He remembers Misa Amane as the ditzy blonde with the powers of a God and a Kira fetish. But, more importantly, he remembers her as, well, a woman (and yet here he is). male!Misa-SI
Unlike Pluto
| welcome to your life, there's no turning back |
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'Your son is adorable.'
Like he hasn't heard that one before.
Mirai Amane rolls pretty blue eyes, child-like and innocent, at the woman who's stopped to coo over him. She's middle-aged and wears too much lipstick and Mirai prays that she won't try to kiss him anywhere and leave a big stain.
People have a tendency to do that and he hates it (he's supposed to be twenty-eight dammit and should be doing more important things than, well, whatever this is).
"Mirai." His mother's voice stops his internal monologue and he peers up at her, her hold on his hand tightening almost to the point of breaking off his circulation. "What do we say to the nice lady?"
Mirai wants to pout, throw a tantrum or throw something period – anything will do; that garbage can, his teddy bear, the one he didn't want and still doesn't want but has to carry anyways, that woman's lipstick.
Instead, his expression becomes blank and he bows, just like his father taught him to.
"Thank you very much." His words only make the woman squeal harder and she moves to crush him to her chest. He deflects her quickly and the woman blinks at him while he smiles.
"He's a bit shy." His mother answers with a laugh and that's a lie because Mirai isn't shy, he just hates being touched. His mother and father, well, he doesn't have much of a choice, but the rest can go to hell for all he cares because it's his personal space dammit.
"Oh, that's perfectly understandable." And the woman has regained her senses and smiles at Mirai and that's when he notices that the woman's lipstick also stained her teeth (he almost gags right then and there).
"Oka-san." He tugs at his mother's hand. "We'll be late meeting Otou-san…" Not that Mirai cares much about dinner dates with his father, but any excuse is valid to escape this situation.
Both women laugh, at him or at what he said, well, he isn't sure and, frankly, he doesn't care (grown-ups have a way of making you feel almost stupid and Mirai hates it because, what the hell, he should be an adult by now, is an adult trapped inside a child's body).
"Boys are always closer to their fathers." The strange woman says almost like she knows what's she's talking about. "But they always take care of their mothers."
Mirai wants to snort (his mother, the real one, the previous one, could burn in hell for all he cared and his father, the one before, hell was just too good for him), but manages to keep it in and smiles, batting his blonde eyelashes, at his mother.
"Oh, look at the time." His mother says, peering at her watch. "We have to go or we'll be late. Have a nice day." He lets himself be pulled off and even waves at the woman as they walk away.
"When you grow up…" His mother says and he doesn't know if it's happiness or sadness in her voice – maybe a bit of both. "You'll be a real lady killer."
She winks at him, like it's a secret, like it's something between just the two of them (and Mirai can't really remember anything about the Amane family except that they die and, well, that's just inevitable so why should he attach himself to people who will leave him in the end).
Obviously, his mother doesn't mean that in the literal sense. Mirai wonders how exactly she would react if she knew that was raising a killer, an actual one.
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The details of his death are a little fuzzy in the sense that remembers dying (it's painful and it hurts and he bleeds everywhere and every muscle and bone aches), but he can't quite remember how.
But death is a bitch and Mirai is too cynical and not spiritual enough to believe that there is anything after it. He takes it like he takes everything else life – now death – throws at him and accepts the darkness that envelops him like a cocoon and decides that sleeping for the rest of eternity might not be such a bad thing.
Well, it did not seem like such a bad thing, not until he is pulled away from his slumber and takes a deep, very real, breath.
Someone speaks as he blinks up at the hospital ceiling (maybe this was all some elaborate joke or maybe he was just in a coma; either way, he hopes he isn't paralyzed or missing any limbs) and he wants to move, talk, do something, anything –
He can't.
Because he's a baby and babies don't talk (they cry, they shit, they drink and eat and sleep, but they don't talk and, even if he could, how would he explain all of this without ending up in the nuthouse).
And worst, he can't even understand a single word (it's clearly Asian, maybe even Japanese, but he's never really been gifted at the art of languages and relies on his instinct purely and all he knows is that he can't understand a word, not one word), except, well for his name.
'Amane, Mirai.' And while it does have a nice ring to it, he has to pause in horror at the last name, his last name now (he wants to laugh hysterically, but ends up crying instead because this is the worst kind of joke anyone could play on someone and, of course, it had to happen to him).
He remembers Misa Amane as the ditzy blonde with the powers of a God, the beauty of a Goddess and a very obvious Kira fetish (and Death Notes and Shinigamis, a boy named Light who will become the greatest mass murderer in history and a detective named Lawliet that will die trying to stop him), but, more importantly, he remembers Misa Amane as, well, a woman.
A very pretty, devoted, blonde and dark clothes loving woman.
And yet, here he is (he wants to find it funny, he can't).
a/n : Should I be starting another fic? No. Is this a good idea? Probably Not. Will I finish this? Sure, I will. Anyways... I'd explain, but I really can't. So, let me know what you think?