It has become a mindless habit --- a finger twisting dirty white curls that never bother to soak in the right shampoo for the right shine. Then, a small tug - the white index entangles in the thick webs of knots. Rocking begins, a motion to assure that he can still move. His free hand latches onto his left knee, fingers like teeth digging their tips through the silky fabric. Convulsions manipulate the small frame, forcing a small seizure to rack his brain. He screams, begging the silent killer to stop suffocating its prey.
"KEEP YOUR HANDS OFF OF HIM! S-STOP IT! STOP IT, YOU'RE KILLING HIM!"
"Near! Near, get a hold of yourself! No one's killing anyone! Hey, can you hear me? Doctor Weathers, he's losing it again!"
Frantic footsteps precede the arrival of a short standing blond, causing a small collective to restrain the patient. She rushes to his side, grabbing his arms as they reach out to grab her white coat.
"Nate, dear… Nate, calm yourself. It's me, Doctor Weathers. You're alright. No one is dying."
"D-doctor Weathers…?"
She sighs, her lips tugging downward to a small frown.
"I'm sorry for flipping out," the visitor says, bringing a hand to the back of his neck. "I just…"
"Do not be so worried, Mr. Loud. He is fine now. You may proceed with your visit, but please --- remember to not call him by that name in these facilities. He is not ready to lead that role in his state of mind."
She smiles softly, concern creased across her forehead. Her attention returns to a calmer Nate. His eyes are watching her, shameless tears blanketing a broken stare. She reaches out, his greasy hair greeted with her gentle touch.
"Please, Nate. Do not leave us. You need to get better if you plan to go back to work."
"Yes… Work. I have so much work to do. What are my cases today, Gevanni?"
"You are the case this evening, Nate." Her voice is tender in response, the same as her gaze as she looks to the visitor. "Please watch him closely, Mr. Loud. I have another patient to tend to, but I will be in shortly."
"Thank you, Doctor Weathers," he says, nodding.
"It's no problem."
She becomes the subject of Nate's stolid gaze, his eyes watching as she leaves the room. Stephen taps his shoulder lightly to bring his focus towards him.
"Gevanni, she looks like him."
"Yes, but she isn't."
"Why is he gone?"
A sigh presses past the man's lips as he ruffles his dark hair. "Nate, I am sorry. He is gone, because he sacrificed his life for the Kira case."
"Kira… killed him?"
"Yes… and you defeated Kira."
"I did?"
"Yes."
"Then why is he still hurting me? Why do I… hurt…? It is so painful…"
"You need to let go, Nate. If you do, you can return to headquarters. You can't be L unless you overcome your mental illness."
"I do not feel ill. Therefore, I am not. Please let the doctors become aware of this."
"Nate… I can't."
He watches the white haired boy for a few moments, observing the way he continues to pick at his curls. He waits for a response, expecting none. With a look laced with disappointment, he turns and exits the room. There is silent chit chatter past the doorway, leaving Nate to speak out loud.
"Where is my picture…?" he asks, expecting someone to hear him. The same vacant afterward is given, solitude cradling his present tense. He looks to the bed, feed of the past streaming in his thoughts.
"N-Naaate…."
"Uhn… y-yes, Mihael?"
"Damnit, you don't respond like that."
"How am I supposed to respond…?"
"Your supposed to… say my name… nothing else…"
"Is it required?"
"Yes… yes it is… n-neh…! Aw, fuck… y-you're so tight…"
"Ha… haaahh… n-nyeh… ah… ahhh ehh…"
"N-Nate… God, Naaaate…"
"M-… Mihael.. Ah! Mihael! Ahhhh!"
"F-f-f-fuuuck…"
"Keep it there. Please, kept it there."
"I didn't plan on moving it… Now… I want to hear you scream…"
"I do not wish for you to hurt me…"
"Your pain is my pleasure, Nate."
"M-Miha… Mihael!"
"That's it, just like that. Just like that, Nate. Good Nate…"
"Aaaaahhhhhhhh, Mihaeeeeel!"
It spoke of invitation, its tempting resemblance of his own bed digging up secluded memories.
"Mi… hael…"
He walks up to the mattress, poking it lightly before setting his body against the soft material. It slightly presses down, his body barely leaving a remnant on the under foam. He reaches out, touching the wall and tracing a curved letter on its pale surface, aimlessly.
"I just say your name when you say mine."
"Yes."
"What if someone hears?"
"No one is here, Nate. It's just me and you. Stop worrying so much and pull your pants down."
"Y-yes."
He looks down to his pale blue pajama pants, his fingers searching the hem to find the strings. Unraveling the knot and bow, he slips his pants past his hipbones.
"Mihael, touch me."
"Oh, so now I'm doing the work? I don't think so. If you want to be a tease, touch yourself. Go ahead --- I'll watch."
"Nhhm…"
His fingers crawl into the fabric, pressing their tips underneath the elastic band of his underwear and into soft light curls. A glaze of heightened lust brighten the saddened expression in his gray eyes. Trailing further down the body, he finds his length and its slight dampness from having already became excited.
"Mihael… I have never done this."
"Liar. I've heard you before in your room back at Wammy's. Don't try and be innocent; I'm not going to fall for it."
"Innocent… isn't that how Mihael likes his prey?"
A devious smirk. "You are my prey, Nate. My one and only hunger."
Wrapping his hand around the swollen node, he gives it an experimental pull.
"Ahhh-haaaah!"
His eyes close, mouth gaping open to allow his moans to escape the pit of his throat. His touch held a feeling brand new, so unused to the caress of warm fingers pleasing a greedy need.
"M-Mihael..!"
"Just like that."
"Mi… Mi-ha-el…"
He drags his enclosed fingers in swift motions - up and down, sometimes in small jerks more than full length rubs. He reaches the top at one interval, prodding his pinky into a slit oozing of white honey.
"I want you to taste yourself…"
He pulls his hand away from the throbbing member, licking the pale liquid off his digits.
"What does it taste like?"
"I-it tastes like… nothing I have ever had."
"Is it vanilla…?"
"No… chocolate. It tastes like Mihael."
A chuckled response rings through the small boy's ears. "Oh, so now I'm a sweet?"
"You are my sweet."
Impatiently, his hand slips back into the wet fabric, fondling the hard manhood residing between his hips. Small jerks became rough, tantalizing yanks. His back arches, pressing permanent dents in the under foam. The pillow beneath his head becomes enveloping, his face buried between clumps of feathers in the case. Fingers grow tired, working their way feverishly against a pounding erection, anticipating its release.
"Mihael! Mihael! Mihael!"
He speaks in exasperated breathes, his forehead sweating larger droplets as the motions take control over his body. A certain numbness overcomes his abdomen, a knot unraveling from his stomach…
"Oh god, Mihael…! Mihael, please…! Please…!"
"Please what, Nate? I can't read your mind, you know."
"T-take me…!"
"Where to?"
"T-to the stars…!"
His hesitation joins with unexpected shock. Has the boy ever said anything so metaphorically?
"M-Mihael…!"
A spasm encases his body, sending the boy in a screaming fit.
"MIHAEL, PLEASE! TAKE ME AWAY FROM HERE!"
His hand thrusts at his releasing member, tears overflowing puffy eyelids. Hot liquid hits cotton underwear, being forced out of the frail being.
"MIHAEL, PLEEEEASE!"
"Nate! Nate, stop this instant! You're going to hurt yourself!"
"MIHAEL! MIHAEL! MIHAEL, DON'T LET IT STOP!"
Accompanying the previous voice came another.
"Nate, dear, listen to Stephen and me! You need to stop!"
A pair of hands grab onto his shaking ones, trying stopping the wild seizure.
"NO, NO, NO! MIHAEL, WAIT! PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME ALONE!"
The feeling of cold buckles becomes prominent as his wrists are strapped down. Nate's screams are meek now, coming out in small whimpers and squeaks.
"M-Mihael… Don't… Don't leave me again…"
"Nate… what are we ever going to do with you…?" Stephen says.
"M-Mihael… I want… Mihael."
"It's all in the past now," a third voice says. The same placid tone from before speaks to the helpless patient. His hazel eyes are peering down at him, emotionless intentions lying behind the colored irises.
"Stephen Loud, I'd like to speak with Nate River and Doctor Weathers alone."
"Right…"
Stephen steps out, closing the door behind him as he exits.
"Miss Weathers, I have studied Nate for the past two years, and no procedure seems to be curing the boy."
"Y-yes, that is true. Have you finally found another solution? Another medicine?"
"No, not quite. I have another plan, and this is sure to be one-hundred percent effective."
"And what plan is that, Doctor Folley?"
He turns his attention back to the patient, watching as he breathes in and out heavily. Nate looks up at him with wavering eyes, searching for his delayed answer before he has the chance to speak of it.
"Lobotomy, my dear Weathers. It's the only cure for a case like him."