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There are a few reasons that Light Field is underprepared for the events about to unfold:
- He can feel himself getting really quite sick
- He had to call off the very important work thing because of said illness.
- Clover’s consciousness has not received the memo, because she’s transmitting things to him intermittently.
- Why on Earth would he expect this to happen?
Counterpoint: why wouldn’t it happen to Light? Everything else seems to.
The last spitfire of information he received was maybe half an hour ago now, and involved a fair amount of panic. From what Light can figure out, Clover was surprised by an assailant and stabbed him in the rashness of flight or fight. Nothing particularly out of the ordinary for the sort of mission SOIS wants her to take part in. People often ended up hurt, and Light’s fine with that so long as the people in question aren’t Clover. In fact, most surprising was that the man she stabbed did not retaliate, choosing to flee in the opposite direction. After that, things seemed to have calmed down -- Clover was unhurt, and their mission did not appear to be in jeopardy.
At least, Light hasn’t heard anything from her since, except an apology and a promise that she was alright. If she says she’s alright then he ought to trust that judgement. He’s been trying to put it out of his mind, but it's easier said than done.
He knows, logically, that Clover is an extremely capable field agent, which is part of the reason that this mission went on ahead without Light in the fray. Their access to the morphogenetic field isn’t strictly necessary for a case like this, though the added layer of security it grants them is a boon.
This, strangely, isn’t calming him down.
He’s flitted from activity to activity: reading, watching TV, listening to music, making music -- Light has tried them all. Whether it's the anxiety or the burgeoning head cold, nothing has been satisfying. Nothing settles his disorganised mind. Such as it were, he’s ended up with his head on the kitchen table. The bathroom fan is emitting an almost pleasant white noise, and at least the cool laminate is soothing.
He doesn’t know how long he stays there, trying to ignore all manner of outside forces. Clover is fine -- he would surely feel a jolt in the balance of the world if not -- and Light ought to cut this day off at the pass, take some painkillers, and go to bed.
He summons up the good sense to do just that. The flat he shares with Clover is rather small; a single floor, essentially a glorified corridor. His room is closest to the kitchen, only a few steps away. If he is going to sit here and do nothing, he can at least grant himself the comfort of his mattress. Except--
Someone banging on the front door rattles through the foundation of the house, more than a little frantic. Light prays that it's some visitor for the people who live upstairs, or some door-to-door salesman that will soon learn his lesson and move onto the next unfortunate house.
Fortune is not Light Field’s friend, however.
The incessant pounding does not stop. Light can’t hear any movement from upstairs, so the unenviable task of shooing them away falls to him. For not the first time tonight, he wishes that Clover were here. She’s much better at dispersing unwanted visitors. Sometimes she gets caught up in arguments with the particularly stubborn ones. Once, Light had heard her announce that tornadoes weren’t her fault. He still doesn’t know how she got onto that topic; the man at the door was trying to convert her to Christianity.
He pads over to the door and works on unlocking it, wondering if he can get rid of this stranger before he says a word.
He fails.
“How fucking long does it take to answer the door?” The visitor snaps and comes in without invitation, but that’s a comparatively minor sin given what Aoi Kurashiki has done to him. Besides, they’re far past polite invitations. Aoi crossed that bridge when he kidnapped Light, and Light burnt the bridge down many months ago when he…
Where is Aoi going?
Light follows after him, who is moving very confidently for someone who’s only been in this flat once, and spent almost the entire time in Light’s bedroom. Light freezes in the middle of the corridor, the crossroads of his little dwelling. Aoi continues on into the kitchen, and Light tries to desperately recuperate his train of thought.
What is Aoi looking for? Why is he here? They haven’t spoken to one another since New Year’s, much less seen one another! They certainly don’t have the sort of relationship where they can just turn up on each other’s doorstep unexpectedly. Except, that's exactly the type of relationship they have, isn’t it? No matter which way you look at it.
“Oh come on SOIS, don’t hold out on me now,” he hears Aoi mutter. Light is certain that he’s ransacking their kitchen. Aoi raises his voice, and Light figures that Aoi is looking at him now, waiting for him to regain his faculties. “Where do you keep your first aid shit? I mean, tell me you got that much.”
“First aid?” Light parrots, and the absurdity of the request clears the illness induced fog from his brain long enough to chastise Aoi. “Not in the kitchen, you heathen. People make food there. Go through to the bathroom,” he orders, gesturing to the door on the far end of the room.
He hears Aoi kick the bathroom door open and then, a moment later, a celebratory bark of laughter. Light supposes he got what he barged in here for.
Light speaks as he approaches. “Might I ask what the hell you’re doing here?” He steps into the bathroom, which is a mistake. There’s hardly enough room in here to spit, let alone house two people. He ignores the claustrophobia. “What do you need medical assistance for-- Actually, why am I your port of call?”
Aoi’s still rummaging through the cabinet, almost certainly messing up its careful organisation. Light is honestly too bewildered to say anything. Aoi’s voice is mashed up in the scrape and clink of bottles and containers, but Light clearly hears him say, “God, I’ve missed you.”
Light is sure it's meant to be sarcastic. Sure of it.
Aoi turns to Light and offers, “Want a painkiller?” Light does. He misses the first time, expecting Aoi to be holding it out with his right hand, his dominant, but he’s using his left hand for some reason Light cannot ascertain. He gets it the second time, and they both dry swallow the bitter pill. Apparently spurred on by Light’s mistake, Aoi remarks, “You know, it's really hard doing stuff one-handed? I didn’t give you enough credit.”
Light frowns so deeply he’s certain it creates a permanent wrinkle. “If this is some way to put across that you’ve lost your arm--”
“Hell no. It's just… briefly out of commission,” Aoi admits with the decency to finally sound sheepish. “And I was in the area so…” he drags out the last vowel like a melody. He does have a very pleasant voice to listen to; a low push and pull, caustic at the edges but still a comfortable familiarity.
Light rallies himself. He needs to stay on topic.
“There’s also a hospital in the area, if I remember correctly,” he points out. He touches his throat where the pull feels as though it's lodged. “And I do remember correctly,” he reaffirms so that Aoi can’t rebuff him with sarcasm.
However, his head cold must really be putting down roots, because he doesn’t expect the other, in hindsight obvious, avenue: Aoi Kurashiki flirting with him. “None of the nurses are as pretty as you,” he says without missing a beat. Light point blank refuses to be flustered by a man he has already slept with.
“Aoi.” Light tries to sound stern.
“Light,” he replies, airy and unbothered. There’s the shift of fabric on skin, and Aoi hissing a breath in. Light guesses he’s wrapping part of himself in bandage. His arm, maybe? That would explain why he didn’t pass the pills over with his right hand. “You wanna do me a favour?”
“Depends,” Light answers warily, but steps a little closer.
“Can you tie a knot in this?” Aoi asks, nudging his bicep against Light’s. He can feel the cotton weave of the bandage, more familiar than ever since joining up with SOIS. Just as Aoi said he would, all those months ago. Perhaps that means he should try capturing him, hold him in some sort of custody, and tell someone above his station. Instead he takes the two edges of the bandage and secures the bandage high up on Aoi’s arm. He brushes his fingers over where the wound should be under the gauze. Aoi shivers. Thankfully, it hasn’t immediately bled through.
“Would you like to tell me what happened now?” Light asks.
“Bar fight,” Aoi says quickly. “Shouldn’t pick fights with people with knives.”
Light can’t say he’s surprised, even if there is something about the excuse that nags at him. He raises his brow. “Oh, so you were stabbed.”
“Superficially. Lightly. Basically a graze,” Aoi amends. His arm falls away from Light’s hand as he raises it above his head to quell the bleeding. “Not worth going to the hospital about.”
Light would roll his eyes if Aoi could appreciate it. He makes sure to put it all in his voice instead. “Not to mention the warrant out for your arrest.” If anything, Aoi’s only managed to move himself higher up the priority list. The name Crash Keys is one that any respectable government office ought to know about. Light has the sneaking suspicion that their goals are more aligned than anyone wants to admit, but their methods keep clashing with one another.
Aoi snorts, obviously unperturbed by the idea. To him, the entirety of SOIS is likely no more than gum caught on the sole of his shoe. Bigger fish to fry, so on and so forth. If anything, Light suspects he enjoys the game of cat and mouse. “Is that a threat?”
Light folds his arms over. His words are weak to his own ears. “I don’t know. Is it?” He had admitted as much the last time they were together, minutes before the clock turned over to 2028. He remembers it like it has just happened, Aoi touching his face like he couldn’t fathom Light was real, his fingers brushing against Light’s mouth as he retroactively betrayed his employer: ‘I don't particularly like the idea of you behind bars.’ God, if Alice could see the two of them now, she’d hang him.
“If you’ve got handcuffs around here, you were holding out on me last time,” Aoi teases.
Traitor heart of his, stuttering.
He stoically ignores it and Aoi’s provocations. “Or is it that you don’t want to run into whoever you were brawling with at the hospital?”
“You think I sent them to the hospital?” Aoi asks, sounding a little incredulous.
“Well, I’d hope not the morgue. Then I really would be charged with harbouring a criminal.”
“Nah. I didn’t do anything. Ran off, didn’t I? Got better things to do than risk my life in a knife fight. I figure I don’t need to add assault and battery to my ever growing list of crimes--” he stops short, muttering under his breath as if chronicling all his escapades. “What’s the difference between assault and battery, and aggravated assault?” Aoi asks.
“Who have you aggravatedly assaulted?” Light returns.
Light can tell Aoi shrugs because he grunts with pain afterwards. “I don’t know. Probably at least one person. Sometimes things get… heated in the moment.”
Light’s sorry to say he understands. If the Kurashikis land themselves in situations like Clover and Alice do, sometimes people get badly hurt on both sides of the scale. Light’s gained a few more scars since Aoi last saw him, and he’s been in the medical room with Clover more than he’d like. There is a reason their first aid and medicine cabinet is so well stocked.
Still, no matter the hazards of the job, it's not an experience you can ever get used to. The spike of adrenaline and fear is still strong enough for someone experienced as Clover to inadvertently transmit the event. “Don’t sell yourself short. I know how much self restraint you possess.”
Damn him, Light can hear the smirk in Aoi’s voice. “Thought that was your area of expertise.”
Light flails around for something witty, but is far too preoccupied with the memory of when he blathered on about restraint to come up with anything more than a slightly mortified, “Oh, shut up.”
At the very least his embarrassment makes Aoi laugh, an explosive noise like a light bulb popping. Light supposes he should feel some wrinkle of displeasure of being someone’s laughing stock but given the situation they find themselves in, Light doesn’t mind too much.
“Why didn’t you go home to patch yourself up?” Light asks.
He knows that everything he’s said so far makes it seem that he doesn’t want Aoi to be here -- and really, he shouldn’t. This is a terrible idea by every conceivable metric. Not that it stopped either of them last time. Only that he does like having Aoi here. Even if the logistics of him knowing where Light lives and turning up out of the blue makes him frightened.
“Me and Akane figured it’d be better if we split up,” he answers, sounding a little distracted.
“Stop picking at your bandage,” he chides because what else would he be distracted with in this boxy bathroom except his wound?
Aoi jolts back to reality. “You’re so fucking spooky! Jesus!”
“Your sister was at your bar fight?” Light questions, becoming rapidly less convinced by the alibi — if he ever was to begin with.
“Uhh. Yep.” Aoi pops the word. “I don’t think she realised I got stabbed. Otherwise I don't think she would’ve let me drive.”
Light wouldn’t say he has the best, nor the most accurate impression of Akane. All he has is the brief impression of June during the second Nonary Game, and what little he and Clover have eked out of Junpei on the extremely rare, occasionally drunk occasion.
He knows, too, that Junpei’s view of Akane Kurashiki is no longer up to scratch. He speaks of a misremembered dream, idyllic in his twelve year old mind.
So, Light cannot speak on Akane Kurashiki, but he can distil the sort of person it takes to run a Nonary Game. The necessity of ruthless pragmatism, and boldness that borders on recklessness. All this to say, Light doesn’t know if a little scratch like the one Aoi describes would be all that concerning to Akane.
Instead of saying any of this aloud, because it would undoubtedly sour Aoi’s mood which is surprisingly jovial for having been stabbed, he settles for, “I wish I could tell if you’re lying to me about how bad this stab is.”
“You are not allowed to touch my wound.”
“Ew,” Light says.
In the ensuing silence the fan whirs overhead, likely to work itself to death. Light tries to judge just how much trouble he’d get in if this ever came to light. He hopes Clover is okay. Then, thinking of his sister, he tries to gauge Clover’s hypothetical reaction. Light cringes inwardly.
He wonders, then, why he has let this happen for a second time. Once is a mistake, twice is a coincidence and a third… Well, he really shouldn’t make this a habit.
Aoi jokes, “Sorry I didn’t call ahead.”
“You don’t have my number,” Light points out.
“Probably for the best.”
He agrees with that, at least. Bad enough that they’ve ended up like this again. Who knows what havoc would rain down on them if they could actually contact one another? Definitely for the best.
So, of course, Light is seized by the opportunity to make it worse. “We don’t have to spend all our time in this horrible bathroom,” he suggests. He doesn’t even mean it suggestively, he just genuinely dislikes this bathroom.
He and Clover have never fussed about their lack of living room, the two of them happy to sit in the other’s room -- usually Clover’s, since Light has a serious lack of windows, and hers is the larger. If Clover wants to watch a movie, she can do so on her laptop. She’s had a DVD drive ever since she was a young girl, and Light suspects that she prefers it like that, especially since she can compare and contrast with Junpei’s collection. Their mismatched flat works well for them. This is the first time Light has ever lamented their lack of space; the only comfortable place is his room, and inviting Aoi there has implications. He’s not trying to invite anything. Not this time, at least.
Aoi makes a tiny, surprised sort of noise, almost involuntary. “I’m sort of waiting for you to kick me out. Y’know, since I’ve robbed you of all the necessary first aid I needed.”
That would be the wise thing to do, yes. The expected thing to do, even. There has never been anything Light wants to do less. This is the problem; he only sees Aoi on these ludicrous, chance encounters and always at Aoi’s mercy. Light doesn’t know where the other man lives, doesn’t know what he does in his day to day, but Aoi knew Light would join SOIS before even he did.
Light has to consider the reality that Aoi isn’t also being driven to insanity and asks, “You’re welcome to leave.”
“Lapse in judgement,” Aoi replies.
Light can’t stop the smile that creeps up on him. “I hear you like me better when I’m having them. Besides,” he continues, stacking precariously constructed excuses together. Some bizarre compulsion to wrap it up in a feasible believable defence, as if they aren’t far beyond that line already. “You should rest your arm a minute, shouldn’t you?”
“Just a minute?” Aoi challenges.
“Or however long these things take to stop bleeding,” he adds, knowing well enough that the wound wasn’t openly weeping when he fastened the bandage. If he wanted to -- but he doesn’t, and Light’s never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth -- he could walk out of here without another word, never to be seen again.
“Yes, doctor,” Aoi says, somehow with both an audible eyeroll and smile. “And I’ll take three of these a day, with food and water. Whatever you say,” he drawls, volume fluctuating ever so slightly as he rocks forwards, then back again. When he’s flat on his feet, he starts on his way out of the bathroom. No need to tell him where Light’s room is.
From behind him, following along, Light mutters, “Next you’ll be asking me to kiss it better.”
“Yeah, actually. Speaking of: massive cut on my mouth. And my—”
Light shoves him forward.
From the sounds of his shoes hitting the floor and the settling mattress, Aoi doesn’t need to be told to make himself at home. Light gets up onto the bed too, laying down on his side to face Aoi. It’s not the side he tends to favour, but he’ll have to forgive this trespass if it means Aoi doesn’t bear weight on his injured arm.
Light takes a breath to say something, and Aoi cuts him off.
“Don’t say anything,” he orders. “Just shut up, alright?”
“Right,” Light acquiesces and doesn’t ask his question, though he’s quite forgotten what it was. He half expects Aoi to open up into some ramble, confess the truth of why he’s here because he was definitely not in a bar fight.
He stays quiet. Light almost breaks his vow of silence to comment on the fact Aoi isn’t searching for something sarcastic to fill the air with. As the moment drags on, though, Light starts to think the silence is the point.
Outside, cars hum past on the road. Just beyond, the trees that line the park path rustle in the wind. No fireworks tonight. No excuse. Must everything he thinks about Aoi be wrapped up in pretence? Can’t he just let his mind wander?
At the height of their marriage, his mother once said that she could tell that her husband was ill by the way he smelled. Even before he was ill, she knew. Light can scarcely believe that a love like that could exist -- especially with how their marriage ended. To know someone so closely.
Light wonders if there is anyone on Earth besides Clover who will know him so well.
“Aoi,” he starts, voice rough and lips sticking together.
“Don’t say any smart-aleck remark about how I shouldn’t be here, or that I’m shit at first aid,” Aoi warns in a whisper. “I am thinking about something really stupid, and you aren’t allowed to interrupt.” Aoi reaches over and brushes a wayward hair from Light’s face. His hand lingers there, the flat of it resting on the slope of Light’s fair cheek.
Light lists forward, inexplicably drawn to the touch. He can feel Aoi’s breath feather on his face, hitching as he gets too close. He does not draw his hand back.
“Something really stupid,” Aoi repeats in a low voice. It sends a thrill down Light’s spine, certain that they are on the same wavelength. Difficult not to be when they’re so close like this. It’s hard to think of anything else, though Light long thought he was above it.
“This is another lapse in judgement and you know it,” Light murmurs, far too close to Aoi’s mouth again. He doesn’t know what gave him such courage at New Year’s to initiate. The inches between them seem to be a canyon. For a moment, his rationality resurfaces. “You shouldn’t have come here. Clover could’ve been here, for all you knew.”
Aoi’s answer, for once, is entirely sincere. “I wanted to see you. I wasn’t really… thinking straight.”
And Light’s rationality promptly disappears again.
Light can feel his face heat up. He doesn’t usually blush, and he knows he looks strange when he does. He ends up looking feverish more than anything. There’s something to be said about cutting to the heart of the matter, and avoiding all this frivolous dancing around the issue. It’s a marvel to hear, too, unequivocal confirmation that Aoi came here because he wanted to see Light. Maybe his reasoning is daft and half-mad, but he wanted something, so he did something about it. The sort of person who could run a Nonary Game: ruthless pragmatism. Boldness bordering on recklessness. God help him.
Only then does Aoi lean in, and kisses him softer than he thought possible, little more than a brush of his mouth. His mouth is chapped. Light wonders if he still tastes of nicotine; wonders why it's so attractive to him. Hates to conclude that it’s just the same way that Aoi Kurashiki manages to override everything else Light used to be certain of.
Light manages, “Aoi, you’ll get sick off me.”
Another faint kiss. Light’s paying for that comment about self-restraint round about now. He could quite easily kick Aoi for not going the full distance.
“I really don’t think I’m gonna get sick of you,” Aoi counters, shifting against the pillow. “I mean, you’ve kind of been on my mind for a decade. I don’t really care about much but… I think I probably care about you.”
“I meant that I have a cold,” Light corrects him after he’s done. He wonders about blood loss, too. He’s never known Aoi to be so sweet. Though, he supposes, he hardly knows Aoi at all.
Aoi huffs. “Yeah, I… I don’t really care about that either. Also, you’re an asshole. Cut me off sooner.” Except, Aoi leaves no room for Light to interject because he drags him back against his mouth and this time-- this time, thank god -- he does it properly.
He does not taste like tobacco this time. He tastes of eye-wateringly sharp spearmint, like a pot of gum you keep in the car. Light has never kissed anyone while he’s beginning to get ill, mostly because he is fastidious, and hasn’t kissed that many people to boot. It’s better than he thought. His senses dulled, the kiss feels like a thick, warm blanket that nothing can permeate through.
Light has no idea what compels him to protest, “You’re injured.”
Aoi makes a disgruntled noise, groaning at Light’s reticence. “Shut up, and kiss me.”
So he does.
It doesn’t take too long before Light shifts his mouth, kisses running down into Aoi’s jaw. From there, he follows his most ridiculous desires and noses under Aoi’s carotid. Pressed against his neck, Light can feel Aoi groan before he hears it. He sounds just as lovely as he did all those months ago.
Light nips at the skin, relishing at the way his pulse kicks faster. Above him, Aoi’s fingers tangle in his hair and hold him near, as if they’re enacting some sort of vampiric ritual. To that end, Light does employ a little more force and Aoi yelps.
His nonsensical rambling turns into a clean- cut, “What the fuck are you doing?” He pulls on Light’s hair to make space between them, head tipping back with the unexpected force. Light locks every muscle in his body to not make a noise about it.
Light’s voice ticks upwards at the end, unable to keep himself serious. He turns Aoi’s old words against him. “I’m feeling possessive?”
“Like a dog and a fucking lamp post,” Aoi complains seethingly, untangling from his hair and pushing his face away. From the way his voice strains, Light guesses Aoi has pressed his fingers to his throat as if he can find the edges of the forming bruise. “You can’t even see it.”
Light rearranges himself so he’s kneeling on the sheets. He hears Aoi shuffle around too, sitting upright. He points out the obvious, “Others will.” He doesn’t think about why he brought that up. Most of the time, he tries hard not to think about all the myriad ways Aoi Kurashiki makes him feel. He’d come face to face with part of himself he’s not prepared to confront.
Aoi’s voice returns to normal, caustic and sarcastic. Light doesn’t think he’s actually mad. “Yeah, yeah. I’m yours. You own me. What-fucking-ever. You play dirty. Double standard son-of-a-bitch.”
“Only way to play,” Light defends. He scratches the space beneath his collarbone through his t-shirt. The bite Aoi gave him there lasted a week. He imagines the one he’s just given won’t last as long, though.
Aoi huffs, but the edges of it are frayed with fondness. “I really keep learning new things about you all the time.”
Light picks at a loose stitch in the sheets. Before he even knows what he’s saying, he blurts out, “I hardly know anything about you.” He had been thinking it, of course. It’s one of the hallmark features of the well-worn argument he’s having with himself about why thinking about Aoi is a bad idea. What does he know about Aoi, really? What does he know about this man, who he trusts with his life despite everything? All he has is their shared history.
“I’ve had a crush on you since I was, like, fifteen,” Aoi gasps, like the confession is being cut out of him.
Light bows his head and laughs, light and honeyed. Not quite what he was expecting to come out of Aoi’s mouth, but he’ll take it. “I know.”
“No you didn’t!”
“Well, maybe not for so long, but we have had sex. I don’t think I’m easy in any sense of the word. You could’ve spent your New Year’s doing anything, but you chose to come to my exhibition.” He feels a little smug about it, still. That he might have such an effect on a normally impenetrable emotional fortress. It goes to a man’s head, something like that. “As for me,” Light continues, “these last few months have been enlightening.”
“I told myself it wouldn’t happen again,” Aoi mutters. “Said I’d only see you if… Well, you know what I said. You joined SOIS. Haven’t captured me quite yet, though.”
“Handcuffs around here somewhere,” Light volleys back, a bad joke.
Aoi laughs half-heartedly. “Nothing in my life is conventional,” he says, the emotion behind it indecipherable. Light doesn’t know if he means it as an epiphany, a resignation, or a simple fact. “Stupid to think I could do something like this, huh?”
Light doesn’t know what to say to that, frankly. He’s right. It is stupid of them to think that this could go anywhere except crashing into the ground. There is no happy ending for the two of them. It’s likely there will be no ending at all, and they will trail off like an unfinished sentence; unclosed parenthesis. All they will have to show for it are the memories of a handful of clandestine meetings, and the phantom pain of being bitten. Nothing else to corroborate it.
“Perhaps,” Light admits. “But perhaps we don’t need to let it dictate our lives.”
Aoi scoffs. “I don’t know what planet you’re living on, but it absolutely is dictating our lives. We’re only talking because of the Nonary Game. You’re only kissing me because of the Nonary Game, and I’ll ruin it because of the Nonary Game too!”
He flinches at that last point. “Would you prefer some domestic facsimile?” Light asks. “If we had met someplace else, would that ease your burden? If we met as school children? Students? Colleagues?”
“I just think that--” Aoi begins through gritted teeth, because Light is making a point that cuts him deeply. He knows it's cruel, but he also knows that Aoi can take the blow. He’s always admired that about him, as far back as the First Nonary Game. He doesn’t take anything gracefully, but he does take it. He never falters. A quick mind like that, able to reorganise catastrophe on the fly… it’s an enviable quality. Light’s never been so taken aback by it as when Aoi had stayed behind in the First Nonary Game, even though forging ahead would have been the safer thing to do.
Maybe it's this sentimentality that loosens his tongue. “I’m in love with you,” Light cuts him off in a brusque confession. “Despite everything that says otherwise, including you.”
“In love?” Aoi splutters. “Light, you said it was in the last few months--!”
“A vicious lie to save face. Saying the last few months is the less embarrassing timeline,” he continues trying to argue his minor deception. Aoi’s being a little rich if he’s criticising Light’s honesty. “I’d sound like an idiot saying I’ve been… infatuated with you since I was fifteen. Why do you think I kissed you then?”
“Because you were, like, hysterically giddy?” Aoi replies, sounding borderline hysterical himself. Light distantly wonders if he really came across so stoic when he invited Aoi home, kissed him suddenly and proceeded to have sex with him, knowing he was a wanted criminal and his abductor to boot. “It’s been a decade, Light. Holy shit.”
“I can count,” Light protests. It’s not as if he was pining like some war widow. It’s only that Aoi Kurashiki has been a semi-permanent fixture in his head, bound up with the experience of the First Nonary Game. It never mattered where he went -- Japan, America, Europe -- the Nonary Game was a brand. There was no corner of the Earth where it could not reach him. He hates that it has become an inextricable part of him, but he is not helping matters. He joined SOIS because of it, and he is only in love because of it, too. Everything he is now is because of those treacherous nine days. Aoi has the right of it, but surely that doesn’t make any of it untrue.
Aoi scoffs. “You’re such a fuckin’ romantic it makes me gag.”
“In the interest of keeping the topic sincere, I will refrain from making the first joke that came to mind.”
“You don’t even want me to suck your dick,” Aoi points out, pedantry to rival Light’s. “Does Clover know?”
Light has been trying extremely hard to keep Clover off his mind, lest their resonance is still like to transmit at random. He really doesn’t need to distract her until he knows it’s all clear, and he certainly does not need this to be the thing that comes up through the static. He begs, “Please don’t talk about my sister right now.”
Aoi insists. “Yeah, well. Does she?”
God, he hopes not. Does Aoi’s sister know about this? His perception of Akane is skewed towards omniscience, given what happened last November but surely she allows her brother some secrets. Light and Clover are open books to one another, and even if they are being cagey the other can tell almost instantly. Sometimes they press the issue, sometimes they don’t. Light honestly couldn’t say if Clover’s clued into this mess. He assumes not. Why would she think this could ever happen? Light also assumes that if she knew, she wouldn’t take it with good grace and he’d probably get a punch in the arm for his trouble. Or yelled at. Both?
Light answers, “I don’t know. It’s not something I talk about with anyone. She is, however, more perceptive than anyone gives her credit for.”
“I thought you two were joined at the hip.”
Light doesn’t know what Aoi’s view of him and Clover is, but he’s probably the first person to overestimate their closeness. “You try telling your sister that you’re in love with the man who kidnapped you and then faked your death. You’ll find it an unpleasant topic to broach.”
Overlapping, Aoi tells him, “Stop saying that.”
Light frowns. “That you kidnapped me? It’s the truth.”
Aoi shoves his arm, as if he’s being deliberately obtuse. “That you’re in love with me. We’ve spent, like, not even twenty-four hours together.”
Light can’t argue with the numbers. He tries to count it up. Nine hours in the First Nonary Game, plus however long it took to get to land. Maybe four hours in the Second Nonary Game given how early Light was secreted away. A few more hours at New Years, and however long its been now. Twenty-four hours is probably an overestimation, if anything. Still, he replies, “It’s an accurate description.” Because it is. It’s, at least, the closest estimation he’s going to get. He’s never felt anything like this, so he assumes it must be love.
“You don’t think it’s because your brain was in overdrive ten years ago and latched onto the only other person your age? You don’t worry that you only give a damn about me because you pity me? ‘Cause if this turns out to be some sad attempt at alleviating your guilt, I’ll kill you.”
It’s such an absurd sentiment that Light nearly swears. “My guilt? My guilt? What the hell are you talking about? What should I pity you for?”
“You know damn well—“
“It sounds to me that you are inventing reasons that I should dislike you.”
“I’m not inventing—“
Light kisses him again, full on. It’s a very effective way of shutting him up. He didn’t realise that Aoi could be so moronic. By now, he should know that there’s been ample opportunity for Light to send him away and unequivocally tell him to fuck off. Light isn’t a pushover by any definition of the word. If he wanted to, he would’ve. Light has always believed that if he has a problem he can solve, he has an obligation to, but he doesn’t have a problem with any of this.
He pulls back a mite, enough to say, “You have literally abducted me. I think we can afford a little wrong footing here.”
“You’ll leave,” Aoi blurts out, “and I can’t fuck this up.”
Light frowns. “Don’t tell me what I will and won’t do, Aoi Kurashiki. I will do what I want and you can’t make me do anything.”
“You’re mad at me.”
“I’m always mad at you. You are an infuriating man. Infuriating, insufferable, agitating, good, loyal, kind—“
Aoi mutters, “Kind is a bit of a stretch.”
Light thinks of what must’ve happened in the nine years between their first meeting and their second. He thinks about all that work just for a one in a million chance to reclaim his sister’s life. Walking back into hell without a second thought, just because it gave him that hope. Because she had asked. What else is he supposed to call that?
“Kindness,” Light insists, “like I have never known.”
Aoi pushes his face away again. “Shut up,” he whines.
“I don’t need you to believe it, but I do need to tell you. You’ll hide it under a thin veneer of bravado and apathy but…” He shrugs, and kisses him briefly again. Despite his string of protests, Aoi reciprocates, loping his arms around Light’s neck. Light really does worry about how that stab is going to heal. He hopes it's as superficial as Aoi claims.
“I… I don’t think I can say it back,” Aoi mumbles, mouth catching over his. “But you know how I feel about you, right?”
Never one to pass up an opportunity to turn Aoi’s words against him, Light replies, “I think you’re a headcase.” All’s fair in love and war. Then, softer, because he knows that sometimes he should just assuage a person’s doubts, “I know.”
“I think you’re right: I am a headcase. Why else would I… you.” Light doesn’t bother to tease him about his inability to apply verbs.
Instead, he does the worse thing. “I love you,” he murmurs, knowing it'll trigger an unbecoming flush on himself, but it’ll embarrass Aoi too, and that’s a good enough reason.
“I’m going home,” Aoi warns but does not move.
He’s forced to, though, when Light’s phone buzzes on the nightstand. It’s Clover, telling him that things have more or less wrapped up there and she’s on her way back. Light allows Aoi to hear the message, and he immediately starts scrambling even though there will be at least half an hour until Clover’s anywhere near home.
Aoi doesn’t hear the rest, going back to the bathroom, presumably to steal more painkillers. Light’s sure that Aoi has his own, but just likes to be difficult. What follows is this:
Clover:
We think Crash Keys might’ve been at the same place???
Looking at the CCTV and there’s a girl who looks really similar to June coming out the fire escape.
I dunno if I should mention it to Junpei.
I mean, if he even picks up lol
It’s an interesting tidbit, and more than that it fills in the final piece of an inconsequential puzzle. Light bursts into laughter, light-headed and doubled over so far his forehead touches the sheets.
Yes, Light knows exactly who Aoi was in a ‘bar fight’ with, even if neither of the participants do.