A/N Stapler to the face, as promised. This follows straight on from the last chapter/glorified screenplay and is the end of an arc, if fics can have arcs. If this fic can have arcs. I want an arc, basically.
The reviews cheered me up in an unimaginable way, so thank you. The final, final, final bit of L's backstory he babbles about is for thebarstool, ElizabellaLight and future relevance. I swear to God that I could not edit it down. Sorry about a lot of things (you'll know what when you read them) as well as the melodrama and regurgitated, vile insults. This couldn't get more AU or sweary. Good old Light in this cracks me up. 'NO! Feels! I have to think of something boring and get a beta blocker prescription! TWEED!' It's ok, I've had words with myself about it.
Chapter Ten
Maybe You'll Get A Replacement, There's Plenty Like Me To Be Found
The whiskey and his day-long drip feed of vodka has hit L like a forklift truck before we've even left the club. It turns him into a wordless zombie of pent-up anger as we step outside into the secure, enclosed and empty car park. He can only hold his whiskey bottle by the neck as he walks a few steps behind me. Our footsteps are muted by the sound of rain on car bonnets while my veins are almost audibly burning. I can't have that, so I search for something else.
Space is at a premium here. The upkeep and elitism of the club is one of the reasons why it was shut down in the first place. It was seen as an unnecessary expense by The Lady, mostly because she never wanted to go there herself. I think she only came here once, and that was only to have a piss. It is an unnecessary expense, but then, so are all the politicians. I'm streamlining the expenditure of other departments, and in doing so have found quite a lot of spare change to warrant reopening it. Only club members can use this car park, and as politicians like to see themselves as a different species from 'the public', it panders to their sense of self-importance. It's good to provide something for the workers; it lifts the flagging cock of morale and will be a fundamental reason for why I'll remain popular and entrusted with their unwavering support. I thought that it was a good idea, although on the surface it seems trivial and altruistic. Nothing is ever as it seems.
L stumbles and swears blame at some imagined thing that tripped him up. I don't know if it's worth speaking to him, but the thought that his father is dead and that his reaction is not to care very much, makes me think that it was just something he said to overwhelm Astbury into a heart attack. L is a man who personally hunted down a pregnant woman who accidentally smashed the brake light on his car while reversing and drove off without realising, just to shout at her. His viciousness and complete lack of pity and rationality at times in which he feels a personal injustice is like a particularly aggressive power top for me, and I think about it often during lunchtimes. I can't say that I don't actively encourage him when I'm not the source of that injustice, and sometimes even then; it completely depends upon my schedule for the next day. He holds grudges as other people would hold onto the side of a cliff for fear of falling, so it wouldn't surprise me if he used a lie to inflict the ultimate revenge upon someone he hates. He's also a man who shed an unashamed tear when his favourite pastry chef died, so I find it hard to accept that, if his own father died, that he would skip the grief process and go straight to not giving a shit.
"Is your father really dead?" I ask him.
"You think that I'd make that up?"
"What happened?"
"Well, he kind of died, Light. Oh, you mean how? From what I've been told, it sounds like a stroke to me. The housekeeper found him dead in his chair this morning. Face flat on the desk. Dead for hours."
"The firm actually told you that? God, that's heartless."
"No, I phoned up the housekeeper to find out the specifics. I like specifics, they make things more real. Now I can see him there with his nose squashed on top of some reference books like he was killed by work. Judge Lawliet, killed in the study by a law book. I'll probably end up the same way. Can't even say that he died from a life well lived because he was practically a Puritan. Fuck me, my head feels like a musical is going on in there."
"I can't believe that you found out and went to work."
"No, you can't believe that I didn't tell you as soon as I found out. You were asleep and what was the point of waking you to give you some wonderful news like that when you won't care about it anyway? He was my father, not yours. I don't want to exhaust you by making you feel obligated to be sad for me. I can do without the pretence," he spits, and then he actually spits on the ground. His voice sounds like poison seething under the surface. I have plenty of that for him too, and if he insists, then I'll give it to him undiluted. I stop walking, my car a few feet away, and it takes a drunk, lengthy second for him to notice.
"That's unfair, L," I tell him as he lazily turns around.
"I am unfair. If it was the other way around, I wouldn't care. Your father is a dick and so was mine. Just one less stain on humanity, I think."
"Shut your face. My father is a good man and he deserves your fucking respect even if you have none for me."
"He deserves none of my respect or anything else," he says loudly. With his newfound energy, he strides away from me, and I find myself walking after him without even considering it.
"Um... Hello? My car's here."
"You're observant." Oh, excellent, lay it on me. Dealing with a petulant man who has soaked his brain in society's endorsed reality buffer is exactly what I wanted.
"L, get in the car. Where do you think you're going?"
"I'm going to Mihael's."
"No, you're not," I sigh, putting my hand on his shoulder to steer him back towards the car instead of the gate, but he shrugs me away as he spins back towards me.
"For once in your life, will you leave me alone? You and your eyelashes."
"Shhh. Stop shouting."
"Shhh yourself and fuck off while you're at it."
"I'm not letting you go to get yourself mugged and killed. Who on earth would I hire to do my PR?"
"Ok. Firstly, if someone tried to kill or mug me or even talk to me right now, they'd be the dead ones, not me. Secondly, or thirdly... I don't know, I've lost count, but Mihael lives around the corner anyway."
"He's probably not even in. Come on, you're being stupid."
"I don't know what you're doing this for. Hanging around on your own for hours like some poor sod who can't accept that he's been stood up. It's not like we've ever been wild with happiness," he says, and it shocks my voice into a pathetically quiet tone.
"We've been happy."
"Light, you'll never be happy. And as for me, I can honestly say that I've never been happy while I've been with you."
I have some words which spring to mind in reply, but they're not the kind you'd say to a drunk unless you want a trip to the hospital. He snorts out a laugh, amused by my apparent loss of words.
"It's true," he says. "Sometimes you like something which isn't good for you. That's what you are to me."
"Stop it."
"You know it's true."
"You're drunk and I'm not listening to you. Just get in the car."
I forcefully take both of his arms in anger to drag him back if I have to. I didn't expect him to have any kind of coordination to fight me with any conviction, so I'm surprised when I see the flash of his watch catching the light like a knife in the dark as he shakes off my hands and grabs me by the throat, marching me backwards and slamming me against the side of a car. The car's alarms go off as my back hits it, and as it does, I feel the full force of L's hand wrapped under my jaw. My hand instinctively covers his like a claw and my neck strains with the thrill of constriction. I think for a moment that by not doing anything in retaliation, it's almost as if I'm helping him. His voice is low and disturbingly calm as he speaks.
"Don't you dare be fucking nice to me. I need to think and I can't do that when you're around."
"Let me go. There are cameras," I say, coughing as my jaw hits his hand when it moves. He hasn't cut off my air, it's just uncomfortable. What makes this worse is how disgusted he looks as he watches and sneers at me from arm's length. I can't kick him because of the camera. If I don't do anything, does that make me look weak? Or if I do knee him, does that make me look like I condone violence? I am a pacifist. I am a pacifist.
"You know, when I see you like this, you're not so special. You're just a completely blank slate which takes on the characteristics of those around you. You like what you're told to like and you do what you're told to do."
"Great, thank you. Now let me go and get in the car."
"Yes, Prime Minister, three bags full, Prime Minister. To me, you'll always be that nobody riding on Mikami's coattails. You're here because I put you here, never forget that. It kills you, doesn't it, being indebted? And you always thought that I was an idiot, didn't you? I used you, not the other way around, and I got what I wanted from you, so don't worry, you owe me nothing. I don't love you. I don't love anyone, so it's pointless you trying to make me do something that I don't want to do, because I could not care less about what you think or say. I know, I know. Yeah, in you I saw a storm coming. I was flattering you, Light. I only said it so you'd get in my bed. Flattery really does get you everywhere. I've been lying to you for a long time. I lie to everyone."
"What else have you lied about?" I ask.
"I couldn't possibly remember it all."
"To me. What have you lied about to me?"
"Again, the instances are far too numerous to recount."
"That's a lie in itself," I say, and see his eyes widen, like he's realised something. The car alarm stops screaming for a breather after realising that nobody is coming to save it, and L lets go off my throat.
"You're such a bastard," he whispers, rubbing his closed eyes with his fingertips. "You know me too well. I'm going to miss you."
"Let's just go," I say, and put my hand on his arm. I should be angry, but I'm not. I want him to take back everything he said and admit that he's just drunk before he passes out, otherwise his words will buzz around my head and never stop. Because there's some truth in there somewhere, it's not just barking noises. But he doesn't do that. He laughs at me.
"My God, you're gullible. You know what people are to me, Light? They're just like this bottle of whiskey. When they're finished, I just get a new one. You're finished. And so am I."
Well fuck him then. When someone walks away, you should let them. He walked away, so I got in my car, went back to my apartment, and haven't thought of him since. I can't sleep because of the throbbing ache in my head which refuses to incinerate itself to nothing. I watch the news but switch it off when my name is mentioned. I find it strange how he's probably drooling whiskey-tinged saliva on a pillow while I can do nothing but sit in a chair. It's like he's passed on some horrible legacy to me and that it's my burden now.
The sun is curving over the buildings outside, casting shafts of light and shadow around the room. My head turns slowly to the side when there's a slow, timid knock at the door, but apart from that, I don't move. I'm not being obstinate, I just want to wait and see if it's worth moving for. A minute later, there's another knock, but more insistent this time. I feel like I'm made of glass until my muscles kick in and remember what they're supposed to be. By that time, I've opened the door and I'm confronted with L looking like rat that's been drowned, stomped on, poisoned and electrocuted.
"I lost my tie," he says.
"And your coat?"
"Yeah. And my jacket. And I've forgotten where I left my car yesterday. But I still have some clothes on and I still have my shoes, so it could be worse."
"You could have just let yourself in. You have a key."
"I didn't know whether you'd want to see me."
"And why wouldn't I want you to wake me up for no reason at six in the morning on my day off?"
"Sorry."
"Getting drunk at my age still has that spark of hedonism, but at your age it's just sad."
"I am sad," he says, looking like he's been dropkicked around the room. I roll my eyes and walk back inside, leaving him him standing in the open doorway. Even after I've sat in the chair again, he's still standing there like a dipshit.
"What? Are you a vampire now?" I ask. "Do you need an invitation? Come the fuck in, Edward."
"I know that this is a cliché," he says, shutting the door behind him, "but I really am sorry and I really didn't mean what I said. I thought that you're supposed to forget all the things you've done if you drink enough. Why does it never work out that way? Maybe you just forget the nice things that you did."
I extend the silence before I speak. I hope it hurts him.
"Painkillers are on the table," I tell him, pointing at a small box so colourful that it would inspire optical pain if you weren't suffering before.
"Why? Do you have one of your headaches?"
"You mean after having you shout in my face and pin me up by the neck again? Yeah, I had a headache. You could have just kicked me in the shin. That would have been appropriately childish and unreasonable."
"I didn't want to hurt you."
"Really? I should thank you then. Thank you for strangling me. Was Mihael home, or did you end up on a park bench?"
"Mihael was there. I fell asleep on his sofa and completely ruined his night, I think."
"That is quite a gift of yours."
"Look, I'd understand if you didn't want me here, but I was really fucking upset and I still am really fucking upset. More so now because of what I said to you. Where are you going?" he asks when I start walking towards the bedroom.
"I'm going back to bed."
"Oh."
The incredibly depressing tone he manages to express in that one word makes me pause and walk back towards him. I'm reluctant to because I was planning on spinning out my sense of mild injury for the purpose of entertainment, but I can't be bothered now. He presses his thumb into the pad of my hand which hangs limply by my side. It's some weak gesture of apology and thanks, I suppose, just because I'm giving him airtime when he expected to be ignored. He reminds me of myself when I'd been prescribed some antibiotics for a chest infection. I was just so delirious and grateful for what I perceived as a kindness that I wanted to kiss my doctor and pass on my disease.
"Give me notice in future if you're going on a bender so I can get the hell out of Tokyo, ok? I'm sorry about your father and your sexual experiences as a teenager and any other issues you have, but don't ever speak to me like that again. You will never be able to find your balls after I've finished kicking them back to kiss your kidneys. God, you look terrible. Brush your teeth."
A few minutes later and under sheets, I hear his footsteps in the room and close my eyes until he sits on the edge of the bed with his back to me. I watch him, silhouetted against the sky, as he chases down some tablets with the glass of water in a pained, shuddering way, like he's arthritic. I think he took four tablets when he's only supposed to have one or two. Maybe he shouldn't have any at all? They're prescription tablets, because the over-the-counter ones never work. Not that these work for me either, most of the time. I remember an article I read about how the pharmaceutical companies put acetaminophen in some medications, which is one of the major causes of liver failure. They do it to kill off the opiate junkies, I think. It doesn't actually work in any way, it's just a poison. Officially, it's there to prevent abuse, but it's never like that really. What if I'm letting him overdose in front of me? I don't know what happens if you take four tablets under normal circumstances, let alone when you're still eighty percent proof. What's the dosage on those things? Maybe he should eat something or, no, he might be sick. Maybe he should be sick so then -
"I'm sorry that I made you a part of that, Light," he says, interrupting my train of thought and replacing it with a new one.
He shouldn't be sorry. Lord Bastard should be sorry, and I'll make him sorry for what he's done to me. I wish Astbury despair, and he'll get it. It'll be my present to him before his inevitable slow and painful death. One of the only good things about being forced to stay awake is that my mind ticks like a fucked clock. I find some of my greatest, furthest-reaching plans this way. They just come to me like lost souls wandering under a big sky, and when I find them, they bring a calm certainty. I wonder if all this shows through my eyes and that L can see it from where he is. I like to watch him in the silence and see his awkwardness within it. What I know of love is that it's rage; a sort of floundering seizure of rage without direction. It will not be put in order. It will not listen to reason. I think, perhaps, that it wants to kill you. I don't know when it changed me, but I miss who I was before. Maybe the trick of living a long life is to be loveless. I can almost feel the years seeping away.
"Do you want to ask me anything?" he mumbles, like he doesn't want an answer but thinks that he has to ask anyway. My legs feel strangely heavy and stiff, having been crossed over the other one for a long time in that chair. I don't think that I moved an inch for hours and hours, come to think of it.
"Like what? Will you marry me?" I ask, ratcheting my dry lips across my dry teeth as he laughs and lies down, facing me. "No, the defence rests, your honour. I mean, you're obviously not feeling great right now, so that question's redundant. Don't worry. You won't see Astbury again."
He looks at me with some deep-rooted concern that makes me want to tell him that I've killed Astbury, just to see what his reaction would be. But it would be a lie, unfortunately.
"What have you done?"
"Nothing yet. I'm still in the planning stages. Still, he's out of the country and if he's not gone by Wednesday, then I'll have him arrested. There have to be some perks to this job."
"And for what reason would you have him deported?"
"I don't want him here."
"You can't get rid of everyone you don't like. Believe me, I've tried."
"We'll see."
"Just leave it, really. I appreciate it, but don't. I saw him a month ago in Ginza and I just crossed the road. He was invited to the club by that ingratiating little man in Culture, apparently."
"That knob. He knows that he can't invite civilians to the club but he keeps doing it anyway. He's going to get it in the neck on Monday."
"Ha! Civilians. Sack him."
"I'm going to reshuffle him to death. But why did you speak to Astbury? You made me sit at a table with someone like that. You poured him a fucking drink."
"I couldn't resist speaking to him. It seemed like fate that I see him today of all days. Life has decided to give me a pummeling."
"Why didn't you take him to court?"
"Light, you're taking about him like he's a rapist. He's severely lacking in basic morality, but he's not that, not really. It was a case of an older man with an agenda, and a curious boy who was looking for attention and got out of his depth. I don't hate him anymore. I hated him once, but mostly because my father sided with him instead of me, it's as simple as that. Time has not treated him kindly, so there's some poetic justice there at least. He has some terrible clothes and I've no idea what's going on with his hair, but he wasn't that bad to look at back then, if you like that sort of thing. Can't say the same for his personality though. Looking at him now, you'd think he was a lovely old grandfather to someone."
"I wouldn't say that. None of that makes any difference anyway. You're making excuses for him just to shut me up so we can forget all about it."
He looks at me like he did in my dream. 'Isn't this funny?'
"Oh. Your face. Come here," he sighs, pulling my head towards him to kiss my forehead. I feel an impending satisfaction of vengeance. I think of Astbury sobbing and not knowing why so many bad things have happened to him. "Don't feel sorry for me, please," L says into my hair. "Everything I've ever done has been for a reason. I used Astbury for a few reasons, but it was mostly to get my father's attention. I wanted to shock him into some display which would show that he cared for me, but he didn't, so there you go. I'll never know if he did now."
"I'm sorry about your father dying and everything, but he was a dick."
"Thanks," he grins tiredly. "Hey, tell me a secret. You know some of mine now. Make it an interesting one."
I kiss the base of his throat and the stubble on my neck drags against his shirt. We must look like gay hobos dressed in stolen clothes in this freezing room. His feet are like sculpted ice under the covers. I have no idea what to tell him, so I say the first thing that comes into my head.
"Sometimes I want to erase everyone so there's no one left except you and me."
"And bang goes your electorate," he laughs softly. "I've been a shit, haven't I? Did I hurt you?"
"In what way?"
"Your neck."
"Oh. No."
"How long were you waiting at the club? Two hours?"
"It doesn't matter."
"You wouldn't have waited five minutes for me once. I remember it, actually. It was three years ago or something. I was a couple of minutes late and you'd already left. It was ok, it just made me step up my game, but now you wait for two hours in a place that you hate until I turn up, and I'm a bastard even then. You could make me complacent. "
"Yeah, yeah."
"Still, in a lot of ways, I think I preferred you before. You were yourself then, and now you don't know what you are. I always destroy things."
"You haven't," I say dismissively. "If it makes you feel any better, I was five minutes away from leaving."
"Good. You should have. That does make me feel better."
"How's your carpet burn, by the way?" I ask, turning his face to one side. There's definitely a darker, angry-looking mark there which makes me take in an amused intake of breath. "Ooooh, nasty. Sorry." I slap the side of his face lightly as I click my tongue with guilt.
"I've had worse. I can't even feel my face now anyway. These painkillers of yours are fucking amazing things," he tells me. I don't know about that. I've probably taken a few years off his life by accident.
"I suppose that you're going to tell B all about it."
"If I called him every time I'm injured in battle then I'd be on the phone most of the time. I told him about my father this afternoon, but that's it."
"So you could phone him."
"I wasn't avoiding you. Well, yeah, I was. B's just very good in a crisis and I don't know how you're going to react to anything from one second to the next. He told me not to drink and to go home, and did I do either of those things? No. Ah, that reminds me, don't pay me for yesterday. I did absolutely no work."
"Noted."
"I had a photo of my father and I, so I was looking for it. It took me a long time to accept that it's missing. I just needed to find it, but it's gone."
Oh shit. No, it's ok, I can get the photo from the Kantei and hide it under some papers in his office. He'll just think that he overlooked it when he finds it on Monday. I'm going to move the PR department to the offices at the Kantei anyway; it just makes sense. PR is one of the most important areas for a Prime Minister and I should have them close to hand, so to speak.
"It can't be gone," I say. "It's probably under all that shit on your desk. Ask the cleaner next week."
"Why would she have it?"
"I don't know. She might have dropped it so she's getting the glass replaced."
"No. No, she wouldn't do that. It was the only one I had that didn't make one or both of us look like we were a taxidermy exercise gone wrong. I don't know if B has a copy. He took the photo, which is another reason that I liked it."
"It'll turn up, L. You wouldn't be able to find anything in your office if you were hitting the vodka all day. Leave it until Monday. You'll find it."
"I don't think so, not now. You know what's funny? It's always been on my desk, wherever I've been, always. It's been there since I was eighteen and I often wished that it wasn't, but I kept it there all the same. Now, the one time I want to see it, it's not there. Why do you think that is?"
"If you don't look after your things then you shouldn't be surprised if they go missing."
"You're right. Again," he nods. It's nothing that can't be rectified on Monday, but I wish I could get the photo for him now. I regret taking it. I don't even know why I did. He'll just think that I was being vindictive if I admitted to it, and I don't think that I was. Well, maybe a little bit. It just felt like it was mine. "How was the House today?" he asks.
"Fine. You missed a good show."
"I'm sorry about that too. I like your shows."
"I slaughtered that complete shit," I say, the glory sliding between my teeth.
"In the opposition? I'm guessing that you didn't slaughter one of your own party's shits. In public, anyway."
"It was a good moment."
"So, you had a good day and I ruined it."
"You just gave me a headache. I have good fucking ideas but they'll argue against everything if they weren't the ones to think of it."
"Hmmm... They do that," he says, his attention drifting.
"What are you thinking?"
"Me? Oh, sorry. I was wondering what people will say about me when I die."
"That's uplifting. They'll probably say: 'That man was ninety percent sugar and ten percent bastard,'" I reply, and my smile hurts my face because of how broad it is. My head feels congealed with a kind of manic overtiredness. Cold air hits my teeth but I can't stop laughing, even though it's not that funny really.
"I'm glad that you think that my obituary is so funny, Light," he says, curving himself along my side. I rest my chin on the top of his head, since it's there. His hair feels soft and thick in these sensitive early mornings as his breath ghosts warmly across my chest. "Tell me what you're going to do."
"Tomorrow? I have a meeting about having a kitchen fitted and I've got to talk about security. That's as interesting as it gets."
"No, I mean about Kiyomi," he says, laying his arm across me. His finger presses into a gap between my ribs like he's trying to wake me up to the enormity of what he sees as a problem. He hasn't asked about Kiyomi and I haven't spoken about her. Everyone must have read about her sister's funeral and fuckups in the paper, so he couldn't have avoided that, but we've acted as if she doesn't exist. There are just fleeting mentions which I brush off like leaves.
"I don't have to do anything about her. She's not back for another week," I answer.
"This situation is so convenient for you. The universe wants you to have an easy life. And now you're Prime Minister, just like you wanted."
"The universe throws situations at me and I just make the best of them."
"Are you saying that I'm the best that you could come up with?" he asks. I breathe out a laugh and kiss his hair. His brain is under there somewhere.
"I knew that you'd come around eventually, you stupid bastard," I tell him, and his body goes limp beside me as he sighs. Yes, it must be annoying to realise that your righteous indignation crumbles so easily. I can only imagine.
"I was interested in seeing this out and that's the only reason I'm here. Well, that, and to apologise. You also have a bed and I needed to lie down."
I draw away from him so I can see his face, which he doesn't seem to like, so he rolls onto his back again and stares at the ceiling.
"What do you mean, see it out?"
"We'll just see less and less of each other until eventually you won't even recognise me on the street. It happens. I was always making small talk with men and they had to remind me that I was in love with them once and said that I'd never leave them. David, for example."
"Who's David?"
"Oh, David! Now then, there's a story."
"Do I need popcorn for this?"
"Maybe. I don't know why but he's been in my mind today and he has no reason to be, considering. I haven't thought about him for years, but I suppose he's relevant right now. He was too kind to me and I wasn't used to it. My father was... I don't know. I loved him more than he loved me. Or maybe he did, but he never showed it. And I grew up like that, the same as him. People like that mould you into versions of themselves. And my mother was just not there at all, as you know. David turned up at the wrong time for me. No, it was the right time. If it wasn't for him, I wouldn't be here with you now - I would have pissed off years ago. He gave me the concept of patience. But when I've thought about him, it's always been from the perspective of me, as I was; some kind of feral, hungry for success, affection-starved brat. And now I have this new perspective. His perspective."
"Why?"
"It doesn't matter," he breathes out, and my face rises and falls with it before he speaks. "So, David was and still is, for all I know, a human rights lawyer. This was years ago, when I was a student. I have no idea where he is now, but I wouldn't be surprised if he was knitting in a monastery or something like that. He was thirty-something and should have known better, and I was... nineteen? Twenty? God, I can't remember, it was so long ago. The Germans wore grey, he wore blue, all that. I probably wore a fucking Umbro t-shirt. I don't remember a lot of it because I was off my head most of the time, but I must have been quite taken because I skipped an exam so I could follow him around. Of course, it ended badly; the exam skipping and him. He went to Africa on some charitable mission like a moron."
"Oh, one of those people."
"Yes. He was the most honest, selfless, decent person I've ever met. Always took cases on for nothing, so he was always going to be poor, but he didn't mind. He was a brilliant lawyer, really. I don't know what I was thinking. He made me realise that I was born to be a horrible person, so I should thank him for that. Before then, I actually thought that I was quite nice, and it's not good to be so self-deceptive. Something about those people make you think that you could be better though, and that they could make you better. Anyway, I remember crying myself into a pint glass for a few weeks after he left and it was all very dramatic because I do like a good bit of drama sometimes to heat up the room. I played 'Don't Go to Strangers' and The Carpenters over and over again until my neighbours in the flat below me moved out. Karen Carpenter knew my pain. He left me his record collection, so that's where I got my truly appalling taste in music that you're so fond of. I wanted to like what he liked, and if I didn't like it then I'd convince myself that I did. After he left, I went on some glorious self-destruct course and did a lot of terrible and entertaining things, including one of my lecturers, as it happens. Funny how things repeat themselves. Then it was all career; chasing things that didn't matter, people who didn't matter, and I wouldn't let them matter. And I was like that for a long time. I'd probably still be like that."
I yawn away from him and smile at how stupid he is. He takes on other people's meaningless tastes for sentimental reasons, formed by nurture rather than nature. I wonder if any of us are ever truly original if even L can't make his mind up for himself.
"Who's Karen Carpenter? I thought you meant that you went in for a lot of woodwork and there's a certain type of music for that."
"Shut up, idiot child. You're annoying the grown-up with your wilful ignorance. 'I love you in a place where there's no space or time. I love you, for in my life, you are a friend of mine. And when my life is over, remember when we were together,'" he recites, like it's poetry. I hope that they're just terrible lyrics and not a hungover declaration. Then he sighs wistfully and I feel like someone's shat in the bed.
"God," I breathe out, looking back at the blank ceiling. If you stare at it for too long you could make yourself believe that you're blind. "That's fucking atrocious."
"Cue sax solo. Of course you'd think that it's sentimental."
"It does sound sentimental."
"I'd love to have found you after you'd had your heart broken," he says sadly. "This would be so different then. But that wouldn't happen, you're too clever. I've just found you at the wrong time. You need someone to rip your heart out, and maybe I'll do that so someone else will benefit from it."
"Whatever you say. All I know is that it would take five weightlifters to strap me into a chair before I'd listen to that shit."
"How do you know it's shit? You've never heard it and you have no soul, so be quiet. I also thought that 'Goodbye Yellow Brick Road' was written just for me. I was going through a retro phase and was fond of barbiturates at the time, which might explain it. Do you even have a favourite song?"
I think about it for a moment, but nothing springs to mind, so I shrug it off.
"I don't think so," I say, and he's appalled.
"No? What about a favourite film? A book?"
"Not that I can think of. Why?"
"God, you're not human," he sighs.
"I just don't have favourite things. So, David ripped your heart out and gave you his shitty record collection. So much for him being an amazing person."
"You've missed the point; it wasn't necessarily a bad thing and it wasn't his fault. Nobody wants it to happen, but it's... yeah. I was young, so a few months seemed like forever and I felt that I was being abandoned again. It all goes back to your childhood, doesn't it? So predictable. Earlier on, I was thinking how my relationship with David started out similarly to how mine started out with you, like a role reversal, only he had good intentions and I had nothing of the sort. No, I was like you in a lot of ways. I was looking for opportunities and saw him as a bit of a meal ticket, but ended up liking him more than I had expected. When he left, I was sure that my heart was broken and I developed an irrational hatred of fair trade products. Fast forward a good few years and I walked right past dear David. He chased after me and was very upset that I was so inconstant and defending a serial rapist in one of my first high-profile cases."
"What?"
"I won. It wasn't my fault that I convinced the jury of his innocence only for him to go out and reoffend a couple of months later. I was made a partner because of that case."
"I wish that I hadn't asked," I say, my face heavy with a set-in frown. I think of the repercussions and misery L had a hand in. He saved that man unjustly, with no sense of morality or shame. The man reoffended but couldn't be tried again for previous crimes, so he'd serve a lower sentence than he should have. My headache rages and splits above my eyes suddenly, making me feel sick again.
L laughs, not knowing how close I am to heaving since my expresson must just be that of a quiet bitter pill. He arches forwards to kiss me briefly before flopping on his back again like he's attached to a bungee cord.
"You don't like it when I tell you things like that, do you? You always look so disappointed. Not so much with me, but as though you're responsible somehow. It's a bit late for me to find a conscience now. When a court decides that someone is innocent, then they are, even if they're guilty. If I was on the other side, I would have won then too because they were just incompetent with their circumstantial evidence. But I'm telling you about David because... I think that I'm out of my tree right now. And also because I'm trying to say that things which seem very intense at the time, don't stay that way. Human nature dictates that people like you and I can't stop and smell the roses. There are no fucking roses. Something more interesting will come along as we tire of each other, and I'm expecting it any day now. You don't need me anymore to help you with your career, and I can't compete with a girl in a pair of Louboutin's. David is the reason I changed my mind and didn't fuck off like my instincts told me to, because then I would have told you to fuck off."
"I won't point out that you have told me to fuck off several times, but I'm glad that you didn't fuck off," I tell him, but he just laughs at me. "You don't believe me, do you? You don't believe a single word I say."
"Can you blame me?" he asks, still laughing at me. For some reason it hurts right to my fibres and makes me want to put the TV on while I drown him in the bath, so I rub my forehead instead. There's a pressure cooker inside me and the violence is so close, just chained down. The chains rattle for the strangest reasons. I don't like him preaching to me. I do and don't want to know about David and some pervert who fucked him when he was fifteen. It's annoying that he's telling me all this like he's imparting some great message of enlightenment which will make me wake up tomorrow with a new take on life.
"I thought that you'd know what to believe and what not to believe," I say. The sadness shows through in my voice, I think, but he still sounds like he's dying from humour.
"Why would I know that, Light? You don't have a little LED on your head to let me know when you're lying and when you're not, so I just presume that you're lying all the time. It's easier that way."
"Oh. Well. I can't do anything about that."
"It's ok. When I was your age, I was just like you. I loved my career more than anything because it's one long race to win and prove that you're better than everyone else, right? But, you know, like with David, he wanted me to go with him to some godforsaken place to inoculate children and donkeys or something, and I just didn't want to. I don't give a shit about children or donkeys or anything else, and I wasn't any different then. I wanted to stay in London and carry on the way I was. He was a distraction, and that's what I am to you. I'm asking too much of you at this point in time. Now I want to find out where David is and say: 'Listen, sorry that I was such a twat back then. Some bloke's doing the same thing to me as I did to you, and I'm sorry, because it must have hurt like a bitch. I wasn't worth it. Do you want your record collection back?'"
"Don't find him."
"I'm not going to, don't worry. I just want to go to sleep and wake up in a few years when you're older and you know what I know. Live a bit, Light. Be a fucking idiot and get your heart broken, then come back and wake me up."
"I'd like to know what you know that I haven't worked out after thirty years of life. You're only thirty-seven."
"It's not because I have a few years on you, it's that I've lived and you haven't. Life threw itself at me and I took it home. You told life that you weren't in and gave it directions to someone else's house. I just know that it means nothing, all this. Your apartments and houses and wages and cars and suits; they're just nice things. You think they're important now but they're not."
"I know that."
"Are you just filling your time with it? I know what that's like."
"I know what's important."
"What's important, Light?" he asks. I look at his hand which is sort of curled on the bed, and I want it hold it and the branch of veins that stand out, meeting, running up his arm and disappearing. After waiting for a minute, the hand lifts and I watch it come towards me like it's not attached to anything. The fingertips touch my face gently and I turn to L as he rolls on his side towards me. "If I left, what would you do?"
"Erm... wait until you came back?" I say, and laugh when he does. "Ha! I don't fucking know! What do you mean?"
"I was just thinking that maybe I could wait, but I hate waiting for anything, especially for things I can't rely on. You might be different in a few years. In my head, you'll get this career thing out of your system and then you'll think: 'Shit! I wish L was here,' but I won't be there. And then maybe you'll divorce Kiyomi and resign. Maybe you'll turn up on my doorstep one day."
"I'll always be on your doorstep."
"I'd like that. I really would. But it won't happen," he replies sadly but, in his usual way, he covers it with a smile and blinks slowly as he turns away. "The stars are not aligned," he breathes out.
"We're ok."
"Of course we're not ok, you idiot," he shouts suddenly. "I'm fucking furious with you. Why can't you see that? I can't put the intensity of my hatred for you into words."
"But... Hold on, you said -"
"Light, never forget that if I'm anything, I'm a liar. I lie constantly, and only to amuse or save myself. I've put up with you because I thought that you might get your head together one day, but you're not going to, are you. What hurts me is that it's not because you're being stubborn so much as you're just genuinely confused. You don't know what love is and you wouldn't know it if you felt it. You wouldn't know it if it hit you over the head with a mallet. You'd just twist it into something ugly instead because it'd be easier to deal with."
"For God's sake, will you lay off blahing on about this same old thing over and over again? I don't know what you expect me to do."
"I don't expect to do anything, that's the problem. This is the last time, I promise. If you believe that Kiyomi and your job aren't factors, because, let's face it, they're the same thing, then that's sad. And if you think that I'll believe that Kiyomi and your job aren't factors, then you're an idiot. Either way, I'm fucked. You won't wait for me and I won't wait for you. Never mind though, eh? We'll always have Paris."
"Don't think that I don't see what you're trying to do. Everything sounds like a goodbye from you and I won't have it, so get it out of your head. I'm sorry that your father's dead and that you find it necessary to speak to Lord Shit and get pissed, but don't start this with me again. For your sake, don't. If you run away from me, you'll die of it eventually and you know it."
"I'll die if I stay and I'll die if I go?" he asks, and I'm surprised that he has no other words left and just lies there, and that makes me regret saying anything. I'm starting to think that I should just nod my head and agree with everything he says instead, because he'll never be happy otherwise. I hate that he's not saying anything now, so I'll take him somewhere else. I climb on top of him and hold him there. It's like a dream I had once. I lower my head to kiss him until he moans into my mouth in a way that is to be felt more than heard, and open my eyes to see his closed. It makes me think of all the funerals I've ever been to, and every open coffin.
"Don't start, just don't. Don't fight me."
"We'll forget about it," he says. "But you have to make a decision soon, and I'll be the loser, I know. It's the way things are. But until then, yeah, no fighting."
I tell him that he's not a loser, or maybe I don't. Existence crashes headlong into me when his mouth is on mine, and I realise how inappropriate this is. His dead father might as well be in the room with us. We should be drinking endless cups of coffee and sitting in silence until the old man ascends or descends to wherever he's been judged to go. L's hungover, or maybe still a bit drunk, and I fed him poison as well. No, they're tablets, it's ok, I take them all the time. It was an accident. I don't make mistakes. Why do I care anyway? I've been with a palette of men and women in my time, spanning ages as colours do, and I don't know what makes me him so different. I want nothing in my head, so I'm fighting thoughts away, not concentrating on what he's doing until my own unexpected gasp breaks my control of him and he controls me instead. My stomach muscles clench, I feel sweat beginning to push through my pores, my forehead presses against his and I hold the bed frame above his head so I don't collapse from this one disgustingly simple touch of his hand. I hardly hear him. All I can hear is myself.
"Oh. For me," he whispers. "And after all this time."
"After all this time."
Everything I own has a neon yellow sticker attached with 'keep' or 'sell' written on it.
Not many people are in the place we end up in, and we sit in a dark corner so I can take off my sunglasses and have some hope of remaining unnoticed. L puts his phone on the table next to him, which he never does, and annoyingly keeps pressing it alive every ten minutes or so. We both look like we're close to death. He's wearing a coat and shirt of mine which hang off him in strange places over trousers he's worn for twenty-four hours. He wouldn't take one of my suits so I could dress him entirely in my clothes. His trousers smell of rain, old whiskey and me.
Just as I'm about to place some rice in my mouth, I see something unpleasant across the room.
"Shit."
"What?" L asks, lifting up some rice from his plate and peering as if there might be something better underneath.
"Jeevas and Mikami are over there. Why is Mikami always with him? He hates him."
"I don't know, because they have so many drugs in common? Shouldn't Jeevas be on honeymoon though? We should leave. He'll put me off my coffee," he says grumpily, turning to look. When he turns back he taps his phone and apparently doesn't like the time. "Actually, I better go anyway. Light -"
"No, they've noticed us," I interrupt as I stand up. "I'll have to go over. We've just had a game of tennis, ok?"
"Haven't we always? We really do play a lot of tennis. It's early though, were we playing at dawn? They're going to expect us to go pro at this rate."
"You stay here then."
"And miss this? Never. I'll pay and be over in a minute. Don't say anything insulting to him until I get there."
We leave in different directions at the same time, and I slide past the narrow aisle of empty chairs and tables until I reach Jeevas and Mikami. Naomi's here too, but I didn't notice her at first. All I see is a pair of heavily made-up eyes and all the bones sticking out of her chest. So this is a honeymoon in Jeevas' estimation? I had some part in it because I refused to give him time off, even unpaid. He's had what days he was entitled to already and this is his punishment for being Jeevas.
"Small world. Mikami, Naomi," I mumble. My eyelids are already heavy with lack of sleep and boredom. Jeevas' company is the equivalent of going to a skiffle concert.
"Hi, Light!" Naomi replies cheerfully like I've saved her from a fate worse than death. I suppose that I have.
"I'm surprised to see you up and about so early in the day, Jeevas."
"We went to a concert last night," Naomi tells me. That explains her drawn, gaunt face and her bedraggled, all-nighter clothes.
"Yagami. Speak of the devil," Jeevas says, and sucks something off his thumb. God. "We were just discussing your complete lack of a sex life."
"How nice of you. It's just a shame that you know absolutely nothing about my sex life."
"What with Kiyomi away and all. How are you coping?" he asks, with dramatic and patronising concern. I am waiting for the best he can give me. My slightly injured, nettled mood is perfect for Jeevas right now, and the place is otherwise empty, so I can rip him to shreds without restraint.
"That, Jeevas, is my business, not yours. I'm not interested in you or your sexual conundrums concerning me in the dark recesses of your mind."
"Yagami..." Mikami starts. He looks like he has something important to ask me and I think that I know what it is.
"I haven't forgotten, Mikami. Don't worry," I tell him. It covers all bases anyway. Jeevas jumps in when he sees L.
"Morning, Lawliet. Let me guess, tennis? You both look like shit."
"Light plays a good but tiring game," L replies.
"I'm sure that he's fucking marvellous at all things, it's just expertly disguised with ineptitude and gay supermodel poses."
"Gay supermodel poses?" I repeat. The accusation of ineptitude doesn't bother me because that's obviously baseless, but what the very fuck gay supermodel poses?
"I approve of gay supermodels, obviously. And their poses," L sighs. I'm not sure if it's his way of defending me or he's just stating a fact of life and doesn't see how the comparison might not be a flattering one for me. "Sometimes it's the only way I can get through the day."
"Jeevas was just considering my sex life, L," I explain, deciding to skirt around the whole matter and fixate on the one with the most mileage and opportunity for slaughter. I have to pose, it's part of my job. Knuckle dragging dickhead.
"Oh, really? Well, I'm no one to comment, but I'm sure that it's stunning," L says, looking tiredly amused while putting on the coat I gave him.
"It's not bad. Thanks for your concern, Jeevas, but there's really no need for you to worry."
"I'm not worried about you, Yagami."
"You should be. I feel that I have to remind you of who I am and that it's really not appropriate for you to think about my personal life. I can't stop you, of course, but you really should just mull it over on your own with a box of Kleenex rather than discuss it with people, because, as I say, remember who I am. Have you forgotten that you're supposed to work in Foreign Affairs? I hate to break it to you, but your job entails the promotion of our interests abroad and building relations with other countries. It doesn't mean that you should fuck them in their respective consulates. Yes, I heard about that."
"Hey!" Naomi blurts out, looking very offended for some reason.
"Sorry, Naomi, but you've married a moron. I meant to tell you before you married him." She could do better and I should have told her. She has done better in the past, but he just had to go off and get himself killed, didn't he.
Jeevas starts shouting at me in English. I catch the occasional word, but mostly it's just a glottal stopping mess that a native speaker would have trouble making sense of. I hold up my hand to interrupt him.
"Excuse me, I need a translator. L, would you do the honours? What is he saying to me?"
"It's not very complimentary," he tells me.
"I'll tell you in your own language then," Jeevas says, standing up, hand on hip. "You're a prick."
"Careful, or I'll have to recommend that you be removed from your department. I think that I can do that now. What do you think, L?"
"You're the boss. On a personal note, I think that it would be a wise decision. It's not like he holds a seat and his ability is negligible, even in a barbershop choir pimp sort of way."
"Good point, well made. He scrabbled into politics like a fascist rat down a drainpipe which is lubricated with nepotism. Maybe you should consider a career change, Jeevas? You don't look well. And you're a bastard. I think it's all getting a bit too much for you and I need people who can give their all to my government."
"Light -" Naomi begs, but Jeevas can't stop himself.
"Fine, Yagami. You do that. And I'll tell them that you're a jealous, bitter piece of shit. Let's see who they listen to."
"That's sounds great to me. Good luck with that, and make sure that you're packed up and out of your office first thing on Monday morning."
"Matt, please. Let's just stop, hey? Time fucking out," Naomi demands, taking Jeevas' arm and pulling him away. It seems like it's over, but then he turns around and starts shouting again.
"And you know what? Like anyone believes that you've got a sex life, even when Kiyomi's in town. What sex life? You're probably being banged by old Lawliet here."
"Less of the 'old', please," L says, "The technical term is mature. You know, I'm not sure if you two are aware that all this animosity is coming across as compelling sexual tension. I'm not complaining, I'd just rather that you weren't involved, Jeevas."
"Piss off. You're just the same as him. Wanker," Jeevas hisses. I look at Naomi, whose eyes are impossibly large and frightened as if she knows what I'm going to say.
"Naomi, would you mind telling your orchestra of lazy sperm about the four times that we -"
"SHUTHEFUCKUPLIGHT!"
"Don't bring my wife into your delusions," Jeevas says, pointing a bony finger in my face to emphasise every point. "You. Wish. That's your problem, Yagami. You're just some boring bastard and a closet fag. Misa told me about you." He smiles smugly and turns around like he's been waiting his whole life to say that to me. This is his idea of a coup d'état in a Sergio Leone film. The credits roll as he walks into the sunset. Like fuck they will.
"Hey, Jeevas?" I call after him, and he faces me again.
"What?"
"Fuck off, you depraved village idiot without a village, and in that direction. When you reach the sea, keep fucking off until you hit land. And if you don't drown, please come and find me so I can tell you to fuck off all over again."
"It was you who sent me that memo with a link to that 'How to Fuck Off' wiki page!" he shouts. I have no idea what he's talking about. I do remember a general email sent to all departments which had 'FAO Jeevas' as the subject heading, and for that reason, I didn't read it. I wish that I had now.
"No, that was me," L admits. "I saw it and thought of you."
"Ok. Hold my coat, Naomi, love. I have some shit to kick," Jeevas laughs. I'm not sure if he means me or L, but I'm more than willing to step forward.
"If I wasn't sure that I'd catch a venereal disease if I touched you, I'd cut your cock off and use it to stir my espresso and pick my teeth with it afterwards."
"You're going to need a bigger cup."
"An egg cup might be a better fit. Maybe I could borrow one from your mother after she's finished fucking you and all the other interbred, loose-toothed, pink pony fucking, grandmother mugging, vagina-faced, vomit guzzling, baby killing, rectal smears within driving distance. Every single cell of you is ugly."
"Oh, Jesus. You know World War Two? That was funnier than you are, Yagami."
"You're the scientific proof that there is no God and you're solely responsible for the suicide rate in this country. Every time I breathe the same air as you I want to press a big red button on some nuclear warheads."
"Suck my balls until they grind your teeth down, fuckface."
"Fuck yourself running with a sandpaper condom in a shit burning incinerator."
"You wank off over babies' coffins."
"You can only get an erection if Ronald McDonald sticks a red-hot tuba up your arse and calls you Susan."
"Your hair is stupid," he says. His face is red and it's getting redder. After the initial tumbleweed passes by, there's a vowel laden sound of disappointment and shame from the onlookers and I start to laugh, almost hysterically.
"What?! My hair is stupid? That's the best you have? You're funny in a way that would be funny if it wasn't so unintentional. In the past, people like you were dragged through the streets by a horse and cart while everyone threw vegetables at them on public holidays. It's something that I should consider reinstating."
"Punch a Jeevas Day," L nods approvingly.
Jeevas can only breathe while I feel a burning sense of victory which is wasted on him. Naomi drags him towards the bar and Mikami smiles at me before he follows them. I am full of energy and it just pools inside of me. I'm so glad that I came here, but now I have to go, it's too much to be contained in this building. I have that meeting with an interior designer who's going to fit the new kitchen for when Kiyomi comes back, and I've just decided that I want black to be the main colour scheme. Kiyomi won't like it, but she will just have to live with it. I walk towards the exit because I am fucking done here. Mikami, Jeevas and Naomi are long gone, and L races to catch up with me as I walk down the stairs.
"Well! That was more entertaining than I expected," he says casually. "I thought that you were just going to say hello. I am very impressed."
"I hate him," I tell him. And I do. All the hatred I feel for him shudders through me, making my voice jittery and breathy like dubstep. He's nothing. He's not even a toe bone of the man Penber was, and what is Naomi doing in using him as a replacement? "I'm only waiting for him to die, then I'll piss on the flowers on his grave. God, I hate him. No, not hate. I despise him."
"Yes, I gathered. You're not alone there," L assures me. "You're strangely charming when you're insulting people too. Quite special really."
"Do you mean special in inverted commas?"
"No, just your regular shop brand special."
"Is my hair stupid?" I ask.
"Of course not! Maybe you could cut down on the hair products, but I'm very fond of your hair. You're not actually taking any notice of what he says, are you?"
"Yeah, right. But, y'know, it's my hair. I mean, that's fucking low."
"Terrible insult, yes. Oh shit, look at the time. Wait a second," he says, grabbing my arm to stop me. I push past him and keep walking. I don't have time for this and I need to get outside. "Light, I have to tell you something."
"I'm running late, L. Can it wait until later?"
"Not really, I'm late too. I'm, um, I'm going abroad for a while," he mumbles. It takes a second for the word 'abroad' to sink in, and when it does, I stop dead.
"Whoa, what? What and where and why and no fucking way."
"I have to go to London to sort some things out."
"Why do you have to... Oh! For the funeral! Ok, I understand. Sorry, I should have thought of that. I'll clear it with HR. You should have told me earlier though."
"I rarely do what I should," he says. "I don't know, I just didn't feel like it. It wouldn't have changed anything. I wanted to spend this time without thinking about it and what I'm doing. I like to deal with these things on my own. Anyway, I've made some arrangements and have someone to cover for me so -"
"You think that I'm pissed off because you haven't given me any notice for work? You have to go, of course you do. Take as much time as you need but not too much and...fuck! Just give me a second to get my head around this. Right. When are going?"
"Now, actually."
"Today?"
"I'm sorry. I'll send your shirt and coat back. I'll wash them, don't worry."
"But. When will you be back? A week will be enough, right? This is utter shit. You can't wash that coat; it's a hundred percent wool and it's dryclean only. No, this is utter shit. Kiyomi comes back in a week and you'll be in London. Your father had the worst timing, L."
"Yes, but I can't really complain to him about it now, can I."
"I suppose not. Right, ok. How long will you be gone?"
"Well, that's a bit of a sore point. I'll probably be a few months."
"L!" I shout.
"Shhh... remember where you are," he tells me quietly. He grasps my elbow tightly and starts walking both of us towards the door as he talks quickly and unemotionally at first, looking straight ahead like he's been preparing for this and brought an autocue just in case he forgets his lines. "Cut that shit out right now. I'm going and I don't want any scenes. You have no control over this and you need to get used to that. Surrender to the feeling. It's nice, isn't it? Just don't make this more difficult for me, ok? I have to sort out my father's estate and our firm in London. You'd think that as an ex-judge he would have made out a will that wouldn't leave room for vultures, wouldn't you? Noooo, way too much to hope for. My complete shit of a brother, Deneuve, and some of our partners have contested, and my other shit of a brother smells money and looks like he's taking Deneuve's side. The poor bastard's only been dead twenty-four hours, for fuck's sake," he exhales.
"You don't have to be there the whole time. Can't you work on it from here?" I ask before realising that I'm not being very sympathetic when I should be. I'm trying to remember how long probate takes in this country but my head is so full of noise that my thoughts don't run in a straight line from question to answer like they normally do. "I'm sorry. Can I do anything?"
"Kill my brothers? No, no, I'll do that, figuratively speaking. But, yes, explanation. It looks like they want to split up the firm or sell it off entirely and buy me out. Nothing like a global financial crisis to bring out the mercenary in everyone. This would have an effect, not only on the London branch, but all of them, and that's my livelihood so, y'know, I have to bring all the fury and win, don't I. I also want my father's house because he promised it to me. The thought of Deneuve getting it and moving his hat trick of mutants in there makes me want to set fire to the place instead. His bat-faced wife is probably rooting through the silver as we speak. She's such a patronising shit, sending me yellow skinny jeans for Christmas. Bitch."
"Your family is horrible."
"Yes. I slept with her darling 'Timmy's not gay, he's just sensitive!' brother five years ago though, and believe me, it was not a pleasant experience. And he gave me the clap. I've been waiting for the opportunity to tell her face to face if she ever crossed me again. Now I can paint her a picture, so there's one silver lining to this whole thing. I don't know, Light. I probably have several court cases to deal with as well as arrange a funeral, because no one seems to have thought of that. God, why did we have to walk? There's one of those elevators over there, you know? So, yes, there you go, you're up to speed. I'm not having the best day. On top of that, the only seat I could get on the plane is in economy. In short, I'm pretty fucked off."
"How long exactly will this take?"
"A while."
"You said that. I want a timeframe."
"I can't give you one. Probate, business ownership and contesting of wills just crossover into a massive clusterfuck. I really don't know how long it'll take right now and I don't want to think about it because it's all up in the air, isn't it. But what I was thinking last night is that it's a good thing. It's a good thing. It's a full stop, isn't it? Full stop, new paragraph," he says, convincing himself because I'm not offering any reassurance. I don't know what he means and I refuse to walk like this anymore; this sort of half-hearted race outside with his tangling words which I can't take in. I feel like I've splintered into insects and they're crawling the walls inside my head because I don't like how anxious he is. It can't be that bad.
"L, just slow down," I tell him, pulling him to one side to stand still for a minute. "I can't understand you. You're talking too fast and you don't make any sense."
"Sorry," he breathes, and forces himself to calm down a little by tapping his bottom lip obsessively as he speaks. "I mean that if I leave now, then it's a good thing. It's better this way because I have a genuine reason to go and it's nothing to do with you -"
"You're coming back."
"I can, but it might be best if I don't."
"Shut up. You have a job here and you're coming back, so shut up."
"Work. Ok," he says, and swallows. "Light, can't you ever say anything that isn't so fucking beige?"
"What do you want? Stop being so dramatic. Al Pacino called, L. He wants his Oscar and overacting skills back. We have a contract and I'm not letting you break it. That's all there is to it."
"Contracts?! Great. That's great. You've shut down on me again just when it matters. I need you to give me a reason or tell me if I'm wasting my time. I'm going, Light. This is me going and I might not see you again unless you give me a real reason. It's a long flight to sit through when you're miserable. Say the right thing."
His voice is breaking up like he's on the phone in an area of bad reception, or maybe it's my hearing. I grip his arms so I can tell him what he's going to do.
"You're going and it doesn't matter how long for because you're coming back."
"For work," he says blankly.
"Yes."
"I don't know if I can do that."
"Yes you can and you will. You will fucking well come back or I'll go over there and I'll find you. Look, let's just go somewhere and plan this out. I need to plan this out."
"And I need to get a taxi," he says, and he's like a drone suddenly, walking outside. I follow him and just stand there looking at him while he watches the cars going past. He could work on the legal bollocks and arrange the funeral from here. I'll help him. I can do things like that. I'm very good at things like that. I have a degree. He doesn't need to stay there, he could just fly out for a week or so at a time. He could go while I'm away; it wouldn't matter then. I'm sorting this out already with no time to think about it and it's not as bad as he thinks.
"What's with the taxis and the rushing around?" I ask, standing in front of him. "I mean, yeah, if you want, we'll get a taxi back to my apartment. Do you need to go back to yours? I'll drive you."
"I have to get to the airport. I have a flight booked. Will you make sure that Mihael finds my car?"
"What, you're going now? You can't. Hold on, put off the flight. I'll sort something out."
"What are you planning to sort out? I have to go and bury my father, Light."
"He'll still be dead if you get a flight tomorrow," I say without thinking, and his initial shock is broken by a sudden burst of laughter. I drag my hand through my hair, exasperated by us both. "Sorry. This is just... some warning would have been nice, L. Is there no way that you can deal with it from here?"
"I'm afraid not," he tells me with a cheerful calm that worries me. I preferred it when he was frantic and couldn't breathe because he was throwing words at me like bullets. "Now, about the office. This is my notice of the anticipatory breach of my contract, I'm sorry. Feel free to sue me for damages, I'll just add it to the pile. Until you've made a decision, I've asked someone to stand in for me from the firm. I picked her myself and her name is Halle. She starts on Monday and don't piss her off because you'll have trouble finding anyone who's as capable. Mihael's drawing up a list of contacts for you - press and things like that - and they should be on your desk by tomorrow morning. If they're not, feel free to beat his head in with a photocopier. And -"
"Just shut the fuck up, will you?" I shout, losing conviction towards the end when an old woman stares at me as she walks past to make sure that it is actually me. I have to close my eyes for a second while L continues.
"This is all important, Light. Just so you know that I'm not leaving you completely high and dry and that I don't expect you to keep my job open for me. I'd think that there was something wrong with you if you did, actually. Sympathetic leave only extends so far. Personally, I have as much time for giving employees sympathetic leave as I do for parental leave. How is it my fault as an employer that they've decided to do something stupid?"
"Please don't."
"Don't what? Are you telling me that you're sorry to see me go or that you support parental leave and find me offensive?"
"You're not going," I say. "Not like this. You don't even have a suitcase. What will you wear? That? For months? You haven't thought this through at all. You don't even have a full suit. You have one pair of trousers and, to be honest, they stink of whiskey and soon they'll just stink. You'll wash that coat in a washing machine, won't you? It'll shrink, and then you won't even have a coat."
"This is grim. Look at me breaking all the rules and stinking the place out. I'll be lucky if I'm not completely naked by Thursday. I have my passport and my wallet and I have me. I'll be fine."
"L, I'm just pointing out that you should put this off until tomorrow and pack like a normal person."
"I'll buy new clothes when I get there."
"You'll buy awful clothes. You'll wear tweed three-piece suits and mustard coloured ties with pink shirts, I know it. Everyone there wears fucking tweed!"
"Oh, Light," he laughs.
"What?"
"Nothing. I just love you, that's all."
He walks away and it takes him some time to notice that I'm not with him now that he's a few feet away and he's hailed a taxi and he's opened the door and he's talking to the driver and I'm still standing here and I need to stop this from happening. Or, maybe I should just let it happen. A shadow is telling me that I should let it happen. The thought washes over me like a calming, icy wind I used to feel all the time. L's right - it is better this way. He won't come back and I won't find him.
All I can think of for a minute then is how annoyed I am that it's so bright out here. I'm in the shade, but where he is it's blinding white. I know why he told me; it's because he's selfish and he thinks that it'll shock some knee-jerk response out of me. There'll be more people around soon and I have to get out of here. I look left and right to find a way out.
"Have I actually left you speechless?" he calls over to me, grinning, and with his hand on the taxi door. "That's quite something. If I'd known that it would have that effect then I might have done it earlier. You better get going. You have that meeting soon, remember? Your kitchen. You're running late and my plane leaves in half an hour so that doesn't leave me much time."
My voice doesn't sound like my own. There's so much blood pounding through my ears that everything sounds far away from me.
"But I don't understand why."
"Oh. Well, I'll explain," he says, and walks back to me through the line between darkness and sunlight so I can see him properly again in his colours. He stands close enough for me to hear him speak softly. "I'm not sure why either. Clearly you can't imagine why anyone would think anything of you, and I'm inclined to share your consternation. But here's the thing, and there's no logic behind it. I never thought that it was possible to love someone so completely, or that one person could be everything that I've ever wanted, but never knew that I did. And I found you."
"L -"
"No, listen. I'm going to tell you something now that you're not going to like but you need to hear it. I hope that it helps you, because I want you to be ok and I don't see that happening the way you are now. You can't stay this way. I almost wish that I hadn't met you, because you're a mess, Light, and it hurts me to see what you're doing to yourself. You have everything but won't allow yourself the one thing that could make you happy, and I don't mean me, though I might have been a part of it. You're not a bad person, but you're hiding, and you'll lose yourself completely if you don't stop. It's too painful for you to be anything else than this thing you've created, I know. I understand, I do. For a long time I thought that you were only broken, but it's not that; you're just cold right through and you've made yourself that way. You've invented something that's not you, and one day you'll wake up and you'll wish that you were dead. It'll ruin you. You'll take everything with you before you burn up, and I don't want to see that happen. You're better than this. Don't fuck it up. Anyway, take it. That's for you."
He walks away from me with a smile on his face again. I don't understand how he can do that. "You can't go," I say, following him.
"I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I can and I am. Email me if there are any problems with work, just don't call me, because I won't answer the phone to you, ok? I will not."
"What? Wait! I just... You would say something like that now, wouldn't you."
"I don't think anyone overheard, don't worry."
"I don't give a shit about that! You tell me that and I have no time. You're giving me no time because you're leaving."
"Yeah. I am. Take care of yourself, Light."
He gets in the car. It pulls out into the stream of traffic and all the cars which look just like it.
I miss my meeting.