something, but as he did, Misa burst from the bathroom door and was on the couch again in seconds, curling up next to L. This time, she had begun leaning on him instead of the couch.  She knows of your little game. As do I.

So, this is deliberate. She’s far smarter than she lets on. A pang of an unusual feeling hits his heart. It’s pleasant and torturous and he can’t stand it, so instead, he leans into Misa a tad, forgetting whatever that hideously pleasant feeling that plagued him watching a movie about an anthropomorphic otter’s misadventures.

Misa loved games. She knew the statement was redundant, as everyone loved games, and Misa counted as everyone, but she did not care. Especially when she was winning them.

She had incrementally curled into L through the course of the movie. By the hour mark, she was in his lap again, barely even pretending to watch the movie. Occasionally, she'd aww at one of the characters being cute, but that was it. It was clearly affecting him, too, and that was the best part— he was awkward and flustered, and when his gaze turned, his eyes darted back and forth before landing on their targets. She’d yet to see him like this, so she abused it for all it was worth. She’d even twirled his hair in her fingers or pretended to wipe something off of his face, just to see him squirm a little, as if he could slip out of his own skin. She knew it was cruel to torture him like this, but quite honestly, she didn’t care. Whether he knew it or not, he’d been torturing her for weeks now. It was only fair to return the favor.

She was in the middle of pretending that there was something on his face when someone knocked on the door. Rem got up to open it, being closest to the door. She unlocked it and pulled the door open, staring into the door, motionless. Misa watched as she stiffened up a bit looking at whoever was at the door. Misa realized very promptly that the only person Rem had such adverse reactions to was her very own boyfriend, Light Yagami, and that he was about to see his beloved girlfriend straddling his best, maybe only, friend. 

Let him. She was comfortable.

Rem stepped out of the way wordlessly. Light stepped in, holding a bouquet of red roses. Misa loved red, but her favorite flowers were carnations . Minus one, Light.

Light reacted appropriately. Rem slinked away, quiet as a mouse, probably planning to blend into a shadow or two and observe. He dropped the bouquet and stood there for a moment, just looking at the both of them. He opened his mouth to say something, but stopped and regained himself. It didn't last long, though, as Misa could see the gears physically turning in his head as he switched lenses like an optometrist's phoropter. Click! Is this more convincing? Click! Or is this one? He then promptly began to storm towards the couch, as calculated as ever. He didn't stomp, but he was embarrassingly close. Misa had honestly never seen him like this, and she was enjoying the show. It was like watching an animal in a zoo become frustrated at a being behind the two-inch thick glass between them.

Before he got to them, though, L put his hand out, like he expected Light to run straight into it and fall backwards. “Don't yell, I'll go.” His voice had gone back to its typical monotone, his eyes bored per usual. “I was just comforting Misa. We were watching a scary movie.” He made a face and waved his hands like he was telling a scary story. Light was obviously irritated, but held his calm. As much as you could hold an emotion that was entirely fake, anyway.

Light never looked at Misa. He just stared angrily at L until he eventually shrunk out from under Misa and left, gently closing the door behind him after offering Misa a smile on his way out.

Then, Light looked at Misa. Part of her melted a little. The rest of her straightened up, prepared to play whatever game he had in store next. 

He looked completely different. It felt like a quick change in a play-- Misa blinked and he was livid, prepared to do whatever he was thinking about doing, and with her next blink his eyes were watering. He seemed uncoordinated. Frazzled. Misa sort of enjoyed it.

“Misa, you said you loved me.”

Misa couldn't help it. She melted on the spot. That little part of her who really did love Light Yagami was screaming at her. There was, of course, the voice of reason who told her to stop, disengage, forget this, abort this mission, but she had never been a friend of reason. Reason was always so boring. Light Yagami, in this moment, where she forgot all about her oath to never speak to him again, was the very opposite of boring. He was electric, he was fun, even in a business-casual sweater and pristine, freshly starched jeans. Misa, known for being rash and fun-loving, loved electric and fun. 

She basically jumped over the table to get to him, knocking Light off of his feet and onto the floor. They hit the floor with a thud, but if he cared, he didn’t show it. He most likely didn't anyway, so who cared?

She hugged him, smashing her face into his. “I'm sorry, Light, Misa just felt like you didn't love her! I don't care about L, I swear, it was just jealousy,” she cried, sobbing so hard her face turned a little pink. The last little bit was a lie. She cared about L, but something in her wanted to kill him just to prove a point. That thought kind of disgusted her. She’d hate herself for her disloyalty later. “I only love you, I swear.” The voice of reason had been drowned, and the nurturer truth had lain dead in a well for a very long time now. Misa valued honesty, she really did, but was she truly being dishonest if even she disagreed with herself? That shouldn't count, right?

Misa saw his thought process in his eyes. A few moments ago, she would've spat in his face for even being this close to her, but the Misa that loved him just couldn't help herself. He was a sight to behold, so calculated and intelligent. He was hers, and he was here, and he was brilliant. Who wouldn’t swoon just a little? “I love you too, Misa, but… you can see what I'm upset about, right?”

“I do, I'll never do it again. I'll never talk to L again. Ever. Misa promises.” Misa discreetly crossed her fingers. Even as flustered as she was, she knew she couldn't help herself. She couldn't be helped at all. It wasn't Misa’s fault she was born a lost cause. She was forged this way, of blood and flesh and lip gloss, to be horrible. If she wasn't meant to cross her fingers, why did God give her hands?

Light smiled. It was sinister, but Misa had always thought his little sneers were cute. “You'll never talk to him again?”

“Never, ever. I'd rather die.”

Light took Misa's face and kissed her. They hadn’t kissed in a very long time, but Misa didn’t mind. Her sinister, conniving darling boyfriend was shy, that’s all. What Rem said was wrong, what L thinks is wrong. Misa loved Light, and Light loved Misa. It’s all okay. The voice of reason had now been replaced by that disgusting voice again. She'd yet to name it, but if she had to make a shot in the dark right now, it'd be Voice of the Filthy Whore.

Though, this time it wasn't that immoral. Light was her boyfriend, after all. It was just a little bit of stress relief, that's all. And she'd been so stressed…

Light saw what she was thinking about. It had to be plastered on her face. He didn't make any movements, just looking through her, like he was trying to peer into her brain and figure out how it worked.

“Let me make this up to you,” she pleaded, squeezing him. “I can show you just how much I love you, and you can show me how much you love me.”

“Okay.” Light smiled again, and Misa knew it wasn't because of her , but she couldn't help but smile back at him. He was contagious- whatever Light did, Misa needed it. He was the disease and the cure. He was her Light.

Light carried her to the couch. He set her down gently. The voice of reason tried one more time: This is a bad idea. He doesn't love you. Get up, Misa. This is a bad idea.  

Light took off her shorts. The voice tried again, but was drowned out by the glorious sound of skin on silk. 

She found herself thinking about everything but Light. Where was Rem, right now? she wondered. Even worse, where was L?

Had she just been torturing the poor boy for nothing? Had she done all of that work setting the stage for Light just for her to let this happen? Would she really settle into a life of complacency because Light had a pretty face?

Those were harsh, difficult questions. Right now was supposed to be nice, soft. She'd worry about her existential dread later. For now, the only issue at hand was privacy, and whether or not she'd kill one of her roommates if they walked in. She probably wouldn't, because that wasn't exactly a turn-on, but it would have to do if they interrupted.

What was she even thinking? No, she wouldn't do that. Maybe she was right to call Light contagious. So far, he's done nothing but infect her.

She would be wrong if she said she didn't enjoy it, just a little, though.

Chapter Text

Well, Déjà Vu is the idea that you’ve been where you are right now sometime before. Maybe it was in a dream, maybe it was real life, but you feel like you’re exactly where you were, and it’s uncomfortable. Not very many people like saying the exact same things over and over again. It’s hard to explain, but you’ll know it when you have it, Misa-Misa. Now, come on. Let’s finish dinner before your father gets home.

Misa’s mother was correct, per usual. Misa had been here exactly once before, and it wasn’t in a dream, it was real life, and recent, too. In fact, it was two weeks ago. Misa had woken up sprawled out and drooling in a place that wasn't her bed, with barely understandable memories of what had happened to get her there. She was sweaty and uncomfortably wet. Not the good kind of wet, not at all, she felt sticky to the touch like syrup. She didn’t know if she would be able to stand up, or if the sheen of unknown bodily fluids on her was gluing her to the couch. It was her couch, at least, that was good. As much as she wished it would, that failed to distract her from the churning unpleasant feelings in her stomach.

Once again, Misa was embarrassed. No— mortified. She was mortified, and angry, and disgusted. Willing herself up, she stared out of the window in her dorm. Once again, it was dark, and she deduced it must’ve been before 6:00. She had no idea where Light was, and quite honestly, she didn’t want to know. She'd done enough touching with Light for the rest of her life. She wanted to make a time machine and disappear. Misa usually never found herself wanting to go back in time anymore. She’d dwelled on the past quite a lot, even as that little black-haired girl who was freshly orphaned and didn’t really know what had happened at all, and had gotten over it with Rem’s help. But now, staring into the dim skyline where only the earliest early risers were beginning their routines, she wished she could travel back to being in that bathtub, preparing to die. It would be so much easier to simply give up, instead of settling into the realization that she’d listened to the wrong portion of her heart, and even worse, listened to her ovaries, and had couch sex with her boyfriend who didn’t even like her.

She looked down, trying to shake the thought of her downright embarrassing actions from her mind. Someone had folded her silk baby pink shorts neatly on the floor with the little pink bow facing up, and draped her with Rem’s favorite blue blanket. A note, messy handwriting scrawled on stationary, on the coffee table read: There's a muffin in the fridge for you. I'm probably asleep. -R

Oh good God, Rem.

She had no idea where Rem was when she was preoccupied getting run through. What if Rem had planned to stay in the room, watch, and listen, and Misa completely misunderstood the assignment and had disgustingly public, disgustingly good sex with her lifelong friend somewhere in the room? What if Rem saw her? What if Rem saw Light? Misa wasn't as troubled for herself as she was for Rem— it was clear as day that Rem did not like men, and what if she had gotten a peek? Besides, Rem had seen her naked, and even if she hadn't, Misa had a hunch that Rem wasn't exactly opposed to the idea. The embarrassment became even worse. Not only did she have to explain her actions to herself, she had to defend them to Rem. She herself knew her actions were unreliable at best, and that any given defense would be shabby. As much as she loved Rem, she hated to make Rem right. That pink, bubble-gum scented bathtub seemed very inviting. Suddenly, she was getting the urge to find where she put that robe. She had thrown away that gel pen, but it wasn’t like that was her only.

It pained her to realize she was still going through things she’d already gone through. Dick wasn’t worth killing herself, and it was honestly depressing even to Misa that she had to remind herself of that. Light Yagami was especially not worth killing herself. So what was she even here for? She was dragging herself through a graveyard of ideas. She'd shot all of these ghosts down, so why was she still lurking around them?

She stood up. Her knees wobbled a bit, and it felt like she had forgotten how to walk. She took a step, wobbled, and took another step, making her painfully slow way to her shower, desperate to wash the immense amount of gunk on her. She couldn’t scrub herself enough. She wondered if this was how medieval prostitutes felt. Disgusting, like they hadn’t bathed in weeks, with the loathsome odor of Man™ on them. The water was as hot as it could be without melting the pipes, but it wasn’t hot enough. She was only vaguely religious, believing that the God in whatever was awaiting her hated her anyways, so there was no true point, but she felt like she needed to run to the nearest convent and repent. Forgive me father, for I have sinned. I have committed adultery against my boytoy with my actual boyfriend. Yes, I also cheated on my boyfriend to have a boytoy in the first place, but that's not as bad. Don't pay attention to that sin, I don't regret it. Just wash me of this one, I'm running on a tight schedule today.

She turned the water off and stepped out of the shower. Her skin had turned a piggy shade of pink from being soft-boiled for about thirty minutes. She grabbed her towel and dried her hair before wrapping it around herself. She sprayed some of her usual vanilla perfume on her, eclipsing the last of Light's smell. She took comfort in the scent she’d been wearing since grade seven. It reminded her of days before she was insufferable and boy— no, Light Yagami crazy. Days where she didn’t have to worry about games where the winner would end up as her boyfriend.

Light had probably been long gone. She had fallen asleep almost directly after. It was mildly distressing that she could have been naked for the entire night, and that one or even multiple of her roommates could've seen her naked and sprawled on the couch. It was even more distressing that her loving, beautiful, sinister and conniving boyfriend had presumably left her sleeping body to the elements in favor of leaving her presence as soon as possible.

Even worse, he'd probably sent word to L about it. A pang of guilt shot through her heart. She hadn't felt any guilt for her previous actions, if she was honest it was exhilarating and she would most likely do it again if she got the chance; but the thought of L realizing she still loved Light hurt her a little. The thought of Light delivering that message to him hurt even worse. She would never tell L that she loved Light in a million years, but she was a little bit miffed that Light thought he had the right to say it.

The sun began to rise. She hated early mornings, but today wasn't a normal morning anyway, so she let it slide. The golden hue from the rising sun cast orange light into her room, and she'd always looked best in warm lighting anyway. Though, while the sunrise was pretty, sleep was beautiful.

Misa threw on a purple nightdress. She allowed herself the illusion that she’d fallen asleep in the dress last night, and most definitely woke up fully dressed in it this morning, as if she could ever convince herself to believe it. She sat on her bed and began to brush her hair. Rem knocked on her door and let herself in holding a warm pink mug and a pumpkin muffin.

Rem was completely wordless. She simply sat down on the bed next to Misa, switching Misa's hairbrush out for the tea and muffin, and silently brushing her hair, gauging whether or not Misa wanted to talk about the glaring elephant in the room.

All in all, Misa didn't, but she very obviously was not someone who could resist the urge to listen to compulsive thoughts. She took a bite of the muffin and begged for Rem’s forgiveness over the cake. “I don't know what I was thinking, Rem,” she lied. She knew exactly what she was thinking. She thought, why not?

“I have a pretty sure idea.”

She wanted to cry. “I do too,” She took a sip of the tea. “I know exactly what I thought, and you know that, and I'm sorry, I don't know what's gotten into me, Rem, it's like I just can't think! All I can do is lie and listen to my vagina for my decisions!”

Rem ran her fingers through Misa's hair. Her hand caught on a tangle, so she sectioned it and continued to brush. “You can't, or you won't?”

Misa pouted like Rem would be able to see it. “Don't make this harder for me, the point is that I don't think!”

“Why not?”

She shrugged, spilling a bit of her mug on her bed. “I don't know?”

Rem ran the brush through Misa’s hair one last time, satisfied. “Then think.”

“You are the worst.”

Rem snorted. “Do you want me to tie your hair up?”

“No. That's okay, thank you.” She took another bite of the muffin. “Where's my phone?”

“I charged it. It's over there.” Rem pointed at Misa's nightstand, littered with various pieces of jewelry and candles. Her phone stood out, being bright red and bedazzled. “You had a message from L, but I didn't open it.”

“Thanks.”

Rem shrugged and got up to leave. Misa finished her muffin and sat the tea down for later, getting up to check her phone. She had 50+ notifications. None of them were from Light. Figures. Two of them were from L, like Rem had said, and the rest were her various social media. She opened her messages. The last message from L was two words: Did he?

She clicked on it. Attached to the message was a screenshot from L's phone of his and Light's messages. Light had very simply texted him, I won, with a photo of Misa from the neck up, fast asleep on her couch. Her face was flushed, and she'd been drooling. She wondered if the very first thing Light did when she'd fallen fast asleep was take out his phone and gloat.

Misa Amane was going to kill Light Yagami. It'd been officially decided, dictated by God himself. It would be him at the end of her blade. Not herself. Not only had he taken a photo of her while she was ass-naked on her couch, he dared to tell her mistress! How could he? A girl can't even cheat on her boyfriend with his best friend anymore without being told on. What had the world come to?

She was getting off track. Misa considered L's question. Obviously, Light didn't win. She wouldn’t let him, he didn’t deserve it. L hadn't asked, but someone had to: if not Light, then who? 

Misa had half a mind to declare herself the winner and scrap the game entirely, but she was fair, at least with games. Competition wasn’t really competition if you know for sure you’re winning. She'd play dirty, sure, but she wouldn't play as the moderator and a player. That was just boring.

She had to somehow solidify that she was victorious. They'd already gone on little makeshift dates, she'd already seduced him a few times. There wasn’t much else to do. As much as she hated to say it, it may be beneficial to take a page from Light's book.

She reopened her messages and began to type again. Tbd. Expect round two. <3