Author's note: Over 1,500 views now! Wow- I really appreciate all of you guys being here, reading this thing I've written. It means a lot. The Soundcloud I mentioned last chapter is up and running- go search asknotforwhom on soundcloud to hear some of L's favorites and, later on, more music- I can't say much more than that without revealing things! :D Please review, even with criticism. As long as it is constructive, and not a flame, I would love to hear your ideas on how to improve; after all, I am here to entertain you guys. Enjoy! **Update** I had this formatted properly when it was posted- not sure what happened! Sorry, guys.

L found himself in the lobby of his school, his facial expression trouble deciding between a frown and a shit-eating grin. Light was headed home, yes, but he'd told L that he'd text as soon as he landed, and he had also purchased him Taco Bell.

In addition, of course, to the fact that he had just had the most satisfying sex of his entire life, not to mention that the conversation preceding it was incredibly stimulating.

His face decided to smile, which was good, because the attendance woman had just sat back down in her little kiosk. He knew she'd just come back from lunch because she had taco sauce on her mouth and blouse. She wiped haphazardly at it before smiling broadly at L, gesturing him forward with all the warmth and familiarity he was afforded by all of the staff.

Lovely.

"Hey, hon- you gave me a note before you checked out, right?"

She gestured to the large, rumpled stack of notes precariously teetering on the corner of her desk. He assumed she did not want to sort through them.

"I did, ma'am. I had a doctor's appointment. I'm checking back in now for AP Government."

She had already begun to write him a note to class before he even finished explaining. Her large, blonde bouffant distracted L from the stains he'd been staring at for the remainder of the time it took for her to finish the note, and he took it with a generous smile and thanks.

"Awwh, aren't you just the sweetest thing? Always so polite. Go on now, honey- and feel better!"

His "appointment" had done a very, very good job of making him feel better. He smiled slightly and told her as much over his shoulder as he walked towards his class.

He ran through his list of things he required for his class as he went, making sure he hadn't forgotten anything in Light's rented car. He had both textbooks in his absurdly heavy bookbag- it weighed about half of what he did- which was currently slung across his back like some kind of obese, clingy toddler. He had pencils, and his homework. He groped vaguely at his pockets with the hand not occupied with the Taco Bell bag, and felt his cell phone. Good. Everything was in order.

He hooked the left into the wing that hosted the Government classroom, knocked politely on the door, and slipped inside. Luckily, they seemed to have been given some free time to work on a paper they'd been assigned, so his entrance was not too obtrusive. Everyone was using the time wisely, of course- they were all fanned out, talking about completely irrelevant issues in their various social circles.

Spectacular. He could already tell that his tolerance for idiocy after not having to deal with it for even a brief time was going to be rather low. His raised standards were going to be a pain.

He walked over to Mr. Ruvie's desk to hand him the note. The man was rather engrossed in that month's issue of the Atlantic Journal, but put it down, smiling, to talk to L.

"Some of your peers told me you had a doctor's appointment. Did it go okay? I'm assuming it was relating to all of your stomach issues."

L had been coping with incredible stress, pretty much completely derived from his home environment. It had affected his schoolwork and attendance, as well as his ability to eat. For an extended period of time, he'd been unable to eat without feeling incredibly nauseous, so he didn't eat much, and when he did, it was quick, junky nonsense that he could consume quickly. He found it easier to cope with the pain if it hit right away.

He had actually seen a doctor, though obviously not on that day. The doctor was a specialist, and seemed disturbingly intuitive. One of the first questions she'd asked, with a shrewd and rather pointed look at L's mother, who was hovering beside of the examination table L lay on, was if he was experiencing any notable familial stress.

Shit. People did not ask L questions like that.

Usually, he was able to gloss over his home life and blame his occasionally half finished or late work on some sort of pathetic forgetfulness. It was not true, of course. His mother would often refuse to allow him to do his homework when she was angry with him, by either hopping on the computer to browse her facebook or loading him with an enormous amount of household chores, such as doing everyone's laundry, doing all of the dishes, cooking dinner, scrubbing bathrooms and more, all while she would lay on the couch and watch documentaries on Netflix.

So, of course, he answered with a guarded, "No, ma'am, not more than is normal for a teenage male my age."

She raised an eyebrow and 'mhmm'd' skeptically. He thought Rem was a strange last name, and thought to ask the doctor what nationality she was before realizing that was rude. He quickly recovered.

"I do, however, have a rather large course load and a massive amount of college entrance related stress."

He looked at his mother, who had her lips pursed sharply, and clearly had much she wanted to say. She was not one to let L answer for himself.

"Well, erm, Dr. Rem-" she looked interestedly at the doctor's name tag prior to continuing her interjection. L assumed his mother was attempting to determine if she'd heard of the woman before, or perhaps simply how to pronounce the rather foreign sounding name.

"He does actually have quite a bit of familial strife on him right now. But, definitely not because of me. His relationship with his father is, yanno, really tenuous and stressed. They don't speak often, but when they do, that man heaps on the abuse, let me tell you-"

L, at this point irritated beyond belief, cut her off. Yes, his father was an abusive piece of shit, but his mother was also abusive. No, not in the same way, not as directly, but the abuse was there.

L tried to understand. He recognized that their upbringings as the children of alcoholics had warped them rather severely, and tried to make allowances for that. He understood that they wouldn't really have any concept of what was and what wasn't acceptable as a parent, and he told himself that it was okay. In all honesty, he really didn't need them. He'd raised himself- and his younger sister, although distantly- on a steady diet of literary ideals. He was solidly disillusioned, completely lacking in any sort of childish idealism, before he hit 6th grade. He didn't expect much from his parents, really- he just wanted them to provide for his basic needs until he could get the fuck out and never have to see them again.

And therein lay the problem.

L's parents were absurdly vain, self-serving individuals, with no regard for the life they'd spawned so carelessly, aside, of course, from the benefits of having a relatively intelligent "trophy child" for dinner parties. When L asked for the things he needed, he was met with not only the word no, but also with a litany of terrible accompanying phrases. He heard "you don't deserve it", "why the fuck would I", and "you're so selfish" more than any encouraging words. And, when the encouragements did come, they were false- uttered only for the benefit of whatever audience his parents were pandering to.

But L was not one to burden others with his issues. He knew that was a direct result of his warped upbringing, but it was one he hoped would serve him well. He would never be so selfish as to force his troubles on another, he would never be so uncouth, so callous, as to bare the nasty, ugly story of his life to someone who had their own problems.

So he merely smiled a half smile and nodded.

"Yes. It was- I'd like to have all of my stomach issues sorted prior to leaving for college."

Mr. Ruvie nodded sagely.

"You'll do well there, L. As you have here- hopefully, by then, though, you'll have gotten your little memory issue all sorted out!"

He chuckled good naturedly, and L smiled a bland half smile while raging internally.

He hated, more than anything, having to pretend that he forgot.

"Well, I'll sit down now- might as well use the remainder of the period for something useful. Thank you, Mr. Ruvie."

L meandered through the desks, eventually finding his own in the left corner, comfortably lodged closest to the people who knew what they were talking about.

And, of course, fucking Aiber.

Who happened to be sitting in his seat.

L walked to his desk, the epitome of calm, and sat his bookbag down with one fluid motion that belied the weight he'd been carrying. The Taco Bell bag was clenched firmly in his hand, a talisman of the strength he derived from being around Light, someone who just got it, someone who had not and hopefully would not subject him to whatever this lunacy was called.

"Aiber," he began smoothly, "Would you mind giving me back my seat?"

Aiber turned, facing L with the shit eating grin that was supposed to be occupying L's own face. The people he'd been speaking to politely waited for him to continue, hanging on his every juvenile word.

"What's up, L? How'd your appointment go?" There was something sharp in Aiber's voice- the pause between phrases had been heavy, pregnant with insinuation and sarcasm. L did not like it. It gave him a strange, foreboding feeling in his already troubled stomach.

"Fine, Aiber. Relatively uneventful. Now, can I have my seat back? I'd like to eat prior to going to rehearsals."

Aiber slid out of his seat like a panther, grandly gesturing for L to take his place. L did, but Aiber did not move.

Instead, he leaned down to L's ear.

"You look different, L. I don't know if it's off, or if it's good, or whatever, but I'd like to. Very much so. Because," Aiber added in a silken whisper that made L want to draw his shoulders up protectively, "generally, I don't come back from my doctor feeling so nice."

L did not like this forced vulnerability. It was not the same as it was with Light- he'd chosen that, he'd sought that out. L never had and never would seek out this.

"Aiber. Again, it is not any of your business. Perhaps I am merely feeling some hope? I have had these stomach issues for quite some time, after all. To see light at the end of the tunnel is enough to make anyone feel different, I'd say."

Ha ha. L patted himself on the back mentally for a very well executed move.

Aiber however, grimaced, as if he'd suddenly had a lemon punched through his teeth. Pain and the sharp, irritating sting of citric acid in the bloodied areas.

Then he smiled winningly, nodded once, and turned to face those he'd been speaking with before he'd decided to harass L.

L made a small smile of his own, and began to eat his challupas, now slightly cool- the grease was less appealing this way, too, having had time to soak through the waxy paper.

He sighed.

Fucking Aiber.