Chapter Text
BZZT!
Something digs into Misa's skin from underneath her. Something smooth and hard, and slightly warm to the touch. She mumbles a protest in her half sleep.
BZZT!
It happens again, nudging her at a tender spot below the shoulder. Misa groans. This must be her boyfriend, poking her because he’s needy and obsessed and madly in love with her. "Shush, babe." She whispers, swatting the air.
BZZT!
That's when she remembers she doesn't have one. Misa cracks an eye open, greeting nothing but blurry darkness. The realization is disappointing, but she sighs the feeling away, lets it dissipate with her exhale.
Reaching under herself, she digs out her vibrating assailant—her flip phone, still hot from playing little pixelated games for hours straight. It's part of Misa's nighttime routine these days, to play something when she can't seem to drift off.
These particular vibrations, she recognizes as a flood of incoming text messages. It's not an unusual sound; she is quite popular after all. She lazily taps a thumb against her phone, opening up her SMS inbox, squinting against the bright blue light.
3 new messages from ♡Aya♡:
misa where tf r u
yo misa???
r u bailing on us?
Misa frowns at the mysterious texts. Who is this person? What do they want from her at—she squints at the small text at the corner of her screen—1:05 AM? Misa thinks of tossing her phone to the side, ignoring the messages and going back to sleep. Before she can do that, though, it clicks.
This is her friend, Aya. Her closest friend. Her best friend of four years. Who she made plans with the day before.
It's weird that it almost slipped her mind, isn't it? She's probably just really sleepy, if the yawn that tugs at her jaw is anything to go by. Blinking slow and blearily, she types out a reply.
To Aya:
cant make it T.T
♡Aya♡:
????
y not
To Aya:
sleepy <3
♡Aya♡:
tf misa? we were all waiting 4 u
gr8 now we're gonna be l8
ur gonna totally miss out
Misa snaps her phone shut and drops it, watching it slide down her pillow. She tucks a hand back under her cheek, where it's nice and warm. She doesn't like being left out, but these days being left in? Almost just as bad.
It takes her five minutes of staring into darkness to realize that her sleep has completely evaporated. She rolls onto her back and huffs, irritated. Misa really needs the sleep tonight, and she already wasted a good chunk of it by staying up and playing snake game. She has a photoshoot early next morning—this morning, she should say, and it wouldn't kill Aya to be more considerate of that. It might kill Aya to not be considerate of that, actually.
Okay, reel it back. That's a bit harsh of Misa.
Now that she's more clear minded she can remember the details of the plans they made. She and some other friends were going to meet at Aya's place, and from there, they'd drive out to some allegedly haunted location and maybe do some ghost hunting, summoning spirits, and other occult-y activities until daybreak. Or as long as they can without getting in trouble for trespassing. Misa can't be mad at Aya for bothering her so late-slash-early, she did agree to it after all. She's not sure what exactly was going through her head when she did. Probably nothing.
Misa pouts at the ceiling and pinches her bottom lip repeatedly, starting to feel restless. The stagnant darkness all around her feels like it’ll close in at any moment. Late night thoughts are something she very much wants to avoid, and Misa can tell she already woke up on the wrong side of the bed. She needs to do something about it.
She has options. She could always text Aya back, tell her to wait up, or ask for the address of the allegedly-haunted-location so she can meet them there. It could be nice to get her heart pumping, do something stupid and fun with her friends. Usually Misa would be pumped for that, enough that a conflicting work schedule wouldn't be a concern, but there's nothing usual about Misa these days.
She doesn't want to see her friends. She doesn't want to see the ticking time-bomb stamped on all of their heads. It's not something that always bothers her, but she's not in the mood tonight.
Another option is to pull out her phone again and try to beat her high score at snake. Chasing little red dots with endless hunger until she hopefully dozes off. It might hurt her eyes really bad and ruin her sleep even more, but the darkness is so heavy and airless that she'd do anything to cut through it.
Then she gets another idea. She doesn't like it one bit, but the urge to do it becomes stronger the more she thinks about it. Before she knows it she's lifting herself off the bed, pushing the drapes of her canopy aside and landing on her feet, as if a mysterious force wrapped itself around her throat and pulled. She can never resist an impulse.
The movement of shadows tells her that something is stirring behind her. She's momentarily startled, before she remembers Rem.
There's a bathroom door connected to her bedroom; she swings it open. Flicking the light on, she appraises her slept-in self. Her lips: so chapped that they're cracking. Her eyes: puffy, crusted. Her hair: all over the place. Her face: streaked with red sleep lines and wrinkles. She's not sure how she got so wrecked. Letting go of that thought, she turns on the tap, twisting it to lukewarm, and gifts her face with a splash.
”You're awake," Rem states as she hovers politely at the door. "Did you decide to meet your friends tonight?"
"Mmmmno," she croaks. Her mouth is so dry that she cringes, and quickly fetches her pink electric toothbrush. "But I'm super hungry. I think I'm gonna get a little midnight snack."
"Midnight snack?" Rem questions, like she's never heard the phrase before. Misa nods.
"Yeah, but it's only this one time, I promise." Misa says through a mouthful of paste, then she presses a finger to her lips and smirks at Rem. "Just don't tell my manager," she jokes. Her worry is real, though. Her manager would seriously disapprove if Misa ever made a habit of this. She has a strict diet to maintain, as a model.
"You don't have any food left in your kitchen," Rem points out.
Misa snorts, paste ungracefully flying out of her mouth. "Rem!" She whines, turning to the Shinigami with a look of amusement and incredulity. "You sound like you're my personal assistant or something." She shakes her head and spits the build up of foam out of her mouth. Rem tilts her head at this, like a confused dog.
“Since you wanna keep track of everything in my house,” Misa says, crossing her arms with fake sternness, “I actually have a whole jug of milk, and some ketchup. So.” She’s not quite in the mood for milk and ketchup though, which is why she was planning on going to the convenience store.
She turns back to the mirror and catches the uncertain look in her own eyes. She doesn't blame herself for being unsure. This is kind of uncharted territory. Sure, Misa can be impulsive, but food has always been the one area where she's controlled and disciplined. So many of her modelling friends ask her how she does it, and she never knows how to tell them that it's easy for her. It's easiest thing in the world, because food is never good enough anymore. It hasn't been since she moved into her own apartment in Shibuya, and maybe sometime before that, too.
No matter what she eats and how much of it she eats, it never sits right in her body. Never feeds her. It doesn't come warmed and sweetened by carefree voices at the dining table. It doesn't spill with love. Her hunger is pointless, and if she forgets about it, it'll fade, because it's just as fickle as anything else in life. Here one moment and gone the next.
There are days when it seems like the pangs will never end, of course. This might be one of those days.
She'll have some gas-station ramen. Just this once. Who knows, she might not even eat it. She rinses her mouth and looks at herself in the mirror, watching herself lift her chin up, smiling. It's a small trip there and back, but a little getting ready never hurt anyone.