A/N: Notes to be dispensed below. Onwards!
oOo
Choices
oOo
Pink. Purple. Blue. Green. Silver. Silver and pink. Silver and purple. Silver and blue. Green and gold. Gold and silver.
Misa couldn't remember being bowled over by the selection of cufflinks anywhere in Japan. But this was New York. Things were big, choices and shops and streets and buildings and loneliness.
Her bright eyes scanned, hardly seeing over the neat rows and boxes, all nestling a different set; another choice. There were about as many choices here as she'd had potential suitors. Gleaming, glittering, beguiling with their promises of being perfect, being "the one" … so many had fallen flat, in her eyes. So many hadn't made the grade. So many she had picked up; assured that this was it, and they were the one … only to be tossed away again. Not good enough. For her. For him.
Misa Amane glanced over her shoulder. There he was, standing sentinel as ever, loyal, unfailing … so boring. Mogi-san, who, granted, never let her fall into danger's path, but he was so … cold. So detached. He cared nothing for her. Nothing like –
- Light. Or rather, she thought, replacing another set which hadn't passed muster, exactly like Light. She felt sick, suddenly. She reached down to shelf in the overcrowded department store, and realised her hands were shaking. She swallowed and stilled them with an effort. No. No more. Quiet, she warned herself, as a man jostled her, and she stumbled forwards. God, she didn't like this! Everyone here was bigger than her, and without Mogi tailing her to push angry people away, she ran the risk of being trampled!
… but it was better that way. At least she didn't feel like a prisoner.
She was. She knew that. As ever, little Misa. Free, but … caged.
A glitter caught her eye. On the high shelf, a foot above her head on the wall, and there It was. That was It! That was the One! She had trailed Mogi around New York City the whole day looking, and there they were!
Just … just out of reach. As ever.
No. Not this time.
Misa strained onto her tip-toes, fingers barely brushing the expensive exterior of the box. She just – couldn't – grab it. She kept trying – they were so much more than cufflinks to her. A man leaned over, and plucked it easily from the shelf for her.
'Here you go, ma'am,' he offered, with a pleasant smile. The unknowing fool. Misa smiled over the disappointment raking over her, in a way disappointment shouldn't make her feel.
'Thank you,' she managed, but the sentiment sounded weak and dispirited. The man smiled wider and went blithely on his way. Misa watched him sashay away, a sigh on her lips. She envied his brashness; his ability to overlook subtleties. She, Misa Amane, superstar of Japan, with a boyfriend, no, fiancé to die for, envied this stranger.
She sighed. It was still true. And to die for … oh, yes, indeed. The deep well of her adoration would pull her in, if he should request it, and she wouldn't hesitate. She loved him. She did. And he … he … tolerated her.
No. Not true. It was love. Love. She loved him.
The indomitable little box fit perfectly in her hands. She flipped the lip open, and sighed in satisfaction. Yes, they were perfect. A carnelian stone, set in gold, reminding her of the play of light across his hair, and the flash in his eyes sometimes. The part of him that was tortured, but still alive. The part of him she loved.
The box snapped shut suddenly, catching her finger and provoking a yelp of pain, and knocking the little clasp off centre. A few people looked up at the cry, and blushing, Misa pulled her finger free. The damn gift refused to make this easy. But they were perfect. She wasn't going to give up on them just because they weren't co-operating.
Crossing to the counter, a bored sales girl rang up the purchase.
'That'll be $149.99, please, ma'am,' she told Misa, in a monotone, already looking past her. Misa contemplated asking for another box, but she liked it like that. It had character. It was flawed. She picked up her little gift-bag off the counter, and went to rejoin Mogi, with the good news he could go home; her choice was made at last.
oOo
'Thanks,' Light said that evening, opening the box courteously. He looked the cufflinks over evenly, and shut the box again.
'I appreciate them, Misa. Thank you,' he said, again, leaning over to give her cheek a chaste kiss and drawing away again. These were the moments she lived for, drear and unimpassioned as they were. These were the times that made her life liveable, and her choice feel worthwhile.
'But the box is broken,' he pointed out, analytical as always as he left the room, back to work, as he always did. She held the box again, picked up from where he had placed it. She opened the broken lid once more, to gaze at her decision, seeing the torment of her final judgement reflected out of the cold, unfeeling stone.
So many choices. She hoped she'd made the right one.
xXx
A/N: I haven't been on this site in ages! I had really crazy important exams, so I had to be a busy little study bee! ... or something. ;)
I've still got to read the last two Death Notes, so if you spoil, I'll go insane and go on a murderous rampage. He he. But yeah, hope you likey! It's a little crazy and very random, like me, but I like how I portrayed Light. Please tell me what you think! I'll be unreasonably appreciative, I promise! - Wraithlike