I'm not the type who shops extensively for clothes, believe it or not. But I have to admit, this is a pretty nice boutique. It was apparently a European brand, so I suppose everything in here is more expensive. It was one of those clothing stores that held 80 female and 20 male items, which meant that after five minutes of browsing through a number of shirts that were either too fruity or too plain, I had nothing else to look at. Only a few shirts caught my interest, but they were the usual ones I wore – long sleeved, striped, and just a little loose. It would be rather stupid of me to buy anything, since they were basically the same things with a higher price.
Oh well. It's air-conditioned here, so I shouldn't complain. And at least there were sofas inside. I sat down and affirmed the owner of the place: it wasa pretty nice sofa. I suppose they were for those bored fathers, husbands or boyfriends who were rich enough to spend more than a small fortune for their girls.
Ah. Speaking of girls. Wouldn't you know it, this one just happened to need to try on a pair of shoes, and needed a place to sit on.
"Fashion, fashion" she sang, a strong Japanese accent accompanying her melody. Plopping down next to me, she started unbuckling her chunky black boots. I casually looked at the pair that she wanted to try on: purple, lacy, the type that little girls would wear. They were cute, all right, but maybe not consistent with her punk Lolita get-up today…
Without warning, she turned to the older man stumbling in her direction, and opened her mouth. "Mochi, can you go out and buy Misa-Misa an iced coffee? I saw Starbucks outside! Get me a Green Tea Frappuccino, but no whipped cream, and a cookie too! Wait, maybe no cookie, maybe just a Belgian Waffle, or maybe a cake will be better. What do you think? I'll let you choose but it better be good! Mochi can buy a coffee for himself too, if he likes!"
All that, in rapid Japanese. I had to close my eyes to translate the words, chunk by chunk. I'm not quick to translate, but I guess I can't be thatbad – after all, the old guy apparently had a hard time understanding a word she said, too.
This Mochi guy had to spend more than a second to process the order. Afterwards, he nodded his head robotically. "Yes, Misa-Misa. I'll be right back," he said. He placed the other shopping bags carefully next to her and exited the boutique.
Poor guy. The things he goes through for this girl, although I guess from the way he acts, he can't be a boyfriend. Nevertheless, this couch was designed for the likes of him. But I guess he'll be too busy to use it, though…
"Hai!Moji-san is very good to Misa-Misa."
Her voice was high-pitched, and her English very confident, despite the strong Japanese accent. I looked at her curiously. She wasn't looking at me, but was marveling at the effect of the plum shoes on her black-stockinged-feet. They looked pretty nice on her, but maybe purple wasn't her colour…
I guess she noticed that I was staring at her feet. She put them down and looked at me. Her eyes were wide and bright. "So please don't laugh at Moji-san!"
I shrugged at her. I suppose I could feign not understanding her English now. I was imagining her words, spelling themselves out in Katakana form.
"Misa-Misa is not best in English, but maybe Mr. Foreigner Stalker understands me? Speak Japanese?"
"Stalker?" So. She noticed. I guess I shouldn't be surprised. After all, people from their party cannot be that thick. I guess I should have been more discreet. I closed my eyes and translated the words in my head. "I'm sorry, but you must make mistake," I said in her language.
I of course wasn't entirely confident of what I said during the time. I couldn't get rid of my English accent when I spoke. And of course, she laughed at me. It wasn't the polite laugh, either. It was much louder than normal. I guess I was pretty rusty at grammar as well.
"You're pretty bad at Japanese, Stalker-san! Heeheehee! And pretty bad at stalking, too."
Hey."What do you mean by that, miss?" I asked. I may be pretty bad at speaking Japanese, but I'm pretty capable of stalking. I can't help but feel slightly insulted by that.
She stood up. Amazing. Wearing those elevated shoes of hers, and standing straight next to me, and me sitting down, I noticed that the height difference between us wasn't at all that great. She looked at me up and down, inspected me from many other angles, and even pulled up my goggles. Normally, I would have slapped her hand away, but I stopped myself.
"Come on, Stalker-san! Misa-Misa is not that thick! Maybe Moji-san does not notice you as many times, but I've seen you many times today to know that you're following us." She pulled my goggles back down in annoyance. "At least wear different clothes when you stalk! You stick out like a sore thumb!"
Amazingly, I found this little tirade of hers rather cute, even if she accused me of stalking her and all. Well, there's no use denying it now. Things may escalate to an unhealthy degree if I do. "All right, all right. I'm sorry, Misa-Misa-san. If you don't want me around, I can leave now." I stood up, hands in pockets, dramatically turning around, as if prepared to leave with a heavy heart.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the girl named Misa-Misa tilt her head. She didn't seem all that annoyed anymore. "That's strange."
"Strange?"
"Gaijin… doesn't act like Misa-Misa's stalkers back in Japan," she said.
"Really now?"
"Hai!"She ran around me and looked up at my face. "Mr. Foreigner-Stalker-kun, can you tell Misa why you are stalking her?"
For a question of so-and-so a nature, she asked it very genuinely. "Well, okay," I began, slowly. That's a good question. I wonder what I can tell her? I mean, I just learned her name today. I closed my eyes, translated some words in my head, and delivered.
"No special reason. I think you're a cute Japanese girl. I wouldn't be surprised if you were a famous model, actress or teen idol back home."
Now that's a 1,000-megawatt-smile, if I ever saw one. "Stalker-san is pretty cute, after all!...but I wonder if he really meant it," she said to me, feigning suspicion.
"You can bet on it. You're one of the prettiest girls I've ever seen."
"Sugoi, sugoi!" She cheered. As I would report to Mello later, she had on a 1,000,000-megawatt-smile the next moment. Apparently, things that stroked her vanity worked for her. But I guess I can't blame her. If there's any truth to what I said earlier, I guess her livelihood depended on it.
Suddenly, she smiled at me mischievously. "Stalker-san does not look that bad either. If he were taller, he could be a model, too." Oh. What do you know. She isa model.
(I wonder what the Japanese police force is doing, acting like a personal bodyguard service to a Japanese model when they're supposedly here to go Kira-hunting. I'd better take note of that… )
"Actually, Stalker-san is really handsome!" She looked up at my face and touched my bangs a bit. "He looks a lot like Misa's boyfriend, although a lot shorter and weirder."
Ah, so the older guy wasn'ther boyfriend, unless she thought that I looked like that Mochi guy, which would mean that there's something wrong with her. I can't let the remarks on my height slide, though. Again, she was laughing at me. I pouted. "Hey, I know I'm short for an English boy, but—"
"It's all right, Stalker-san. I think you're my favourite stalker now, since you're not a pervert or suicidal, like the rest of them,"she said.
All right, time to pry. "But you don't need a favourite stalker, Misa-Misa. You have a nice boyfriend, right?"
She looked at me and blinked. I think her eyes shone, but it was probably her red contacts doing the shining. But I suppose this only happened for one instant, since when I focused again, she was beaming.
"Of course I don't need a favourite stalker, silly! My boyfriend is the best boyfriend in the world!"
I tilted my head at her. "Is he here in LA with you, Misa-Misa?"
She paused. "Yes! Of course he is." Another pause, as if she was unsure. "He's working in LA. Misa-Misa sees him every night."
"Ah, I see."
She turned to me and tilted her head. "Why is stalker-san asking Misa-Misa about her boyfriend, anyway?" She asked this in mild annoyance. Maybe I shouldn't be saying so, but it seemed that she has boyfriend issues.
"Well, I ama stalker, after all. Of course I'd wish you would date me instead!"
"Really? That's very sweet," she said softly. I wondered why she didn't think it was creepy that she was talking to her stalker so casually. Maybe I didn't seem threatening enough? Or maybe she was just that clueless. In which case, Mello would have no problems dealing with her.
And that tone. "Really? That's very sweet." It was as if no-one ever told her things like that before. Or if someone did before me, maybe she didn't think he meant it.
I wonder what sorts of guys she's had to deal with in the past. Here I am, some foreigner she meets at some clothing store in LA, and she talks to me like this. Even if I were somebody suspicious before, I supposed that she warmed up to me. I mean, she calls me Stalker-san, in an almost affectionate manner…
I guess she really wasclueless. I bet she didn't know just how big the whole Kira mess is now. I bet she didn't know that she might end up one big mess after this whole affair is over.
In any case, I'm just glad that I'm not the one who's out to do her any harm.
At that moment, Moji-san came in with her Frappuccino. Well, that made her happy for like five seconds before she decided that Green Tea Frappuccino tasted like grass mixed with ice and milk.
At the same instant, I was once again a stranger to her. She hopped up towards the older man and looped her arm around his, and proceeded bombarding him with requests in her rapid, childish Japanese. The man named Moji stared at me for a few seconds, but I guess he can't form conclusions about me yet.
They left me there like that. I received an SMS from Mello at that moment, commanding me to come back to our place so we can process whatever it is we discovered about this motley group of Japanese people. However, I found myself watching them as they disappeared into the next boutique.
Strange.
That's what I would tell Mello later. "It may be strange for me to say this, but she's a cute girl." Not that it's strange at all for me to say that she's cute, but rather why I keep repeating it to myself.
It was infectious, I suppose, that annoying cuteness of hers.
After my day of stalking, Mello decided that I'm too irresponsible for tailing people around, since I got found out easily. He gave me a boring job of watching the other old men at the NPA. I didn't complain, except for the fact that it drove me mad with boredom, but heck, I guess it was all good. The job was so monotonous, it gave me enough time to sit down and play with my DS, and to just day-dream every once in a while.
Yeah. I suppose that was a nice enough job. In my day-dreams, I keep imagining that same annoying cuteness, conversations about stalking, Japan, and Frappuccino that tastes like grass. Maybe she'd forget that she had a boyfriend, or maybe she'd confuse me as a taller guy so that she'd say yesnext time I say, Date me instead. And maybe after that, the arm that loops around hers isn't the same one in actuality...
- end -
Author's Notes:
It was pretty hard, writing this story. Not only am I not good at writing romance stories, but Matt is a pretty hard character to write. Given that most of his appeal in the manga and anime comes from his odd appearance, I only had a vague notion of how his character may be. I figured him to be a pretty irresponsible and lax guy, but that doesn't get me anywhere.
I am sorry if the ending seems abrupt. Again, I'm a pretty irresponsible writer. I can't, for the life of me, try to write a better one.
Anyway, here's hoping that you enjoyed this short, deficiencies and all. I'll get better next time. :)