Chapter Text
‘Rem, he’s so cute!’ The words escaped the blonde girl’s lips in something akin to a hushed whisper. Anyone who didn’t know better would think the girl silly, talking to herself like that. Except she wasn’t. Invisible the regular human eye, looming behind this petite figure was something much larger. And much farther from human.
Tall and skulking, the figure must have exceeded 7 feet. A head brushed the ceiling, but the hair didn’t rustle. And the eyes didn’t show surprise. As of right now, they didn’t show anything at all. Branching from the back, and spanning many feet in width were wings, like that of angel. But was this creature truly angelic? It was certainly beyond human, but it would take an astute eye to be able to identify this creature, this abomination. This god of the death realm.
‘Hmm…...’ Tone somewhere between bored and perplexed, the girl began to wonder out loud. ‘But why does someone want him dead? He can’t even be older than me!’ Although it was unclear to the death god how much of a rhetorical question this was, she begun to answer in a low, breathy voice – a juxtaposition to light and jovial tones of her owner, her companion, her claimed.
‘Why does anyone want anyone dead?’ And although that was all she said, something unspoken came with it. Why does it matter? Now, the girl knew this to be rhetorical, especially coming from Rem, a death god who had seen an end to oh so many human lives, but she couldn’t help her response – it was an instinct. Something drilled in to her for far too long to be supressed by something like the nature of its question.
‘Money. Power. Revenge. Fear. And… Love.’ The last word was dragged out just a little – and spoken in a tone that was vastly different than the other. In lieu of the factual and bored tone that had been adopted for the first four, the last plausible motive was said with the voice of a young girl caught within daydreams. ‘Do you think it is love Rem? Does someone love him?’ Of course, it was more than a matter of someone loving him. Love is rarely that easy. A thousand possibilities – a jilted ex-lover, or maybe someone looking to take away the person that someone else cares about, that someone else loves, the most? Who could kno-
‘How would I know, Misa?’ Mi-sa as soon as the word left the death god’s mouth – no, maybe even when it started to form on her lips, every muscle in the girl, in Misa’s body went alert. A thousand voices, all of a sudden cheering, screaming on all round her Misa! Misa! Misa!
‘That’s not my name!’ was said boldly, in a way that was clearly trying to sound confident, but so obviously failed by the break in her voice at the end. ‘It’s not!’ But no matter how many time she said it, she knew that it would never change. She knew that no matter how many times she told someone, no matter how many papers she changed, by the time she went home and sat in front of her mirror she’d see the words, the letters, the characters again and the truth would hit her once more. My name is Misa Amane.
Suddenly everything snapped back into focus – her eyes sharpened, breath re-filled her lungs, and her hands balled into fists. Using the back of her hands (which were clothed in her favourite fingerless clothes) to wipe her face and dry tears that had come out of seemingly nowhere was becoming an all too regular occurrence in her life. Well, at least now it was over. ‘We should find out more about him. Surely someone’s got an interesting reason for wanting him dead.’ Misa said, trying to sound upbeat and succeeding. These words were dangerous, but Misa saw them as nothing but a venture in a game – how far could she push before something, anything, happened.
Rem’s voice immediately cut through the atmosphere. ‘Misa. You know that is not how it works.’ Not how it works, not what you are meant to do… There were so many possible ways to phrase the wrongness of Misa’s words, of her future actions, but none of them could truly encompass all the potential faults. That isn’t how it works – what a small phrase for a lot of future wrong.
‘Aw! Rem. Don’t be a stick in the mud. It’ll be okay!’ The voice the embodiment of jovial carelessness, the smile conveying just those emotions. Anyone who knew less would be convinced.
‘If you are truly so desperate to know, then why don’t you use the Death Note?’ And suddenly, with just those words, the mood soured –along with Misa’s smile.
‘Because I don’t want to use the Death Note! It’s too easy and it’s cheating. It’s more fun this way.’ Rem had been trying to get Misa to use the Death Note for months. Ever since the book had been bestowed upon Misa, in fact. Bestowed by Rem, and formerly the property of some other long dead, death god. Misa took a pause from her thoughts to follow up with another quip. ‘You wouldn’t understand.’
The words were true, needlessly mean, and ambiguous. There was so many things that Rem could not possibly understand: Misa’s desire to be excited, Misa’s desire to not depend on the Death Note, Misa’s sudden infatuation with this boy, this random student, this target. Misa herself, perhaps. A small amount of tense silence ensued before someone spoke: Misa again. ‘I’m sorry Rem. I didn’t mean it. You know I love you.’ And there it was again. Something that Rem couldn’t understand? No. But another random comment that meant more to one being here than the other. Neither spoke, because there wasn’t really anything left to say. And because Misa now had something new to do. Yes, something new. Something that started with wiggling her way out of the second floor crawlspace in this public library that she, lying down, had wedged herself into (it had the perfect view to watch this boy, this mystery, this Light Yagami) with absolutely no regard as to how she would get out of it. A push, a squeeze, and ever so many re-adjustments of her clothes later, Misa was out and determined.
Assassins are supposed to remain unseen. To blend into the shadows and hide behind building and restrain their breathing. And when Misa needed (or was it wanted…) to - she did all of those things. Something else that she did do was liked getting her photo taken at Harajuku and liked making a fashion statement. Today’s outfit, an ensemble involving red, a lot of black and too many chains to count was something that lent itself towards being noticed – the fact that she even been able to enter the library unnoticed was a miracle in itself (at least until you realised that she’d entered by agilely climbing up the reverse side of the building and pulling herself through a window) and she was going to need another one to leave. To leave? To leave unnoticed. She could leave any way she liked, surely! And then an idea came. Why bother attempting to leave unnoticed at all? She wanted to find out about this boy, didn’t she? And what better way than getting to know him herself. To get him to approach her, to be infatuated with her, and to give up unto her all his secrets before spending his last moments in the dirt? And so Misa pulled herself together for her dramatic entrance, gathering what could only be described as props – a novel she’d read a few years back from a nearby shelf, a ribbon hidden behind her belt to add some attention to her hair, and a few slashes to her tights using a pocket knife she kept on her at all times – and made her way towards the staircase the first floor. The first floor where, leafing through a textbook, Yagami sat at one of the three rectangular tables – mind clearly elsewhere.
She walked past him in a flouncy manner, hands swinging by her sides and eyes locked on the reception desk, a curved oak-wood tended by two men in their late twenties. Noticed, of course. But not focused on anyone. ‘We’ll see what he thinks of that!’, Misa thought, preparing to exchange some pleasantries with the attendant beckoning her over.
‘Hi! Taking out that book?’ The man’s tone was polite, but to Misa his eyes betrayed his intentions. In them, she saw what he was seeing: a cute, air-headed ‘not-quite-an-adult’ with a bit too much free time. And so she adjusted her personality, her actions, her mannerisms, her posture, her poise. I’ll give you what you expect.
‘You know it!’ A slight grin on her part and an ‘accidental’ meeting of her finger tips with his as she slid the book over to him. Oh, and of course the courtesy blush that followed. He blinked, seeming a little surprised – and taking more than a moment to regain his composure and put the book through the scanner. And then Misa realised something, a mistake. But all she could to right now was pray that he didn’t notice. Pray that he didn’t notice that the booked she’d checked out was not only far too complex for some of her age, someone of the role she was playing, and (and!) very much not in Japanese. Oh God please don’t let him pick up on it. Please. Please. Luckily he didn’t, but for insurance she leant forward just a little – enough to grab his attention, but not enough to attract that of his colleague, who Misa feared was watching her every move and planning to talk to her next. ‘And can I get a name for that?’ A name, a name, a name. The words echoed and pulsed around her brain, causing what would no doubt turn out as a migraine at a later date, but for now was a painful and urgent signal. Come up with a name, damn it!
‘Sora. I mean, Hayashi Sora. Hayashi is my surname.’ The words come out flustered in a delicate, deliberate tone. Playing the role of the empty-headed blushing fool was undignified but effective, and with her girlish appearance it was the most important thing of all: believable.
‘Okay, Hayashi-san! Here you go. Come back soon!’ A dork like grin had spread across the man’s face and it was all she could do not to shiver with revulsion. ‘Say thank you’, her brain pounded, ‘Say it.’
‘Thank you! I’ll hope to see you next time too!’ The words ring out true and energetic (Misa was feeling neither) and more importantly ended (finally!) this conversation, this charade, this act, this lie. Grabbing her borrowed book gently, and making her way to the large turning door and the busy street, Misa pondered whether or not to remember the name of the receptionist who had served her. In the event that she came back again (moderately likely) and he was on his shift (not impossible) it would do well to remember him, especially since she’d been so friendly today – and that he would definitely remember her. ‘But I don’t want to!’ Misa whined softly under her breath. I don’t want to remember him at all. She took a moment to get her bearing, and headed toward café she liked to frequent – a small space with good service, nice drinks and just the right amount of customers. Not to mention that a few of the staff had taken quite a liking to her. ‘Well,’ Misa said under her breath, sparing a glance and wink at Rem, who seemed rather intrigued (if amused) by the whole debacle. ‘I’ll always have his name. If it really comes to it, I could always write it down.’ And then she laughed, because just a while ago, those words would have meant nothing to her. But now they were amongst the most powerful in the whole word.
//
The slamming, swinging sound of the turning door would usually have surprised (if just a little) student Light Yagami – too often he’d been startled from the stupor of a study session at this library to its sound. But today, at the timing of this loudest intrusion, he’d already been looking the door, and (although he’d never admit it) at the girl going through it. It wasn’t the eyes his classmates and male acquaintances would have been looking with though – those eyes filled with lust and oblivious desire. The eyes, that even in his short notice of her, he’d seen both receptionists and a good 40% of the library look at her wish. But instead with the eyes of curiosity.
Normally, Light Yagami had no time (or was it no interest?) for girls, least of all girls like this one, this Hayashi Sora seemed to be. With too much interest in clothes and boys to acknowledge the real world, he had previously thought. But this one perplexed him. Appearing seemingly from nowhere, just to flounce past him in a manner that seemed deliberate but not flirtatious, and check out with one of the most complex novels of the past century, never batting an eye. I’ve never seen her here before, he thought. And when did she arrive here anyway? I arrived as soon as the doors opened. I never glimpsed her! Even if you had no interest in random library visitors, or over-excited girls, this was someone you would pay attention to. And yet I didn’t. I missed her completely. A small pause in the train of thought. And I never miss anything. Light Yagami could have pondered this for hours, or simply filed it in his mind as something to ignore. Unless of course, it came up later. Which it wouldn’t.
What time is it anyway? Although Light could have easily sat here all day – and would have taken it easily above any of the potential turmoil that could stem from being home, he wasn’t going to. A variety of reasons, but above them all a desire not to give too much grief to his mother, frail woman that she was. A thousand nagging words from her ‘Don’t stay out too late.’ ‘Don’t frequent these areas.’ ‘Don’t….’ It was enough to drive someone mad, but Light had remained calm. For the last 6 years after his father’s death in a car accident, he’d endured her cloying voice and clinging touches – never complaining and always striving to please with academic and sporting awards that couldn’t have interested him less. The only thing he truly wished is that she would take better care of Sayu. Sayu! The name flashed through his mind and suddenly there was more reason to go home than ever. Sayu, who blushed under the sun and smiled at the moon. Sayu, who cried when he looked upset before she even knew the reason. Sayu, who had longed to be a detective her whole life but had taken a job at a modelling agency so that they could all have a little more money. And Sayu, who their mother seemed not to care for. Why this was, Light had pondered frequently. Ideas were there of course – suspicions that flitted around the house with malicious intent, invisible and unseen: the funds that had been spent on Sayu since childhood to treat illness, the time Sayu spent out of the house, and underlying it all the knowledge that Sayu was someone else’s child.
Light still remembered that night, 7 years ago. He had been 9, and doing some homework while his mother prepared food in the kitchen, pleasant smells emanating from the air and the sound of the rain hitting the window filling his mind. Soichiro was due to be home soon – he worked in social care, and often was home at late hours. Light had heard the front door open and run out to greet his father, only to pause scarcely a foot in front. Soichiro was not alone.
He was holding his jacket over his head in a way that both covered him and the smaller figure cowering behind him. A small girl, perhaps 3 years Light’s junior. Her body trembling with the wet and her big eyes solemn. It wasn’t an expression one would expect to see on a girl of her age, or on any child. Who was she? What happened? And why was she here, with his father, in his doorway? ‘
‘Honey,’ his mother had said, voice excited and almost chirping. However, it all stopped immediately when she saw the girl. Her mouth opened and struggled to form the words ‘What – Who….’ And it was then that Soichiro introduced them. This is Sayu, he had said. She’s been alone, but we’re going to take care of her. She’s going to be Light’s little sister.
His mother’s anger was understandable. Even if the child was not born from an affair, she was still distinctly not family. The girl had been brought by Soichiro with no forewarning – and now here she was, another mouth to feed, another body to dress, and another person to expend effort and money upon.
‘Well! We’d better get her in then.’ his mother had said, and Soichiro previously tense expression had turned into a relieved smile. Whether it was his exhaustion from work, his love for his wife, or just his blind belief in everyone, he didn’t pick up on the woman’s tone; harsh and unyielding - nor her eyes which were so cold they seemed like voids, robbing warmth from the very air.
Since that day, other than his father’s death, not much had changed. Light and Sayu had grown close, but not even the barest hint of affection had grown between Sayu and his mother. Something else had grown though. Something horrible, one-sided, and ugly. What started as slight glances and the occasionally shove had escalated to shouting matches and bruises with blood drawn. And then had transformed completely, into something one couldn’t tell if was better or worse. Deliberate ignorance.
Light did not think he’d ever heard his mother speak his sister’s name. Light did not think he could remember a time when the table had been laid correctly for three people, in lieu of the supposed two.
As he pushed the door open gently, a muttered prayer under his breath, scenarios from bad to worse flitted through his mind. But, as the door swung open and he could see the inside of the house, none of them came to fruition. He walked quickly, to the landing and Sayu’s room and knocked on the door – the three seconds it to her open it seeming in his mind like aeons.
‘Light! Hi!’ and there she was, five foot four and dressed in oversized clothes, hand me downs that had once been his. This had become routine – the tense build-up and fear that this time something bad had happened, just to be met with the sweet relief that she was here and seemingly okay. Visibly okay, at least. A puzzled look overtook her face, but he suspected that she knew far more than she let on. ‘Are you okay? Do you need something?’ The words were tinged with concern, and he was about to assuage her fears until he saw the pair of shoes in her left hand. Sayu kept her shoes in a box in her room, as his mother has previously taken to kicking them if they were left downstairs by the door. And naturally, she only needed shoes if she was going out. So…
‘Are you going out somewhere?’ he said, desperately trying not to sound overprotective or in any way clingy. Her expression changed to slight surprise, and then a smile that seem manufactured – created with the intent of assuaging him in the way he had been about to perform to her merely moments before.
‘Yes – but not for long.’ she stepped out of her room and closed the door behind her impressively silently, with what must have been practiced dexterity. ‘I have to go meet someone – for a job, you know?’
‘A job?’ The words must have come out harsher than he intended because she flinched, entire body pausing in a way that made him feel quite awful, the way one feels after startling a deer in the woods.
‘Why, is that so unbelievable? You can’t believe that someone would want to hire me?’ He was about the interject with some form of reassurance before he saw the mocking smile on her face. ‘Light, you’re turning into your mother.’
The words were like a slap in his face and then some. Light, usually cool and impassive, never startled, taken off guard by the offhand comment of a girl three years his junior. Granted, he should have been used to it by now. This was a habit of Sayu’s – despite all her precision she struggled to know how hard to make her blows. He knew if she saw how upset she’d made him, things would only be worse – so he took a smile from somewhere and put it on.
‘All right, that’s me told.’ His laughter.
‘I sure hope so.’ Her relieved smile.
‘So! What sort of job is it?’ And there it was again, flitting across her face. A tense position, an inner debate on whether or not to tell the truth, he presumed. And then a decision.
‘Modelling, if you can believe it. But there won’t be any job if I don’t get there in the next half an hour.’ She slipped past him, taking the stairs two at a time before putting on her shoes and swanning out the front door. ‘We’ll talk more later, okay?’ was called back with casual indifference. And then the door slammed shut.
Modelling? What interest would Sayu have in modelling? Sayu wanted to be a detective, she always had. And she had the abilities for it too – there was no reason for her to deviate from her dream. Making a mental note to ask her about this later, and perhaps do a little poking about himself – not solely on this topic, he opened the door to his room; removing the paper and the pencil lead with his own practised ease, and sat down to do his homework.