When Norman was 4, he was told that he was a bad kid.

Ungrateful, they'd call him, pinching his cheeks painfully. Stand straight, chin up. Let that smile fall, and it would be several more bruises for your collection of them.

He was a Ratri, so he should act the part of one, lest the people start to whisper behind their backs.

But then again, they always did. Little Norman was not blind to the averted gazes of servants as he rounded the corner, the flushed and embarrassed faces of maids as they bowed their heads as he passed. Even his own family, when he entered the living room where they would gather together twice a year, would not even attempt to hide the looks of obvious dislike and something darker.

Sometimes he wondered if they ever got tired of their whispering and why they never stopped.

If he had to pick one family member, he would've chosen Uncle Peter as the one he detested the most.

Uncle Peter was always mean.

He had met him when he was 5. Dressed in his Sunday best and holding his mother's hand, little Norman peered up at his uncle.

He was donned in a clean white suit, sharp and fitted with a warm smile on his face. As his parents greeted him, Norman felt like he was standing in front of the devil himself when he shook his hand, that smile able to fool anyone.

Norman had always been perceptive.

"Oh! This is our son, Norman. I've been meaning to introduce the two of you, but haven't found the time. Norman, say hello."

Their eyes met, and if there was one thing in common between them, it was those signature Ratri fake plastic smiles that were immediately plastered onto both of their faces as Peter clasped his hand.

"Hello Norman, I'm Peter." His gaze was intense, and although his gaze was full of warmth, there was something darker behind those blue irises. Norman couldn't look away. "Pleased to meet another Ratri."

Later, as he and his parents sat in the pews of the church surrounded by people, he watched Peter step up to the podium. With a warm and enchanting smile, his voice boomed melodiously throughout the church, and even the children were silent as he spoke.

"Oh dear," Norman turned to his left, and watched as an old lady wearing a peacock blue petticoat pulled a white handkerchief out of her pocket. She sniffed, and Norman watched as she dabbed at her eyes, her voice shaky as she murmured to her companion, an old man. "This isn't part of the scheduled preaching, but his voice is so enlightening. What a charming man, what youth!"

With a frown, Norman faced back towards the podium, and his heart stuttered to a stop as he locked eyes with Peter.

"-educate our children, so that they remain pure and innocent. Our hearts, kind and open as we shield them from the devil and his sins, the filth and blasphemy of our world, until we can no longer-"

"Oh Teresa, you've always been so emotional." He barely hears the man reply, his vision tunneling as Peter's eyes seem to glitter with malice, and his head tilts slightly to the left, an unsettling smile quirking the left side of his lip up.

"You shall not lie with a male as with a woman; it is an abomination." Norman's eyes widened as Peter continued to look directly at him, his smile widening into that of a sneer as Norman sits there, frozen as those words ring into his ears. "Chapter 18 verse 22 of the Leviticus proclaims-"

But by that time, Norman wasn't listening anymore.

"I don't think I like church, Mama," was what he wished he could've said, if he was ever allowed to voice his opinion without being scolded or hurt.

And life went on.

They went to church again next Sunday, and again, Uncle Peter would smile, a creepy leer that made Norman feel like he was looking right at him in the crowd whenever he would speak of things that he didn't fully comprehend but understood enough to know that he thought that Norman was a bad kid.

By then, Norman had lost all hope when he had turned 7. Anything less than perfect was not "Ratri", and he was beginning to think that something was wrong with him. If his father, mother, and even Uncle Peter the pastor thought there was something wrong with him, then surely they must've been right. After all, Norman knew from the textbooks that there was a power in the majority, so surely if more people thought something was right, they were.

Maybe if he wasn't born so wrong and deformed, then his parents would love him. Uncle Peter wouldn't have to waste time preaching about things that he was teaching Norman, correcting mistakes that were wrong with him.

Maybe if he was gone, both his parents and Uncle Peter would be happier.

Then, as quickly as that hope had died, it was relit like a match thrown into a pool of lighter fluid, stronger than before.

It was one of those cases of child foolishness that had gotten him scolded at for having an untucked shirt. Norman, already upset at having not been given his favorite box of crayons, had stomped away and into the bathroom, ignoring the calls of his teacher.

Tears dribbled down his face as he glared into the mirror. His face was flushed, eyes red and puffy, and gleaming trails of snot had made its appearance all over his nose. The image in the mirror was disheveled, which was exactly something that would earn him another scolding if he was home with his parents.

But at such a young and fragile age, this only served to upset him further, and when Norman turned towards a stall in order to spare him the embarrassment of being seen crying, someone had already beaten him to it.

"Are you crying." Caught off guard, Norman stepped back and took a look at the boy sitting in front of a stall. With dark hair, and matching dark eyes that were narrowed at him, the other was slouched against the wall, holding a book as he sat on the ground, which was something that would've gotten him yelled at if it was Norman doing that.

But the detail that stuck with him the most was the fact that not only was the other boy's shirt untucked, but a few buttons were also undone.

This was enough to make Norman stop crying, the absurdity of it all taking him aback as he blinks, forgetting to answer what didn't even sound like a question but more like a statement, something that was phrased like a fact.

"Well?" This time there's more of an edge to the boy's voice, and Norman shuffled, wiping his eyes and nose with a sleeve. Ignoring the fact that the mess would cause another scolding, he stepped forward.

"Um, who are you?" Norman's voice was a little wobbly, but the boy raised an eyebrow nevertheless.

"Didn't I just ask you a question? Who answers a question with another question? You're so weird." Norman flinched at that, looking down at his feet to ignore the boys scrutinizing gaze.

"Yeah."

"You're not supposed to agree with me!" The boy huffed, and shocked, Norman looked up. There's something close to a hint of a smirk on the boys face as he shuts the book, and gets up.

"I'm Ray."

•••

"Ray."

"Ray!"

"Oh my g- I'm coming in."

There's a click, and the door slams open unceremoniously as Emma shoves her way inside.

The first thing she notices is this dark aura that hung over the room. The dark gray curtains covered the windows, dampening the rays of the sun that peek through, and Emma feels a sense of foreboding at the dimly lit room. Sure, Ray was always dark, and even borderline emo sometimes, but never had he ever emitted this kind of feeling. Emma hides a shiver as she glances down and meets Ray's gray apathetic gaze.

It felt dark.

Ray merely nods from his spot against the wall, putting his hand up in a half hearted attempt at a greeting. "Yo." He says dryly, his voice surprisingly light for his slumped over form and the one gray eyes that lacked any emotion. Emma lets out a loud sigh, feeling a wave of unease despite her forced smile.

"Stupid Ray, thinking you're so edgy for locking yourself away in your room to brood in silence." Emma attempts at a joke, faking a groan of her nonexistent frustration as she plops herself down on the carpet next to Ray against the wall. She twiddles her thumbs nervously, sneaking a glance at him.

To her surprise, Ray doesn't immediately tell her to get out like he usually does, and instead stares at the open door with this blank expression on his face. Emma frowns, feeling a small pang of worry as a few more seconds pass and Ray does not react.

"Ray." Emma frowns as Ray continues to stare at the door as if he hadn't heard her. Her worry grows as she waves her hand in front of his face and realizes that he probably didn't, his eyes never blinking as he stares at the door like a zombie.

"Ray!" This time she pokes him, and that seems to snap Ray out of his stupor. He blinks, and Emma feels relieved as emotion, although it was only confusion, washes over his face, and this time he seems to acknowledge that she was really there, and turns towards her.

"Emma."

They stare at each other, and Emma takes note of the increase of puffiness and the dark circles under Ray's eyes. He was an insomniac, Emma remembers, that was something he had told her in the past, but it seemed like he hadn't slept at all.

Her voice is merely a whisper when she speaks, not really intentional. "What are you thinking?"

She studies him, when he seems to think, and after another moment Ray turns away, his fringe covering his face as he hugged his knees closer to his body. After a moment, a sigh comes out, and the sound seems to come from his very soul, echoing through the room, defeated, as his body deflates.

When he looks up, he looks lost.

"I don't know."

Emma opts to stay quiet as she gives him some time to mull over his words, and sure enough, a look of intense concentration washes over his face before Ray takes another breath.

"I think at some point, I might've been thinking about, well, him. But, Emma," Ray shrugs, and his eyes cast downwards. "I don't know, I just feel like I'm tired."

"Tired?" Emma shifts a little closer until their shoulders touch, and Ray seems to startle a little, before he sighs, and moves closer towards her as well.

"Yeah. I'm not sure. Sorry." With that, he's quiet again, and Emma feels him wrap an arm around her shoulders.

This was really unlike Ray, he was rambling, a habit of his that he got into whenever he was shutting himself away. Emma's face creases with a frown, considering her options as she stares intently at the Death Note posters hung up on Ray's wall, not really seeing them.

"Why do you feel unsure?"

"I don't-" Ray purses his lips, turning away. "I don't want to talk about it."

Emma huffs, not liking how closed off her friend always seemed.

"Hey." She barely pokes his leg, and Ray gives her a small glare. Meanie. "You missed class today, and I had to come over and hand you my notes. In exchange for my notes, I want to know what's wrong with my best friend."

"Emma-"

"Come on, please." Emma pouts. Ray takes another look at her green puppy eyed stare, sighing in exasperation as he shakes his head.

"Fine."

Emma beams at him, nodding at him to continue when he gives her an uncertain look.

"I just- well, I feel like I'm uncertain of what I'm supposed to do. One second, everything was going okay, and then the next everything changed. That's just not- it's not rational." Ray almost looks annoyed, and with that, Emma's smile turns into a look of disbelief.

"Ray, feelings are irrational."

"Who said anything about feelings?" Ray snaps, and Emma almost rolls her eyes, giving him an incredulous look when he glares at her.

So this was all that was bothering him?

"You're so unbelievably obvious, even a blind man can see that you still have feelings."

"I don't have feelings, fuck that." Ray scoffs, and when he looks away, Emma feels the slight edge of hurt in his voice.

"Hiding them away and forgetting about them, is not going to do anything Ray."

She feels her heart stop as Ray suddenly jerks, and when he looks at her, she's surprised by how raw the emotion in his one visible eye is.

"Fuck, you want to talk about feelings then? Fine." The room seems to darken a significant bit, and Emma chews her lip as Ray rests his head against the wall and lets out a bitter laugh as he covers his face with an arm.

"Norman doesn't like me back, and that's okay. I'm okay with that. What hurts is how I got my hopes up, because it seemed like he did for a moment, and then for some reason, he just freezes up out of nowhere and because I don't want to make him uncomfortable, I decided to stop. I don't want to unconsciously force myself on him, like I did before, and he avoided me for two weeks. Shit, and it wasn't even my fault back then." He laughs again, and Emma shivers as the room grows cold.

There's a brief moment of silence as Ray's smile fades away into something darker, and his eyes drop to the floor.

"But I just wish that he could be forward with me. If he doesn't like me, I just want him to stop playing with my feelings and just tell me. But every time, it's like he knows how I feel and is doing this on purpose. Fuck, it's so frustrating!" Ray slams his hand on the carpet, and his teeth grit as he glares down at his lap, the volume of his voice significantly louder than before.

"I just want him to be honest with me! Is that too much to ask for? I just want him to stop playing around like this, shit, I'm not some emotionless robot, I'm a human being!" His voice breaks, and there's a brief moment of silence as Ray goes silent, turning away as a shadow crosses it.

Concerned, Emma leans towards him. He's turned away, and Emma taps him gently on the shoulder, receiving no response.

"Ray?"

When he turned back towards her, there were tear tracks trailed down his cheeks.

"Damn," Ray squints, letting out a rough laugh as he covers his face once again, wiping the tears away forcefully. "And I was doing so well. Goddamned emotions, really getting the best of me. How irrational."

"Sure." Emma rolls her eyes, choosing to ignore his use of language in favor of concern towards his sudden change in attitude. She didn't understand why teenagers swore so much, although she was one herself. Her voice softens, despite herself.

"Do you really think feelings are rational? If they were, the world would be a sad place."

"I fucking love him." Ray's voice was a mere whisper, not seeming to have heard her, and it sounded like his words were directed towards himself. "Since I was only eleven years old, I've loved him." His eyes close for a moment, as if lost in thought.

He turns towards Emma, that blank expression back on his face, and Emma regrets unplugging this dam of emotions, if only she knew that it would tear him apart. "So why doesn't he love me?"

"Ray."

"We're opposites, we attract. It doesn't- why?" He whispers, and Emma winces as he carelessly bangs his head against the wall, hard and sounding like it had hurt.

"Ray." She tries, and Ray seems to ignore her when she pulls him away from the wall and wraps her arms around him. He was breathing heavily, and when he rested his face into Emma's neck, Emma felt him shake.

"Sometimes things like this aren't always going to be the most rational, and that's just something your genius logical self has to deal with. But that's okay, it's okay."

Ray mutters something under his breath, sounding suspiciously like another swear, and there's another bang as he slams his head back against the wall.

Emma frowns, considering the circumstance. Something wasn't adding up, and for a moment she ponders, before her mind settles on her other genius best friend who wasn't acting very much like a genius as of now. "You know, I'm pretty sure that Norman likes you too. This is very odd."

Ray pulls away, frowning, and Emma tries to ignore how red his eyes look. "What is?"

"Just something I thought of." She brushes the topic away. They could talk about it later when Ray was feeling better mentally. "But seriously, I'm very sure Norman likes you."

"And exactly how sure are you, Ms. Gaydar?" He attempts a smirk, and although it's small, it's there, and Emma smiles at the familiarity of it, internally cheering at its return.

"In the manner of L; The probabilities being around 5%, which actually means that I know he definitely likes you."

Ray snorts at this, that emo Death Note fanatic, and Emma decides to get up, brushing herself off before holding her hand out for Ray.

"Okay, but enough talk. You are going to school tomorrow, and you're going to stop moping by going over the notes with me and doing the homework."

"Emma," Ray rolls his eyes at her. "I've literally read the whole curriculum, I told you, chemistry is a breeze."

"I'm really not sure how you and Nor-" Emma cut herself off. "Well, how you do it. Chemistry is so hard, and Mr. Andrew is so mean."

Ray rolls his eyes. "Mr. Andrew is an asshat, I can't believe the school hired someone so dull and goddamned boring."

"Language!" She squeaks, and Ray shakes his head, taking her hand and pulling himself up.

"Yeah, yeah, be a good kid, blah blah blah. Even Norman swears, I can't believe you're so invested in that."

Emma freezes upon mention of his name, but when Ray doesn't react, she makes a lackluster attempt at an incredulous look. "Norman doesn't swear! He's a good kid. You're so rebellious!"

"Uh huh, he'll stop swearing when hell freezes over. Doesn't swear my ass."

"Ray!" With that, Ray starts to laugh, and Emma joins in a moment later, feeling relief wash over her at Ray's smile.

•••

The room is dark, washed with moonlight. It's messy, but makes up for it by the huge expanse of space and open feeling with the view of the neighborhood from the glass door leading towards the balcony.

On the huge king sized bed was a lump of a body curled up under a disheveled light gray comforter, the white sheets messy as he lay still. There's a creaking sound as the door opens, and he barely reacts as a pant sounds from the floor, before weight is pressed down onto the bed.

Minerva whined, nudging the boy who lay under the comforters with her nose.

The sheets shift and rustle as Norman sits up, and Minerva whined again when he raised his hand and patted her gently, her tail wagging as she circled around what she deemed her favorite spot before setting down.

When she presses closer, she's careful to be gentle and nevertheless the action is a little distant, having been used to her master's reaction whenever it was another night like this, and he would wince if she snuggled too close.

"I really fucked up, didn't I." Minerva snorts at that, and Norman manages a smile as her dark eyes flutter shut, nose twitching.

There's a pregnant pause, and eventually Minerva stills. A gentle breeze ruffled the curtains, swaying in the wind as it passed through the room with a sigh, and Norman watched the dark clouds pass over the moon, absentmindedly petting the white fluffy dog.

"Do you think Ray hates me for what I said?" He breathes, eyes fixated on one cloud that was shaped abnormally. It almost looked like Ray's hair. He barely acknowledged Minerva letting out a huff in her sleep as he continued to watch.

Time seems to speed up for him, and the sky begins to brighten as Norman lays there, watching the moon start to lose its glow.

He can't sleep.