3/6/2021: I mentioned before that I planned on revising the chapters in this (while slowly working on an update!) and this chapter has been revised which added roughly 800 more words. Some differences aren't huge (nor will they always be in future revisions) but it felt good to go back and add stuff I meant to before and tighten some parts up.

Subsequent chapters that have been revised will say so along with a time stamp in the beginning notes from now on. Thanks for reading!

there are some people i know

whose beauty

is a crime.

who make you so crazy

you don't know

whether to throw yourself

at them

or kill them.

which makes

for permanent madness.

which could be

bad for you.

you better be on the lookout

for such circumstances.

-Jessica Hagedorn, Sorcery

Sitting in the brightly lit cafe, Misa Amane felt distinctly exposed. She took a perfunctory sip from the frosty glass before her, casting a covert glance around the room. A few university students on laptops littered the place, no one familiar thankfully. She was grateful for the short, glossy, brunette wig she snagged from her last magazine shoot as well as the understated outfit she chose that in no way reflected her actual style. She couldn't risk getting recognized. Her leg bounced under the table in a jittery rhythm. He'd be there soon.

She pulled a compact out of her tote to check her makeup. She hadn't quite managed to cover the splotchy blue circles blooming under her eyes. She spent the night before checking and rechecking the locks in her apartment and scrolling obsessively through Twitter on her phone to see if any new photos had been sent. None had, but by the time she settled into bed the sun was rising and it was time to get ready for her meeting.

She knew it would be a long shot. Watari kindly explained that the detective was nearly impossible to get a hold of these days and that the down payment to hire him would be expensive and that he still might not take her case after hearing it. She had to try. She insisted to him that it was urgent, and most importantly: that she was frightened. The money she could handle surely. She had several uncashed paychecks stashed away along with a hefty sum in her bank account from her parents. She'd spend it all if she had to. She didn't have any illusions about their previous relationship. If you could even call it that.

Nearly five years ago, Ryuzaki solved her parents murder. He was a brilliant and albeit strange detective, who showed up out of nowhere. He solved it and then disappeared almost entirely from Misa's life. She didn't even know his full name, just that he was talented, and possessed unparalleled skills in his field. The only connection she had to him afterwards was the occasional phone call from Watari, the kinder much older man who seemed to assist Ryuzaki on cases. He would check on her and make sure she was doing alright. She tried not to feel hurt over the whole thing. It was his job; it was to be expected. She was just another case for the famous detective to crack. At the end of the day, she was stamped as SOLVED and filed neatly away in a cabinet somewhere along with the rest of his impressive work.

But she thought of him often in the years since. Even back then, through her grief she knew something about him was different. During the initial investigation, she was often avoided. No one wanted to deal with the grieving seventeen-year-old. She was more volatile then, lashing out against everyone.

But Ryuzaki was different.

When everyone else treated her with pity, he treated her like a valuable source of information. He never once made her feel stupid or crazy. He let her cry. He let her yell. And most importantly: he found the man who did it.

She looked at her reflection in the compact. How different her life had looked. Misa was seventeen then, and suddenly found herself completely alone in the world.

She remembered the sterile grey interrogation room. The grueling hours of questioning. Every detective brought in on the case grew more frustrated with her as the days passed. They kept having her relive it over and over. Even Ryuzaki insisted on hearing it directly from her.

Flashes of it now still haunt her.

She stumbled home late that night after spending most of the evening out at a karaoke bar with her boyfriend and a few friends from school. In her bag was another red marked assignment she failed. She had gotten into an argument with her parents the previous day over her performance in school. They didn't like her boyfriend or how she spent more time on her makeup than her schoolwork. She wasn't applying herself, they said, and she was so much better than that. Unable to bare the thought of seeing the disappointment in their faces when she'd be bringing back yet another poor grade, she delayed coming home as long as possible.

It was a decision she would grow to agonize over later.

She giggled, hushing her boyfriend as he dropped her off. He tried to sneak an extra kiss from her as she fumbled for the keys in her purse. She shushed him again with a warning: her parents would hear. She waved him off before slowly pressing the key into the lock. It would be a miracle if they didn't hear but she hoped they were asleep already. What she didn't expect was the door to press open with little resistance. She stepped inside.

Something was wrong, very wrong. She sensed it, some long-buried primal instinct inside of her that rose to the surface, warning her to stay put. Don't go in.

But she did.

She took another tentative step forward and stumbled in the dark over something. Someone.

It was the body of her mother, a dark, sickly pool of blood spread around her. Her unseeing eyes gazed into the living room where the crumpled form of her father lay silent and still.

At this point in one of the many recollections she was forced to do, she stopped talking. Someone had brought her a cup of water. She remembered how she had stood up, throwing it against the opposite wall where it splashed, shattering against the one-way glass. She was so tired of reliving it over and over again. That's when she felt his arms reach out and grip her shoulders.

"You're angry. Be angry." He said, leaning forward, looking her dead in the eyes. "But I will catch that man. This isn't an empty promise. I will bring him before you in a court of law and he will answer for what he's done to your family. For what he's done to you."

True to his word, he kept that promise. Only a few weeks after he took over, the investigation was solved. Ryuzaki stayed for as long as the trial lasted before leaving without a goodbye.

Afterwards, she was able to begin collecting the pieces of her life again. The money left from her parents wasn't much, and she didn't like the idea of touching it if she could help it. She went out and got a job as a hostess. It worked well enough until she was able to start taking up small modeling gigs on the side.

Eventually she landed a contract with one of the top talent agencies in the country. She threw herself into her work. From the age of 17 to 23 she worked harder than anyone she knew. While most other girls whined and found the rigorous training schedule and dating rules suffocating, she was grateful for the stability and sense of normalcy it provided. No one knew about her family. Her agency gave her a new background complete with fake parents and siblings, with strict instructions not to mention her real family history whatsoever or she'd be dropped. Bad publicity. She agreed and even if it hurt a little, she locked that part of her away.

Television shows, product promotion, swimwear, photo shoots, meet and greets. Through her time in the spotlight, she became an expert at hiding her feelings. She carefully manufactured a bubbly, sugary-sweet persona who could handle anything.

Interviewers applauded her work ethic, her devotion to her fans. She'd joke about them being her whole world, but it was true. She had no connection to her previous life. No one knew that side of her.

Except him.

She'd come home at night and sit in the quiet. It was in those moments thoughts of Ryuzaki would creep up on her. She thought about the detective often. Did he see how hard she was working? Had she left any sort of discernible mark on him like he had on her?

She felt unusually attached to him. He was like a mythical sort of figure in her life, always out of reach. Phone calls to him went unanswered. Voicemails left unreturned. She allowed herself the indulgent daydream that he may actually be looking out for her in his own way and be proud of her since no one else could be.

Now, five years later, her focus on lingerie and swimsuit modeling brought her the most success. She tried branching out a little with singing. Her agency seemed to prefer her with her clothes off but allowed her to promote her music on the side as long as it didn't interfere with what they deemed as her more important work.

Her life was full, busy, successful. Everything was as perfect as it possibly could be.

So, when she began noticing a disturbing trend in her fan mail, she felt her stomach drop. At first it was benign: a letter or message on twitter mentioning where they had last seen her, what products they had seen her buy or how pretty they thought she looked in her sweater. This was standard; her whereabouts were strictly tracked even by her own agency let alone loyal, eagle-eyed fans. In fact, there were whole fan sites dedicated to spotting favorite idols and models.

But then the photos started.

First of her arriving in her hotel room. Then one of her sleeping, taken through the window. None of these pictures were posted anywhere online that she could find. It was like they took them just for her.

They began to pile up enough that she tried bringing it to her agency's attention. They did little to help. An overzealous fan, they said brushing her concerns aside. She should feel fortunate to have such a dedicated fan base! He would calm down, they assured her, and eventually leave her be.

She wasn't so sure that whoever this fan was would back down and he certainly wasn't just an overzealous fan. After being sent the last photo, she immediately called Watari and begged for the meeting with the only person who never let her down.

She put her compact away quickly when the man in question slouched over to the table and took the seat in front of her.

Ryuzaki looked and dressed identical to how she remembered him nearly five years earlier. Maybe slightly more mature, but he still had a messy, boyish quality to him. He always gave off the rumpled impression of having just rolled out of bed, even if his eyes said otherwise. His dark circles mirrored her own, though she at least made an effort to cover hers.

"Miss Amane." He said quietly, the familiar cool tones of his voice were just as she remembered. His eyes fell on her brown wig, "Or perhaps I should be addressing you under an alias?"

"I think we'll be okay." She replied smiling, "I just didn't want to be recognized."

She pushed the strawberry tart and milkshake she ordered for him forward.

He eyed them with interest. "Very kind of you to remember."

He dug in at once. Of course, she recalled his peculiar penchant for sweets and watched him pick up a fork and stab a syrupy strawberry. During the investigation years before she noticed that a tray of sweets was never far from his reach. Whenever a model friend would cry about what their overindulgence in sugar would do to their waistline, she thought of Ryuzaki's freakish metabolism.

"Well then, let's not waste time: why the urgent call to meet?"

"Oh, but first, I have to ask…" She said shyly, casting her eyes down, her lips pouting. This will butter him up, "Has Ryuzaki missed Misa?"

He sucked on the milkshake thoughtfully for a moment. "I can't say. I've been very busy. My mind has been elsewhere."

A non-answer. She took a small breath and nodded. She expected him to be a little vague. She smiled, trying again, "Well, I have thought of Ryuzaki over the years so gratefully. Without you I wouldn't be where I am today. Or even who I am. I owe everything to you."

"I don't think that's true." He said mildly, taking another forkful of the sticky tart, speaking with his mouth half full before swallowing. "You give me too much credit. That or you're trying to get something out of me. Either way I'd prefer if you got to the point."

Bullseye. She flushed, unused to dealing with a man who wasn't immediately fawning all over her. She felt somewhat disappointed that he wasn't at all affected by her flirting. She half wished she had worn her usual wardrobe, then he'd definitely be more susceptible to her charms. The boring taupe sweater she wore wasn't doing her any favors. Even so, men usually tripped over themselves to do whatever she wanted. Ryuzaki, however, looked more interested in the sweets. She floundered for a moment.

"Well, what if Misa just called you here to catch up?"

Ryuzaki began pushing back from the table, "Then I'd have to be on my way."

"Wait!" She cried, frantically throwing her hands up in defeat, "Okay fine. I'll tell you!"

He sat down again and pulled the plate of half-eaten tart back to him. "Go on."

"Well," Misa began, fidgeting with her straw, "I think I have a stalker and I was hoping you'd help me."

Ryuzaki took his time chewing before answering, "I can't do that. I'm sorry."

"Why not?" She sputtered, "I thought you were taking new cases? I can pay!"

"You're mistaken." He said flatly, "I only take on cases I find interesting."

Misa's shiny pink lips popped open in indignation, "Interesting? Misa's stalker isn't interesting enough for you?"

"Not particularly, no." He said scooping a dollop of whipped cream into his mouth.

"And why not?" She demanded.

Ryuzaki sighed, fishing a cherry out of the bottom of his milkshake. "Misa, models often have stalkers. You know this. I've seen you deal with them throughout your career with ease."

"Those times were different!" She said hotly, "None of them ever-"She stopped and her eyes narrowed. "How did you know I've had stalkers before?"

He paused mid bite; his wide eyes sheepish as he looked away. "A lucky guess I suppose. Every model has them at one point or another. The idol industry is rife with corruption and makes it easy for criminals to take advantage of the young women it."

This didn't convince her. Maybe he hadn't scoured websites and newspapers looking for her name like she had his, but she knew he had to care. Even if only a little.

"This time is different Ryuzaki." She said urgently. "I think he might do something and if you know anything about this industry, then you know I'm not safe; you know I have nowhere else to turn."

He sighed again and eyed her seriously, "I can't go out of my way every time a small case arises because someone might someday become more dangerous."

"He's dangerous now." She pleaded and unexpectedly, took a hold of his hands causing him to drop his fork with a clatter.

They were large, cold, and rigid in hers. He looked up at her seemingly alarmed by the physical contact, but she continued in a shaky whisper. "He knows about them. My parents."

His eyes flicked down to their entwined hands. She pulled back apologetically while he studied her for a moment.

"I had those records sealed. Did you tell anyone?"

She shook her head adamantly, "Why would I want anyone to know that? It was one of the stipulations of my contract! Plus, my agency would never tell; it would be a total disaster for them."

"And friends? Boyfriends?" He pressed.

Misa bowed her head, "Misa doesn't-I mean, I don't have that many friends. And I'm not really allowed to be in a romantic relationship."

She pulled her phone out of her pocket and, casting a furtive glance around the room, showed him the pictures she'd been sent. She scrolled through the blurry ones of her sleeping in bed, coming home late, keys in hand and the one that scared her the most that had been sent only a few days earlier. It was taken in broad daylight and showed her parents' grave with one fresh, pink rose laid delicately on top.

Ryuzaki took the phone, scrolling through until he reached the last one. His dark eyes peering at the picture intently and biting his thumb, lost in thought. She could almost see the gears whirring in his brain. A flicker of hope ignited inside of her.

"There wasn't anything else in the message." She added quickly, "Whoever it was, they haven't said or sent anything else since."

"Yes, it seems he's made his point quite clear, though this likely won't be the last you'll hear from him." Ryuzaki murmured, frowning at the picture again before handing the phone back to her.

"So, will you help me?"

His owlish eyes met hers. "I was planning on coming back to Tokyo anyway, so I'll take a brief look at it this week. A very brief look." He repeated pointedly. "I'll need access to all of your social media accounts, it'll be faster if you give me that information now and I'll also need the pass-code to your apartment."

A man knowing her pass-code? She thought of her agency, how they frown upon anything that could look like romantic interest. As an up-and-coming idol, her job was to look only available to her fans. She saw just last week gossip blogs posting pictures of another model with a man stepping inside. Her agency had nearly dropped her over it. Does this mean he'll come over? She feels her face go pink.

"I realize that it's sensitive information I'm asking for." He says, incorrectly assuming that she mistrusts him. "But I can assure you that I won't snoop around where I shouldn't."

"Oh no, it's not that!" She said with a small laugh. "I trust you! It's just, my agency is kind of strict about men visiting. It might give off the wrong impression."

"Oh?" He frowned at this. "I suppose…" He tapped his chin for a moment thoughtfully, "No matter. If it comes up, I'll be more than happy to explain the situation. In the meantime, I'll be discreet I promise."

She hesitated for a moment but scrawled her passcode as well as the passwords and emails to her accounts on a torn page from the notebook she dug from her tote and slid it across the table.

He pocketed it, "I'll see what I can do. I'll have Watari get a hold of you when I find something."

Misa nodded feeling the heavy weight of uncertainty lighten considerably and gave him a radiant smile. "Oh, Ryuzaki I could just kiss you right now!"

"That may be against your contract." He said dryly.

He bit into the last strawberry from his tart and swiped his thumb across the side of his mouth where a stray bit of blood red syrup dripped down his lip. She watched, momentarily transfixed before he stood up.

"I'll be going now Miss Amane." He gave her a small nod, that she returned beaming at him, and watched as he left the cafe without another word.

"Fine. I'll meet with her."

He hung up the phone with Watari, glancing over at the shelf in his room. He didn't have much in the way of possessions and as such the shelf was largely bare save for a few books and CD's.

In the years since solving Misa Amane's case, it was difficult not to think of her. She was tucked into every magazine stand he passed, her carefully clipped centerfolds the treasured possession of more than a few detectives he worked with. Her Gothic motif contrasted with her cloyingly sweet bubblegum personality made her a sensation.

Flipping through the channels in hotel rooms he called home most of the year, he'd watch her do the occasional interview or perfume commercial. Her doll-like eyes and seductive smile always had the audience in the palm of her hands. A stark contrast from the girl he knew. The real Misa. The passionate, angry, innocent girl he knew from years before. He wondered if she still existed. If she was concealed somewhere behind the pretty veneer of pouty lips and black lace or perhaps, she was gone for good. He wondered a little less when he heard her music. The one place he found where some authenticity remained.

Singing was one of her newest ventures. Anytime he heard one of her songs he found it hard to think and switched it off almost immediately. Misa's breathy vocals did sometimes give way to something powerful he'd concede, but overall, her music was just not his taste. Authentic maybe, but too emotional.

This is what he told himself even as he received the change back from the cashier after purchasing her latest single. He took the CD back to his empty apartment to stick on the shelf next to dusty unopened magazines, books he never planned on reading. Just another place in his life where Misa Amane had made herself a home.

Notes:

So, I'm not sure if the fandom is dead or if there are any fans of this particular ship out there craving fics, but that's not going to stop me right now. I'm an essential worker and I've been writing most of this on breaks at work since around April/May. I've had this story in my head for a long time, but never took the time to plot it out. Well, with how the world is right now, I needed some distraction. This is purely for fun, I apologize for grammatical errors. I definitely plan on going back and proofreading more thoroughly later on. I just wanted to at least get started posting, because knowing me I'll keep it in the drafts forever and never post, I don't want that.

I've always loved the idea of LxMisa, they have such an interesting dynamic. I wanted to flesh Misa's personality out a bit more, give her a better romance. This is an AU of sorts with some characters having the same or near the same occupations. Other familiar characters will of course pop up with the exception of shinigami.

Thanks for reading!

3/6/2021: I appreciate all the comments and messages I've received over this story. When I started posting last year I really expected maybe two people to read it!