To LM273: I'm glad you liked the previous chapter and the character of Z, which I liked to write very much. Indeed, I could have called her Zoo, but... E decided otherwise!
I know it must have been very frustrating when L did not finish his sentence but... yes, I'm cruel like that! Although, the end you proposed is quite accurate. Of course, R will understand that one day.
Your words about L's lack of emotions are very true. Indeed, he doesn't know how to feel emotions. And if you tell me he's even more detached in this fanfiction, then I consider myself proud because I thought it would be impossible to portray him even more detached than in the anime xD
I must say you made me laugh very much with that hypothetic scene of yours, L kissing R on the rooftop, and I admit I like the idea. So I'll ask you: is it your request (remember, your reward)? Because I could definitely write that scene.
Finally, I must thank you for all your compliments, you have no idea how your words please me. I am very happy that the stories I write make you feel and think so many things, because really, as a writer, this is my supreme goal. It really is an achievement. And I hope I will continue to meet your expectations.

To LottieRaven: I am very glad that you mentioned Z's character because indeed, I intended to make a Black Butler reference here, so I'm very happy you caught it.
Well, my friend, this is a Death Note fanfiction which sets in the Wammy's House, so if there's a Mello... of course there is a Near ;)
Indeed, you noticed it, even though R is still young, he is already drawn towards L, and vice versa. That was what I wanted to show in those first chapters, until it becomes more... serious, let's say.
Once again, I'll repeat myself: your reviews are always helpful, because I like to know what the readers — and especially you — think of my writing. So thank you for always sharing your opinion, it really is important for me, and I hope you'll continue to do so.

Chapter 5: D

R had to wait until his fourth year at Wammy's to finally get what the other students possessed rightfully.

A nickname.

However, it took its sweet time to reach his ears and it came to him in the most unexpected way, to say the least.

Ever since he discovered L's hiding place in the kiosk, on the roof of the institution building, he met the older pupil up there quite often, exchanging ideas, arguments, and debates in the most mature and thoughtful way. And the truth was, he would lie of he were to say that he did not like those encounters.

But during his fourth year, L showed him something unknown, something he would never have guessed, the detective had not been keen enough to share this information with him.

In the dark corridor on the third and last floor of the House, the very one which led to the steel staircase climbing to the rooftop, was a door. A door which opened to no ordinary room, for it opened on a terrace. One day, instead of their usual talk in the kiosk, L introduced him to this secret. And he was dumbfounded to find the terrace already occupied.

An easel stood in the middle of the white stone deck, which was facing the glowing setting sun, spreading its rose and golden rays all around them. In front of the easel was a tall red-haired boy, his hair so long that they fell down his back, gathered in a low ponytail by a red satin ribbon. At R's greatest surprise, the figure was wearing a flashy pink suit vest and orange trousers, with a thin pink stripe matching the jacket.

R arched a skeptic eyebrow. "Who is it?"

"This is D." L responded in a deadpan tone. "As you can see, his talent is painting."

"I never noticed him in class." R stated as he leant against the doorframe, furrowing his eyebrows. "Yet, his clothes aren't really what we might refer as neutral. Strange," he mused, raising a hand to his chin pensively. "What is he doing here?"

"Painting, it would seem."

R shot an unfazed gaze at his companion who stood next to him, hunched, hands dug into his pockets. "Yeah, I noticed. I mean, why is he painting here and now?"

"He comes here to paint everyday during sunset, no matter the time or the weather." The detective answered, his voice deep, a mere whisper in the evening breeze. "He is said to be infaillible in determining the exact time of the sundown. At seventeen years of age, he never failed to attend one. I suppose that is the reason of his nickname."

R turned his head towards the dark-haired male, his curiosity now piqued. "What's his nickname?"

"Oh, I am sure you can figure that out for yourself, R." L taunted, one hand reaching to his mouth to gnaw on his thumbnail, a phantom smile gracing his pale lips.

"Hm..." R hummed, returning his gaze to the far off colorful shape that melted into the warm sunlight as he crossed his arms on his chest. "He is fond of painting, but that doesn't help much. He always watches the twilight, his letter is D... Well, that leaves us with—" He paused abruptly, glancing at the white-dressed man, chestnut eyes gleaming in understanding. "Dusk."

"Very good, R." L nodded in acknowledgment, his nail finally leaving his mouth. "I expected nothing less from you. He is indeed called Dusk. D is the third eldest children of this House. Despite his eerie looks, he is also considered as the most beautiful student, as well-sculpted as a Greek statue. Now that you are here, we can safely assume he is the loneliest of us, too."

R stiffened slightly at those words, and he frowned at L, waiting for him to elaborate. At his greatest disappointment, he did not.

"No one ever heard him talk nor look at anyone, making the Headmaster wonder about a possible muteness." A fine black brow quirked elegantly on an alabaster forehead. "Though I admit I am not so fond of this assumption."

"Assuming he's mute only based on his silentness seems a hasty judgment to me." R reflected, his gaze lingering on the painter's straight back.

"I see we are on the same page, again." The nineteen-year-old boy muttered his assent softly. "I myself suspect he has already engaged in conversation with E."

As R was about to inquire what led him to draw such a conclusion when he was met with an unexpected sight. The long red-haired man had whirled around, pulling him out of his thoughts as he stared right at him, left hand holding a thin paintbrush raised in mid air while his right rested on his hip.

"Why did he..." He trailed off, never averting his gaze from the silhouette plunged in the falling darkness as it turned its back on the dying sunlight. "Did we disturb him?" He almost whispered.

"I highly doubt that. He cannot possibly hear us over the sound of the wind. But as to why he turned around, that I do not know."

It seemed as though the fact that D had interrupted himself in his act to face them was very unlikely, but it was not meant to remain the most incredible thing. Slowly, the tall painter's lips parted, allowing their corners to twitch upwards, creating the most otherworldly smile R had ever witnessed.

"What the..." He began in a hushed voice, eyes growing wide with astonishment.

He had no time to dwell on the matter, for the smile disappeared as quickly as it appeared, and the red-haired male rotated on his heels, turning back to his masterpiece which was still invisible to the two boys standing at the entry of the terrace, due to the strong backlight.

"That is odd." L mused aloud. Then, as if recovering from his uncertainty, he turned his back on the twilight rays as he spoke casually, "Come, R. We do not wish to prevent the painter from pouring his deepest, closest thoughts onto the canvas..."

Those words forced R to look away from the distant shape of the mysterious student who had resumed his previous activity. He shook his head and followed L's steps back into the sombre corridor.

"Yes, sure."

He did not know at the time, but this apparently short and irrelevant event had sealed his fate, thus bringing back one element of his humanity.

A name to be called by.

The day after that, R found himself merging into the dying sun rays, leaning on the kiosk railing, his elbow brushing agains't L. Again.

"I didn't know Wammy's counted some artists among its pupils," he reflected as his gaze lingered on the darkening firs of the forest below.

"There is not one single sort of genius," L stated blankly. "Genius does not revolve around solving equations or inventing new weapons of mass destruction." R saw the white-covered arms shifting slightly by the corner of his eye. "Many people understand the word genius as the scientific type of genius, but that is nothing but a very tiny part of all the different categories of genius that grace this planet."

R kept quiet, feeling that the detective was not finished, and he was soon proved right.

"Literature, biology, music, history, physics, astronomy, dance, mathematics, business, poetry, criminology, architecture, drawing, chemistry, law, medicine, psychiatry, archeology, sports, psychology, singing, painting..." The dark-haired man listed all those subjects without an ounce of hesitation, as if reciting by heart. "As many areas, and as many geniuses."

Taking in a long, appeased breathe, R lifted his eyes to the scarlet sky. "I didn't think about it, but you are right. Artists are probably the most beautiful kind of geniuses, somehow. Exorcizing the demons in their mind and creating masterpieces out of their pain, as if it were the simplest thing..." He trailed off, suddenly wary of something he did not realize before. "But all those fields you mentioned," he turned his head to his elder, searching for the hypnotizing black eyes, "were you thinking of one Wammy's kid for each of them?"

"For the most of them, yes." L answered emotionlessly. "After all, the Wammy's House is renowned for harbouring the greatest genius children in the world, is it not?" He drawled, his voice so flat it sounded more like an assertion than a question.

R furrowed his eyebrows at this revelation. Then, weary of staring at empty onyx orbs that were not even focused on him, he reported his gaze to the now turning dark blue forest. "So that means... there is a fashion genius here?" He inquired, his disbelief concealed with enough success.

"Of course."

"Who is it?"

"J."

R frowned even more as he remembered the slender brown-haired boy all clad in denim who had woken him up one night during his first year, accompanied with a very turbulent tattooed bald kid and a silent white-gown-dressed girl.

"And music?"

"X."

"Poetry?"

"O."

"Drawing?"

"I."

"Sports?"

"H."

"Architecture?"

There was a pause, and a low hum.

"Ah, that would be one of those areas that are not represented in this institution yet." The older pupil said blankly.

"We can't have all the kinds of geniuses gathered in the same house, though, can we?" The chestnut-haired teenager snorted.

"I suppose you do have a point, R." L retorted absently, his voice more and more quiet. "However, that is for the best."

"Why?" R arched a quizzical eyebrow at him.

"Contrary to what we may think, not all geniuses are the same." The disheveled-haired boy explained slowly, and his voice seemed to grow more muffled with each syllable he pronounced, as if telling cursed words.

"And contrary to us," he went on, imperturbable, "some minds need freedom to blossom."

R froze, and the glazing wind that spanned his silky hair did not help the sudden chill that rolled down his spine at this very moment.

"I apologize, R." The latter almost startled when he felt a cold touch ghosting over his shoulder. "But I must go now."

He did not have time to check on what he had sensed on his shoulder, as icy as a frozen desert, for the feeling disappeared immediately. And when he turned around, he only saw the iron door slamming shut, and a pallid hand disappearing in the darkness of the staircase.

That was then that he understood two things.

The odd contact that still haunted both his mind and body had been nothing but L's hand.

And now, L was gone.

It was the first time the detective seemed so eager to leave him behind on the rooftop. Sometimes, they would speak for hours without neither of them getting tired of the other, nor of the conversation. But this time, L left sooner than ever.

And thus, R was left alone to wonder.

Is L right?

Are we prisoners here?

"Hey, Ray." A husky voice caused the thirteen-year-old boy to raise his head from his arithmetics book only to be met with a highlighted blonde-haired teenager.

"Hello, Mello." R responded dryly, focusing back on his differential equation. "What brings you in the library at this late hour?" He asked with no real interest, when suddenly, something struck his attention.

He lifted his head, amber eyes meeting the younger's pale blue ones, and he frowned ever so slightly. "What did you just call me?"

It was Mello's turn to furrow his eyebrows. "I called you by your name." He drawled as he leant forward, resting one palm on the wooden table, his other hand placed on his thin hip.

"And what might that be?" R inquired, for once his curiosity truly piqued.

"Wait, you don't know your nickname?"

"No." He replied coldly.

"I thought you knew already," the blonde mumbled under his breath, obviously weary. "I heard Eve say your nickname this morning during breakfast. Since then, everyone has been calling you that." As his eyes locked with R's glowering ones, he went on quickly. "Ray. That's your nickname."

"Ray?" R repeated incredulously. "But, why? Did she tell any reason?"

"Nope." He glanced over his shoulder, and as R followed his gaze, he spotted Matt standing behind his friend, his goggled eyes fixed on a little black device that looked like a dictating machine.

"Said something about the sky and the sun. Wasn't making any real sense, though." Came Matt's languid voice, but the red-head did not bother to look up from his current centre of interest.

"Yeah, something like that." Mello nodded, before turning his attention back on R — or rather Ray. "Anyway, are you ready for tomorrow's maths test?"

"Of course I am ready." R suppressed the desire to scoff at the question. "But the question is: are you, Mello?" He said slyly, not offering the blonde one single glance.

"Hm... I think I am. I'll definitely beat Near this time."

"Sure you will." Ray did not swallow back his snort this time as he propped himself up, gathering his notes and textbook.

"Hey!" Mello pointed an accusing finger at the teen who clearly showed the intention to leave. "Where do you think you're going?"

"I'm sorry, Mello, but it's getting late and if you want to beat your eternal rival tomorrow morning, you should better go get some sleep." R stood up and walked along the wooden table. "For my part, I'll pay a little visit to a certain someone."

"What? Now?" Mello motioned to follow the older student, frowning deeply. "Who?"

Without looking back, R — now called Ray — passed the library doorstep as his soothing voice reached the blonde's ears.

"Eve."

Just like when he met the violet-wearing girl for the first time, Ray was certain to find E wandering around the corridors at night, her usual crimson liquid-filled glass in her hand. And he was not disappointed.

Restraining a satisfied smile, he gestured towards her, where she leant against the fifth room door, which was in fact her room.

"Good evening, Eve."

The long-haired pupil did not even flinch, but instead dipped her lips in her balloon glass.

"Good evening, Ray."

Perfect, he thought. She just gave me a reason to interrogate her.

"Where does my nickname come from?" He did not wait before putting his foot in his mouth.

"Ah..." She almost purred. "You seem to never run out of questions, now do you not, Ray?"

"Perhaps because you never answer the ones I ask you." He retorted, clenching his jaw in contained irritation. "Perhaps because you don't have the answers at all. But do you know that one, at least?"

"I know many things, Ray." Just as the latter was about to snap, the eighteen-year-old girl continued in her usual fleeting voice. "But you, on the other hand, must know this nickname is no fruit of my imagination."

Ray quirked a quizzical eyebrow, before he crossed his arms over his chest. "Ah, and where does it come from, then?"

"Where, where, where..." She repeated in a quiet, sing-song voice. "So material you are, Ray. Most of the nicknames, you see, come from nowhere."

"Stop this nonsense now, Eve." The younger took a deep, self-appeasing breath, rubbing his temples. "Even your nickname comes from somewhere. Now tell me, why did you call me Ray?"

"Tut, tut, tut." The velvet-clad girl clicked her tongue several times in disapproval. "Hard-of-hearing, are we not, little boy?" As R shot her a menacing glare, she dodged it and went on. "I was not the one to assign you this nickname, Ray."

"Then who did?" If patience were tangible and combustible material, R's would now be reduced to ashes.

"One soul is never enough to uncover all the mysteries of another. Just like one plus one does not equal two. But that is, I am afraid, not my field of specialization." She sighed, twirling her glass feet gently in her pale fingers. "That name of yours is not the work of one single person, but two." Eve detached herself from the door, pivoting on her heels, one hand reaching out to the doorknob.

"The first one was illuminated by your light, its beams reflected in the darkness of their eyes... and the second one did nothing but transcribe those rays into the real world, thus giving birth to your name." In one quick pull, the door clicked open, revealing a black room partially brightened by weak moonlight.

"Once you go back into your room, do have a look at the night sky." The golden-haired girl said in an eerie tone, her voice a bare whisper as she took a step forward. "Do you know that the Moon and the Sun can coexist, even though one of them will always be tempted to hide behind thick curtains? Sometimes, however, should the two decide to appear side by side, the light would be all the more beautiful."

Eve's mysterious voice lingered in the air and vanished as the door slid shut, leaving a dumbfounded Ray on the doorframe. Soon enough, he shook his head and headed towards his dormitory.

As he entered his room, his gaze was automatically drawn to the windows. His eyes widened in awe at the sight that spread before him.

In the dark velvet sky lay a crescent, hesitant bluish moon, and, hundred light years away, at the limit of a shimmering horizon, rose a proud, yellow sun. And suddenly, all the enigmatic words he had just heard made perfect sense.

The Moon and the Sun stood side by side, and in the end, the signification of such a rare event did not matter so much.

It was simply, speechlessly, breathtakingly, beautiful.

At Ray's bewilderment, L was not present in Mathematics class the next morning and then did not take the test like the twenty-five other Wammy's children.

But he was most certainly not at the end of his surprises, for the day after that, the twelfth chair of the classroom — L's chair — was still empty.

And again, the day after that, his usual place in the cafeteria, or in the library, as well as his dormitory, were all empty.

When he questioned the most informed student in the House, the fourteen-year-old girl shook her short-dark-haired head negatively. "L has the habit of disappearing from time to time." She paused, before her grey-blue eyes locked with Ray's. "But now that you mention it, since you entered the Wammy's House four years ago, he did not leave like he used to." She frowned lightly, looking away, lost in thoughts. "Anyway, nobody knows what he does during his absences, but you would think it has something to do with his skills, right?"

The more he pondered the matter, the more he was forced to admit K was right. L's long absence must be linked to his deductive competence. While all the other students were busy doing some maths and economics, L must be busy solving cases.

When the night fell on this rather exhausting day, Ray was lying on his bed, his absent gaze fixed on the ceiling, sleepless. Suddenly, a well-known voice made itself heard in the corridor. He straightened up abruptly, listening intently.

There was that low, mechanical voice echoing on the other side of his door, and that other voice, calm, steady and old. Without any doubt, Watari was talking with L. When he was sure he did not hear a single noise anymore, R slid from his bed and left his room as silently as possible. He walked on his tip toes until the twelfth door and knocked with all the restraint and patience he could muster.

Creeping footsteps made their way to the door, which cracked open. Onyx eyes blinked at him, interrogating.

"L," he began, his voice hushed but no less firm, "where were you?"

The dark penetrating eyes widened slightly. "I am not accountable to you, Ray." The ebony-haired man replied emotionlessly, and R froze at hearing his nickname from those bloodless lips. "Now, is this the only reason why you grant me the honour of this nocturnal visit?"

Ray managed to pull himself off his torpor. "No, I'd like to talk to you, actually."

For a brief moment, they stood there motionless, black shining eyes boring into amber, until L stepped aside, tacitly inviting Ray inside. The latter obliged and entered the dark room whose only source of light was a blank computer screen on a desk in the back of the room.

Without another word, L headed towards the desk and crouched down on the wheel chair, swirling around to see the younger student who had taken seat at the edge of the bed.

"So, tell me what is it you wanted to speak about." Came L's neutral voice.

"My nickname," R began hesitantly, raising his head to glance at the dark form slouched in the chair, "you said it. I noticed you never called the other pupils by their nickname, you call them by their letter. So why use my nickname?"

There was a pause, letting a chilling silence settle around them. The livid glow of the white screen made L's pale body glitter in the dark, and R found himself hypnotized by the sight, as if unable to look away from a ghost that would have just crossed the borders of the Other Side.

Then, a soft, grave voice sent shivers down his spine, the feeling aggravated by the fact he could not see the owner of that tantalizing voice.

"Perhaps because you are the only one to possess a nickname that suits you so perfectly."

The words Ray was about to pronounce died in his now dry throat, and he suppressed a gasp of shock. Quickly regaining his senses, he arched an eyebrow, raising a hand to scratch his chin.

"You are the one with the black eyes," he said matter-of-factly, as if for himself.

"Pardon?"

"Eve told me my nickname isn't her creation. It comes from two other people. The first one has black eyes. You are the only one here who's got black eyes." He paused. "Well, I suppose we could say Near has black eyes too, but first of all, I'm not so sure if it's black or dark grey... and second, I never spend time with him, so the second person involved wouldn't be able to observe us together. So that leaves only you, L."

"I am not the one who invented that nickname of yours, Ray."

"Yeah, I know. Eve said..." He trailed off, lifting his head to meet L's dark orbs which seemed to gleam dangerously in the moonlight. "You were looking at me, and the rays reflected in your black eyes." He hummed thoughtfully. "Someone was observing us and 'transcribed those rays into the real world'... But who? Who saw us? And how could they transcribe rays...?"

He interrupted himself, daring a curious glance at the black and white shape at the other edge of the room, but his companion remained silent.

"You must have an idea. Don't you, L?"

"This is your investigation, not mine." L responded casually. "Even if I did have the slightest idea, I would not share it with you. Besides, if I may add, you seem to manage pretty well by yourself."

Ray narrowed his eyes, not sure if L could see him. "I see. So you're not going to help. Fine," he hissed between gritted teeth.

"So first things first... I'm positive the black-eyed person was you. But now, the question is: where were we when that person saw us? A place where there's a lot of light... Where do we usually go—" R's head jolted up. "Of course. The kiosk. Someone must have seen us when we were in the kiosk... But the courtyard was always empty, and we can't see any other place from the rooftop. Then perhaps—" He stopped himself mid-sentence once again as he almost jumped to his feet.

"Of course, that's it." He claimed, his voice barely hiding his excitement. "The only place drenched in sunlight where we were able to see someone else is the terrace on the third floor. And on the terrace, we saw Dusk. And Dusk..." He started pacing the room. "Yeah, everything's clicking into place. Yes, everything's crystal clear, now. Dusk saw us the other day, and he painted. He painted what he saw; the sunset, you, me, the light in your eyes. And Eve must have seen the painting." R then turned on his heels to stare at L's dark shape. "She put a word on Dusk's thoughts. That's why she told me she wasn't the one who found the nickname, because she did nothing but translate the ideas carved onto the canvas into words."

After his long, erratic monologue, a well-deserved silence took its rightful place in the gloomy room, whereas Ray stayed still in front of L's chair, his arms spread on each side of his torso, the only remains of his turbulent speech.

"Well, it would seem you have finally reached a satisfying conclusion," L said eventually, a hint of amusement and playfulness dissimulated behind his words. "I am impressed."

"Yes..." R nodded, slightly breathless. "But, there's still something I'm not quite sure of." He tilted his head to the side, attempting to catch a glimpse of the dark eyes hiding behind black messy bangs, but to no avail. "Why did Dusk associate the sun rays he saw in your eyes... to me?"

"Ah, that." Ray swore he could hear a phantom of a sigh in L's deadpan voice. "Artists are able to see further than ordinary people do. They can see things that do not belong to our physical world as clearly as I saw you this day, in the sunlight, on the terrace. They see all the things the others cannot. That is precisely what makes them so special."

"That doesn't answer my question." Ray pointed out sternly, folding his arms over his chest.

"Indeed, it doesn't. But that is because there is no answer to that question. Dusk can see things that we cannot." Ever so swiftly, L let himself slid down on the floor. "This day, he probably saw something in my eyes, something that you did not see, something that even I did not even see." He stopped as he reached R's level, his voice becoming lower. "And one way or another, he decided that this very thing that inhabited my eyes at this very moment, and that was never present before, was due to none other than you."

"And..." R's voice quieted drastically, as if mimicking L's without knowing why. He did not look up at L as he walked past him. "What do you think that thing was?"

"It is late." L called him from the doorstep. "You should better go back to your dormitory, Ray."

"Yes, I know." He whirled around and followed the older's steps until the door, where he stopped in his tracks, locking his gaze with the detective's. He craved to see these rays that gave birth to his name in those mesmerizing black empty orbs.

Despite L's hunched posture, the nineteen-year-old boy was still taller than him, and without realising it, he leant in when he tilted his head up. "You didn't answer my question."

L's obsidian eyes widened ever so slightly, and a lean hand reached up to land on the teenager's shoulder, at the base of his neck. "You ask many questions," he stated, his voice strangely gentle.

L bent forward and pressed a feather kiss on the young student's forehead that caused Ray to freeze in place, mouth opening slightly, as if to give a protest that never came.

"You will make a great detective one day." L whispered, his cold breath tickling R's hair at the base of his scalp.

The slender hand pushed on his shoulder softly, forcing R to take a step backwards, only to be left alone in front of a blank closed door that separated him from the only person he wanted to see.

"Goodnight, Ray." The name rolled off like silk in L's mouth just before the door shut.

And Ray found himself hoping that some day, someone would caress his body as smoothly as L's voice caressed his soul.

Author's Note:

I am sorry for the late update, I have been quite busy lately, with college, author's block and so on.

Anyway, I hope you like this chapter. Here we are: another Wammy's pupil has been introduced, and that one I like very much.

Reminder: only 1 hidden character has been found, so you still have 4 Death Note characters to find among the students.

NB: Please read attentively all the dates and numbers because all those scenes are spread over time and are quite far from one another.
In this chapter, R is thirteen years old.

I do not know when I will be able to update because my exams start soon, and end on the 18th of May. So please bare with me and be patient.

Bye bye, humans!

C.