Summary: A and B are rivals, and A loves it
Pairings: B/A (Mostly one sided) Smaller hints of B/L, and Mello/Near. (Everything very much one sided). Obsessions are bad, m'kay?
Warnings: Mild violence, unhealthy relationships, depression, suicide.
Notes: This is completely my own head canon, as all we officially know about A was that he was at Wammy's house, was a potential to replace L, and he killed himself. I made everything up, basically.
Earning First Place
A's first thought when he was introduced to B was that this… thing in front of him was not a child, it wasn't even human. No, B was something else entirely. B was a force of nature.
A was fascinated and frightened all at once.
The two were pushed together by the institution. It only made sense; throw the top two students together see what happens. They would either feed off of each other and grow, or they would fight and one would destroy the other. Either outcome benefited the goal of creating another child capable of being L.
It was harsh, but the truth. Even at the young age of eight, A understood the logic behind the move. He kept to himself, didn't socialize with the other students, he much preferred watching from afar. His test scores were the only things that singled him out. Consistently, he was ranked first, aside from those rare times his name was replaced by B's at the top. A didn't take it personally. He didn't even know which of the children B was.
He was finally introduced to the mysterious B when he was told he was changing rooms.
And here they were, A and B, the back-up and the top student face to face in Roger's office while it was explained that the two would be rooming together from this point on. As Roger spoke all A could do was study the…creature next to him. This was B. A had seen him around, of course, but he was still a mystery.
B didn't say a word during the introduction, even after A smiled and offered his hand for a hand shake. B simply stared at him for an uncomfortably long time before letting out a laugh made A shiver. B turned and left the room without another sound.
It was nearly six months before B said a word to his roommate.
"Are you sick?" he had asked. The question followed one of B's intense stares. A had been sitting on his bed doing homework when B climbed up and sat down across from him.
"Not that I know," A replied.
"Oh." B tilted his head before he jumped off the bed.
"Why do you ask?"
"Numbers changed." With that cryptic statement B crawled on his own bed and pulled the blanket over his head. A wanted to question B, but he knew better.
A was timid around the wild child, always feeling he might do or say something to set B off. Yet all the same, A found himself preoccupied the boy. He made mental notes of B's habits.
B showered once every five days, no more, no less.
B had no personal belongs, aside from his rarely touched school materials, his desk and shelves were empty.
B hummed and muttered to himself a lot. He never kept a tune, and all his mutterings consisted of strings of numbers.
B laughed to himself often and loudly. It was cackling sort of laugh that raised the hairs on the back of A's neck.
B spent a lot of his time outside. His perpetually dirty clothes and skin stood as a testament to this.
And when B pulled the covers over his head talking to him was absolutely against the rules.
A learned that the hard way, less than a week after they began to room together. He asked the B shaped lump on the bed a simple question and the next thing he knew B was on top of him, his dirty fingers wrapped around A's throat. B squeezed his throat just long enough to cause A's eyes to water and his head to spin. B must of felt that made his point before and detached himself from his roommate and climbed back into bed. He did all of this without making a single noise.
A got the message and when he was later asked about the faint bruises around his neck he lied.
It was nearly four years later when B put his hands on A again. It was shortly after a visit from L, the mysterious detective they were training to replace. A was excited, the same as everyone who was invited, but B was beyond ecstatic about meeting L.
"You've meet him before, right, B?" A had asked shortly after the visit was announced.
"Once, just once," B replied. He was on the floor next to his bed, reaching under it, looking for something. He pulled out a faded picture. B leaned against his bed and stared at the picture, fingers brushing gently over the surface.
"What was he like?"
"Human," B said, but kept his eyes lock on the photo.
A laughed, "Yes, but what else."
"Someone's impression of a person is precious," B said, voice low, "It is not something to be given away."
A was silent. He had gotten used to B's bizarre statements, but he rarely knew how to reply to them. He often felt as though B didn't want or even expect a reply, like he was talking to himself and A just happen to be there to hear it.
B suddenly handed A the photo. It was of B, he looked about nine or ten, and standing next to him was a slightly older child, maybe twelve or thirteen. B was grinning, but it was a very unsettling grin, and the other child had a small and obviously forced smile on his lips. There was a striking similarity between the two, it was almost like B was a miniature copy of the other, but something had gone wrong during the process. B looked warped, somehow, compared to the other child.
"Is... is he L?" A asked. He knew L was young, but he didn't realize how young. He looked only a few years older than B.
"Yes," B said and snatched the picture back.
"He's younger than I thought," A commented. B was back staring at the picture.
"He's more human," B muttered, and sat down on his bed.
"More human?" A asked despite knowing better. He was curious about L, and more so, he was curious about B's relationship with the detective. After all, B was the original copy, the original back-up. He was as close as anyone at Wammy's could get to L.
"More human than me," B said softly. He finally broke eye contact with the photo and stared at A. It was a look that A had come to expect since living with B, expect, but never get used to, as it still sent a chill down his spine.
A wanted to say something, anything, maybe reassure B that he was plenty human, even though A wasn't sure of that fact himself. But B suddenly turned away and burrowed under his blanket, taking the picture with him.
B was bizarre, there was no denying that, but after four years with him, A had come to appreciate his roommate. Most of the other children were scared of B, and rightly so, and while A never felt safe around B, he enjoyed his company. And he hated when B hid away from the world under his blanket. He hated it when B hid from him.
The week leading up to L's visit, all that B talked about was L. B didn't talk much as it was, but it was beginning to grate on A's nerves. Of all the things B had done in the past, for some reason his obsession with L was the only that that really bothered him. A hadn't minded when B choked him, or when he hid a collection of dead bird under his bed, or when B shouted nonsense at him while A was studying. A didn't care about any of that, in fact he found it fascinating. But hearing his roommate talk about L got to him.
A realized then that he was doomed.
B's obsession with L got to him because he was obsessed himself, obsessed with B's attention. He wanted B to talk to him, to hang out with him, he wanted to watch B kill birds and play in the dirt and climb trees. He wanted to share debates and secrets; he wanted to be part of B's life.
And L got in the way of A's fantasy world.
On the day of L's visit the children were herded into one of the rooms normally used for classes, only instead of desks, there was a jumble of chairs arranged in a sloppy circle. B had plopped himself down and A considered sitting on the other side of the room, but he sat down next to B, unable to do anything else, like A had been caught in B's magnetic field.
The whole thing was very informal; the children were allowed to ask questions about cases, about being L, about nearly anything. When L arrived A studied the man who was unconsciously ruining his world. The awkward child of the photo had grown into an equally awkward teen. He was tall and slender; his body looked like it was 80% limbs. He waved and offered a simple introduction before sitting in a free chair in the circle.
A didn't pay attention to anything L said. He was preoccupied with watching B react to L's presence. B's eyes never left L, he didn't even seem to blink. B didn't ask any questions or comment, he just stared with a strange and unsettling smile on his lips. A glanced between the detective and his obsessed protégé. Seeing the two in the same room was unnerving. They still looked similar, but not as similar as they had in B's photograph. They both had wild black hair, but B's was longer and notably matted. They both had wide, dark eyes, but L's were decorated with dark circles. L's skin was an unhealthy pale, while B had a light tan from his time wandering the grounds. L was taller than he had been in the photograph, but B had had his own little growth spurt, and despite the age difference A figured that B was nearly as tall as his idol. L looked thin and fragile, and while B was thin, he had more bulk to his body. It made sense, B was active. He climbed, stalked, ran, anything. Even now he was moving in his seat, shifting back and forth.
The event continued on. Occasionally other students or even Roger would glance questioningly over at A and B. Probably wondering why the two top students, the two most likely to become L, had nothing to ask the detective. It annoyed A, and B didn't notice. A was having a bit of an internal crisis, he didn't have time to ask how L managed to solve such and such case. No, the only thing he was wanted to know was B. He wanted to know what B was thinking, what B did when he wasn't with A, and he really wanted to know why B was so obsessed with L. Why was L so special?
B suddenly spoke up, his voice startling A and everyone else in the room.
L had been in the middle of a generic wrap up speech, explaining why the role of L was important and how they needed to do their best and keep up with their studies… The way L was speaking, A was convinced Roger had given him a script.
"But only one of us can be L," B interrupted.
L's eyes widen slightly, probably not expecting to be interrupted. He studied B for a moment.
"In theory, yes, only one individual can carry the title of L."
"And who will it be?" B was grinning ask he spoke.
The room was still. This was an often debated topic among the children of Wammy's, but to be so blunt about right to L's face was almost sacrilegious.
L's reactions were subtle, but A saw the twitch of his lips and the change in body posture. L was taken back at being asked so directly, but he enjoyed the challenge.
"Not sure, yet, honestly," L said after a moment, "According to the test scores and observations I have received there are two top contenders among you." L paused a second. He was still staring at B and B was returning the gaze.
"I would guess that you are one of those students," L said, and B broke out into his distinct and ugly laugh.
Later that evening, A was sitting at his desk trying desperately to focus on his school work. B was lying on the floor by his bed staring blankly at the ceiling. The first few times A had seen this particular B behaviour he had immediately rushed to his roommate's side, thinking something was wrong. B would only lift his head slightly and explain he was playing the dead body game, and go back to staring blankly.
Even when B was being silent, his presence was distracting. A slammed his book shut, frustrated. How was he supposed to work like this, what was wrong with his brain? He stood up and looked at his roommate, sprawled out on the floor. A had never been more confused in his life. He knew he like B, he enjoyed being around him, he was interesting, he was so different, even in a house full of gifted genius children, each bursting with their own eccentricities, B stood out in every way imaginable. B was unstable, a whirl-wind of explosions and bizarre traits.
Yet, at this moment A was sure he hated B. He was distracting, it was like B had somehow crawled into A's mind and had taken over. And there was the matter of L, or rather, B's unnatural obsession with L. Of course it was unnatural, everything B did was unnatural. Still, why was L so special? A had never seen B so drawn to any one thing, let alone a person.
A shook his head, this was stupid. He was being stupid. Everyone here looked up to L, even A. B was just excited to meet an idol, nothing more, but because he was B, and did everything in extremes, it came across as over the top. An idea crossed A's mind as he thought about L's visit.
Two contenders for the role of L. No one needed to ask who they were, everyone knew. A studied, performed well in his classes, most things coming to him naturally. He was an expert at reading body language and vocal cues. He was ahead in all of his classes even the ones he didn't care for; he consistently scored at the top, aside from those rare occasions when B would decide that a test or project actually mattered and completed it.
The race to the role of L was between A and B.
A, who studied and worked, and enjoyed working, and B, who was currently sprawled on the floor being a dead body, one of them would become L.
If A became L, would B give him the same attention he gave the current L?
It was an incredibly selfish reason to aspire to be L, but A figured no one really got anywhere without being at least a little selfish.
"You are staring," B said, breaking A out of his thoughts.
"Sorry, I was just thinking. I thought you were a dead body."
"I was, now I'm not, I figured out who killed me. Thinking about what?"
"L," A replied. He didn't miss the way B's face brightened when he said the name. "I want to be L."
B smirked. "Everyone here wants to be L."
"But not everyone will have the chance. No. I have decided that I will be L." A declared. B jumped to his feet with otherworldly grace and advanced on A. A tried to back up, but found himself bumping into his desk. He stared up at B. He had not expected this reaction.
"Don't go around declaring things you know nothing about," B whispered. He leaned in close to A.
"L said there are two contenders. There is no reason why I can't become L," A said, trying to stay calm. His heart was beating fast and hard against his chest. He had been pining for B's attention for nearly a week, and now that he had it, he was terrified.
Suddenly B's fist connected with the side of A's face, sending the smaller child crashing to the floor. In a second, B was straddling him, raining punches down on his face and body.
A was too stunned to even pull his own hands up in defence. While he was being beaten, A could just make out B muttering, "I am the back-up, I am the back-up," over and over again.
A had tried to lie about his injuries, but Roger had seen through him easily. A was given the option of a new roommate, but he declined. A was B's roommate, to him that seemed like an unchangeable fact of the universe.
The fight, or rather the beating, as A hadn't fought back in the slightest, marked a change in A and B's relationship. Maybe it was the fact that A had declared his intent to be L so clearly that did it, but something changed in B. B actually started trying. He still did things in his own messed up way, but A was only making the top mark about half the time now.
A had hoped to gain B's attention by declaring he would become L, and it had worked. Only instead of the crazed admiration that B gave the actual L, A was met with antagonism. Fighting, yelling, violence, all became normal parts of their relationship.
And A loved every minute of it. They weren't just roommates, they were now official rivals. It was such a real, tangible name for their relationship, it delighted A.
B spoke to him more often now, though most of the time it was just vague threats of violence and insults. A didn't care, because finally it seemed he was taking up space in B's head, rather than the other way around.
About four months after the beating, though, B broke the pattern.
"Are you sick?" B asked, voice soft. A was at his desk, engrossed in his homework, while B was laying awkwardly on the floor, attempting his own work, but only managing doodles of disembowelled corpses in the margins.
"Huh? What?" A looked up from his work.
"Are you sick?" B repeated. He was staring intently from the floor, his eyes wide and staring just above A's head.
"No, why do you ask?"
"Numbers," B replied quietly.
"What numbers?" A questioned. He had turned in his chair to give B his full attention. He remembered B asking the same question years ago. He didn't get a straight answer back then.
B looked back down at his homework turned murder scene sketch, but didn't respond. Apparently A was not going to get a straight answer now, either.
A and B carried on their rivalry for the next several years. It was a playful, angry and intense bickering, marked with harsh words and violence that was almost entirely one-sided. A would occasionally bait B with a comment here and there, something he knew would get under B's skin. He did this just so he could enjoy the resulting explosion. He was a stupid child playing with fire. He could gather the kindling and light the match, but he had no way of controlling what happened next.
While A and B were locked in competition to become the next L, time went on. More and more children entered Wammy's school, but no matter how many brilliant young minds entered the mix, it was always A and B at the top.
Time wasn't the only thing that happened while they weren't paying attention. A hit puberty with all the grace of crashing into a brick wall. The physical changes were nothing to the emotional upsets brought on by a flood of hormones.
The most frustrating changes were those in his stormy relationship, rivalry, whatever it was with B. He had always had acknowledge being fascinated by B, and enjoying being around him, but hormones had made him hyper aware of the dangerous sexual tension hovering around his interactions with B. It was not something A was ready to acknowledge, let alone embrace.
A could catalogue all the chemical components so obviously affecting his thoughts, but that didn't help. And A wasn't the only one growing up. B, who was already taller than him, gained a couple more inches. The subtle changes to B's physique always made themselves clear when the two fought, or rather when B attacked.
A never struck back. A rarely even put up a struggle. Even after B had developed a fascination with all things metal and sharp, A just went limp and let him do what he wanted. Twenty-three stitches later, Roger was lecturing both of them on safety and respect. B didn't listen and A didn't care.
A wasn't even sure what they were fighting over anymore. When he really stopped and thought about it, A didn't want to be L. He had no real desire to solve crimes and stop criminals. Intervening wasn't really his thing. Action wasn't his thing, observation was. No, he never really wanted the role of L. It was something that had been tossed at his feet at an early age, and he had picked up only to further his own goals. His own goals being B.
And it had worked. The more effort he put towards becoming L, the more B reacted.
A had a feeling that B knew, at least on some level, that A was doing everything for his attention. Whether or not he knew A's true reasoning, though, B seemed to enjoy having a punching bag, rival, friend, or whatever weird combination A was.
"I am seventeen today," B declared, one evening. A was sitting on his bed reading and B's statement drew his attention away from his book. He had asked B his age before and B always said he didn't know. If this was true, than B was older than A originally thought. A himself was only fifteen.
"How do you know?"
"Roger told me earlier. Basically I have a year to figure out what I want to do." B was facing away from A, looking out the room's single window.
"Oh, what are you going to do," A asked.
"Be L. That's what I was made for." There was a firm certainty in B's voice, it was the same tone that took over anytime the matter was discussed.
"Has L said anything? Has he picked yet?" A set his book on the bedside table.
B predictably turned around and stalked over to the edge of A's bed. "He doesn't need to. I am the back-up."
A smirked and started to retort, but was silenced by B's hand over his month.
"Maybe," B said, leaning in close, "if you ask nicely, I will make you my back-up."
A's heart was racing while his stomach was turning over its self. His body was screaming how much it enjoyed B's closeness, while his mind was fumbling over the idea of being B's 'back-up'.
"You would like the attention, wouldn't you," B's voice was a low growl. His hand was still pressed tightly to A's month.
A feel like he was going to pass out. His mind, body, everything in him was pulled taunt, like a rubber band that was going to snap at any moment. He couldn't do anything but wait for B to do something, anything. B stared for a moment, eyes drifting to just over A's head, before leaning forward and pressing his forehead to A's.
"Numbers changed again," B said, and there was something soft and almost sad in his voice. B then kissed A lightly on the cheek, before pulling away completely.
A didn't know what to do, what to say, what to think or feel. B was standing over him, still.
"Be my back-up, A. I will be L and you can be my back-up," B said, but the certainty was gone from his voice.
A couldn't do anything but nod dumbly.
Two weeks later, A's world crashed around him, and all because of a simple letter. A had been called to Roger's office. It was the first time he had been in there without B next to him.
"A, I have a letter here from L," Roger said, quickly getting to the point. He handed the piece of paper to A.
There wasn't much to the letter, it was only a few lines long. A skimmed over the content, but his eyes were drawn to the last line.
'…and because of this, I have decided that A will be my official successor.'
A felt tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. No, this, this can't be right. He looked up at Roger, trying to get a better read of the situation, but Roger's stern face only affirmed the harsh reality of the letter.
"I know this might be overwhelming, but remember this is what you have been working towards." Roger said.
"B…" A whispered.
"Excuses me?"
"Have you told B yet?"
"No, we agreed it was best to tell you first… and alone." Roger said. He was uncomfortable talking about B, he was uncomfortable around B.
"Well tell him I don't want it. Actually, tell L I don't want it!" A tossed the paper at Roger, before storming from the office. The tears that had been gathering finally fell as he ran through the halls. A ran and until he hit the front doors. He tossed them open and continued his run on to the grounds. He didn't spend near as much time out here as he had when he was younger, but he still had a pretty good mental map of the area. He finally stopped when he reached a small artificial pond. It was surrounded by large bushes and cattails. Everything was in full bloom, open to the warm spring air.
A collapsed by the water, crying. What was he going to do now? He was officially L's successor. The title felt like a ton of bricks pressing down on him. How was B going to react? Would he lash out? A imagined B receiving the news and promptly stabbing Roger with his letter opener.
What did this do to their relationship, whatever the hell their confusing relationship was? A and B had been rivals for L's title, but that was over, because A had won and B had lost. A suddenly wished he had read more of the letter, maybe L explained his choice in detail, and if A knew the logic behind the choice he could better argue against it.
Even if he knew, deep inside, that he was the logical choice. B was probably more clever and quick witted than A, and he definitely was more interested and criminals and solving crimes, but B was wild, unpredictable, crazed at times. He was unbalanced and quite simply didn't care. It would be catastrophic to give him the power of L.
All the same, if B couldn't be L, why did it have to be A? All B seemed to want out of life was to be L, so why did it have to be A that took that from him? He knew it was his own fault. A had been playing a dangerous game with B for years now, and now everything had come full circle. What A really wanted was to be locked in his and B's stormy, dangerous rivalry forever. A thought back to the night a few weeks before and B's soft kiss on his check followed by the declaration that A should be B's back-up. He had tried to talk to B about the incident the next day, but B wasn't interested in words and his only response was to tackle A to the ground and choke him until A nearly blacked out.
The idea of being B's back-up, whatever that entailed, was enthralling to A. It was a step up in their relationship, something closer, more intimate. First they had merely been classmates, then roommates, then rivals (and sometimes almost friends), and then back-up, follower… the next evolution in their relationship.
It was pointless, though. A barely had time to fully enjoy his new fond role because L had decided it was time to choose. A was stuck. He could probably decline the position, if he protested loud and long enough, but that would only cause the role to be pushed on someone else. Someone who wasn't B. A felt himself flush with jealousy as he imagined B attacking some other, faceless, nameless child, who happened to become next in line for L's position.
A wiped the tears and snot from his face and glared down at his distorted reflection in the pond. His thinking was warped and he knew it. It was all B's fault—all those years ago the wild child had wormed his way into A's head and proceeded to claim the space as his own.
At this point, the best A could hope for was one last burst of violence from B, when A told him the news. Something dark and sick in A's mind hoped that maybe, this would be the time that B took things too far, that B wouldn't stop choking, that B's blade would slip too deep. A closed his eyes and tried to imagine nothingness.
His thoughts, however, were interrupted by shouting coming from the other side of the bushes. A stood up, shaking the feeling back into his legs, and went over to the thick bushes, and peered over them.
A small group of children were playing under a tree a few yards away. None of them looked older than ten. As A studied them, he realized playing wasn't actually what was going on. Two children were arguing, fighting, while the others looked on.
"You cheated!" a blond child screamed. His voice was loud and abrasive. He was pointing wildly at another, obviously younger child, with strange white hair.
"I don't have to cheat to beat you, Mello," the smaller child said.
The two were standing chest to chest, and the power imbalance was clear. The blond child, Mello, was taller, stronger, older, and obviously enraged. Yet the white haired child didn't appear to be intimidated in the least. Suddenly Mello reached out and shoved his companion hard. The smaller child fell backwards, back hitting the tree before crumpling to the ground. Mello wasn't done, and proceeded to throw handfuls of dirt at the other child.
The white haired child slowly sat up against the truck of the tree, there was dirt smeared on his pale skin and on his white pyjama shirt. But he didn't seem to be upset by the screams of the blond child. In fact, A noticed the relaxed, open body language, and the faintest of faint smiles on the boy's lips. He enjoy this.
"Stupid Near!" Mello shouted, and moved to attack the younger child, but one of the other children, a lanky boy with red hair, pulled him back.
The scene in front of him pulled at something in A's chest. He decided it was time to intervene.
A walked over to the children, positioning himself between the angry blond and the smaller child. It was good timing too, because the boy that had pulled Mello back had lost his grip on the flailing boy.
"Get out of the way," Mello yelled, clearly not intimidated by the teen in front of him. Mello pushed at A, yelling how this was none of his business. A didn't move. Years of being B's punching bag had toughened him up just enough. Besides, Mello was at most ten years old. A grabbed the blonde's shoulders and forced him back.
"Stop fighting," A said. He had more eloquent ideas he wanted to communicate, but speech wasn't one of his best subjects. He wanted to chastise the children, educate them on how their behaviours would ruin each other; instead the best he could manage was 'stop fighting.'
"This has nothing to do with you! Near cheated!" Mello pointed wildly at the white haired boy, still sitting against the tree.
"Doesn't matter if he cheated. You can't control his actions, but you can control yours," A said, leaning down to be at Mello's eye level. The boy cursed under his breath, before pulling away from A and stomping away. A few of the children followed him, while the others loitered around A, obviously intrigued by the strange teen that had stopped the fight.
A turned his attention to the smaller child, Near. A reached out and offered him a hand up. Near stared for a moment before accepting the help.
"I guess I am supposed to thank you," Near said. His voice was calm and even, despite his ruffled appearance. A smiled at the boy, knowingly.
"Why would you thank me for interrupting your fun?" A said, and Near's eyes widen. It was the first sign of surprise A had seen on the boy.
"Mello pushing me and throwing dirt is not fun," Near countered.
A just shook his head. "You had complete control over the situation. I saw."
Near was silent.
"It seems easy at first," A continued, "to get someone's attention using their own temperaments. Aside from a few bruises, what is the worst that could happen?" Near's posture shifted just enough to tell A that he was definitely hitting the nail on the head. "I don't know if you really cheated in whatever game you were playing, but I really won't be surprised. You wanted Mello to react to you."
"Mello gets in fights with everyone," Near said.
"But not everyone enjoys it. Enjoys the attention."
"I don't know what you are talking about," Near muttered.
"Lie to me, that's fine. Lie to Mello, even, but don't lie to yourself," A said with a shrug. Near's lips twisted into as sort of sardonic smile. It was unsettling on such a young child.
"Alright, I won't."
"Good," A said, and reached up and dusted some of the dirty from Near's white head. Near grimaced at the physical contact. "And," A said suddenly, "be careful. Playing with fire is fascinating, but be careful that you don't get consumed." Near gave him a quizzical look, but didn't say anything.
A just offered an awkward smile, before turning to leave.
It was much too late for A, but there was maybe still hope for that strange child named Near. It was also completely possible that there was no problem with Mello and Near's bickering, and that A was just projecting his own messed up relationship with B onto the smaller children, but he supposed it was better to be safe than sorry. A wished there was some stranger to warn him of what he was doing, before it was too late, but in all honesty, even if someone had pulled him aside years ago and told him how twisted things were going to turn out A doubted he would have listened.
A avoided his room the rest of the day. He didn't know if B was there, but still couldn't bring himself to face their shared space. A also wanted to avoid Roger, and figured that would be easiest if he wasn't in his assigned space. He stalked around the halls, amused himself by people watching. A could easily slip into most social situations unnoticed, and enjoyed just watching.
Finally, though, the day ran out. It was past curfew, and A found himself alone in the halls. Eventually he was at his bedroom door. He stood there for a while, just listening to the noises on the other side. He could hear soft rustling and shuffling sounds that told him B was in there. A tried to mentally brace himself for the coming interaction before opening the door.
B quickly looked up. He was sitting on the floor, leaning against his bed. The photo of L was in his hand. Their eyes meet and A was shocked by the coldness B's gaze. Normally B's gaze was intense, hot, fiery and dangerous. Now it seemed empty. A knew that B had already gotten the news.
Still he asked, "Did Roger talk to you?"
A quietly stepped inside and shut the door behind him. He turned the lock. The small part of his brain that was still rational scolded him. 'Yes, brilliant A, lock yourself in a room with B after you have taken the most important thing in the world from him.
B didn't answer, he just stared.
"I'm sorry," A said softly.
There was no response from B, just staring.
"I told them I don't want it," A tried. B finally looked away. He let out a short laugh.
"Of course you want it, you wanted to be L, and now you are." B said, he glared at A before looking down at his photo.
"No, not really, I just," A hesitated. He should really just tell the truth. Explain how he only went along to get a rise out of B. He only wanted to be L as long as it meant B was paying attention to him. But A couldn't make the words come out.
"Stop lying to yourself," B snapped, "You wanted to be L, I know you did, and I know why."
"I- " A didn't know what to say. He leaned against the closed door. He just wanted B to react like B, to stomp over here and punch him, to choke him, to spit in his face. But B was content to sit passively on his bed.
"You won the title of successor, but you also lost," B was suddenly staring at A with his normal intensity. Before A could reply, B tossed the blanket over his head. The childish action not having the same effect as B was too big to full hide under the covers. A still got the message.
That night when A finally managed to fall asleep he dreamed that B came over to his bed and picked him up. A didn't protest as he was carried out of the building and out onto the grounds. B stopped at the same pond A had been sitting at earlier that day.
"Stop crying," B said, as he dropped A into the water. A didn't make a noise, but reached up to wipe the tears from his eyes. B smiled at the action, before reaching out and pushing A's head under the water. A didn't fight, just stared up at B through the water until his air ran out.
A woke up in the early hours of the morning gasping for breath. He glanced over at B's bed, were the teen was still hidden under the covers. A closed his eyes and wished desperately for his dream to have been a reality.
A was broken. He didn't want to move from his bed, he didn't want to eat, he just wanted to stay curled up on his bed. For the next week his dreams were nothing but B killing him, and every time he woke up, he was more and more disappointed to be alive. While B was murdering him in A's dreams, the real B was completely ignoring his existence. Even when A refused to get up and go to class, or even eat, B just continued on as though the bed was empty. Every once and a while A could catch B staring at him strangely, before he looked away and went back to ignoring him.
Eventually, Roger became involved. The man tried every tactic to reach A. Lectures on how he had to set an example for other children. Harsh words about how he was being selfish. Gentle conversations about dealing with stress. A didn't respond to any of it. He stayed curled up in bed.
A knew he was behaving like a child, but he couldn't seem to care. His world was done. B was right, he had won and lost at the same time. He was the next L, but he lost what he really cared about. He was no longer B's rival, he wasn't his friend, or follower, or punching bag, A was just a sad pathetic creature that happened to share the same room with B. A had tried to vocalize his feelings to the only two people he saw on a regular basis, Roger and B. But all that A managed was a weak protestation.
"I don't want to be L."
"I can share that with L, but you are throwing away an honour," Roger had chided.
B didn't respond at all.
After nearly two weeks of A's self-imposed imprisonment to his bed, Roger visited and handed him a letter from L.
It was short and to the point, which A could appreciate. L said he understood the pressure he was facing, said he put a lot of thought into his choice, and that he rarely made bad decisions. L explained that he would suspend the choice, and revisit the issue in a few years.
A felt like the weight that had been crushing him for weeks was suddenly lifted. He smiled at Roger, before asking to keep the letter. Roger agreed, as long as A got out of bed and went to class.
A couldn't wait to show the letter to B. He wasn't L's successor anymore, and neither was anyone else. Everything could go back to the way it was.
His illusions, however, were shattered when he shared the news with B, later that evening.
A had shoved the letter into B's hands as soon as the older boy returned to the room. B's eyes narrowed and the intrusion, but took the letter anyway. He sat down on the edge of his bed, slowly reading the letter. Eventually he looked up at A with a strange expression.
"I am no longer L's official successor," A said, excited.
"Doesn't matter," B said before balling up the letter and tossing it back to A.
A didn't catch the paper, he was so caught off guard. "Huh? What do you mean?"
"You moped around and forced L's hand. It is clear he just intends to reinstate the title in a few years."
"I don't want to be L," A managed meekly. 'I want to be your back-up' he thought to himself.
B just smiled at him. "Of course you do."
"I want you to be L!" A blurted out. B showed the slightest signs of shock at this.
"I can never be L," B said with a small shrug.
"Why…"
"I am not human enough."
"I don't understand, why did you try then, if you felt it was impossible. Why did you get so worked up over anyone wanting to beat you?" A wasn't sure if he was making any sort of coherent sense. He felt like he was just babbling.
"Not anyone, just you," B replied. He stood up from his bed and walked over to A, who was standing awkwardly by his desk.
"But, I don't understand. B you and I were both contenders."
"But only one person can be L," B's voice was strangely soft. He was leaning in close to A.
"And…" A started, but was silenced by a gentle kiss to the corner of his month.
"Doesn't matter. L or no L, it doesn't matter," B muttered, lips brushing against A's face.
All A could manage was a soft sigh in reply.
B didn't say much the rest of the night, even after A decided, the hell with it, and crawled into B's bed, curling up next to the older teen. B had tensed at first but eventually relaxed. He shifted to his back and allowed A to snuggle up closer. The action was chaste and dangerous all at once, and A had never felt more relaxed snuggled up to B. He was right where he needed to be. For the first time in weeks A didn't dream of being murdered.
The next day they didn't talk about anything, not the conversation about L and successors, not the kiss, and not the cuddling.
Despite the change that A thought the letter would bring, everything seemed content to stay set as it was. B was quiet, withdrawn, and A, while he didn't stay glued to his bed, moved through his days in a daze.
B was right, so what if L temporarily changed his mind. In a few more years, A would be given the title and that was that. He had wrongly thought that he would get more time to be rivals with B, but A hadn't thought things through. B was already seventeen. At most A had a year of being with B.
A considered running away. He and B could run away, far away. B could be a detective, maybe greater than L himself, and A would be his follower, his back-up. It was a silly, fanciful thought, though, and A dismissed it quickly. B was barely looking at him, A doubted he would be able to convince B to run away with him.
A's life path was decided for him, it was a gleaming, exciting path, that most people would be envious of, but A didn't want it. A wasn't completely sure what he wanted, but he knew whatever it was, it was next to impossible. Despite this depression realization, A continued on, moving through his life with all the characteristics of a zombie. He tried just enough in classes, he smiled when it was expected of him, he was social when he needed to be. B was still distant, though on occasion A could goad him into a small argument, but it wasn't the same explosive experience he missed.
Spring had quickly turned into summer, and A felt like he was stuck. The more time passed the more stuck he felt.
A knew he was going to have to do something, anything, to break himself from his monotony. He just wanted to stop. He was done, there was nothing to look forward to, life was a ride that had gotten boring and he wanted off.
The idea didn't so much as slip into his mind, but made itself known. It was something he had thought about before, though in a different context. . He was always so dependent on others to act, but in his current predicament, the only way was for him to act.
The more he entertained the idea the more his stomach twisted in protest. It was a strange sensation, one he had toyed with before, but never so seriously. Nothingness, A mused, would be better than the twisted ball of messed up emotions he currently was.
The day that A finally made up his mind that he was going to act, he felt free. He was in a good mood, being decisive did that, he supposed.
A was sitting in the large cafeteria picking at his breakfast when B suddenly joined him. He stared at A from across the table for several minutes before finally speaking.
"You're sick," B said, it wasn't a question, but a statement. A looked up from his plate.
"Maybe I am," he replied. B seemed angered by this response.
"Stop it," B said, warningly.
"What are you talking about?"
"Whatever you are doing, stop," B said.
"I have no idea what you are talking about," A said mildly. He looked away from B and busied himself with pushing his eggs around on his plate. He really didn't know what B was talking about. It was impossible that B knew what he was planning, A hadn't told anyone. Though he didn't put it past B to secretly have the power to read minds. Even so, A figured playing dumb was his best bet.
"Just stop," B said again, and A ignored him.
A glanced up from his food to watch as B opened and closed his mouth several times, apparently at a loss for words at being ignored. B eventually stood up, knocking his chair over in the process, and stormed away. The other children in the cafeteria naturally looked over at A, who only offered a small shrug of the shoulders.
A did want to tell B. Maybe telling him would somehow make everything go away, maybe sharing some of his twisted thoughts would fix them, somehow. After breakfast, A seriously considered hunting B down and spilling his guts. He would start at the beginning, his feelings, his messed up reasons for striving to be L, his bizarre jealousy, and finally his plans for this evening.
A knew it wouldn't work, but it was certainly a nice idea. No, A knew that if he was going change his situation he needed to act on his own.
And act he did. A pretended to sleep, just long enough until B dozed off, before slipping from his bed. He dressed quietly before slipping from the room. He glanced back at B's sleeping form. A considered leaving a note of sorts, for B, explaining his actions, but it was too risky, if it was seen too early it would ruin A's plan. He muttered a soft goodbye under his breath before closing the door behind him.
A didn't really think as he climbed the stairs to the top floor of Wammy's house. He was already done, everything now was just a formality.
The window was unlatched, like A had left it earlier in the day. He pushed it open and was meet with a rush of warm air. He climbed onto the ledge and sat comfortably, with his legs dangling. He could feel his heart race as he looked down, studying the ground far below him, but all the same he felt calm.
He closes his eyes, thought of nothingness and pushed himself from the ledge.