Graffiti

Near walking the streets comes across a graffiti-ed "L" on the wall. Never will he be out of L's shadow. He stops to admire the mark, realizing the legacy will never fall.

The light sprinkling of rain misted over my face leaving a fine sheen of wetness. I pulled the hood up over my head and felt the wet ends of my hair tickle my forehead. I habitually patted my pockets to check that everything was there. Badge, check. Gun, check. Phone, check. I took a breath. Why had I felt so on edge lately?

Ever since I'd solved the Kira case and settled into detective work like L I couldn't seem to get him off my mind. He was always stirring up memories and hidden emotions that I'd so carefully buried under piles of Legos and stacks of cards. I truly seemed to be losing my edge the more I thought about him. Maybe I was just realizing that I can never live up to him; maybe I'm just getting tired.

I turned down an alleyway in an attempt to decrease the time it took to get to the office. I knew shortcuts were rarely useful, but this particular alleyway had a smattering of incredible street art. Sure, as a member of the police I probably shouldn't appreciate blatant lawbreaking, but I had a soft spot in my heart for the rebels. Just as I was about to turn the corner a small graffiti "L" caught my eye. It was in the traditional font that L was so fond of, even in the glossy black that so often graced my computer screen. I stopped in my tracks.

I cocked my head to the side as I reached out to stroke the glossy paint. The wet concrete beneath my fingers felt harsh and unforgiving. The paint however, felt slick, glossy, and mysterious. I wasn't certain how a simple stencil could hold such true and passionate emotion, but it did. It was probably my own emotions resurfacing but soon the graffiti caused my eye to water. I did miss him. He had been such an influence on my life.

"Do you like my work?" someone called behind me. I turned around immediately, swiping the tear from my eye. I'd been caught. As I was turning a small statured woman came into view. She was small and thin, had long, dark, curly hair and wore mostly black. She didn't look like a tagger and her sweet, melodic voice certainly didn't sound like a tagger. I raised an eyebrow at her for her deliberate admittance of being a graffiti artist.

"How do you know I'm not a cop?" I asked, stepping away from her artwork and closer to her. I felt her warm aura creep over me. Something was euphoric about her too; it must have been her touch that made the L so drawing. She grinned knowingly. Something about her felt old and experienced, I didn't understand, she looked so young, like me.

"Your eyes, the way you look onto L," she whispered. It sounded like she'd known me for years, like she'd examined my eyes. "You admire him, but he does not mystify you. To you he isn't a god, just a hero," she explained, her hands moving to explain her point. Clearly she was quite passionate about L and what he stands for. I could read it on her face. It was like an open book, almost alarmingly so. "You look at him like I do."

I laughed. She was so foolishly naïve. I may have been seen as young, but never once had I been perceived as someone walking out into the world with the wool pulled over my eyes. She could spew her mystical L mumbo jumbo to anyone, but it didn't guarantee that they'd believe it. "Ah, but that's where you're wrong," I retorted.

"You don't think L is a hero?" she quipped, her voice unbelieving, as though she were hardly wrong about people's views on L. I wondered if she had conversations like this often. I wondered if she broke down people's entire personalities based on how they looked at a letter stenciled on the wall often, or if I were a special occasion.

"I'm a cop," I replied, pulling up the waist of my jacket to reveal my glistening badge. She grinned and shook her head. Her curly wet hair slapped her shoulders at the movement. I didn't understand; was she telling me I was lying?

"You don't look like one," she murmured, combing her hair behind her ear and stepping on pace closer. I matched her movement until we were a decent conversational distant apart. She smiled as I took in the words she'd uttered.

"You don't look like a tagger," I replied, pulling down my sleeves and waiting for her witty response. I peeked over my shoulder at the L once more while waiting for her to formulate an answer.

"Touché, my name's Aika," she introduced, thrusting her hand in my direction. I took it into a meek handshake. I'd never been one for touching. She was still a stranger to me and though we shared views on L there was no way of knowing who she was as a person entirely. She laughed as she watched my face debate what I was going to say. Coming up with a name wasn't so difficult for other people, but for someone in the Kira business it had been the key to survival. I had been so vigilant of whom I shared this information with and it seemed hardly necessary to introduce myself to a tagger I'd met on the street. How was I supposed to know if I could trust her or not? For all I knew she could be a Kira follower as well.

This job had made me wary, cautious and boring. When I was a younger boy I liked taking risks. I lived on the ideals that if you messed up it only cost you an apology. I got what I wanted, when I wanted… no exceptions. Why should this be one? I wanted to get to know this curious girl. Her personality seemed to radiate off of her, already causing me to feel warmer. It was strange though she didn't strike me as one to deface public property. Maybe that would make a good conversation over coffee?

I took a leap of faith.

"I'm Nate." And that was the first time I had ever introduced myself by my real name, and it was because of L.

I'd like to think that Near ended up happy even though no one else did :) Hope you enjoyed! Remember to REVIEW, FAVORITE, FOLLOW and READ my other stories!

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