AN: I'm aware of the OOCness of the situation, especially the last pa...someone slap me, I'm giving the story away. I'm fairly new to DN, so please be gentle. Not quite sure if I prefer L/Misa or Light/Misa yet. Judging by this, Light/Misa by just a bit. But...L/Misa has more chemistry. I dunno!
Anyway, I don't own DN or it's characters. Someone else does. Don't ask who. I don't remember.
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Light could never deny the Misa was pretty
Of course, no one had ever asked him for his opinion on the matter, and he himself hardly paid any attention to the girl, so it really didn't matter. Nor did her feelings towards him, really. Of course, he knew that without them he wouldn't have the advantage he has now, but as long as her eyes could be put to his use, Misa Misa's love for him was just an annoyance.
And so, naturally, once that annoyance faded into amusement, and then something close to satisfaction, Light began to worry.
The small jolts of anger that he felt when she was near other men, the tiny leap of his heart when she would embrace him, and the feeling of rushing blood to his cheeks when she gave him that smile….
Well, to put bluntly; he hated it.
Right now, the Kira mission was of the most importance. Proving his false innocence and maintaining the Eden he had begun building mattered. Therefore, she did not.
It was as simple as that; really, it was.
That's why, when she baked a cake for his birthday and gifted him with a kiss, he gave it to Sayu, saying that he hated strawberries. The tears his actions caused to fall went unnoticed and uncared for. He absolutely wouldn't let satisfaction reach pleasure. He would die first. And so, his coldness upped a level. She cried more into her pillow each day. He made sure of it.
Light could feel his work getting sloppy, as any genius would. His timing was off, his acting rough around the edges. L noticed, of course; how could he not?
Misa's visits- at first nearly daily- became more and more sparse. With each withering glare from her Kira, her hugs tightened; promising that she would cry more that night and probably not come the next day.
All good and well for Light, as long as he didn't let his mind stray to how her hair smelled of peaches or the way her chin would tremble at his crueler but subtle remarks.
So really, as he liked to tell himself, he was improving. Already, he had forgotten how she made those cute little pouts when she was thinking, and how she licked her cherry lips after a drink of cola. It wouldn't be until the dreams that he would wake in a cold sweat, reaching out for the girl that wasn't there; her golden locks flying behind her as she ran.
Surly if there were Gods of Death there would be those of other things. Dreams- nightmares, even. Yes, those must be what they were- reacuring nightmares of such a stupid girl; picking berries off a cake and laughing as icing gets on her nose. Playing in sprinklers, and sipping sweet tea from a sweating glass. Combing her hair and braiding it for the night before tugging on his large hand with her small one.
"Come on to bed, Light-kun."
And his hatred for these nightmares consumed him- drove him into fits of anger and torment. Pain mingled with utmost terror and he would pound his pillow, wishing it was an enemy so that at least some satisfaction would come with the senseless beatings of the wrapped cotton. He would open his mouth in a silent scream at how he forgot the simplest things. Who the prime minister was; how long he had to write down the description of death; what his favorite food was; the kind of apples Ryuuk preferred….
"Why do I have to kill L…?"
And it was that thought- that question, that triggered a switch in Kira's mind. He took many walks to the park that week, listening to the children play tag, hearing the birds sing, buying juice from the vending machines.
He heard of the accident a few days later from Matsura. The drive-by-bullet that had hit the blonde model on a urban-shoot. Light imagined the feeling of a metal ball piercing his left lung in such a fashion and shivered as he looked at the girl on the hospital bed. The hands he held were shaking and cold, the tears hot and the coughs wet. The smile appreciative but scared. And when they finally lowered her lids and gave the apology no one wants to hear, Light stumbled home, climbed the stairs to his room and locked the door.
Opening the clever lock to his treasured book, the boy flipped casually through the pages before stopping on a particular page and reading over the entry he had put down earlier in the week in bright pink letters.
Aname Misa drive-by-bullet 2:00 PM Wed. 8th
And he laughs. He laughs long and hard; until his sides hurt, until he's crying.
Until the tears from his eyes fall to the paper and make the ink run.
Until he's sobbing and choking.
Until feelings finally sink in.
Until he can take it no more.
Until he reaches for his pen and his notebook.
Until he dies.