- L -
L watched as the rain hit the dusty glass window pane. As it fell, the dust marked the glass, leaving trails of its short journey before it fell onto the eves, and then, the earth below. L blinked his dark eyes. He was sure that he'd seen rain fallen from this window, just like this before, but this was the first time that he'd really paid attention. Something about the rain today seemed ethereal, meaningful, in a way that he couldn't really understand. Today was just like every other day. This rain was just like all the other rain that had ever fallen to the earth. And his room, in Winchester, was the same as it always was. So then, he concluded, he himself must have been the only anomaly.
Footsteps outside his room shuffled. Another anomaly, and L's gaze shifted. Although his door was closed, he stared at it. Those footfalls were Mr. Quillish's. And another he didn't recognise. Lighter. Stiff. At the brief knock on his door, L froze.
"L, there is someone I want you to meet." Mr. Quillish's voice was calm, yet somehow stern, as it always was. The closest thing L had left to a grandfather, or family.
L sucked in a breath. "You didn't tell me there was a new student." He answered, monotone in his pre-emptive and-nor-do-I-wish-to-meet-them argument which was about to follow.
Student. It was a nicer word than orphan.
"I'm afraid you have no choice." Mr. Quallish's voice continued to chime through the timber. "Seeing as he is your new roommate."
L knew that Mr. Quallish was smiling. A small, bemused smile before the boy crossed the room, and jammed open the door, glowering up at him.
"I do not have a new roommate. I'm afraid you've mistakenly assumed I would want one."
"Assumed...? No, of course I assumed you would not. That is the reason why I am assigning him as your roommate."
"Your logic makes no sense." L told him sharply. "There is an empty room across the corridor. I suppose I can put up with someone making noise from afar. That is the end of our conversation -"
"L." The way Mr, Quallish said his name made L pause. The closest thing he had to a grandfather... if he was ultimately pushed, he would obey him.
But that didn't stop L from pressing his mouth shut, and staring at him infuriatingly.
"This is Nox." Mr. Quillish said, that small bemused smile still there. Like he considered L's objection like more of a childish tantrum to be smoothed over, rather than a serious argument.
"That's not my name." Came a petulant objection. And like another smile would solve anything, Mr. Quillish turned to the boy beside him and smiled more. "It's a new name, to keep you safe."
"Whatever." The new boy jabbed flatly. "This is my room? Nice to meet you - whoever you are."
He brushed past L, like he was nothing more than an annoying piece of furniture placed in the way of the door, and sat on the bed, crossing one leg over the other, and gaze fixed on the window, on the rain, with his neat, auburn head turned.
L decided that they were already lifelong enemies. That was his bed. That was his window. That was his rain.
He swallowed.
"I reinstate," he began to object again. "I do not want a roommate. And by that I mean, I will not have one. If you don't remove him, I will -" L paused. "- go on a hunger strike."
"Oh?"
"Yes." L told him stubbornly. "After my death, you may be investigated for negligence."
"Very well." Mr. Quillish shrugged, then called out as he walked away, "Strawberry cheesecake will be served for dessert tonight."
Eyes wide, L firmly closed the door. Mr. Quillish won that round, but this was just the start of a war.
Shoving his hands into his pockets, L reluctantly turned. His room, his bed, his window...
And, an anomaly.
One given the alias of "Nox", staring still at his rain.
Shoving his hands into his pocket deeper, and his gaze heated enough to start a fire, L reluctantly introduced himself. For the sake of formality. After all, even if this was war, his parents had managed to instill in him a penchant to be polite, during the time they'd been alive.
"I am L." L said. And with that formality over, he then decided that the burden of politeness was over, and to ignore the other boys existence from here on.
"Light Yagami." The boy sitting on the bed replied.
"You're not supposed to use your real name." L reminded him, although he made a note to permanently remember the name, in case it at any time in the future became useful. Possibly as blackmail.
"What are you going to do?" Light - Nox- replied. "Is someone going to kill me with my name?"
"Hmm, that's curious..." L stated.
"What?"
Bringing his thumb to his lip, L swept it across it. "This is an orphanage for intellectually gifted children, however your shallow understanding of consequence makes me question what you're doing here."
"Ha..." it was a bitter, half-laugh that pulled at the edges of Light's mouth. He turned his head from the window. He stared at L.
"Maybe it's more that I don't care about the consequence."
"That goes against a humans natural instinct for self-preservation." L replied stiffly. "Which leaves a likely conclusion. You are depressed."
"Well done, Sherlock." Light mumbled. Although nothing in his dead, brown eyes was showing amusement. He'd actually been snatched away after one of his bi-weekly therapy appointments that had become part of his new routine after he'd lost his parents and been put into a temporary foster home. "This man... Mr. Watari, has offered to adopt you. He has an orphanage for gifted children in England. You will be leaving tomorrow -"
The social worker's voice was still crisp in his mind.
England? He was in England.
"Where are you from?" L asked him suddenly, like something had just sparked a curiosity.
"Japan."
"That's obvious. I meant more specifically, where."
Light's eyebrow quirked. "Tokyo."
"No."
"Eh?"
"You're not supposed to tell me that either."
"You asked me."
"You're going to answer any question that anyone ever asks you? I'll ask you again, where are you from?"
"Tokyo, Shibuya Ward." Light bit back stubbornly.
"Light Yagami from Tokyo Shibuya ward, you have broken two rules already since being here. The first is telling someone your real name, the second is telling them any personal information which may link to your identity past."
Staring at him, Light's mouth hung open.
"Huh?"
"I assume Watari has informed you of the rules?"
Watari. Mr. Quillish's alias. Quallish Wammy didn't know that L knew his name, but L had uncovered it within two weeks of meeting him. It had been difficult, even for him. The man that was like his grandfather kept everything under several locks and keys, with more locks and keys on top of it, but it hadn't been impossible -
"You mean that old man, Wammy? The one who collects smart kids for his cult-like orphanage?"
L blinked. Now his mouth hung open.
"Huh?"
"Yeah, he told me." Light replied. "Guess you better not tell anyone then. If the information gets out of this room, I'll know who leaked it."
Well. L had just lost the upper hand.
"It seems we're at a stalemate." He concluded.
"So it seems." Light agreed.
L's eyes still burned in annoyance, and Light's were dull with a general resignation to life. The rain still hit the glass, and with his own small resignation, L realised that he and Light were the same kind of anomalies, brought together by a room.
"How long you been here?" Light asked L, hesitantly, and it was the first time he'd showed any sort of vulnerability in their discussion. L noted that; keeping it in the same place he kept the frugal details of Light's name and past.
"Four years." L replied. Since his eleventh birthday. Exactly on that day. "But that won't give you any information about my past." He added on quickly. "So if you're trying to get any information, I suggest in advance you abandon obtaining it."
"I wasn't." Light sighed. "...Is it always this difficult to make conversation?"
"What do you mean?"
"The way you talk... it's like you're expecting someone is out there, trying to get you."
L frowned.
"Of course there are."
Faltering, uncertain, Light was hesitating again.
"This place..." he asked carefully. "Is it dangerous?"
"It's an orphanage for intellectually gifted children." L repeated, like that answered part of the question. "It depends on what we do."
"What do you do?" Light asked. For the first time, brief curiosity flashing in his gaze.
L shrugged.
"I catch the monsters, the ones that break the law. Anything not to be bored."
Stalemate.
While they had been eating dinner in the dining hall, Mr. Wammy had organised another bed to be brought into the bedroom. L's previous place of solitude. He glanced at it sourly. Just as sourly as he had glanced at the strawberry cheesecake which had submissed him that evening out of a hunger strike.
"How long have the others been here?" Light asked him, starting to pick things out of a suitcase which had been laid on top of the bed. The only possessions of an old life L knew all to well that would feel soon like another lifetime ago.
"The others?" He repeated.
"The guy I was talking to, A. It seemed like he'd been here for a long time."
"I don't know how long A's been here." L said, and Light wasn't sure if it was a lie. But that struck him as odd. "I only know that he arrived before me."
"Yeah, right," Light almost scoffed. "You probably know everything about everyone here."
"There's a lot that even I don't know." Came L's reply at length. "More than I care not to know."
Light unfolded a shirt. Placed it neatly on the bed.
"And that other guy-? He didn't say anything."
"That was B."
"B?"
"Hmm?"
"A and B, and L? You're all just letters?"
"...Yes. You're the first to get a name."
Light's brow furrowed. The shirt on his bed became forgotten about as he turned. "Why am I the first?"
"I would assume... Watari has seen some kind of fault in this system and is perhaps trialling a new one. For several reasons, I can see why this would be an improvement."
Brow furrowing further, Light said, "Calling people letters, is really no better than assigning someone a number. You know, that's what they do in prisons. So tell me, what kind of place is this really?"
"An orphanage for gifted children."
"No, what do they do here? What's the purpose?"
L was silent.
"Because so far," Light sat on the bed. Crossed his legs, folded his arms. Looked out with sharp eyes, from behind his neat brunette bangs. "All I've been told is that. It's an orphanage for gifted children. There are only four of us here, so that old man is careful about who he selects. A is Polish. I'm Japanese. It seems he collects kids from all over the world. I want to know why. I want to know exactly what I'm doing here."
"That's one of the other things..." L mumbled quietly, "I do not know."
The rain started hitting the window pane again. It started as a sudden downpour, obscuring the view of the stars and fog of cloud hanging, blanketing most of them.
"But now that you're here, you can choose what you do..."
"Isn't that the crux of every action?"
"...I suppose so."
"I want to know what that old man, Wammy, Watari, whatever, wants."
"I am not sure that he wants anything." L replied, tilting his head as Light began to pace. "Why do you assume that he does?"
"You think I was just taken from Japan for no reason?" Asked Light incredulously. "Given an alias? No - that old man wants something."
"Watari is an orphan himself." L disclosed carefully. "I assumed that was why he started this orphanage. As a man of intellect himself, perhaps that is why he seeks out gifted children. But whatever your posing, that there is some evil agenda behind Wammy's orphanage, I'm afraid to tell you that you're wrong."
"You said that you catch monsters?"
"Yes." Although L failed to see the relevance to the conversation.
"Then you're good at recognising one?"
"...I'd like to believe that."
"Then," Light sat back on the new bed again. Legs crossed, as always. "What am I?"
A test. It felt like a test. And honestly, L hadn't been expecting that question. And he found, to his surprise, that he actually didn't know. Reading Light was like trying to read murky water.
"Dangerous." He eventually decided on.
"...Why?"
"A person who doesn't care about consequence is always dangerous."
Surprisingly, that tugged a smile at Light's lips.
BB.
B had always been able to see them. The shadows with long, spindly claws that crept through the day and night. Oblivious that he could see. Monsters, he'd called them. Although he'd grown a fondness to them. He considered himself half monster, half human. Somewhere stuck as an in-between half-breed. An outsider to both.
73641580
The number above the new orphans head. The new orphan had caught him staring a couple of times, and B had stared back, silently as they ate their dinner at the long oak table. The new orphans number was unusually long. That was dangerous, he'd learned. The monsters often went after the ones with longer numbers.
After he finished eating, he padded down one of many of Wammy's orphanage' empty halls. There were no monsters around tonight, or if there were, they were hiding. Sometimes there were just none around, so it was nothing too unusual.
B bit at his fingernails. A bad habit he'd never shook. Often they were bloody, and no matter how many times he'd been scolded he'd never paid attention.
Pausing, B noticed something. Moving around the corner like a flicker of a shadow. But he knew better. It was a monster. A new one. A shadow he didn't recognise and he's ears pricked. These monsters rarely made a sound. But this one did. A weird crackling, like the breaking of bones. But just small ones, like the ones in your toes, your fingers.
For the first time that he could ever remember, B felt uneasy in the presence of a monster. He placed his hand, the one he'd been gnawing his fingernails on, into his denim pocket. He waited, curious and alert for the monster to pass. Leaned against the wall, and took out a note from his pocket he pretended to study so that the monster didn't notice him staring at it. But B strained his gaze as much as he could. And the shadow crackled out into the hall ahead. It towered higher than any other monster he'd ever seen. Gold chains hung from its skeletal neck, and scraped against the floor. Turning it's neck, like it was noticing B, there was more of the bone cracking sounds.
"Meet at the usual place later?" The note in B's hand read. His blue eyes studied it, aware that he was still being observed. Aware that the monster was stopping for an unusual length of time. When a monster chose a victim, the most they did was usually glance at the number hovering in red above a persons head. But this one was looking at him. Staring. B stiffened, trying not to make it aware that he was aware of its presence.
"Human..." It's voice crackled, just like it's movements. It sounded like gravel, being churned. "You have no numbers..." it observed. And that was new to B. He knew that he couldn't see his numbers, but he assumed these monsters could. None of them had ever singled him out before.
He pretended not to hear, sighed. And scrunched the note in his hand.
"Human boy..." the monster continued. "Can you hear me?"
Biting back the urge to say "no", B decided to face this head on, and walk straight past it. One step, another. He knew that he could walk through it if he needed to.
"Human boy," the monster repeated again. Churning gravel voice; snapping bones. It held up a finger. "I've seen one like you before. You are cursed."
B stopped. He couldn't resist the temptation anymore.
"How am I cursed?" He breathed.
"Oh," the monster mused, crackling. "You can hear me human boy. Well then, let me tell you, humans like you are cursed to take the life of human others."
B suddenly couldn't breathe. This monster. It had to be lying.
"I'm not like you." B mumbled, jabbed. "I am a human, not a monster."
"Kyahaha." The monster screeched. "I haven't heard a joke as good as that in centuries. Human boy, I like you. I would ask you for your name but I can see it. But it's a dangerous thing you know, for one of us to like a human. So I won't come back here again. I'll leave you and your human friends be."
The monster grinned. Flesh travelling upwards revealing decayed, yellow teeth. And it walked into the wall. And B was clenching the note still, tight in his hand. His knuckles white.