Beyond Birthday meets the love of his life at a funeral.
At A's funeral, to be exact.
He had always liked A, had nothing against him, but when they first met at eight years old, a casual glance to the numbers indicated to Beyond that he was not worth getting close to. A had seemed to read it In his face, and had always kept his distance.
So in a way Beyond is almost glad he is dead, if it affords him the chance of meeting his soulmate. L. The L. L. Lawliet. Who would have known the greatest detective of all time would be his soulmate?
The smaller boy isn't introduced as this, of course. He is introduced as Rue Ryuzaki, a grandchild of Wammy's, and he is as nondescript as any of them; a messy haired child around Beyond's age with eyes that haven't slept.
It is not his name that sends a jolt through Beyond – he had a feeling he would meet L in this way – or even the numbers – L has plenty of numbers left – but everything else.
Beyond's Shinigami eyes were sensitive not only to names and numbers, but could tell if someone was in a bad mood, or if they were introverted, or about to get a divorce, or win a fight. He could take two people who had never seen each other before and know if they would be best friends, or enemies, or lovers, or all three. So when he looks at L Lawliet for the first time, he knows he has his soulmate.
He is a little surprised to learn that the great L is a child his own age, but Roger had always implied he was advanced beyond his years.
He is more than a little surprised about the soulmate part. He is a little boy; he has always been ignorant, and indifferent, about love. Oh, he's sees it everywhere, above people's heads and in their eyes, in animals and books and songs, but now it is staring him in the face, obviously dancing over his own head, he has no idea what to do with it. He almost wants to revisit all those moments in his life where he scorned love, every time he rolled his eyes impatiently, sick of seeing it everywhere, but he gets it now. He knows how it feels.
He sits in his room trying to wrestle with the warm feeling in his chest. Yes, soulmate, great, fine, but he still has things to think about. He can't just waltz downstairsto L and start planning their honeymoon. Other people cannot see the way he can see, and the last thing he wants is to alarm L. They may not even be destined to be together for years, or Beyond may die tomorrow, or anything may happen.
Rather, he has to plan how they will spend the next five days together, as this is the only confirmed time the universe has given them together, for now.
Roger calls him from downstairs then. He almost forgot. They have a funeral to attend.
He takes the opportunity to watch L at the funeral and try and learn all he can. Beyond knows nothing concrete about L, except that he is brilliant and shy and loves sweets. He makes a mental note to learn how to bake. He also apparently hates footwear; the funeral is the longest time Beyond has seen him with his bare feet covered. The other's boy's huge eyes are sad behind his hair, and he looks awkward in his little-boy awkward suit, much how Beyond feels in his.
Beyond watches L as the funeral goes on. His wide eyes are not only sad. He looks, he feels, guilty? It makes Beyond want to put his arms around him. Why should L feel guilty? It is not L's fault, he never even met A. It is Roger's fault, it is Wammy's, A's parents', Beyond's, even A's himself, but it is not L's.
He sidles to Wammy the next day – Wammy has always been softer than Roger - when everyone is still in a quiet post-funeral haze but otherwise back to normal, and asks, "Can I please do some baking, Mr Wammy?"
"Baking?" Mr Wammy repeats, like Beyond has asked if he can sacrifice snakes. "Whatever for? We have some jam tarts in the cupboard. You can have one, if you promise to finish your tea."
Beyond is shaking his head impatiently. "No, thank you, Mr Wammy, I really want to do baking."
"To bake," he corrects gently. Wammy had been the one to teach Beyond English, and his ability to pick it up so fast so young had had him moved to Wammy's from one of the regular orphanages. Not Roger, not Jun, but Wammy himself. Beyond likes to remind him of this at strategic times, by slipping up in his English in a way he knows Wammy will never admit he finds endearing. The old man has always had a soft spot for him. He also has A's death as leverage, of course, but he'd prefer to not use that if he can help it.
"And what would you like to bake?" Wammy is saying now.
Well prepared, Beyond whips a piece of paper from his pocket and thrusts it under Wammy's nose. "Strawberry cake," he says, unnecessarily. He has seen L eating strawberries and loves strawberry jam himself, so it is perfect. "Please, Mr Wammy, we have all the ingredients, I can pay for them with my pocket money. The instructions are really simple."
Wammy is scanning the stolen recipe page, frowning. "Why bake at all, Beyond?" he asks, but Beyond can tell by his tone that he is already won. The rest is just time-wasting and humouring the old man.
"Because," he says stoutly. "Please, Mr Wammy. I promise I won't make a mess."
"30 years of orphans has taught me baking makes nothing but a mess, dear."
"Then I'll clean it up," Beyond snaps, beginning to lose his patience. "It's for L," he says, seeing Wammy is about to tell him off for cheek.
Sure enough, the old man softens slightly. "That's very sweet of you, dear, but you don't need to bake L – Ryuzaki – a cake to make friends with him. Just go up and say hello. He's shy. He'd probably love it if someone went up and talked to him."
Beyond squirms impatiently through Wammy's speech, wishing Wammy had a fast-forward button he could press right the way to his death.
"I want to bake L a cake, Wammy," Beyond insists, trying not to whine. "Please."
Wammy heaves a great sigh, like Beyond has asked him to climb mountains with him. "I'll have to supervise you. You're not to touch the oven or the big knives, do you hear me?"
Beyond cheers happily and skips to the kitchen. As if he needs supervising.
It is a beautiful summer's day, like it had been yesterday when they had been shifting uncomfortably in their hot funeral suits. Most of the children were playing in the garden, and the older ones had gone to the swings. Beyond is grateful for the privacy. He knows he will, unfortunately, have to share the cake with not just L but nearly everyone, but he is not sharing the baking part. Except for Wammy, which Beyond allows on the off chances he messes something up. He wants the cake to be perfect.
When the cake is in the oven and Beyond is sitting on the counter, dipping a finger in the mixing bowl and licking and swinging his legs, Wammy goes outside to check on the others, warning Beyond to not touch the oven until he gets back.
Beyond is licking and swinging quite happily when a little hopeful voice calls out. "Wammy?"
Beyond freezes, the tip of one sugared finger still in his mouth.
L is drifting towards the warm baking smell like a shark to blood.
"Are you baking? Can I – oh." He stops when he sees Beyond sitting there, going red. Anyone else looks idiotic to Beyond when they blush. L looks adorable. Beyond has never heard his voice before or seen him close up, and it makes him go all peaceful inside.
Beyond wipes his mouth and smiles at him. "Hi." He sticks out the bowl. "Have some."
Sugar is the right thing to offer his little soulmate. L's eyes are drawn to the bowl, and he dips a cautious finger in and licks, then another, then another, and then Beyond has coaxed him up on the counter beside him, and they are both dipping and licking companionably.
"You can bake?" L asks, a little shyly.
"I'm trying."
L laughs, and it is as rare and warm as the sun outside. Beyond's heart swells.
"By yourself?"
"Wammy's helping," he says truthfully. Wammy is at this moment surely engaged in wiping someone's knee, or watching how high I can go, so won't be back for at least another few minutes. Another few minutes alone with his precious L.
"What are you baking?"
"Strawberry cake."
L's eyes widen almost comically. "That's my favourite. Can I have some?"
"Of course." We can have it at our wedding, he adds silently.
"Is it someone's birthday?"
"No." He shrugs, rather awkwardly as he is holding the bowl in one hand and dipping and licking with the other. "I just felt like baking."
"What's your name?"
"B."
"Oh." L has stopped dipping and looks stricken. "You know who I am, then."
B frowns. Stupid Wammy. "It's OK, I can keep a secret. I know everybody's names." He proffers the bowl to distract him. When L still looks worried, he lowers his voice and says, "My name is Beyond Birthday. I can show you my birth certificate to prove I'm not lying."
L's eyes have widened again. "Can you?" he begs. "I've never seen one before."
"Of course."
They finish the bowl, and then go for the remaining strawberries. They are chatting quite happily again when Wammy comes back. He smiles, but thankfully has the sense not to tell L that the cake is for him. Perhaps he is not a complete fool, after all.
They each have a slice of cake, before leaving Wammy to the difficult task of dividing the rest up for the others. It isn't bad, Beyond thinks, for a first attempt. The mess isn't half bad either, and L helps him clean it.
L sits next to B for tea, as Wammy is distracted making a roster; a lot of children have been whining that they want to bake, too.
"It's so sad A isn't here to have some cake," L says to Beyond privately. It is private because it is in Japanese, and the only one who speaks fluent Japanese aside from them is Wammy, who is currently at the other end of the table with Roger, arguing over shopping lists.
B feels a little pang, thinking about A. He'd had a small cry going to sleep last night, but this morning he'd almost forgotten him. "Yeah," he says, sending A a quick prayer, wherever he is. Thank you for sending this angel in your place. I promise I'll look after him.
"Did you know him?"
"He was my roommate."
"Oh." L suddenly looks so sad that B feels a little sorry for himself. "I'm so sorry, Beyond. You must be really sad."
"It's OK," he shrugs, avoiding his eyes. He doesn't really want to lie to him, but his mouth is getting ahead of him. "It's weird sleeping alone up there, though."
L nods sympathetically. "Yeah, it must be."
B lets an appropriate, but not too much, amout of time pass before saying casually, "Does Wammy have you in the attic room? It must be pretty depressing up there. You can sleep in my room with me, if you want. It'll be cosier, and I'll be less lonely."
L stares at him, and Beyond rewinds his little speech in his head, trying to figure out which part he got wrong.
"You can sleep in my bed, if A's freaks you out."
L shakes his head. "It's OK, I don't mind." Beyond breathes out. "I'll ask Wammy."
After lights out, after Wammy has made them promise no whispers or giggling or games in the dark, Beyond fishes out his torch and retrieves his birth certificate from where its nest in the pages of Treasure Island. He stole it from Wammy's office years ago.
L handles it like it is a real treasure map.
"I wish I had one," he says sadly.
"You probably do, somewhere."
Beyond pauses, then shows him photos of his Mum, his Dad, his cat, all of them together in their old house in Japan. L handles them reverently, as Beyond knew he would, his eyes shining solemnly in the torchlight.
"What about you?" Beyond asks eventually, as he'd been dying too. "What about your parents?"
"I don't know." L looks uncomfortable, like he's been cornered. "Wammy found me by myself."
"By yourself?" The thought is so awful, so sad and uncomfortable and wrong, that Beyond doesn't know what to do with it. Then he sees L looks sad again, and it is partly his fault. "It's OK," he says quickly.
"I hate that Wammy called me Lawliet," he says. "Because it means lost."
Beyond looks at him sympathetically. "Well, you're not lost any more." He leans over and kisses L's cheek. L smiles just a little, and his heart soars. His soulmate is his.