LIKE PASTRY. Um, re-read the title if you don't get it. Anyway, yes, this was the product of 4 am ramblings. I got really dizzy and confused right at the end and had to go to bed, so I'm posting this now [even though it sucks and I'm very unsure of how much sense it actually makes].
I should be focusing on writing other stuff, but... well, inspiration called, man. I wish it would call more often. Along with motivation. Oh, and I hope to one day write more than 1000 - 2000 words at a time. Also, I USE WAY TOO MANY COMMAS TO BE HEALTHY. AND I PROBABLY USE THE WRONG TYPES OF PUNCTUATION IN OTHER PLACES. I'M SO SORRY. PLEASE MAKE ME SHUT UP. WINEGUMS CONTAIN SPINACH EXTRACT AND I HAVE WET HAIR.
Hey, has anyone here heard of Maoh: Juvenile Remix?
He's slowly falling apart.
We both know this. Underneath his calm, composed exterior, his words filled with confidence and conviction, his forced friendly chatter, his fake displays of affection and his heated speeches, something is cracking in him.
It becomes apparent at night, when the earth is shrouded in darkness apart from the dim glow of the moon and stars, and he lets himself go, stuck between the worlds of the living and the dead, not exactly awake but conscious enough to let his inner thoughts – his black secrets and twisted intentions - come to light.
He mutters to himself. At first it is quiet and rather relaxed and I can barely hear his voice above the constant hum of my laptop. It's hardly noticeable. But then it gets gradually louder and more frantic. Louder and louder and his words are distinguishable from each other, they're frantically tumbling out of him, rambling about death and justice and unfairness. He's tossing and turning, his brow is furrowed in worry and confusion, and his eyes are still shut, he's unaware of what he is doing, what he is revealing.
His words become louder still, until he's practically yelling. Blood. Anger. Hatred. Perfection. Disjointed sentences and single words, all released with the same amount of panic and urgency.
I watch him with a blank expression, although my mind is always thinking; always calculating. This outburst seems random and nonsensical; a strange meaningless nightmare, yet it has an abundance of awful meanings. Meanings, meanings, I know what all of this means but I can't prove any of it – I never can and perhaps I never will [but I can't think like that - justice always prevails], so I simply stare at the broken man writhing before me.
Power. Righteousness. God. No, wrong, wrong. He's wrong, he cries. There's guilt, so much guilt for a perfect entity to carry with him. Everything is wrong and he's not perfect, he's a victim of a deluded bloodthirsty monster and it's constantly clawing at his mind, invading his pure thoughts and implanting sick, twisted ones. He can't escape it. He's scared.
This is when his eyes snap open, the glistening orbs still clouded by disturbed dreams. Hot tears stream down his face, leaving his cheeks burning with the evidence of such raw emotion, and he turns to me, gazing helplessly at the indifferent expression plastered onto my face. He looks lost and alone and so completely innocent in that moment and I have to remind myself who he is and who I am, and who we're both meant to be before I begin to feel any sort of empathy towards him.
The chain clinks softly as I set my laptop on the luminescent white sheets and my bare feet pad almost noiselessly across the carpeted floor in the direction of his bed. I move quietly so as not to disturb him any more than he already is, and cautiously lower myself next to him on the bed. He's hugging his knees to his chest protectively, his chin lightly resting on them as his eyes follow me warily. He trusts no-one. He's like me in that respect.
"Light-kun?" my voice is without a hint of emotion as I say his name. He continues to watch me. He opens his mouth slightly and a hoarse, croaky whisper leaves it.
"Ryuzaki… I… I don't know who I am…"
He looks genuinely frightened as he confesses this, and the metal chain experiences tremors from his violently trembling body. He gasps in air and makes strange wheezing noises as he tries to make sense of his mixed up head.
"Your name is Light Yagami. You are 19 years of age and you are here with your father Soichiro Yagami working on the Kira case with myself, L."
He searches my face for any hints or signs that I might be lying. Eventually he concludes that I am not, and he switches his attention to the chain connected to the cuffs binding our wrists together.
"I'm so… confused… I don't think I'm Light anymore…"
I know it will be to no avail – these events are always fruitless – but I can't resist trying again, anyway. I never stop trying. I can't.
"Who do you think you are now, Light-kun?"
He shakily gasps. His bloodshot eyes are suddenly incredibly wide, and his face is set in shock and realisation as something clicks in his mind once again.
"No! No no no no no no no no no…" he chants this two letter word over and over - stuck on one thought like a broken record until I reluctantly wrap my arms around his trembling body and slowly bring his face to my chest. He looks up at me anxiously, still chanting the same word, and I bring my hand to his soft light brown hair, massaging my long pale fingers through it, gradually calming him down.
"Please compose yourself, Light-kun…"
His eyes are half-lidded as he grasps the material of my shirt with a certain amount of desperation.
"Ryuzaki, I…"
He has stopped shaking so violently now, and he looks as if he is ready to succumb to sleep once more. I continue weaving my fingers through his hair and carefully sink back into the sheets with my other arm still wrapped around his body.
I lay still for several minutes with him. The room is engulfed in silence and the only sounds are of the laptop and two humans breathing. I concentrate on just his breathing, and I can hear it becoming heavier and more relaxed. I look down at him and as I suspected he has fallen asleep, but this time his sleep is dreamless and his face is the picture of calm, bathed in the glow of the sickle moon, giving him a somewhat ethereal and angelic presence.
I let a small bitter laugh escape my mouth at the irony of the image.
I cannot move from this position now, for fear of disrupting him and starting off a whole new chain of traumatic yelling, so I lie awake with him in my embrace for the whole night and I think, as I always do.
When this monster hiding inside the flesh of a human is finally brought down, when its pawns fall one by one and its perfect world crumbles into ashes, I want to be there, watching.
I want to see it tear out of its guise in front of everyone, and finally reveal itself for what it truly is. I want to shatter its monstrous ego and stare into its lying, devious eyes in its final moments. I want to win, and I want it and everyone else to know I've won.
He hasn't completely fallen apart just yet.