A/N - I finally churned this piece of shit out. Shout out to Dana, aka danathelaugh on tumblr, for agreeing to beta this train wreck, as well as all my friends on tumblr dot com for their encouragement.

The morning of the 12th of August was golden and bright and made Light want to die.

A sickly dawn had just begun to seep through the clouds, the first indicator of morning. It was late enough to be clear—but early enough to still be bitingly cold. Light pulled his sleeves further over his hands and distastefully took another sip of his drink.

Other people were bustling around, busied with scripts or talking to crewmembers, but Light was perfectly content to sit in his chair, scathingly watching his co-stars and colleagues from behind his flask.

He was happy to be sitting there, silently sipping his coffee, until Naomi appeared in his line of vision. Her dark hair was piled on her head, and her arms were filled with papers Light could guess were probably pretty important. Her face was set in a frustrated scowl.

"Hello," he said absently, choosing to ignore her obvious hostility. He was exhausted—there was nothing more he hated in the world than getting up early. 5am was the time farmers got up—or insomniacs went to sleep. It was far too early for someone as important as him. The only salvation he had found had been in the instant coffee available in the food hall—it was bitter and cheap and Light couldn't get enough.

"Hello?" Naomi's eyes narrowed and she stared down her nose at him, "I've been looking for you for ages. Come on, we start filming soon."

She grabbed Light's wrist, and he couldn't help but feel that she was an overprotective mother with her disobedient child in tow. Which, he supposed, he was.

"You need to stop acting like such a Primadonna, Light. It's not endearing, and you're not that important."

"Yes, I am."

"That's what I'm talking about, you lack modesty."

"I don't have anything to be modest about."

Naomi turned and frowned at him, "Please, Light."

Light's stubbornness subsided. God, he hated when that happened.

He let himself be pulled along to the makeup artist's trailer without further protest. Naomi deposited him outside, flashing him a warning look. Like him, exhaustion affected her, however, unlike him, she channeled it through prickliness and hostility, instead of apathy and moodiness.

There was something strangely comforting about the makeup trailer, in the same way there was something strangely comforting about Merrie. Light would never, ever tell her that, though.

Inside, it was full colorful pots and powders, and in the center of it all, sat Merrie, cigarette dangling from her ruby lips. Light had known her for ten years now, but in all that time, she hadn't changed, and it was impossible to think she'd be turning 30 this year.

"You tow me around like a suitcase, you know that, Light?"

"I think you're the only makeup artist I can stand."

"Should I be flattered?"

"Definitely. I can't stand many people—not just makeup artists."

She looked over her sunglasses at Light, who didn't bother to ask before plopping down the chair opposite her, setting his flask on the table.

"How have you been, Light?"

"You know it's considered rude to wear sunglasses indoors."

One neatly stencilled eyebrow shot up. "Oh. I forgot how unpleasant you are at this time in the morning."

Light snorted, leaning back slightly in his chair, "I'm always unpleasant. That's what you should have said."

Merrie clicks her tongue, pushing her sunglasses up her head and poking through some brightly colored bottles, "You aren't," she says softly, "not always."

"Well, in that case, I'm probably pretending. You do this horrible thing where you make me feel bad when I'm rude."

"I don't think that's exclusive to me, Light. One of these days, someone other than me is gonna call you out on your bullshit. You'll find someone who doesn't give a damn how rich your daddy is."

To other people, their conversation may have sounded malicious, but to them it was just the banter they'd always thrown back and forth. They did this everyday. Light would make deadpan, sarcastic remarks, because those were what felt right, and Merrie would wistfully recall the days he didn't.

"Haven't found them yet, doubt I will anytime soon. Maybe when I'm older. And uglier."

"Oh, Light." She says, turning around, "you were such a sweet kid ten years ago. What happened?"

"I grew up."

With a sigh, she stooped to his level, her blue eyes set on his. Light was reminded of when he was twelve, being equal parts intimidated and in awe of the woman before him. Merrie sighed, her brows creasing slightly. For a second, Light thought she would say something, but instead she just grabbed his chin and proceeded to stab his cheek with a contouring brush.

"I'll need to get this done fairly quickly," she murmured, "which could be tricky—considering the bags under your eyes make you look worse than Lawliet."

His name charged the atmosphere, and Light repressed a snicker. Instead, he let a small smile grace his lips, "Are you excited to see the director?"

"Be quiet, little boy."

He batted his eyelashes, pouting slightly, "- Just a question."

"Stop moving your face."

Light didn't see much point in disobeying her, but spent the next few minutes watching Merrie from the corner of his eyes. She was doing her best to avoid his smug eyes by preoccupying herself with powdering his face.

Despite his remarks, Light still felt slightly bad. He had been the one who had agreed to work with acclaimed director L. Lawliet—eccentric, award winning genius and Merrie's ex-husband.

"Have you seen any of his films?" Merrie asked a few minutes later, her voice soft. Something flickered in her eyes.

"I started a few," he admitted, "never finished them. They're all very long, and I have better things to do."

She smiled at him, in a way that could almost be motherly.

"You remind me of him, sometimes, you know that?"

"We're both acclaimed geniuses of our respective fields?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of you're both misanthropic, self-obsessed assholes."

They were quiet for a few moments longer, Merrie tapping and powdering his cheeks and under his eyes, her lips pursed with concentration.

"The endings are the best part, Light." She said, "Of his films, I mean. They make the movie."

"I know how this one ends. Depressingly."

"You don't die. Which, considering L's history of killing off cute little kids, is pretty impressive."

"I'm twenty-four."

"As I said, little kid." She leaned back, admiring her handiwork, "done."

She stepped away from him, dusting her hands off. A few dust particles landed on her black dress, and she dusted those off too. Light would always wonder how the hell she managed to get away with wearing black dresses.

He touched his face gingerly. Light couldn't ever get used to wearing makeup—no matter how many years he spent with powder and foundation on, he'd never get used to the awkward, clinging feeling of the stuff.

"Go play nice with the other kids."

"Whatever," Light called to her as he made his way out the door. Before he could leave, he turned back to look at her.

"Oh, and Merrie?"

"Yes?"

"He's an asshole. For ditching you, I mean."

"He didn't ditch me."

"Right."

Script in hand, he made his way towards the set. He pulled the hood of his coat over his head, hoping it would deem him unrecognizable. He was far too exhausted with the world to try and interact with everyone, and hoped his cold expression and under-eye circles would communicate this to them. Sadly, it didn't, as he could see his co-star, Misa Amane waving animatedly at him from behind the lighting panels.

"Yagami-kun!"

Light felt bad for finding her irritating. She was sweet, but, for his taste at least, a little overbearing. And generally, Light liked his co-stars how he liked his suits. Professional and most certainly not trying to talk to him.

He smiled politely at her, and she came running over (or hobbling, Light thought would be a more accurate term, as it was the only typee of movement those heels could possibly allow.)

"Ah, Light-kun! Nice to see you! I can call you Light, right?"

"Uh—okay." No, it was most certainly not.

"I'm so happy to get to finally meet Lawliet-san," her eyes glazed over briefly, "he's so talented!"

Light nodded, feeling slightly embarrassed for knowing shit-all about the acclaimed director he would be working with. Especially since a girl who Light knew for a fact had been an idol, did. For fucks sake. Hardly the height of culture.

Amane looked at him, as if expecting him to make some input. Light found himself nodding along to her words.

"His work is very…. thought provoking."

Thought provoking. Yes, that was a good word. Anything could be thought provoking if you looked at it in the right way.

Amane smiled, flashing him her white teeth, and opened her mouth to say something. Before she could, someone was clapping their hands together, calling for their attention. Light glanced over. Speak of the devil.

L. Lawliet had the look, in Light's opinion, of someone trying to look like they didn't care. It was hard to place whether he was Asian or Caucasian, since he was in the perpetual state of looking like a meth addict, making the distinction tricky. He was slightly slouched, dressed in a thrift store-esque blazer and ugly trousers.

Christ.

Light had seen photographs of the guy—but he hadn't met him in the flesh before. Maybe he was going for the 'eccentric genius' look. He definitely had the 'eccentric' part down.

"If we could get in our places, please." He drawled. Even though he didn't stand straight, with his chin up, like Light did, the way he carried himself gave him an aura of arrogance—one Light had come to recognize in himself. It wasn't atypical for a director, though. In fact Light would go as far to say it was more common than not.

"You don't have your script?" Amane said under her breath.

"Don't need it."

"But we only got them recently! There's no way you'll remember your lines!"

Light shrugged.

"Just go for it," Lawliet called to them flatly, seating himself in the director's chair, "like you did in the read through."

"Apparently he stops you all the time," she murmured, traces of reverence in her voice, "because he's so pedantic."

Amane, however, was apparently wrong, since Lawliet didn't stop them once as they trudged through their lines. Amane said her lines in the slightly stiff, unsure way that people who had just started to learn their lines did. But just hearing the words made remembering Light's lines easy—quickly the image of his script was conjured in his mind—and Light hardly had to think to feel the words roll off his tongue. Amane's eyes darted over to Lawliet every once in awhile. Light couldn't see his face, but he could see the hint of surprise in Amane's, which, he supposed, told him something.

Light's character—Takuji—was a nice guy. He smiled at almost everyone—he was affable, well mannered and endearing. He wasn't hard to get into the head of.

The scene was quick—and before long, Lawliet was shouting 'cut!' from his director's chair. When Light looked over, he could see Lawliet was lounging in it like an oversized cat, watching them thoughtfully. His gaze was scrutinizing, and Light resisted the urge to squirm.

"Not bad," he said after a while. Amane's muscles seemed to relax, and without realizing, Light realized his hands had begun to dig into his palms, "I'll go over some notes with you individually."

The crew began to disperse, and from the corner, Merrie stalked over, a trail of cigarette smoke following her. Her eyes were obscured by dark sunglasses, but Light could guess that her gaze was following Lawliet, who was dutifully listening to the lighting director tell him something whilst taking slurping sips of his coffee.

"What?" Light asked her when she drew nearer.

She smirked at the ground, "I'm impressed. Normally he has a lot to say—you must have surprised him."

"Oh. Well, that's nice, I suppose."

"God, Light. For such a good actor you're incredibly boring. You're never surprised at anything."

It was then that Lawliet decided to wonder over, hands plunged in his pockets and his back slightly slumped. He regarded Merrie awkwardly, giving her a stiff nod.

"Merrie." He hesitated, "-san."

"Lawliet." She didn't bother with the honorific.

"How have you been?"

She sniffed, "Fine."

Lawliet nodded again, his attention shifting to Light, who was watching the scene with vague amusement.

"Nice as it is to see you, Merrie, I'm actually here to speak with Yagami-kun. Would you mind?"

Light wasn't quite sure whether he was asking him or Merrie.

"Oh, sure." Merrie said. She cast the two of them a fleeting glance, and made her way back to her trailer.

Lawliet watched her off, then gestured to his own trailer.

"Shall we?"

Light nodded. He avoided Lawliet's gaze, keeping his eyes set somewhere in the middle distance. Whenever Light met his eyes he couldn't shake the feeling that he was under a microscope.

Lawliet's trailer was messy—far too messy for Light's liking. The floor was littered with sweet wrappers and script pages, the curtains were half open and clothes were draped over the chairs. Light scrunched up his nose, not bothering to mask his discomfort.

"Sorry about the mess." Lawliet said. He didn't sound sorry at all. "You can sit if you want to."

Light politely declined.

L sat quickly on the revolving chair nearest to his desk, causing it to skid slightly. He began to finger through the papers on his desk.

"I was impressed by your performance," he said solemnly, as if he was admitting something he didn't want to, "you learned your lines very quickly."

"I have a good memory," Light returned, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Apparently so. I do have some other pointers, though."

Light furrowed his brows, "You didn't tell me them at the time?"

"Normally I would, but a many of them only just came into my mind."

Light internally snorted. Of course they did.

"I have a question first, though, Light-kun. May I call you Light-kun?"

"If you want to."

Lawliet watched him for a second, with a look on his face that Light couldn't quite place.

"Do you like him?" He asked suddenly.

"I'm sorry?"

"Your character, Takuji." Lawliet elaborated, "do you like him?"

Light pondered his words a few seconds, thinking about what he could remember of his character.

"No," he said finally, "I don't think I do."

"Why not? He's a nice guy."

Light wrinkled his nose, "He's spineless. He tells people exactly what they want to hear, even if it's not true. Can you really say he's nice?"

L took in his words, giving him a slight grin, "How cynical of you."

He pulled himself towards his laptop, typing something Light couldn't see, his gaze occasionally shifting to Light, and then back to his computer. He sat with one leg drawn to his chest, Light noticed distantly.

"I met you a few years ago, Light-kun." He said, "six years ago. I was meeting your father. I was completely unknown at the time, you probably wouldn't remember me—you had probably interacted with people far more memorable than me."

"I remember," Light insisted. And he did. He recalled meeting him at a party, a buzzing feeling in his head. He remembered Lawliet's ivory skin and odd mannerisms, so different in the sea of conformity. Or at least, celebrity's particular brand of conformity. "You were hard to forget. I only met you briefly, but you haven't changed too much."

"You have."

"What did you think of me at the time?"

"I hardly talked to you. You seemed like a nice kid," his eyebrow twitched, "you're different now."

"I'm older now."

Lawliet rolled his eyes, "That's the problem with famous children," he muttered, almost quiet enough for Light not to hear, "they don't stay children. Invariably they just grow up into narcissistic adults. "

Light's affability dissolved, "That's not true." He objected.

"I'd disagree. Whether it's fourteen or forty—they all tip over the edge eventually."

"Well, thanks for your view on things," Light snapped, "I don't think I asked for it, though."

Lawliet watched him in the way that an adult would watch a particularly hopeless child—and Light resisted the urge to ring his neck. Instead, his eyes wandered across the room. The only thing he could see that seemed to have been treated with care were the film posters hung on the walls—Light recognized the bright red background of one as one of Lawliet's own—one that had come out a few years ago. He hadn't seen it—but he remembered it winning lots of awards.

"You said that you didn't like Takuji," Lawliet said nonchalantly, "because he was fake."

"I didn't say 'fake'." 'Fake' made him sound like a bitter teenage girl.

"Not in so many words." Lawliet began to tap away on his keyboard again, "Why don't you play that?"

"Play what?"

"The mask. You're a pretending to be someone who's pretending to be something else. Play that."

"The casting call said nothing about him being fake. It said he was a nice guy—that's just my personal opinion."

"The script's just words on a page. You're character will be way more interesting if you play them the way you think they are."

"Does it really matter whether my character has depth or not? He's a plot device. He doesn't need depth. The story doesn't rely on his depth."

"Shoko, the girl who makes me coffee. She's not significant to your life, does that mean she doesn't have any depth?"

Light sighed, "You know what you sound like? You sound like a kids' director who's trying to make the supporting roles feel like they actually matter."

"They do."

Light rolled his eyes so hard it gave him a headache.

"I'll take it on board, Lawliet-san." Light pulled the trailer door across, gritting his teeth as he was hit with cold air, "Thanks."

"L would be fine."

Light's head snapped towards Lawliet, "pardon?"

"L. L will be fine."

"Wait—L doesn't stand for anything?" Light said, before he could stop himself.

Lawliet frowned, "you thought it was my initial?"

Light stood there for a few seconds.

"Huh," he said, "well, I guess I'm not really in a position to make a comment—since my name is Light-spelt-with-the-kanji-for-moon."

Lawliet—L—laughed. It was low and guttural and Light thought he might like it—if the guy wasn't as completely insufferable as he was. It was a shame, really, he thought. Maybe he might have liked L, had his holier-than-thou attitude not been there. With a sigh, he made his way back to his trailer.

That night, in his hotel room, Light spent his time skimming L's filmography on Wikipedia. There was no way he'd be able to watch all of them in one night—so he figured watching all the trailers and then reading the Wikipedia articles was close enough.

When Light thought of so called 'great directors' he thought of people who had somehow found a winning formula—and managed to bullshit themselves various awards through using this formula over and over again—just altering the locations, setting and characters.

But many of Lawliet's films didn't even share nationality, let alone motifs. A low budget French flick about the struggles of a Parisian rentboy. The story of a schoolteacher in East Germany. A famous, but controversial, American film on the genocide of the Native Americans, as told by a white nationalist. A strange, surreal fantasy set in Edwardian England. A gritty re-telling of Macbeth in the distant future. Light wondered if Lawliet drew his themes, settings, archetypes and characters out of hats. They all seemed to work, though, as not one had been poorly received.

This film, the one Light was working on, would be his eighth in nine years. God, the guy must have near inhuman resolve.

His first film— L'hôtel Du Sud—was near impossible to find. But eventually, Light found a copy in the darkest corners of Amazon—and with a sigh, added it to his cart.

L sat on the stool by the bar, a cocktail glass grasped loosely in his fingertips. No one here seemed to recognize him—which felt like both a blessing and a curse. L wasn't normally one for huge amounts of attention, but that didn't mean he didn't like walking into a bar and knowing everyone else knew he was important. Save the bar attendant, maybe, since L's first couple of drinks had been 'on the house.'

The hotel wasn't the fanciest—and L could certainly afford better—but there was something comforting about the place. His room was overstuffed, and the bar was filled with a bunch of forty-somethings complaining about their respective wives—as well as each other's—but it felt familiar. All his life, when travelling, L had stayed in places like this, and it wasn't a habit he particularly wanted to break. Besides, fancy hotels felt like being put on a pedestal. An awkward, squeaky-clean pedestal.

L knocked back his cocktail. He had a theory that he actually worked better when slightly hung over, since he didn't have the energy to make the weaker actors burst into tears. That, according to his former personal assistant, was something he needed to work on.

But with his current film… to be blunt—he hated the entire cast. He should have played it safe, instead of bringing in a bunch of wild cards. A idol turned 'serious' actress, known for occasionally doing well and shocking everyone, a couple semi well known indie actors and actresses, and the son of a once acclaimed director.

Light Yagami. How could he forget? He'd easily be the biggest name involved in the entire thing—save himself—even if it was more for Yagami's last name. L hated him the most, even if he had to admit he was a decent actor, especially for someone who was simply famous for being related to someone once talented.

He was an asshole, though. In the ways that kids who had grown up as disgustingly rich as he had always were.

L took another sip from his drink, relishing the cool feeling of it running down his throat. He scrunched up his nose as he caught the smell of smoke and looking up, his eyes landed on none other than Misa Amane, her blonde hair spilling over her shoulders and lips painted pink. She looked stark against the black and white of the bar, the air misty and saturated with smoke, filled with jaded, tired looking middle-aged men. A cigarette hung from between her fingertips, and L couldn't take his eyes off her mouth. It looked like candy.

"Oh, hello, Amane-san. Fancy seeing you here."

She giggled, and maybe it was L's imagination, but her cheeks seemed to flush pink.

"Ah, I didn't think such an esteemed director like yourself would come to a place like this, Lawliet-san."

He shrugged, pushing back his hair, "I don't like fancy hotels," he gave her a half grin, and his eyes darted around, "it's hardly for the company, though."

Amane laughed again, melodically, and it was the kind of laugh that L could fall in love with, but only for a night. To the right people, L could switch on a certain type of charm. Atypical charm, albeit, not the kind that most celebrities possessed, but eccentric and somewhat endearing to the right person. His eyes went back to Amane, whose fingers drifted over her hair. Maybe he'd fuck her, but it depended on the circumstances, and he wasn't sure if either of them were drunk enough yet.

"It's an honor, to work with you," she said, her tone demure, giving him an awkward, bobbing bow, "I'm a big fan of your work."

He took a sip from his glass, nodding curtly.

"Really? Which is your favorite?"

She looked past him wistfully, "Oh, I'm not sure. I liked Coup De Grâce a lot." Her French accent was excruciatingly malformed, "It was so…haunting."

L wondered why she favoured that one—he found it unoriginal, relying on already exhausted character archetypes and an unoriginal setting, but what could he say, it was an early work.

"I didn't even know you could find that thing anymore."

"I h-hunted it down," Misa said quickly, her gaze dropping to the floor shyly, "it was hard, but worth it."

They watched each other in silence. The singer had stopped, and now someone was playing the saxophone. Misa could pass for an American fifties movie star, L thought, smoke was drifting around her face, framing it in wispy, pearly curls.

L took a decisive gulp of his drink, ignoring how the corners of his vision had started to blur.

"Which floor is your room on?" he blurted out.

She turned crimson, "U-uh, the th-third, Lawliet-san."

Well, that settled it. If it had been any higher, L would have decided against fucking her. He hated elevators, and going up too many flights of stairs gave him too much time to realize how much of a fucking idiot he was being.

"Would you like to step outside, Amane-san? And by the way, you can call me L."

God, he was going to hell.

Perhaps it was L's imagination, but the next day Yagami's disdainful eyes seemed to increase in their disdainfulness. He was watching L with thinly veiled contempt, his upper lip stiff.

"You're a bad person," he told L after a while.

"Good morning to you too, Light-kun."

"You slept with Amane, didn't you, you disgusting creature?"

L narrowed his eyes, "And how do you know that?"

"Well, I only had suspicions, since Misa was so giggly, throwing you amorous looks and wearing a turtleneck. But now I know for sure."

Bastard.

"Is it really any of your business?"

"I suppose not. But I'd just like to say that I think you're human garbage."

"Alright." L could deal with being human garbage. He would have liked it if Yagami had left it at that, and pissed off to go drink coffee and scowl like he normally did, but Light opened his mouth to continue. L audibly sighed.

"She had put you on a pedestal. She would have done anything you said, and you knew that."

"I do know that. I was drunk, Yagami-kun, did you ever consider that?"

"Yes, I did. Being drunk doesn't excuse being an asshole, Kermit."

"Why are you so angry? Are you jealous?"

Light's lip curled.

"Maybe I just don't like you."

"You're awfully audacious for someone who is in a position under me," L countered, "I could fire you at any moment."

"But you wouldn't, because I'm the most famous person here, and without me, this thing would flop. It would end up as another one of those DVDs that belong in the 'reduced' section of any given electronics shop."

"Strong words. I'm well-known too, you know."

"Not well-known enough to drive this thing all by yourself. Good as you may be, we live in a world that only likes pretty brains when there's a prettier face to go with it."

Something flared in the pit of L's stomach that he hadn't felt for a long time. His face, normally so impassive, contorted, and before he knew it, Yagami was pressed against the wall.

"I loathe people like you," L snarled, "you've had everything handed to you, and you've never had to work a day in your life. The industry is polluted by people like you."

"Wow, look at you. The great foreign director L Lawliet—reduced to pushing adolescents around."

"You're not a child."

"I might as well be. That's how people will see me—whatever I do." Maybe it was L's imagination, but his voice seemed to be edged with something like bitterness.

"Child or not, I don't give a damn. You can play noble all you want—but at the end of the day, it's really none of your business. You don't know anything about having to claw your way to where you are now."

Yagami gave him a long look. His eyelashes were long, L noted, long enough to almost tempt L to ask him if he was wearing mascara.

Light shoved L off him, throwing him a long scowl. He slinked off, and L's eyes were transfixed on his back, watching the way his shirt moved over taut muscle.

What a brat.