a/n: Hi, welcome to chapter four! I assure you that I do not own Death Note. Sad but still a fact. I'm sorry that I took so long updating this! (And no, you're not hallucinating---it's actually here...)
Anyway, if you have any comments at all about this story, then please do leave a review! They make me happy...I hope you enjoy the chapter!
It was morning, and the only sound was that of the birds outside and the pen strokes of Light as he sat writing---once again, like every other time this morning he'd gotten up to write---which was every fifteen minutes--- he was writing dialogue and character sketches. Dialogue being foremost.
The conversations. They were coming in waves, waves of striking yet simple exchanges that flowed together into an ocean that was getting grander by the moment. And yet, so far as he could tell, there was no plot. He could see the situations which were bringing the characters together, but not the reason for these circumstances. He supposed….that it didn't matter----he was now convinced that it would come to him.
Leaning back in his chair, Light laced his fingers together only to invert them with a tug. The cracking of his fingers resounding went unnoticed by the birds and Light paused to take a sip of the coffee that rested near his elbow: black, no cream added. With no mother or sister to add sugar before he could utter a declination, it was a calming part of his morning.
As of this instant all he had were two characters. But they were so real, so solid, that he was certain they'd be center stage in the drama. Both personalities were stark---in his previous works he'd made sure to mix the personalities of his characters to make it believable.
He would have a passive character as a foil to every aggressor, but so far there were no passive tendencies anywhere in the plans he could feel his subconscious distantly compiling, and certainly none on paper. It made him feel that there were still vital characters lacking.
But that was okay. He was sure they'd step out from the shadows eventually, and even now ----if Light squinted---- he could see the next waiting to make his entrance. Strangely, he didn't think this hazy outline would result in a watered down character.
Quite the opposite, he thought, lifting the pen and launching into yet another sequence of lines.
It had been three in the morning when he woke from troubled dreams to dash downstairs and start scribbling descriptions with a hand fevered from excitement.
For that first hour, in the dead of night, he'd made sure to keep himself in check with the thought that this creative energy may not truly lead to a novel; it was probably a result from the stress of yesterday.
Yesterday, which had been singularly the worst day in his life. But for all that it was terrible---embarrassing----infuriating---it had also been a deviation from a daily routine that was depressing and, yes, strangling him at an alarming pace.
"And just when I thought I was getting bored---inspiration strikes."
Light didn't know exactly when he'd gotten into the habit of speaking aloud to himself. He had a feeling that it stemmed from the constant narration he'd keep in his head during school when he had nothing else to occupy himself with. Those days, he'd think about the strangest things.
He honestly didn't know what path those thoughts would have taken if he hadn't created the characters Bernard, Edward, and Alice in his head. It had been pretty touch and go, especially that particular afternoon…
Light shook his head violently. There was no need to think about that.
Everything he needed to concentrate on was directly in front of him.
….. Except for the problem that was currently sleeping in his guest room.
"What are you doing?"
Scratch that.
Light hated to look away from his writing for a few seconds, let alone bring himself to speak to what was undoubtedly the current root of his personal evil.
But it didn't look like he'd even get the opportunity to open his mouth, as Mello's words continued to plow through his brain.
"Hey! Don't ignore me when I'm talking to you, it's unflattering."
Without setting aside his characters, Light quickly assessed the best way to deal with this situation. What sort of reply should he make? Something efficient. No-nonsense. Was there an answer that said: 'you may be blackmailing me but you are a mere annoyance and should understand I am far above you?'
Some blackmail it was, too. Light had almost lost his balance after asking Mello what he wanted.
A place to stay was a very humble demand, after all---and probably explained why Light hadn't yet bothered sparing thought about it in lieu of his brainstorming.
"Would you like some coffee?"
"What?"
"It's in the kitchen. You've quit school so I confess I am starting to wonder what you're going to busy yourself with here."
Light had to admit that he was still feeling a tad hostile and partially inclined to violent action, so the words were acidic.
The blonde boy had a single hand pressed against the wall. Light noted that his eye was not looking well. It was still swollen and seemed to be changing colors. Purple on top, while a ghastly green was spreading on the bottom. Light wondered vaguely if his parents were abusive. That would give Mello a reason to want to stay with him. But something told him that this person would be quite equipped to handle an unfavorable domestic problem.
"I didn't tell you I quit school." Light noticed that Mello's voice was prone to taking radical twists in tone. It suggested mental instability, but the boy's reasoning abilities seemed to be top notch. More than that. With his intelligence, Mello shouldn't have been in public school. It shone so brilliantly that even the laziest teacher would have to notice it. When he thought about it, Mello was so bright that maybe he shouldn't have been in any school. And yet, Light remembered their first meeting in the hallway. Mello hadn't been the shining beacon before him now. Glowing, perhaps. Perhaps.
"And I didn't tell you that I was clueless about Bernard. Hang on a minute."
Light got up from his desk and walked stiffly into the kitchen. He didn't keep much food around---he had cereal, some fruit, milk, and coffee. Lately he'd been forgetting about meals. There was no reason for him to be reminded.
But Mello would probably be less and not more compliant if he thought Light was trying to starve him. So Light cut up some fruit and tossed it on a plate, but not before retrieving the ice pack he kept for emergencies in the freezer. He rounded the corner and threw it at Mello.
The action was both a kindness and a test of Mello's athletic ability. For some reason Light couldn't picture the ill tempered boy fumbling, and indeed he caught it easily, even muttering a quick thank you as he did.
Instead of returning to his desk, Light crossed the room and took a languid seat on the couch. He motioned for Mello to do the same, and after a moment that was half hesitation and half something Light couldn't place he did.
It was shaping up to be the strangest morning of Light's life. His blackmailer gingerly picked at the fruit on the plate as if he wanted to find something wrong with it but couldn't, occasionally making a face as he drank the coffee Light brought him.
He was wearing Light's best black turtleneck and a tight pair of dark jeans that Light was fairly sure Sayu had bought him as a gag gift.
And though he was miffed that this guy had gone through his closet, he had to admit there was something he liked about how confidently Mello moved in clothes that weren't his. It was exactly how Light would have acted in his place.
Only Light would never blackmail anybody.
His hair was still wet from the shower Light hadn't heard him take, framing his face in strands of gold hued amber. Light found long hair to be distasteful on a boy. He frowned slightly.
"Something the matter?" Mello caught Light staring at him.
"No. Are you okay with eating just fruit? I mean, you don't look particularly healthy…"
It was true. The close fitting clothes hid his frail form from a distance but up close Light suspected he was suffering from malnutrition. Anorexia was a strong possibility.
Then again, Light knew how much it annoyed him when people pressed him to eat more, so he refrained from continuing.
"Chocolate would be nice," Mello said, thoughtfully. He looked over at Light. "But you don't seem the type to have any."
Light shook his head. "I was thinking of something good for you." It struck the author that he sounded just like his sister. Good grief.
Mello's laugh was a great deal sharper than he was expecting.
"Aren't you mad at me? Don't you want to get rid of me? I'm forcing you to let me stay at your home in exchange for not telling everybody your novel is trash--"
"It's not trash," Light snapped. He was instantly surprised at himself.
"Of course it is, you wrote the ending wrong," Mello said lazily.
"I don't see why you care."
The blonde pushed the plate away and rested his feet on the glass table.
"I really don't. I just need a place to sleep. No one will ever think to look for me here."
"Who would look for you, Mihael Keehl?"
Light knew that the snide words were a mistake almost as soon as he'd formulated the response. Writing hadn't been the only thing he'd been doing at three in the morning, and it wasn't smart to let Mello know that Light knew more than he thought he did. It was actually pretty stupid.
Fame had done strange things to him.
"Hello? Yes, this is Soichiro. You've solved the case? Yes. Yes, I see. That's not what you're calling about? Then what---? Raito? No, I don't know where his inspiration comes from. No, I don't sound bitter to me, L. I support him fully. What? He's in London. Apparently writing. Don't ask me….have I? Of course I wanted him to join the police. He'd make a brilliant detective, I just know it…..what do you mean, 'you think so too?'Have you met? No, but you're going to? But we need you here! Oh….well, I guess so. If you're sure…you've been a great asset to us, L. Yes, I'll take care. You too. Goodbye."
a/n: thanks for reading!
