Author's Notes: I bet most of you haven't known this, but, I have been quietly shipping L/Beyond in a corner for the longest time.

And finally; I am writing about this.

Might be a two-shot or more. But it will not be a full-blown chapter-fic.

Disclaimer: Death Note belongs to Ohba and Obata. It is not mine in any way.

&&&&&&

Dancing, is a very refined art. Not dancing in clubs, however, for it only consists of mimicking going through an epileptic attack while rolling down a hill. No, dancing, in reality, was something entirely different. It was performed in pairs, and in turn required the right amount of practice, and skill, and vigor to go through the training. Those who, indeed, possess that skill, that knowledge, tell others that there is nothing better, nothing easier, than moving along in graceful swirls across a shining, marble ballroom floor. To those, who oppose the amount of skill the former possesses, get confused easily in the mess of hand, feet and hip movement, and in turn find it the hardest thing to do – besides destroy an ice burg with a stick, which might be humanly impossible, in the first place. Those people, lacking in skill, prefer to stand on the sides of the ballroom, attempting to look inconspicuous – to not be recognized, for fear that they shall be seen (and most likely asked to move on the dance floor with them), which in turn will lead to their untimely demise. Unfortunately, even the people in the most prestigious schools (containing some of the greatest minds), could be like this.

Beyond Birthday was one of those people.

The thirteen-year old genius wore a great deal of knowledge like P. Diddy would wear his 'bling', from the best techniques in chess to the amount of marbles in the jars where they would have a guessing promo. His red eyes – saw all. From how to work something, to the day a person would die. However, there were still a few things he could not manage (which he would so pridefully refuse to accept). One of them was spreading his jam on his bread (which led him to eating the strawberry delight straight from the jar instead). Another was dancing.

Beyond Birthday could not dance.

Of course, he had never really made an effort to learn how to do so, what with having to be L's successor; and with having to keep his jam diet intact ("Must not eat carrots!" or "A, get those fucking celery stalks as far away from me as possible!"); he never had any time to learn. Neither did he have the heart to actually learn it. However, a brief announcement by Quillish Wammy; that there was to be a Christmas Ball, had changed everything. Especially, since L was here now, the man with whom he was to hopefully succeed; should A not be good enough. Beyond, would have rather died or killed himself than even touch a dance floor, though saying no to the closest thing he had to a father would break his heart, and; an attempt at impressing L Lawliet could not be missed.

This, was the reason that Beyond Birthday, well-known teenage genius (save a tad bit psychopathic) and a criminal of sorts, was now standing in front of the mirror in his room; crimson-red hues glaring at the dancing shoes on his feet. This was turning out to be horrible, and he seriously doubted that he would get out of this unscathed. His collar itched (although it was made specially for him), and was very uncomfortable; despite the silk that danced along his skin each time he moved. And his feet.. to hell with his feet! They simply would not move, with shoes placed on them! He only walked bare-footed, for the love of God, and he could not stand for anything otherwise!

However, that was not an excuse, for even though he would be bare-footed, his feet would still be unable to move in tune with the slow music playing from his stereo, as well as in the direction prescribed in the book which was supposed to assist him.

Beyond frowned defiantly, before finally sighing at the pathetic excuse for an image he created. He, out of frustration, kicked the book aside; falling into his regular crouching position with his thumb pressed to his lips (which was an eerie similarity to his predecessor, L), eyes closed in deep thought; or simply because he could not bear to look at such a useless creature in the mirror any longer. He sighed once more, irritated and filled with lost hope, the young man (he had turned thirteen not too long ago, and A had insisted that Beyond was old enough to be considered such) turned his head, looking out the window. The moon was pale, shining dimly through the curtain the snowflakes created; said snowflakes littering the grass in the garden, causing it to seem all too tranquil and too peaceful. A beautiful sight, really, but to the boy – oops – the young man, it did nothing but prove to be a mockery of his own troubled mind.

Music, a cheerful waltz by Grieg, continued to play; and out of complete frustration, the male kicked it, yes, kicked the device, causing it to loop and rasp a little. Served the stupid thing right, thought Beyond to himself, a frown evident on his face, Here I am, trying to learn how to dance, and all it does is mock me. Well, ha-ha, I can learn without you!

It was all too soon when he realized how ridiculous this all was. Here he, a genius (and part-time thief), stood, with a pair of dancing shoes on his feet and a suit adorning his crouching figure; staring into the mirror like a stupid fool with nothing better to do! He would have slammed his fist into the wall if it weren't so childish (he had broken some knuckles here and there throughout his duration at Wammy's). The pain meant nothing, after all. He had suffered worse.

Eventually deciding that this task would be much easier should he concentrate harder and keep focusing on the dancing, Beyond once more picked up the book with his index fingers and thumbs (holding it in both hands), and looked over the pictures. An elegant woman in the hold of an equally elegant man, his hand on her hip; her hand on his shoulder, their other hands enjoined as bodies melted together, the picture practically screamed, "Perfection!" On the plus side, it did not look hard at all to the boy, but on the minus side, he had no partner.

And so, biting his lower lip, an act he did only rarely (such as now) to help him concentrate, Beyond held his arms in front of himself; using his brilliant imagination to create an apparition of a lady.

One, two, three. One step left, lift the other and - !

Beyond tripped over his own feet, during a vain attempt to lift his left leg when his right was crossed over it; as if he could defy gravity. As he fell to the floor, he swore unprofessionally, finding all of this the least bit graceful, and mostly frustrating. This was not working. He brushed some of his dark bangs out of his eyes, and considered suing the author of the most worthless book he had ever pulled out of the library. Like a brick to the face, an idea came into the genius's mind, and he grinned devilishly. It obviously wasn't working because he wasn't holding something real, right? His blood-red eyes scanned the area silently, and he blinked when he spotted the mounds upon his bedsheets. They were of an acceptable size, and they weren't too heavy either.

A look of determination spread across the boy's face, as though daring, daring, the pillow the challenge him to a fight to the death, he then realized how foolish he must seem. How embarrassing. He only hoped that A would not walk in suddenly. Beyond picked up the pillow in his usual manner, holding it with his forefinger and his thumb, before placing his hands where he thought the book indicated, and where he thought it most resembled a woman's body. The pillow, unfortunately, had no arm to place in turn; and so the male had no choice but to press it against his thin body, and he only vaguely established the positions stated in the book.

Now, it was time for the tricky part.

Placing his feet in the right position, eyes holding the most focused look a boy such as he could muster, Beyond took a deep breath and started to move. Happy notes from an equally happy violinist started to play in his mind, and subconsciously; Beyond counted the beat, attempting to move his foot to the right. Succeeding in that, he was at an all-time high, and he then –

- tripped on his accursed feet and hit the floor with a thud. Not even the pillow could shield him from such pain.

He swore again, louder this time; a full-fledged scowl spread across his pale face. It was a good thing Quillish was out, probably with Roger to buy some suits and dresses for the children, leaving the maids to work out the problems. The maids, however, did not take much part in Beyond's life, and thus he was not worried. What he was worried about, though, was the detective who was currently in the orphanage with him. The little ones, and those who were around the same age as he, did not quite mind when Beyond cursed, or something of that sort. They were used to it – Beyond was just.. different.

L was here, sure, but he was most likely at the library, curled up with a book or eating some random sweet, thus rendering him unable to reach his successor –

"Beyond?"