Hello everyone, here I am with the next chapter. Thank you for the nice reviews, there was one that even made me blush. According to the stats, most of my readers are Americans, so I want to announce that I'm in the US now till July 27 (even my profile is showing that, which gave me a start). I have a thesis to write, but I'd always welcome a break, so if you're located somewhere near DC and want to talk about this story, Death Note, literature or life in general over a cup of coffee or a glass of beer, just PM me. Anyway, here's the chapter.


Chapter VII – A Wish to Fly

Everything was austere and refined at the same time, from calligraphies on the wall to a silver metal clock ticking on the desk. Nothing flashy. Only the small plate on the door announced to the world that this place belonged to the head of one of the largest law offices in Tokyo.

"Sit down, Mikami-kun," the man said and Teru's legs complied before he even grasped the meaning of the words. Matsumoto Kiichirō didn't need to impress anyone with his office. He himself was the very impersonation of power, with his salt and pepper hair, straight but not rigid posture and piercing gaze.

A pair of intelligent eyes silently scrutinized Teru for a minute – just enough to make him slightly uncomfortable, but not enough that it could be called patronizing.

"I think that you know why you are here. Hamaguchi-kun talked to me about you."

Teru simply nodded.

"I understand that it's a private matter and I or the office I represent have no right to interfere, but what we are speaking about here is the question of public acknowledgement."

Teru looked puzzled. Public acknowledgement? He wasn't aware of anything of that sort. Matsumoto slowly opened a gray folder and took out a photograph.

Hamaguchi really got that far, Teru thought, infuriated, digging out some dirty snapshot of me and Raito. Matsumoto silently passed him the picture.

When Teru glanced at it, he had to suppress the urge to laugh. It was an incredibly silly picture. It showed him wearing one of his finest suits raising his arms in panic, his face turned away from the camera. Raito was leaning towards him, pressing a piece of cloth to his chest.

On his face, which was just an inch away from Teru's, he wore a smile that could be described as both seductive and inane, and above all as drunken.

This photograph was taken about a month ago at the opening of an exhibition of a certain contemporary painter, a friend of Raito's. The main theme of the paintings would be eyes, which came in various colors and shapes. Teru couldn't shake off the unpleasant feeling of being watched.

Now it seems that it wasn't just the paintings,Teru mused, looking at the picture in which some anonymous paparazzi managed to capture what Teru thought was about the best moment of the whole blasted event. He just hated social gatherings.

Teru returned the gaze of the piercing eyes, unabashed.

"Actually, Yagami-san was drunk and spilled his drink on my shirt. Then he tried to clean it himself – even though I told him not to – but his state prevented him from being of any actual help."

He felt the corners of his mouth slightly twitching against his will. The expression of the man facing him remained unreadable.

"Are you saying that you are not in a romantic relationship with Yagami-san?"

The tone was perfectly neutral, but Teru could nonetheless hear all the hidden implications it carried. There was only one right answer, that much was obvious. All it would take was to say yes and this meeting would be over, the whole matter forgotten. Even though that Hamaguchi was his senior, he could feel that Matsumoto-shachō trusted him more than he did Hamaguchi, who had some troubles with clients in the past; there had never been a single complaint about Teru.

It would be so easy, just to say yes and deny everything. Especially since it's been even true lately, Teru thought as he felt something cold cradle his heart. He was in denial for so long, but the cool simplicity of this office and the calm, business manner in which everything was discussed shed a new, cold light on his relationship. It was rapidly going downhill and there were hardly any romantic elements left. Relinquishing the rare moments of seeming peace just wasn't enough.

Teru snapped out of his thoughts, realizing that he left the other waiting for too long.

"No," he said, surprised at how easily it came out, "you are mistaken, Matsumoto-san. We are romantically involved."

The room filled with work suddenly fell on him like a dead weight and its familiar scents made him suffocate.

He flipped through the last pages he wrote. The story appeared to him more and more introspective. Everything was far too still, motionless and heavy. Statue-like characters were staggering in the dark.

It needed some movement, Raito decided, and so did he. In the next instant he was already grabbing his jacket and heading out. In front of the apartment building he leaned against the wall and inhaled the night air, forcing all thoughts out of his head until it was empty and light.

He didn't feel like going for a ride; just a walk would do. First he stopped at the corner at the vending machine to buy a pack of cigarettes. He rarely smoked, but this night had a peculiar feeling about it that called for a cigarette. Then he plunged in between the estate houses, with his back to the road that was still quite noisy despite the late hour.

He passed a deserted playground; the dark shapes of swings, climbers and merry-go-rounds seemed to acquire some new, deeper meaning that was hidden during daytime.

He lit a cigarette, inhaling a mixture of smoke and fresh night air. He walked on in a leisurely pace, looking up to the windows, watching the moving silhouettes of people behind the thin blinds, but not really thinking about them.

He came to a small square, where a sports bar, a small casino and a 24/7 were still open. He considered dropping at a bar for a drink, but decided against it. He planned to write some more after he came back – and he had a rule he seldom broke about staying sober when he was writing. He had to rewrite most of those first twelve pages he had written in drunken frenzy on that stormy night, after all.

He left the square, heading for the bus stop. He didn't even have the time to glance at the schedule when the bus arrived. He considered that a sign, because the intervals were quite long at this hour, and got on, not even knowing where the bus was going.

He paid the fare and sat down, looking around. Besides him there were six passengers; two almost identically looking girls with bleached hair and short skirts, who were adjusting their make-up. They were obviously going from one party to another. The other four were men, two young and one middle aged, looking drunk, and finally one dignified-looking old man in a dark suit with a white flower in his buttonhole.

His eyes lingered for a moment on the old man, vaguely musing what was such person doing on the night bus, but soon he let it go. It was the little mysteries what made this city so captivating.

Raito shifted his gaze out the window. He now knew where the bus was going; he grew up in this city after all. The window right in front of him was open and the air was lashing into his face as he stared out at nothing in particular, car lights and streetlights and neon lights all blending together into smears of light flying through the dark.

The light smears grew scarcer and scarcer as the bus reached a different ward. It was the part of the town where most of the Western embassies were located, all stately, early 20th century European style buildings surrounded by tall trees.

Raito got off the bus and walked a couple of minutes without meeting a soul, listening to the sound of wind in the trees.

Finally he sat on a bench just next to the Italian embassy and lit another cigarette. At that point the moon emerged from beyond the clouds and its light flooded the street. He watched the moon through a plume of smoke, his mind absolutely blank.

Then his cell phone started to ring. He fished it out of his pocket without great enthusiasm, expecting it to be Teru asking anxiously where the hell he went in the middle of the night.

For once, he was wrong. The number on the screen didn't belong to anyone in his address book. His eyes widened in apprehension. It can't be-

Forbidding himself any hope he accepted the call.

"Hello, Yagami-kun."

"Lawliett? Is it really you? No, sorry, stupid question, of course it's you. How come I didn't have this number?"

"That's because I never gave it to you."

There was a sound of brakes somewhere, then silence.

"So, how are you?" he asked, feeling stupid.

"Fine, thank you. I've…recovered."

Raito felt a surge of guilt rising within him.

"Look, I'm really sorry about what-"

"Don't apologize," the voice cut him off, "it was my fault. I shouldn't have led you into that sort of situation."

No, you really shouldn't have, one part of him agreed, while the rest was fighting back the memories that made him nauseous and giddy with joy at the same time.

"I knew what I was doing," Raito said aloud.

"I wouldn't have expected anything else from you."

Raito found it hard to say anything to that, so he said nothing at all.

"Can you see the moon now?" the voice asked.

"Yes," Raito said, realizing that all the while he was starting at it so intently that his eyes started to sting.

"When I tell you, start counting to forty."

"What is going to happen?" Raito asked, furrowing his brow in confusion.

"You will see. Now…count."

Raito obeyed. It was the longest forty seconds in his life, a whole universe filled with darkness and moonlight and the faint sound of the other's breathing at the other end of the line.

When the count reached forty, a round shadow started creeping over the moon, turning its color into coppery red. Only a small crescent remained white.

Raito felt as though he was just given the most precious gift in his life.

"It's beautiful. Thank you," he said, not realizing that his voice turned into whisper.

"I wanted to watch it with you, but I was aware of the fact that 2:37 AM wouldn't correspond with the visiting hours, so I arranged it like this."

"Visiting hours?" Raito repeated, "I thought that there were no longer any visiting hours for me. They told me your grandfather has forbidden it."

There was a short pause at the other end of line and then the voice spoke up with just a trace of hesitation:

"You can come again," Raito felt his heart skip a beat, "but they won't let us alone anymore."

Then there was a click and the line went dead.

Raito slowly lowered the hand with the phone, staring at it for a second before he put it back into his pocket.

He rode a several buses and watched the darkness grow thinner, his head light as a puff of smoke and a smile hanging on his lips. He realized that the people who met him probably thought he was on crack, but he didn't care.

When he came back, it was almost six in the morning. Teru was already awake, sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and the morning paper.

"Where have you been?" he asked casually.

"Just a late night stroll, then took a few bus rides," Raito answered with a shrug and kicked off his shoes.

"You look happy," Teru tried to keep his tone neutral, but for some reason it came out as accusing. Raito didn't react to that.

"It was a good stroll," was all he said before he stretched himself out on the couch and closed his eyes.

Something was different. It wasn't as though he had felt any kind of reverence for the place before; he wasn't even aware that it stirred any emotions in him whatsoever. Now he realized that it had, if only because of the one person who lived there, but these emotions were gone.

The white of the walls seemed faded and windows that had always struck him as perfectly clean were stained, so the pools of sunlight on the floor had darks spots in them. He noticed a thin layer of dust on the thick leaves of a ficus elastica plant on the windowsill.

All the medical staff he met seemed to regard him with a hostile expression; he felt their eyes bore into his back long after he was out of their sight. He was used to public attention, even an unfavorable one – reactions to Dear Wilhelm varied from fanatic admiration to open protests against the upcoming re-edition – but this was the first time he felt this uneasy and vulnerable.

Finally after what fell like a walk on hot coals he reached L's room and knocked.

"Come in," a familiar woman's voice said.

"Hello," he said after entering.

"Hello, Yagami-kun. The weather is just delightful today. Can we go for a walk?"

Soft, shallow shades spread on the lawn as a contrast to the gentle light that had lent a golden glow to the air itself.

They talked about innocence, the light breeze ruffling their hair.

The nurse Haruka Fujimi followed them with the now empty wheelchair, keeping a respectful distance.

"…and, as an embodiment of it Suga is so much higher above all those who surround her. Innocence, that's what makes her superior, can you see it?"

"Not quite, I'm afraid. What is it to innocence that makes people value it so much?"

"What do you mean?"

"Isn't it like beauty? A mere hundred years ago, it was all decided – beauty was a virtue, ugliness a vice. Who got to be beautiful was predestined by gods according to their karma. Then the view started to shift. People were slowly realizing that just being beautiful didn't automatically make you a better human being – in theory, at least, because in reality people have always been attracted to beauty, regardless of the character."

The poet's dark eyes turned to the writer who walked by his side, slowly taking in his face. A ghost of a smile played on his lips.

"Your point being?" Raito almost snapped.

"My point is that you can't choose to be born beautiful, it's something you either have or not. And we are all born innocent, but you can't decide to stay innocent. Life just deforms you on the way."

"I can't imagine how it must have deformed you," Raito muttered and regretted it the next instant.

He opened his mouth to apologize, but L stopped him before he had chance to say anything by lightly tapping his forearm.

"Don't. It did deform me and it's not your fault. I'm afraid that it's no one's fault at all."

Why did you say that you're afraid, Raito wanted to ask, but something stopped him this time. He decided that it was the time to change the topic.

"So, you're not legally competent," he stated.

"No," L nodded, "my grandfather took care of that when my addiction hit its peak. I didn't qualify to posses what they call a sound mind, then."

"But you're addicted no more," Raito objected, "shouldn't you get your competency back?"

"I guess so," the poet shrugged his shoulders, "but I have the feeling that I won't need it anyway."

Raito looked away, feeling uneasy. They had already reached the end of the Linden Road. He could see the shadow of one of the tombstones lying gently in the grass.

All of the sudden Haruka spoke up:

"I have to excuse myself for a moment, so please be so kind and wait for me here," she said in her bright voice and Raito gave her a thankful smile. At least her behavior to him didn't change a bit. Luckily she was also the one to supervise them.

After they were left alone, the first thing Raito did was to embrace the other man.

"God, I missed you," he whispered, stroking Lawliett's back. The poet let his head rest on Raito's shoulder, sighing quietly.

They stayed like this for a long time, saying nothing. When Raito closed his eyes, he imagined that the brick wall surrounding them disappeared and they could see the scenery that opened around them, the trees and white houses all basking in that insufferably gentle afternoon sunlight, the blue sky above it endless and light.

"Play the flute," L spoke up in a quite voice, "play the silver flute."

"So you can fly, soaring high," Raito added the other verse and continued to stroke the poet's back, feeling the protruding shoulder blades through the thin fabric.

Like wings, he thought, just like wings.

Haruka returned and Raito reluctantly let go of the embrace. The rest of the walk they just talked about literature.

"I will see you soon," Raito said when it was time for him to leave. Lawliett simply nodded in answer.

As he was returning through those halls that suddenly seemed so hostile to him, once again he met two of the doctors. One of them happened to be Dr. Morino. His greetings were so cold that it could hardly be called polite anymore.

As they were retreating, Raito heard their muffled voices.

Just because of the donations were the only words he could make out. Nevertheless it did the job.

Raito had made a decision.

TBC