A/N: When I say this damn fic has been in the works for about a year...yeah, it's crazy how long it's taken me to finally put this out here, but here it is! Hollywood AU! Wooo! And it's based off of Bojack so, you don't have to be familiar with Bojack to enjoy this, but if you are familiar with Bojack...all I can say is buckle up for angst. And a whole lot of madness. Um...yeah? Every awful thing in existence is in this fic, it's Hollywood, what can you expect? (And it'll be really digging into the dark side of Hollywood) Drugs, sex, alcoholism, explicit language, violence, unhealthy coping mechanisms, unhealthy relationships, bad people doing bad things and not feeling bad about it in the slightest, and Light's just generally a twat even if you catch him at a good time. L has a bad day every day. I know I'm not really selling this at the moment so how about this? Ryuk is based on Pete Davidson (character design and public persona anyway) because I love PD and L and Ryuk are stoners because that made sense. I'm not going to say who exactly Misa is based off of right now but, if you know, you know. Light's not based on anyone but Bojack (sorta?) and his own characterization, but bastardized. I mean, hey, it's an AU so even though I tried not to make them ridiculously OOC, I'm pretty sure canon Light would turn his nose up towards drugs (and not in the way he does here). L's based off of Diane because this is balls off the walls madness and I always felt a certain type of way about Diane and Bojack's relationship (though instead of doing things the easy way and writing an actual Bojack fic we have this) The Death Note could make an appearance? Maybe? L might bleach his eyebrows? Mello's a makeup artist? Grab your popcorn, and maybe a Tylenol, and I hope you decide to stick around! Every Monday, cuz, that's when this fic is updating. (It's 2:30 am on a Tuesday rn, I know, I procrastinated!

I lied, Ryuk's based on Todd too. Yay!

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this. Let me know if you do!

And, without anymore rambles from moi, please enjoy Ilomilo!


Chapter 1: Starlight

"So the whole idea of the game is just losing the person you love and then finding them again." - Billie Eilish, on her song Ilomilo.


This city was so dreary. Certainly not a 'city of dreams' like the movies had promised those from faraway places. But then, wasn't that always how it was with pretty little things romanticized? They were never as good close up. Of course, you could say that about anything, people in general…..twenty-twenty vision as a curse, seeing into the small details and cracks in a facade was never a good thing. It was the makeup artist's job to cover those things up, and the photo shoppers that glossed over and image twenty, thirty times before it was released to the general public for jealousy's consumption.

There was nothing real in this place. If there ever had been, it had been destroyed by the sun and large buildings that tried desperately to climb up to the sky to get away from this desolate place. Oh, sure, it was great on paper, it was a joy to look at the pictures of the big signs and the bright lights and flashing cameras. What they didn't know was that those cameras captured something real, something off-guard, if one wasn't already an actor trained to fool those who really wanted to believe it. He wasn't anything real, not really. He wasn't even sure if he had been once.

It seemed from the moment he had inhaled his first wailing breath; he had been a star. Destined for greatness and shot up to the sky where he could live forever. Apart of the cosmos, the vast milky ways, the Gods of religions that had all died and all been forgotten about but the Gods never forgot, they were allowed to sit up high on their thrones and watch paper people who breezed through a thin town always on the verge of collapse. He was on a cloud, cloud nine, a place that was only reached through sacrifice and lousy deals. Cloud nine wasn't all that great if one had weathered the ladder up to the top. The ladder was bumpy, old, rickety and creaky, and many lost their shoes, coat, and hat on the climb up because the whirling breeze just wouldn't take no for an answer and wanted to sweep everything up in its path. Total destruction was what it craved.

Immortality was a blessing and a curse.

Idolatry was a curse disguised as a blessing.

He was a shining star, a burning ball of fire (and technically gas but that sounded a bit wrong unless one squinted their eye to look through the eye of a needle and hardly anyone ever wanted to go through the trouble of doing that) and he was high above all of the other stars. He was special, that's what every star thought, but he had been assured many times that he was undoubtedly the most special, unique, spectacular orb of light glimmering in the darkness surrounding. But they could be lying. Everyone liked to flatter stars to see them light up and shimmer, but no one ever realized they were watching something that was dying. There were trillions of stars bouncing around in the sky and they really were all the same. They were identical, replaceable, hardly anyone ever looked at the same star twice unless you knew what you were looking for, they were almost like snowflakes in that way. And they were just as fragile.

What was that saying about? If a tree falls but no one's around to hear it, does it really fall? It's the same with stars. If they aren't gazed upon reverently and worshipped to kingdom come they'd realize that in the great, grand scheme of things, their existence had no greater meaning. There's a billion like him and they're all replaceable so he just has to keep on shining and shining until there's no more light to give and he dies.

He looked down at his chilly fingers, pale and soft, shaking as they deftly held on to the stub of a cigarette. It was his fifth one today, and it wasn't even dinner time. He stubbornly sucked it all down, relishing as tar and smoke slid down his throat and burned his one snow white lungs. He was suffocating in it. The tenderness of his chest reminded him that he was indeed still very much alive. He was just killing himself slowly but that was okay, everything killed you eventually.

In one, long, luxurious exhale, he let it all stream out in a silent scream as wisps of grey twirled and danced in the starry night sky until they rose and dissipated into more pollution for the young night. The star that was up there, the one closest to the moon, shining bright and smiling down at him softly, he dreamed that its name was known only by him.


"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome our next guest. You know him, you love him, it's Light Yagami!"

Smile, dip of the head, relaxed features and one bat of the eyelashes, two is going to overdo it. But, God, these lights in here are so horrible. I feel like I have a gnat in my eye. "Thank you so much for having me here today Maye, it's an honor."

Yes, like it's his biggest dream to be on a tin can podcast. No, that was a little rude. It was a fairly popular show on Spotify but he didn't listen to podcasts so it hardly mattered to him. If he wanted to hear stuffy, crackling voices blather on about nothing of importance he'd go to church. Or a charity fundraiser, if only to have his picture taken.

"Oh, the honor's all mine." The woman assured him, bright red lipstick blinding and distracting. He tried to maintain steady eye contact but her eyes were intrusive, like big shovels, digging and unearthing his walls only to find another underneath. An excavation even archeologists had given up long ago. He had had a therapist once. For two sessions. The third one wasn't free and by that time he had decided that it was worthless. "So, how are you doing? What's life been like for Mr. Light Yagami? You must spill the tea all over the floor so that it makes a big brown stain and I'll have to fall to my hands and knees to lick up, ha!"

Light laughed in a very fake sounding way, his smile felt like it was being pried apart by someone else's cold, clammy fingers.

"Life's been great. You know, I can't complain, I'm living the dream."

"Oh, I'm sure! For those of you who might not know who Light is, if you've been living under a rock for the past twenty-three years after all, he is an incredible actor who was one of the stars on the hit sitcom 'Good Times.' Isn't that right Light?"

"That's right. I'd say that's what jump-started my career. Well, unless you count modeling for scholastic ads for schools being any sort of career." Laughter, of course. Yeah, he's a funny guy.

"And speaking of your career, what's in the works now? Anything you can tell us?"

Light swallows, but he doesn't show his nervousness, he hides it with his cool eyes and his lips that are still smiling. No, there's nothing he can see. Not really. Nothing that would be satisfying enough for these nosey listeners.

"I've been busy, you know. I'm very privileged to have the opportunity to work on multiple projects all of the time. It's my life, you know, this dream that's turned into my life. I love keeping busy, and working on what I consider to be art. It's very fulfilling. And what makes it such an honor is that I know that I have so many devoted supporters who love what I do. It's all very surreal, you know? All I can say for now is, keep your eyes peeled at bookstores!"

God, all of these eyes are tearing him apart.


"I just don't think that we can keep seeing each other! And It's not me, it's definitely you. You just don't listen, you know? You can't, it's not in your nature, you were born with earplugs. My love belongs with the waves and you are as dry as sand, there's-there's no passion! If only you could have stood up to your father when he gave you the choice between me and money. I knew what you'd pick, but still, it hurt to-"

"Light, turn off the television, you aren't listening to me."

"No. I am." he sighed, switching the button to mute. He'd record it and watch it later. Well, listen to it, to give it his full, un-divided attention would be a privilege this crappy program didn't deserve. They really needed new writers. At this point, he was hoping for the main pair to split off and that was never a good sign.

"Then what did I just say?" Kiyomi snapped, standing over him like a big angry screech-owl, pursing glossed lips. If he looked down he knew he'd see her tapping her heeled foot.

"You were telling me about our dinner reservations tonight, which I'm totally going to respect."

"No, I was telling you I cancelled them." Oops. "I can't keep doing this."

"Okay, okay." Light placated, holding his hands up because otherwise they'd itch towards another cigarette and Kiyomi hated being surrounded by smoke. She was a burning fire, not an extinguished one. "I'll make the reservations next time. But, you know, you are my assistant so it's not that wild of a request to make of you."

Her eyes narrowed dangerously and too late he realized he had said something wrong again. Whatever. He just felt that he didn't have to try any longer with her. She was just always around on rainy days like a trustworthy sock. Even if she did have a few holes and loose threads, he'd still wear the sock if there was no company.

"Just more proof that you can't listen to anyone unless they're shouting orders at you. Well, here's one, we're over! Get that?"

Again? "Professionally or...?"

"No, I'll still get you your coffees, you self-important imbecile." she spit. Ew, spit. He hoped it hadn't landed on his cheek which was moisturized by products adding up to the thousands. "I knew it was a bad idea to mix business and pleasure, I knew it! But did I listen to myself? No, of course not. When am I going to start giving myself the credit that I deserve? My God, it really is like I'm turning into you!"

"Look, Kiyomi, I'm really sorry. I'm just not in the right headspace for a relationship right now."

"Like you ever have been."

"Now, now, let's not make this ugly." he smiled, feeling like it was quite ugly. Though it was rather hard for him to make a facial expression that would be considered ugly. Star! Magazine had all but confirmed that. "Would you like to take back your USC crew?"

"You keep it. But I will be giving you back your smokey sweater. You need to cut that nonsense out, I don't like the look they give me when I go to buy them. Like I would ever be the type of person to voluntarily end up with lung cancer. I'll probably get it anyway, but that's your fault. Again."

Light just nodded along like a ragdoll, knowing that it had been disproven that second-hand smoke killed. "Alright, well, I'm very sorry. Have the day off."

"I was going to." Kiyomi scowled unpleasantly, turning away and storming out the door, but not before she yelled in his hallway. "Don't forget about your meeting with Beyond again or he'll show up on my doorstep with a machete!"

Ergh. Right. Light still wasn't quite sure what he was doing letting someone else manage his own life. He was very much capable of doing that on his own. And Beyond didn't do much, really, he was more or less a glorified newspaper ad writing in black and white about Light's accomplishments when his IMDb page did that well enough for him. And that was free. Beyond just kept signing him off for quick, cheap shits anyway. No wonder he didn't want to meet with him.

"Meow! Who let the dogs out?" A hacking cough spread through his room along with the distinct smell of skunk, and Light scowled. "Did she get her period or something?"

"No, we broke up."

"Again?"

"Ryuk, I've told you not to smoke in my house. If you're going to be a worthless freeloader, the least you could do is respect my boundaries and rules in the house that I pay for."

"Ooooh, we're using big words today, aren't we? I'm barely awake, give me a second." Ryuk coughed again, flicking his lighter under his smoking smelling blunt while Light glared.

"It's 2 pm. How are you still alive?"

"Crack and pure spite." Ruk exhaled nosily, making Light reach for his cigarettes if only to create some sort of comfortable yin-yang. But then he remembered that he was above Ryuk in more ways than one. He wouldn't sink to his level by filling the air with more worthless smoke that really wasn't all that impressive once it had escaped from your lung's confines. He liked the look the smoking gave, the air of sophistication and grace, the lust for danger and mystery, the way it announced his presence and demanded respect. He smoked because everyone smoked. It was like fidgeting with a shoelace when one had nothing better to do. It helped pass the time. He didn't do it in a filthy, dirty, poor, crack-headed sort of way, unlike Ryuk. He did it because he could. For the pictures.

Light watched the very end of Ryuk's green cigarette flicker and glow, turning bright orange and then bleeding into red as wisps of smoke trailed from his nose. They floated towards him, grabbing out, and Light batted it away as he brushed strings of bangs from his eyes. Did he have to dress up? Well, of course, he couldn't go out in public in just sweats. That was very unsightly, and people would talk. Tracksuits and sweatpants and oversized hoodies were only acceptable on 'lazy days made not so lazy by stopping over to grab coffee' and trips returning from the airport. Light would be doing neither.

Then Ryuk nudged his foot and Light's eyes flickered back over to the deviant, who was staring at him with a question in his eyes. Why was he still here again? His room was much to clean for Ryuk to walk in and sully it with his repulsive nature. His guest room was already perpetually in shambles.

"Did you need something else? More money?"

"Like you would ever give me any money." Ryuk let out a series of high-pitched squealing hyena chuckles, like the stupidest hyena in the Lion King, Ed. "I asked why you keep dating your assistants. It's a bad habit."

"I've dated one assistant." I've only had one, but never mind that. Ryuk was hardly one to throw stones, especially since he was up living in Light's glass house. "And Kiyomi was different. We had fun."

"Uh huh. Sure. You're a funny guy, Light-o, I can't get enough of you. You've practically fucked everyone in your life. Good thing I don't swing that way or I'd probably be at the top of the list."

Light was pretty offended. Not at the insinuation that he was a whore, but that Ryuk thought there was even a parallel universe in which he'd be even remotely considered to swim in Light's prestigious pool of partners. Urgh. He'd probably rather date a snail with a highly contagious illness before Ryuk. A bag of spiders would appeal to him more than Ryuk.

"Yes, well, I liked Kiyomi." he blinked slowly, finally throwing the covers off of himself just so he could get away from Ryuk and his undesirable stench. Ever since the day Ryuk had first crashed Light had been hoping and praying he'd leave. Long ago had Ryuk turned into a smell gone bad too quickly. Quicker than sour milk bought on the sell by date. It really was too bad that Light was too charitable to kick him out. "We had fun. It had nothing to do with the fact that she was my assistant."

"She was just easy then?"

"I'd hardly call Kiyomi easy. Half of my residuals went to buying her bracelets and rings and handbags."

"But never the right ring." Ryuk snickered, which turned into a cough. It only serves him right for prying into my personal business. "Hey? Do you think Kiyomi will want a change after this?"

"Like...?"

"Like, I don't know. Chicks dig changing their appearance after a breakup, right? It makes them feel more powerful and reborn and such? Tattoos are one way to do that."

Oh, for the love of..."Kiyomi wouldn't be caught dead with a tattoo. Much less one from you."

"Just slip it into a conversation somewhere." Ryuk all but begged, his hazy red eyes swimming as he couldn't seem to decide where to steady them on. Light, or his bedside table. "Hey, is that lube?"

"Go practice on another one of your idiotic friends. What's more body mutilation to them, right."

"I just need more clients." he grumbles petulantly, using Light's ash tray to snuff out his blunt. Light frowned. He had gotten the ash tray from France. The little buildings etched into the side glimmered, the light bounced off of them and danced in small circles on the carpeted floor. It was cathedral shaped, aesthetic, brilliant. And now it smelled like mossy rocks and cheap fools gold.

"Right now, I'd say you need at least one."

"This business is hard to break into, what can I say? And if I'm gonna do it, I have to do it right. I won't be kept on a leash at some parlor with 'rules' and 'guidelines'. Ick. Reminds me of my father."

"Right. Well, why don't you try and do something that's productive today, unlike just throwing pizza boxes around my couch, and I'll do the same." Light clapped with faux cheeriness injected into his voice, flipping on the light switch with more aggression than was necessary. "Then we'll both have something to write home about come dinner time."

"I have a few meetings." Ryuk lied over his bathroom wall, and Light just began brushing his hair out, wondering what attire was considered appropriate for a 'meeting', which was just Beyond's fancy way of luring him to his office so that he could yell at him for dismissing the booze commercial he had gotten all ready for him. Light's image was better than that. "Hey, do you mind if I have a few friends over tonight?"

"No." Light rolled his eyes, dabbing some shit avocado mask under them. Did it really do anything? Did it matter? It gave the illusion of care, which was why he owned half of the skin care products he did in the first place. Accutane and laser treatments had already done the hard work, this was here just to reaffirm his hard work. "Hey, get the fuck out of my bathroom." Light ordered as Ryuk rounded the corner, lighting up yet another blunt which he had gotten from God knows where. Probably his lint-filled back pocket.

"Please? It'll be just a small gathering."

"That's like saying Bohemian grove is just a boy scouts meeting. No, get your own place to destroy."

"That was one time."

"Seven."

"Seven, one, you know I failed geometry so that's a really low blow. Either way that was all Tommy's fault and he knows he's not allowed over here again. It's just a few of the guys, you know them."

"Unfortunately." Light walked briskly into his closet, just to get away from Ryuk's peddling pleading. How is it that my closet is stuffed so fully with clothes that I can hardly move them around and yet I still have nothing to wear? Note to self, ask Kiyomi to set up a meeting with another designer. This is all last summer's garbage. You know what, I'll donate it to Salvation army. I don't know what poor people would do with Tom Ford and Gucci, but...

"I'll take out the garbage for a week. Please?"

"You're already meant to do that." I should layer. I will layer. What's the weather today? Late August...blistering with a cool breeze that's more lukewarm than anything? This cardigan is knitted, but this jacket is pretty sheer...

"I'll order in sushi?"

"With my credit card?"

"I'll...repaint your bathroom?"

"God no. You'd choose an awful color. Like 'sea green breeze' or 'yellow cornfield'." Light sniffs, picking out a white button-down. Classic. Refined. A safe choice. He doesn't feel like much of anything today, but he can't show it. He's just so bloody annoyed at the inconvenience that is life. Where's Kiyomi with an ice mountain when you need her? Oh, right, probably off getting a manicure. If she chooses anything but gel tips, he'll kill her, but it's okay, he knows she won't. She's comfortingly predictable like that.

"Where are you going anyway?" Ryuk pounds on the door as Light picks out his khakis. Mm, no. Corduroy painter pants. Vintage. Oh God wait, there's a drawstring. Why can't anything ever go accordingly? Why do I even own something with a drawstring? Fuck me finally, corduroys without a silly limp string. Dark grey, almost black. Nice.

"To a meeting. What are you, my keeper?"

"So, you'll be gone for a few hours?"

"No!" Light shouts firmly, flinging his underwear haphazardly so that it somehow ends in the laundry hamper. One point Yagami. "Haven't you ever heard about these things called bars? Restaurants? Parks? You don't need my house to practice your sordid activities in. I so do not need to buy another coffee table."

"We'll hang out on the deck."

"So, you bastards can piss all over my pool? I just had it cleaned." Light complains, throwing open the door so suddenly that Ryuk flinches as Light struts past him. Ryuk's wearing an orange beanie of all things which just fuels Light's hatred against his unwelcome house guest. Champion too. Doesn't he know they used to sell that at Walmart?

"We're twenty-five, that's a little too old to still be pissing in pools." Ryuk frowns, coming up behind him as Light's clipped fingernails pull delicately at his skin. Is tinted moisturizer the move? What if there are pictures? What's he thinking, of course there will be. He's everywhere.

"And yet, you still will." It's like sunscreen. SPF 50. That's always good to fight against wrinkles. He doesn't want the sun to cook him like an egg. No, he'll never age. And it smells like mangoes.

"You! You are just like my father." Ryuk jabs a painted finger onto his mirror and Light twists his mascara cap off deftly, without even sparing him a second glance. "With all of these bullshit rules, and curfews, and 'chores.' I mean, what the fuck? I used to be street and now I'm running all over the joint like an apron-wearing nanny!"

"If you don't like it," Blink, blink, fuck a dot! "I hear the shelters are lovely this time of year. Or McDonalds is hiring. They always are."

"I got fired from McDonalds. Remember?"

Light rolls his soft brown eyes, flicking away imaginary dust and primping up his hair in an effortlessly wind-tousled manner before smoothing it down again. He blows out a breath, cheeks hollowing, his face smooth and soft and delicate as he looks like a wax-sculpture come to life by nothing more than with the grace of a pure man's heart. Light bulbs flicker-he'll have to get Ryuk to change those- and he smiles on charming grin before it evaporates into a thin line and he turns on his heel. The world's been dead up until now, but once he steps off his porch, they'll all come alive, fluttering in a frenzy all to capture his attention as he steals theirs.

"If I come home and see footprints or bottles of vodka that are flavored, you're out of here!"


The air freshener is new. It has to be. It smells very artificially comforting. Like strawberries on a warm summer night if the warm summer night happened to take place in Midsommar. Light liked the forest trees better, but Beyond wouldn't know anything about taste even if it came up and smacked him in the face. He loves strawberries. Much too much.

"Mr. Wammy is ready to see you now Mr. Yagami." the receptionist interrupted his musing, smiling at him like he might take her to bed and Light just waved her off as he headed in. He better damn well be ready. He had been waiting for almost 10 minutes, 8 minutes and 20 seconds, and that was just reprehensible.

"Lighty Light bulb! My favorite client! How are you doing sugar plum? Oh, Light of my life?"

"Can you not? I have a migraine coming on and it's a bad one."

"Oh, I'm very sorry." Beyond smiled from behind his desk, proving how utterly unrepentant he actually was. "All that hard work getting to you?"

"Yes, actually. I hardly slept eight hours last night."

"Poor boy. I would imagine Instagram campaigns and sweater ads are quite draining."

Light scowled, feeling a vein below his eyelid beginning to twitch and squirm. "I like doing those things. They help pass the time."

Beyond watched him like a hawk would a mouse as he plopped down into the chair opposite of him, picking up a pencil to flick against the glimmering desktop that would have been pristinely clean if not for all of the files and contracts and lollipop wrappers. "But wouldn't you rather be doing an actual project? You know, something that brought in actual money for me?"

Like Beyond didn't have enough money already, being the owner of his own agency and everything. Light frowned, crossing one leg over the other and then un-crossing them once again to lean forward. "Well, maybe I would act again if you didn't just keep bringing me shit."

"That's so rude, but I'll forgive you just the once. And you think everything is shit. I could bring you a script written by Jesus Christ himself and you'd still find some reason to throw it into the wastebasket."

"That's not true." Everything has a hint of truth in it but Beyond's a twat. "Maybe everyone's just writing shit these days. That's not my fault."

"What about that script I brought you about the lawyer murder-suicide?"

"Cheap, tacky, predictable."

"Okay. How are you feeling about that historical romance?"

"Unrealistic, boring, and dull. I actually have read history textbooks more arousing than that script. I mean, really Beyond, they had a full nude scene in a stable of all places! Can you imagine the nooks and crannies where hay could end up? It was just unsanitary and ruined my appetite for a full two days."

"Oh dear, that's not good. You had to be feeling some type of way after reading the ghost story?"

"I've heard spookier stories inspired by the DMV."

"God, you're a bastard." Beyond breathed out, looking at Light almost as if he couldn't believe he was real. Light couldn't help but smile. Yes, that was a talent of his. He wasn't there, just a specter of everyone's imagination based on how they perceived him. He was a piece of clay that could only be molded to perfection by the clearest of eyes and the stealthiest of hands. Beyond, for his part, used his own fingers to massage his temples. "You've maybe done, what, two films and a failed television pilot in the last six years? I mean that's just pathetic. Especially for someone of your standing."

Light looked him over thinly. He hated insinuations that he was a washed up, has been, fading twat that was only good for guest appearances on late night sitcoms. He was so much more than that. He was a star; he knew it as well as everyone else in this dry town. The problem was that he didn't want to waste his talents and artistry on cheap shit just to have more boxes to check off on his resume.

It seemed like everything written and produced and consumed these days were garden salads. Old, reliable, there if you needed them, but it wasn't like they were a grilled salmon salad with grape tomatoes and garlic croutons. They left a bad taste in everyone's mouth and were dry and wilted. It seemed every idea had already been fleshed out and performed, dragging through the mud until it was unrecognizable and smelled of sewage. Light swore he would never be a sell-out, some two-dollar mime who prostituted himself just to have the cameras shining on his face. He was never going to do something poor, something hollow, something as shallow as a kiddie pool. He had seen too many actors fall prey to the promise of fame and money, only to have that promise transform into a snake that sank it's venomous fangs into its neck as infamy was the only thing they earned for their not so hard work.

No, most everything in this town was fake, but being fake didn't mean it had to come cheap. Look at him, for example. The best laid illusions were tailored with care and upheld gloriously, and he was not going to stumble and fall just because Beyond wanted to him on a set. No way and no how. Light would rather just go back to college, it was a horror, but a torture he'd willingly subject himself too before he lost his footing by his own volition alone.

"I want to do something good. Something real. Something that will be talked about, and not just because I'm in it, but because it actually has a solid foundation to be built upon! You know, there was a time when we used to make films we were proud of here. There was a time when going to the cinema was the same as going to an art gallery. Now it's all over done storylines played for a gasp and a gut-reaction, and love stories that always end with a kiss."

"You're pretentious is what you are. And lazy."

"No, I'm unique and looking for a film that speaks to my heart."

"Yawn. You know, when you talk, I just imagine wide sunny cornfields and blue skies."

Light glared, and Beyond just sent him a cheeky smile. "What about indie films?"

"YOU-oh! You despise indie films."

"No I don't. They're...artistic."

"Yeah, some, but most are just contrived nonsense strung from the minds of high college students who are trying to be deep and reflective. They always end with 'and it was just a dream.'"

"You're ridiculous. Okay, name one film you've liked this year."

"A fault in paradise. Horror is for two. Mindfield wasn't bad."

"Liar. Those were shit and you know it. 'Horror is for two' are you fucking with me right now? At the end it was revealed that the male lead was a werewolf all along, and that's bestiality. And werewolves haven't been scary since the eighties. You feel like you have to like those because your clients were extras."

"Not extras."

"Extras, side characters, same thing. Neither get paid enough and both are always on the edge of the lens."

"Then why don't you write your own?" Light soured.

"Child actor turned director? Please. What's next for my career? A sexual harassment lawsuit followed up with a suicide?"

"Oh, I forgot, you can't write anything. Not even that damn book which you've already signed the contract for by the way-"

"Oh my God, here we go." Light muttered, throwing his head back against the chair to glare sullenly up at the ceiling. He felt his spirits drop lower than hell as Beyond continued on his tired tirade, which sounded like the rushing of water to his oversensitive ears.

"No, not 'here we go'. I've been lenient with you on this. Too lenient perhaps. You've got to listen; those publishers have been up my ass because you won't respond to any of their emails."

"I do too."

"Yeah, with one word promises that you never intend on fulfilling. You can't write. I don't even know why you signed on to do a book deal, you're utterly hopeless. You're lucky I love you."

"I can write." Light insisted, offended with the insinuation that he was illiterate and ill-read. All of his essays in school had gotten 110%, and that was unheard of for most average students. Why, he had aced a creative writing class he hadn't of even needed to take! Light could write, and he was good at it, he knew this to be true because he was good at everything he did.

"Then why haven't you?" Beyond fixed him with a knowing look that picked through his brain.

"...I haven't got any inspiration yet." Light finally muttered, turning away from those steely grey eyes, as reflective and void as a stainless-steel refrigerator. And that is the truth. I'm not just going to spit out laughing, mocking, hollow words that don't accurately describe who I am as a person and what trials and tribulations I've had to go through to get to this point. He was an artist, and art couldn't be rushed, dammit!

This was his one shot at giving the world a glimpse inside of a closed book that had been previously meant for his eyes and his eyes only. He couldn't fuck it up. Matters such as these were delicate. He had to accurately portray himself or it'd be social suicide, he might as well throw himself off a bridge because that would do him just about as much good as releasing a watery memoir would.

No one ever wanted to fix their eyes and gaze upon a half-moon after all. He had to be full of substance, of power, of longing, of anything. These words had to portray a deep understanding of his better nature and that was hard to come by. It was so hard to make people truly see what was right in front of them. He'd be throwing out a lacuna lackadaisically into a parted sea if he did anything that was less than perfect. These were the golden standards he had to uphold; he was forced to. No one understood that either. No one wanted to understand perfection, they'd rather believe it was an innate capability automatically installed at birth rather than the fight it actually was.

Beyond sighed, mashing some buttons on his computer, which Light knew were just exclamation marks dotting a blank google search engine. "Honey, it's been a year. And no one's getting any younger. How hard is it to write an autobiography? Hitler did it."

"What a stunning example you've chosen. You're just being difficult; perfection can't be rushed."

"Nothing's ever rushed with you. You're a steam engine with no steam and you're sitting stationary on the tracks while all of the other hard-working engines are pilling onto you."

"I have a few chapters down..."

"Do you?"

"Yes! I'm not lying!" Light glared at the insinuation while Beyond just chuckled.

"Okay dear heart, let's see them."

"I don't have my laptop right with me at this very moment. You didn't tell me to come prepared."

"That's fine. Email them to me then."

"They're of a highly sensitive nature. What if they were leaked by dirty hackers? I'm sure you have a million and a half viruses on your computer with all of the porn you watch."

"I stopped doing that at work." Beyond snapped once, losing his composure before it miraculously stitched itself back up with a smirk. Light sighed, Beyond was hopeless. A bomb waiting to explode. How was he not in a mental asylum for the criminally insane yet? "You haven't written anything. Go on, be honest. Your nose might shrink."

"Are you trying to tell me I need another nose job?" Light glowered, and Beyond just shook his shoulders out, sizing Light up as if he was dinner.

"Right. That's it, I'm hiring you a ghost writer."

"No!" Light immediately shouted, appalled that such a wickedly offensive thought would even dare to run through Beyond's mind, and even more disgusted that he would ever in a trillion years think it was a good idea to speak it into existence. "Are you mad? On drugs? Experiencing a mid-life crisis at thirty-eight?"

"I'm as cool as a cucumber Light Yagami. I'm putting my foot down, yeah? I'm not talking to you as your friend, but as your manager. I'm not waiting around to watch the pants get sued off of you, you will write this book and you will do so now! Even if your treacherous little fingers can't manage to hold a pencil for five seconds someone else's will."

"I don't want someone else to tell my story." Light was struggling. No, he was drowning. "I don't want some talentless no name vomiting their mediocrity all over my legacy! Oh, it'll just be horrible, I can imagine it now: 'Stupid hack Light Yagami writes a stupid book and it's stupid, nobody cares."

"You are such a drama queen." Beyond blinked slowly but Light leapt up and began to pace. He couldn't think under these conditions. Everything was happening so fast. Everyone was trying to control him and control his life and make it into something he hadn't approved! Were the walls closing in? Had Beyond lured him here to finish him off because he was such a worthless, pathetic, waste of space piece of shit-

"Are you having an asthma attack?" Beyond's sharp voice cut through glass and Light tore at his hair, muttering under his breath. "Geez, calm down and take a Xanax. I wouldn't hire some sod, give me some goddamn credit! I'd only get the best for you, you know that."

"Look." Light paused, pointing a finger in Beyond's face for added emphasis. He was pleased to find that it was as stiff as a board of wood, no cracks could be found in his foundation. "I don't care if you raise bloody Shakespeare from the depths of death, I'm not letting anyone else type even a single letter in my book and that's final!"

"The official deadline for your first draft is in two weeks." Beyond told him shortly. Light couldn't seem to process this information, it spiraled around his brain and twisted under wires while he stood, dead-eyed and frozen, gaping like a fish about to be hammered into a tuna salad sandwich.

Two weeks?

Jesus, how did I lose track of time so easily? It seemed like just yesterday he had signed the contract, spent his advance, and then gone home and had a nice bubble bath while imagining signing covers in his perfectly refined scrawl at Barnes and Nobles'.

Light sighed, hair falling into his face as he sat back down onto the chair with a heavy thud. He could feel pity and irritation for said pity simultaneously rolling off of Beyond's shoulders in waves. "Two weeks?" he repeated disdainfully, in great distaste for himself and Beyond smiled as his chin came to rest in his hand.

"Two weeks." he affirmed, looking up from wild black bangs. "Look, Light, I know you could write this. Okay? No one is doubting your abilities. But you have so much on your plate." A lie. " Tons if super important people have ghost writers because they just can't be arsed with laptops and Word documents. You don't need to write this, hardly anyone writes their own memoir's."

"I want to make something good." Light admitted, almost shamefully, looking down as his restless feet. He felt Beyond nodding along with whatever he had to say.

"It will be good. I know someone perfect, alright?"

A thin white business card was pushed across the table. Bone white, nice, modern-serif font, ick. Light picked it up between a capable pointer finger and thumb, studying it in the harsh fluorescent lighting.

"...L. Lawliet? I don't know who that is. What's his resume?"

"That's because you don't read anything that isn't old literature. He's good, I've read his stuff. He's highly qualified."

"Are you on his payroll?"

"Hey! Don't give me that. Have I ever steered you wrong in the past?"

Light drolly looked at Beyond and his fluttering eyelashes. "Disney World?"

"Well how was I supposed to know 'it's a small world' would break down? I can't see into the future. If I could, believe me, I would have never bought lottery tickets when I was in high school."

"Last year's teen vogue party?"

"Hydekki Ryuga going mad and giving out cocaine as party favors is something I had no prior knowledge of! And it was free blow, did you expect me not to have a sniff?"

"The horseback riding incident?"

"...Okay, fine, that one's on me." Beyond sighed, and Light smirked, gaining what little pride he had left. "I wouldn't stick you with some moron. Go home and do your own research. This guy can get a rough draft done in a week and a half, easy. He writes like thirty thousand words a day, I've seen it."

"That's doubtful." Light eyed him. So, he was some English wunderkind? Some Charlotte Bronte reincarnated? Big deal, Light could probably write forty thousand words in a day if he put his mind to it. He just didn't have the want or need or time. Except he did have want to get his story out there. But, still... "I'll have to talk to him though. About...personal things."

"Don't get like that." Beyond scolded. "You talk in interviews all of the time."

"But this is different."

"How?"

"Because, people will know me and..." What if they don't like what they see?

"The people need to feel like they know you. Even if that's not the real you."

"But I want it to be the real me."

"Hardly anyone likes real people." Beyond spoke with the knowledge and wisdom he had no business having, and Light decided he would ignore it like he ignored most of the hair-brained words that flew through Beyond's mouth. "You're a star, Light. Do I really need to give you a pep talk at this stage in your career? Actually, fuck me, this is the perfect time for a pep talk. Look, you're charming, brilliant, talented, not bad to look at and not bad in the sack either. You're a fun guy, and everyone loves you. Everyone. No one else would care about VPN ads from anyone other than their favorite influencer. 'Good Times' is still one of the most popular sitcoms of all time, you know? You did that. People love you. And, you know, I love you, not to get all mushy and everything, but I'm one of the best managers around and I wouldn't give you the time of day if I didn't see a potential for greatness brimming inside of you. It's there, you just have to dig. And luckily, I have a shovel."

"Okay. Alright. I'll call him." Light relented utterly defeated as he slumped forward. He had a bad feeling about this. "But if I get even the smallest hint that he's writing some exposé on me, I'll kill him and then you."

"Oh, I love it when you're accommodating." Beyond sighed.


The candle flickering in front of him was gold, bright, warm and tempting, flicking softly with the tune of his heartbeat. Light hated it. He wanted desperately to snuff it out.

"This is just horrible. Did they change management here? This bread is so dry and hard it feels like I'm eating stones."

"Can you calm yourself? That's because you aren't dipping it in oil first."

"Oil?" Light repeated, horrified. "Oil is calorific and disgusting, and it causes acne and unnecessary weight gain." He was already eating carbs for God's sakes. What more could be expected of him? He had to keep his weight in check, now more than ever. Clothes were only being made tighter and tighter.

"God, your life sounds awful. Thank God I don't live it." Sayu said cheerfully, dragging her own piece of breed through the sludge, and Light wrinkled his nose. "Calm down, our appetizers haven't even been brought out yet."

"Yeah, we've been waiting for nearly an hour."

"...It's been ten minutes. Is this your way of telling me you don't enjoy my company? Nice."

"No, I'm just stressed." Light sighed, rearranging his cutlery even though the order it had been in was perfectly fine. Well, not 'perfectly'. It had been fine. The butter knife had been slightly crooked. But then, he wasn't going to use butter, so was it really a problem?

"About? You literally eat from a silver spoon. Kiyomi told me about your new silverware. You just had to have it imported from Italy, didn't you?"

"It was a good deal all things considered. It was an investment. For dinner parties and such."

"That could have bought me a house."

"No, more like it could have paid your rent, considering the city we live in, and you know, you could work."

"I do!"

"You know what I mean."

"I'm not getting into modeling. Tell your agent that. I've never wanted to." Sayu shook her head, her fingers waving a sodden, drenched piece of bread in the air as she talks, as so splatters of oil rain down on the previously milk white tablecloth. "I want nothing to do with these lights and cameras. That's your business. It's bad enough they know I'm your sister, so I gain infamy from that."

"Not sure infamy is the right word." Light muttered, and Sayu shot a mega-watt smile at the waiter who came up behind him and set their plates down. They had put fucking sauce on his stuffed mushrooms. He had specifically requested that they be bone dry. For that, this bone-headed waiter was not getting a tip.

"Believe me, it is." Sayu rolled her eyes, smile dropping as she dug into her salad. Light should have just gotten that. Instead, he pushed his own slop around listlessly with a spoon. "Wherever I go, whatever I do, I'm known as 'Light Yagami's sister' or 'The younger Yagami sibling' no one ever bothers to get my name right. And whenever someone comes up to talk to me, their opening line of inquiry is always 'So your Light Yagami's sister, right? You know him? How is he doing? Can you tell him I said hi? Could you ask for his autograph? It's my sister's neighbor's friend's kid's birthday could you get a video of him wishing her a happy birthday? Could you ask him to sign my ass?' I'm so sick of it. It would be so nice if someone could ask how I'm doing but no, no..."

Why are you talking to me about this? Light just nodded along, not even really hearing the words as they flew high above his head. He didn't even know why he still hung around with Sayu, she always had something to complain about. She thought her life was hard? Try walking in his shoes for a day. Everyone, literally, everyone on this planet wanted a piece of him, and they took and took even after all of the fragments were grabbed by greedier hands than theirs's. He had had to answer to many meaningless questions about himself that at this point he had just prepared a script for any conversation that he walked into, ever.

Once her mouth had stopped flapping and tightened into a straight line, he decided that it was his turn to speak. Just to fill up the noisy silence or whatever. "Well, I'm sorry being related to me is so hard. Maybe change your name if you're so sick of it."

"What are you talking about? Holding the Yagami name is a title of honor." Sayu muttered. Her fork stabbed into wilted lettuce leaves. "So many girls would kill themselves and their first born to be known as 'Mrs. Yagami', and that's another thing, I have literally a line of people banging at my door to set them up with you. It's exhausting."

"I'm not interested in a relationship right now."

"Right, I heard." What? How? "Kiyomi and I went out to lunch today." Sayu elaborated after his confused silence had spoken enough, and Light chewed his tongue. Fucking Kiyomi, running off to his sister to have a mother hen meeting. First, she blabbed about the silverware and now this? He never should have crossed that professional boundary, because now Kiyomi thought she had the privilege to go out and spout his business to everyone under the sun. Curse Valentine's day and his broke down car. Was he surprised? No, just thoroughly exhausted.

"So, we broke up. So what? Don't tell me you're going to turn into dad and start nagging at me to settle down."

"Pfft, never. I don't think you should settle down. Would I love to have a sister? A niece or nephew? It's not worth it, it'd surely bring untold amounts of drama and broken plates."

"That's a little rude. Not every breakup is my fault, there's two sides to everything."

"Yeah, but I'm your sister and I know you. It's this town that's gotten to you."

"Right, yeah, Los Angeles is a cesspool."

"It's a tar pit." Sayu sniffed, and Light wasn't inclined to disagree. "I swear, after I'm finished with cosmetology school I'm out of here."

"You'd make more money as a makeup artist living here." Light pointed out. "Plus, with my connections, you'd have job offers coming out of your ears. Where else do people need makeup artists? San Diego? San Fransisco? God, at least tell me you'd never move to Oregon."

"I don't know where I'd move to yet." Sayu lied such a clear lie, he could tell by the way her pupils constricted. "Anywhere would be better than here though. Being immersed in this culture...it changes you. It makes all of these unimportant factors a life-or-death scenario and it makes you into a shiny plastic people person with no need for a soul. To this day I still have no idea why we moved here in the first place."

"You've never been outside of California a day in your life. There are worse places." Again, not that he disagreed but...this was his home. His life.

"I suppose so. I just want to get out of here. I don't think I'll feel completely free until I cross state lines." Sayu sighs, once, and her pink painted clipped nails drum wretchedly on the side of her half-empty glass tumbler. It sounds like bones banging together. "Anyway, enough about me. How are you?"

"I'm doing good."

"Mm. Right. Now tell me what you wouldn't automatically tell a cashier at target."

Light scowled, his eyes drifting over the darkened restaurant to find a good enough place to rest them. So many people, so many useless people, so many strangers he'd never see again that didn't seem to have a life apart from his own. They were all just background characters. Spaces to fill up the holes in his life to convince him he wasn't left alone. They'd know him, everyone would know him, and he'd never know them. It was almost suffocating, if he wasn't going to drive back to his house on top of a hill. The atmosphere really was much too dark though. He wished he could have ordered a merlot, but he couldn't drink and drive. The last DUI had been hard enough to get out of.

But shadows danced on the wall and the loud hum softened into something barely noticeable. A bus boy dropped a dish of plates and giggles broke out in a corner. "Beyond wants me to hire a ghost writer to write my book. He's coming over later tonight."

"You're actually doing that? I thought that was just something you told dad."

"No, I am. Well, he is now, I guess. I don't know."

"What's his name?"

"L. Lawliet."

"That sounds fake."

"It's probably a penname."

"Is he any good?"

"Alright, who had the smoked salmon?" The waiter came back with a jolly tune in his voice, way too jolly for someone working off of tips and two dollars an hour. Light limply waved his hand and watched as Sayu's own ravioli was laid out before her. It was smothered in cream sauce white as snow and he could have cried. That would go straight to her hips. Was she pregnant? "Is there anything else I can get you folks this evening? Some desert?"

God no. First of all, they hadn't of even finished dinner yet! Second of all, Light had had the tiramisu this place had to offer, and it wasn't any good. It wasn't nearly heavenly or soft enough to ruin his diet plan over anyway. He hated sweets, the way the sugar stuck to the roof of your mouth and lingered, sizzling on molars so roughly you could almost hear cavities being sired. Light already had one too many fillings for his liking, and while the drugs they handed out like dinner mints beforehand were nice and steady, they never lasted for long and left him with a sore mouth that creaked every time he yawned. No desert for him.

"I think we're okay for now, thank you." Sayu flashed him a small, dismissive smile and he nodded like a puppy, turning to Light again, clearly not recognizing he had been politely asked to fuck off. Light knew why he hadn't of noticed. He braced himself for it.

"I don't mean to be rude," Right. Because adding a disclaimer beforehand automatically makes any statement acceptable. "but are you Light Yagami?"

Oh, oh my God! However could he have not seen that coming?

Oh wait.

Light's muscles tightened around his face as he smiled widely, his eyes shaped into half-crescents of mock politeness, but clearly this moron had his head too high up in the clouds to see that Light was being overly polite as a way of insult. Some people were just too easy. "Ah, guilty as charged haha."

"I love your work." he gushed, his hands trembling with barely restrained excitement as he clutched onto a fluttering napkin. "'Good Times' was mine and my sister's favorite show to watch after school. You're amazing!"

"Oh, stop, you'll make me blush. You're too kind, thank you for the support."

"If it's not a bother, could I get your autograph? A picture, maybe?"

Light had the unholy urge to grind his teeth into little pebbles. Seriously? Now? He missed the times when the help knew not to talk to those above their paygrade. Where had the respect gone? Would he be doing this to a member of the monarchy? Light couldn't imagine being so self-absorbed to take someone out of their meal to flash lights in their face and make their head ache. How disrespectful.

But he was resigned to his fate as he gestured for the thin napkin and a pen. Obviously this was going to make this cretin's life, maybe he wouldn't go home and get drunk off of bud light while desperately avoiding prescribed antidepressants as his own desert. His thumb jabbed into the button of his phone for much too long, obviously meaning he was taking as many pictures as possible. In one of the selfies he gave a thumbs up, and that was almost too much.

"Dinner is on the house tonight, don't worry about it, you've already done so much. Have a great, great evening sir!"

Light waved him off as he scurried away to his waiter friends huddled in the corner shooting them furtive looks, obviously gossiping. Light was just so tired of being observed like some monkey in a zoo. They said they loved him, but how could they love him like this? His lips were strung out and taut and desperately begging to relax into their natural shape, so he hid his scowl by shoving a forkful of asparagus into his mouth.

"Well, that was something." Sayu muttered derisively, cutting up her own food into neat little squares. "You're a star, Light. You're writing your book for them. How does it feel?"

"Like an honor." Sayu didn't miss the way that Light's blunt, dry humor was actually scathing criticism, but he didn't care how his sister perceived him. They had shared a womb so obviously she knew him better than most people.

"So?"

"So?" he mumbled around potatoes, wanting to flee the scene as soon as he could before another half-wit came up and asked him to ordain them. And, yes, that had happened two times too many.

"This Lawliet writer guy, is he any good?"

"Oh, I don't know. I don't read anything that was published in the last ten years, it's all shit."

"So, you don't even know his writing style and yet you're trusting him to tell your story? That's very much unlike you. Do you have a fever?"

"This is all Beyond's meddling, I have nothing to do with it."

"Okay, well, I know in the real-world people have to follow their managers' orders blindly, but this is Hollywood. You can do whatever you want you know. You could tell him to kiss your ass and he'd apply Chapstick beforehand."

"...I looked him up on Wikipedia." Light finally admits, averting his eyes back to the orange licking flames of the candle. Oh, what the hell, his fingers reach out to clasp the wick and he doesn't miss the singular electric spark that flashes through his body before he's left bored once again. "He has his credentials. He writes a lot of social commentaries, a few mysteries and psychological horrors."

"So he's good?"

"...I read a few quotes." Light shrugs. What he doesn't want to say is that they were spellbinding, captivating, deep dark words he's thought of but never been able to formally articulate until Lawliet did. He spoke dreams into few words, and his words nearly took Light to a different dimension. He's read through half of one on his iPad already. But, admitting that seems like a defeat somehow, so he won't.

Besides, he knows nothing about this man. He could be some gothic, dark, odd fellow with a pension for nastiness and doom. He could make Light's life into a horror with a few choice words. Most writers are strange and dreary creatures, finding comforts in made up storylines than real life. Maybe those quotes were his best ones, and the rest is shit. Light actually doesn't judge a book by its cover, he judges it by its contents.

"Were they good quotes? Do you trust him to put your life into words?"

I hardly trust Kiyomi to get me a good latte with the perfect amount of foam, I don't trust many people. It'd be suicide to, in his world at least. Most people just aren't trustworthy. Especially when you're high up on a pedestal. There are always those waiting to rip him down if he gives them the slightest edge. "Sure. I guess. I don't have much of a choice. The deadline for the first draft is in two weeks."

Sayu's eyes widen into the size of her dinnerplate as she spits water back into her glass. Light cringes. "Two weeks?!" she sputters. "He's supposed to write down a whole person's life into a memoir in two weeks? That's impossible."

"Beyond thinks otherwise." Light shrugs limply, and Sayu just shakes her head.

"My God, how could you let time get away from you that easily? Shouldn't Kiyomi be on you about matters like this? Isn't that what an assistant is for? Or were you two just too busy having sex the whole time?"

"Don't talk about my sex life Sayu, that's inappropriate."

"Oh, sure. God, this is going to be an embarrassment for you."

"No it won't." Light snaps. "If it is...I can just fire him and write my own."

"In less than two weeks?"

"You forget who you're talking to."

"Your big head is so utterly annoying. Okay, fine, do the damn book. Maybe it'll knock your ego down a few pegs."

"I'm grateful for the support, as always." Light mutters dryly, pushing his plate away from him, but Sayu quickly grabs his wrist and sets it delicately back down onto the table.

"I'm sorry. That was harsh." she murmurs, her face softening how their mother's used to. God, she looks like her when she fixes him with those wide brown eyes that implore him to make the right decisions. She seems like an older sister in moments like these, and he doesn't really like it. It's awkward. It's awful. He looks away from those eyes that are as warm as honey. "I'm just...I worry about you, you know?"

"Of course." Light sighs, leaning back into his chair to create some much needed distance between them. Sayu purses her lips, her fingers itching over the tablecloth.

"I just don't want you doing anything you'll regret. I know how you are with...talking about things. I know how you like to be kept privately in a box, only taken out and admired when you need to feel the sunlight. I know, I'm the same way. I just don't want this book to turn into some golden-ticket cheap sell-out thing. I don't want you to commercialize yourself more than you already have been. Okay? Will you promise me you'll be careful?"

Light really regrets ordering the fish, now he feels a touch green, and unhealthily seasick even though they're nestled firmly on dry land. He just needs to leave. This is dinner, not a therapy session. Of course, Sayu worries about him, but she shouldn't, it's all in vain. She forgets that as a child actor who had a career before his first bicycle, Light knows all too well how to look out for himself and hold his head above thrashing waters. Light's only known how to look out for himself. That's showbiz. He knows this. If he hasn't made a fool of himself publicly before, now would be a horrid time to start. He's not going to bring shame and embarrassment to the family name, if that's what she means.

Of course, it could just be a delayed reaction to their mother's passing, he knows Sayu feels guilty about the fact their mother died in a car crash on the way to her ballet recital. But it's not her fault, Light doesn't blame her for it. It'd be such a waste of time. She wasn't the drunken bastard who rushed past a stop sign because his eyes were crossed and his foot was firmly pressed onto the accelerator without a care in the world. It's fine. Sayu didn't cause their mother's death. It was fate, destiny, in the sickest sense. These things happen. But it has given Sayu a guilt-complex the size of Mars and it made her feel as if she had to fill the maternal hole in his life, never mind that he has a new step-mommy that he didn't even need in the first place. But he has to placate her with niceties so that she doesn't go home and cry into her pillow. She worries, and no matter how irritating, light knows that it should touch his heart and make him a tad gentler.

"I will be careful Sayu, I know how the public's opinion is powerful and constantly changing. I'll know what to say." Light dabs his mouth with a napkin, coughing and clearing his throat. He reaches forward to pat the back of her hand with his palm, because it's the right thing to do. "The worst thing that could happen is that an editor beats it to death. I have full faith in Beyond."

"You shouldn't." she sniffs, and he dips his head once as a sort of nod.

No, he doesn't. Not really.

"And don't include any embarrassing childhood stories about me! Or so help you God..."


Well, that was uneventful. He almost misses it. Because now, standing at the foot of his lit-up house which is practically bouncing off of the ground...

Oh God.

Fucking. Ryuk. Light almost throws up his half-digested salmon out of anger, he is livid. Did he not tell Ryuk that under no circumstance he could have a party? That no good, lying, stinking, flapping bloody cunt-

He has a migraine, and it's bad. He feels like some stuffy uptight father who's just come home to find his rebellious teenage son throwing a disgusting house party. The only difference is he will not be loosening up and he will never under any circumstance dance!

Oh, his poor leather couches! His Versace table! His marble countertops! His poor babies are probably being ruthlessly destroyed at this very moment. He quickly decides that if he walks in on an orgy like last time, Ryuk will be out on the streetcorner with a burlap sack faster than he can ask for another one of his famed apple smoothies. This is the last straw. He paid millions of dollars for this house, only for it to end up like every other pseudo-celebrity's pad. How apt.

"Ryuk!" he shouts, his voice drowned out by the banging hip-hop flashing LED multi-colored lights. Ryuk is so lucky he's not epileptic. Hell, at this point he might just fake a seizure if only to make him feel guilty. All he sees is a sea of faceless bodies bumping and grinding, emptying liquor bottles down their throats only to smash glass all over his newly installed cherry hardwood floors. Some girl is crying on his couch and another one is ashing her cigarette in his potted plant, and that's just spiteful. The strong smell of sweat mixed with cottage cheese tickles his nose hair and Light is officially done. "Ryuk!"

He bumps through countless shoulders and shoves past more drooling idiots than he can count to find Ryuk sat cross-legged on his countertop like he's a fucking cult leader, his eyes are wide and his hands are waving furiously as the party guests watch him with rapt interest. They're probably all high. Or drunk. Or both. Beside him, some girl is doing a body shot off of another girl.

"...and so I told that motherfucker if he can't take the heat, to get out of the kitchen! So what if I burned a burger? It's McDonalds, everything's burnt!" A chorus of rattling laughter spills out around him, only further lifting Ryuk's spirits to a heavenly state. Light can't wait to drag him to hell by his spikey, badly dyed blue hair.

Unwisely, he takes a mini red solo cup that's tinted green by the lighting, and swallows the burning liquid down his throat, to perhaps poison his braincells so he forgets the travesty that is currently taking place. His chest fells warm but he's already nursing a stoking fury of flames in his head, so his stomach bubbles and he loses all sense of feeling on his tongue as he stomps forward.

"Ryuk!" he yells, and Ryuk looks down, his eyes blurred and unfocused. His mouth drops open into an 'O', and he probably knows he should be scared and running, but he's probably too fucked out of his skull to care. "What the hell is going on here?"

"...A party." Light could have slapped him, but his hand settled for running itself through his soft brunet locks, which were currently being tainted with the copious amounts of sex and STD particles floating around in the air.

"I know that you idiot, I have eyes! The question is, why is it taking place in my house? I can't believe you-"

"Eh? Sorry, I can't hear you!" Ryuk laughs, cupping his hand up to his ear before it falls away limply and he shrugs. The colored shadows collect around him, making him look much larger than he really is and he truly looks like a demon in that moment. "By the way, some guy came over looking for you earlier."

Fuck, fuck, fuck-

Was that Lawliet? His super serious, super qualified ghostwriter who he's meant to have a super serious, super mature meeting with? Light's fingers twitch and curl, itching to embed themselves in Ryuk's neck so that he can strangle the life from him.

"Where did he go?" Light demands at the top of his lungs to be heard, his voice booming and making his bones shrink, and Ryuk looks over his shoulder.

"Dunno. He came with Beyond, ask him."

And then, as Light follows Ryuk's line of sight, he sees the second worst image that has been presented to him tonight.

Beyond is currently shimmying in a ball of people, his shirt is loose, and his tie is undone and he's throwing his hands up with reckless abandon as he twirls around like a twister. Light grinds his teeth. Oh, why can't his life just be normal? This isn't what normal managers are supposed to do!

But, obviously, Beyond is very far from normal. Dear God, Light's pretty sure he's grinding on one of Ryuk's decrepit greasy friends. No, no this will never do. There could be pictures!

Light leaves Ryuk to his weed smoke and rot, rushing over to Beyond and grabbing onto his shoulder with intention. Beyond tries to shove him off but then Light just shoves him forward harder, and Beyond turns around slowly. And oh! His pupils are so blown out his eyes look pure black, like a stuffed TY beanie baby. That's just great.

"Light-o!" Beyond screeches like a deranged howler monkey on crack, and he is half of those things, a lazy smile warps his already furiously drooping features as he lunges forward and wraps Light in a one-armed hug that feels more like a chokehold to him. Black bangs fall into his eyes and his face is slick and shiny, and Light's pretty sure flecks of glitter masquerading as freckles are sprinkled across his nose. He's a disco ball gone berserk. "Hey buddy! Where've you been baby boy?"

"You're wasted." Light snaps, tugging on his arm, but Beyond just shakes him off as if he's a bothersome gnat.

"I'm partying!" he slurs. "Making...connections. Important business connections!"

"Oh my God. You are impossible. Tuck your dick back into your pants and find me Lawliet right this instant."

"Oh, yeah, I did come with him, didn't I? He's on the patio, I think, if you want to go out and mingle."

Oh great. Light has to go out there alone and actually socialize? If his very professional ghost writer is out there, drunk and throwing up off his deck, Light will fire him before he even utters a hello. Beyond turns away, clearly done with the conversation, and leaves Light alone to fend for himself. Light just glares at his hunched back before he tuns on his heel and stiffly walks away.

"This party better be scarce when I come back in!" he shouts, knowing no one is listening to him, and then he pushes the sliding glass door open only to be assaulted by a cool nighttime breeze and the sounds of water splashing.

Someone's having sex in his pool. Oh God. Someone is actually fucking in his pool. That is disgusting. And unsanitary.

Light sighs, choosing to look up at the darkened starry sky, because that's better than the live porn happening not twenty feet from his person. He can almost smell the semen leaking into the chlorinated water, but then that's overpowered by the stench of weed and nicotine. That reminds him, he needs a cigarette. He needs one desperately. He needs one now.

And he doesn't care if it looks unprofessional, it's a party, and the taste of pungent vodka is still lingering on his tongue, and nicotine goes best with those fermented potatoes. It makes him feel loose, and since he is very much on the edge of a cliff, he digs through his pocket and pulls out a fresh new pack.

Grey smoke soon rises up to join the silvery studded dots embedded in the bruised horizon, purples and dark blues bleed together as wispy clouds run away from this place, and the chilly nighttime air wraps him in a thick blanket of dolor as he sucks down more toxic fumes. The sound of tree branches shaking together as they grab on to each other awakens his senses as he lets the smoke travel directly to his head.

And looking down, he realizes he has no idea of who he's supposed to be looking for. It's not like this 'L. Lawliet' had any headshots, he's a ghostwriter, virtually invisible and unknown by everyone. Beyond didn't even give him a walking, shitting description!

And all he sees are faceless people loitering, fucking or swimming or passed out on the chairs and stargazing up at the pretty things the sky has to offer, imagining themselves as important for getting to see stars they won't recognize come morning. They aren't really taking in anything at the moment, this night is forgettable to them all and will only be a distant, muddled dream come morning, the scars to show that it did indeed take place will be scattered red hickies and pounding headaches. They probably don't even know that a star has fallen and come unto them at this very moment, their brains have taken a vacation to a different dimension where they will stay until the vengeful sun rises over the hilltop come morning and breaks up their black-out, hedonistic blaze of haziness and oblivion.

Light's so preoccupied with himself and the thoughts he's privileged not to have slip away from him just quite yet, he finds that he's somewhat unwittingly migrated to the ledge of his deck and is now staring out at the small homes, smaller than his, that dot the rolling hills below.

"It's odd. You know, a couple hundred years ago, those hills were just hills." His thoughts speak aloud to him. But they come from a different voice, one that is not his own.

"Just hills." he echoes. "Just a blank slate."

"Waiting for destruction. Pretty, aren't they?"

"They're okay. There's a reason I didn't move into any of the houses below this one. The floorplans were all Godawful, disgusting..." Light trails off, cigarette dangling from his lip as it falls below. Shit. It spirals and tumbles through the air until it's covered by green foliage below. It disappears with a twinkle.

"That's going to start a fire." The voice to his left sighs regretfully, and Light plucks another cigarette out to light up, and while he's doing so his eyes are distracted form the flames as he looks to the stranger on his left.

A man, a tall man, a ghostly pale man which he would chalk up to being a specter of his imagination if his alcohol tolerance wasn't through the roof and he'd only had one shot, and speaking of alcohol, this man speaks in long sentences, uninterrupted by a rolling tongue and his words, while strung together lazily with an air of indifference and slight power, are sturdy and stable as a boulder nestled firmly into a mountainside. He's not a drunk idiot. He's just a regular idiot, perhaps, who's decided to engage Light in conversation, probably because of who he is.

"The foliage will snuff it out, if the wind hasn't already." Light dismisses, not liking to feel like he's being held responsible to some imaginary standard he wasn't even really aware existed. His lighter flicks off as flames burn orange and then grey, and smoke escapes from his nostrils as he continues discreetly studying this stranger.

He's never seen him before, so he's not famous or anyone in his circle. But he doesn't look like a Five Nights at Freddy's animatronic that just crawled out of a dumpster after a bender, so he can't be Ryuk's friend either. His nose is prominent, because the side of his face is turned to Light, it slops and curved just at the edge before slightly turning up, and his skin is a milky pale white, opposed to his black as night raven's wings short black hair. It's shaggy, thick but cropped at the base of his skull, he leans forward, and coughs and bangs fall into his eyes and Light is intrigued. His hair matches the night sky, almost, and with the way he's dressed, in a casual blazer thrown over a button-up white shirt and jeans, he's does look like a sort of nocturnal creature. He sucks his cheeks in, and Light watches as they hollow out.

"Nice party." he says idly, no doubt mocking Light. Or maybe he isn't. Light still feels the need to defend himself though.

"It's not mine. My roommate threw this, somewhat without my consent."

"'Somewhat?'"

"I told him not to have anyone over and he invited half of California." A curve of the lips as the stranger straightens up to adjust glasses, and Light wonders, is this Lawliet?

"Ah, I'm sorry to hear that. Roommates can be a bother. That's why I choose to live alone." he says through circular, brown-rimmed glasses, and underneath sparkles the most intense, glittering silver eyes Light's ever seen. They look like storm clouds on a rainy day, just before they part to make way for the sun's white, reviving Light. He lends out a hand. "Light Yagami?"

"In the flesh." Light returns the handshake, forgetting his cigarette is stationed in between his fingers. "And you're L. Lawliet I'm guessing?"

"How'd you know?" L says, tilting his head and Light shrugs, bringing his cigarette back to puff at.

"You're the only person who doesn't look like they've just stumbled out of a rave. I apologize, I'm sure you were expecting a more...professional meeting."

"Sure. But I knew that I was coming up in the hills, to a mansion, so I expected almost anything to happen."

"Again, that's my roommate's fault."

"That's unfortunate. At least it's quiet out here though." A shatter and a whoop follows these words at an untimely pace and L winces, his pointer finger coming up to scratch the corner of his mouth. "Quieter than inside."

"Somewhat." Light says grumpily, turning back to lean on crossed arms. "I should just cut the power lines; they'd all be out of there faster than rats off a sinking ship."

"You could do that. You should do that. I'm pretty sure I actually heard some rats squeaking around in there."

"Oh God, my maid is going to have a field day tomorrow. And I'm sorry about Beyond too. He's a good manager, I swear, he's just...a free spirit." Light cringes as he says this, hating that he has to defend his manager, who should be the definition of professionalism and work-ethic.

"I'm quite used to Beyond and his antics." L snorts. "I'm guessing he didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?" Light frowns, leaning away and dragging his eyes from the depths below to stare back into L's slate-grey round eyes.

"Lawli! Lighty! My two favorite boys!" The squeaking of a rat, no, Beyond, comes up behind Light as two arms wrap respectively around his and L's shoulders, bringing their faces so close together that the tips of their noses could touch if Light was to lose his footing. "I see you two have mingled."

Light forcibly extracts himself from the grasp, horrified at Beyond's blatant lack of boundaries and respect, before he sees L shoot Beyond a quite derisive glare and he realizes there's a level of familiarity there.

"This is my brother." L tells him, almost sadly, and suddenly the whole situation makes all too much sense to Light. But, wait-

"You're Beyond's brother? But your last name is Lawliet?"

"It's his mother's name. He took it as some lovey dovey sentimental cooing nonsense."

"No. Shut up. That's not why."

"Why then?"

"Because..." he sighs out, almost angrily is his face wasn't so stony and unimpressed. "It's my penname. All great writers have one. I'm L. Lawliet. It sounds better."

"What's your real name?" Light can't resist asking, and L's eyes avert over the balcony.

"You can't ask me to give that out. A man's name is his pride, his treasure, without it who is he? Nothing. Just another person lost in the crowd, with an unimportant name that will be forgotten even by the barista."

"It's Elliot." Beyond bursts his bubble, leaving L to sulk.

"Elliot Lawliet. Elliot. Lawliet. Do you hear that? I hate the way it rolls off of the tongue. It's so slick, so messy, so blah. it makes me think that Elliot the Moose program and I hate the first picture that comes up on Google images because I'm always slightly worried that'll be how people perceive me."

Well now Light has to look up 'Elliot the Moose' later, because that's hysterical, but he doesn't want to make L feel self-conscious because he is a gust in his house so he smiles. "Alright, L it is then."

"L it is." L agrees, and Beyond slaps him heartily on the back like they're at a sports tournament.

"But I didn't just recommend him because he's blood. No, if he was shit I'd tell you, but he's the real deal Light, he'll write you into a star!"

"I don't doubt it."

"So, I'm hired?" L asks, and Light nods as Beyond walks away with a cheer. And he's probably off to go snort some more powder off of his coffee table.

"Yes. So long as you don't write me as some asshole."

"I won't. Well, I don't think I will. Are you an asshole?" L prods at his half-joke, and Light stubs the end of his cigarette into the grey ledge of his glass fence.

"No."

"Well, then this should be fun."

Is fun the right word? "Just don't write this party into the book. That would be awkward. It's not my party, you know? I'm not a...a 'partier.'"

"Oh, tonight doesn't count." L assures him with a breathy laugh. "We'll start work tomorrow if you're free?"

"Sure. Sounds good. We already don't have a lot of time to work with."

"Time doesn't mean anything. Well, not to me. It's not a normal constraint. It's a challenge more than anything."

"I might be a challenge." Light muses.

"And why's that?"

"I read through the list of your works. You've never written a celebrity tell-all before."

"I've written about some important people."

"Yeah, about them. But that's just public knowledge and what's known. You're going to actually tell my story, right? Like, the actual story of my life?"

"I plan on doing so. If that's what you want?"

"Of course it's what I want. I just...it's hard, isn't it? To tell everything and anything through a couple thousand words?"

"Most stories, if they're worth anything, can never be simplified through mere words alone." L confesses, as more splashing breaks up the otherwise comfortable atmosphere around them. "I wouldn't be able to describe the full magnitude of all that you are in one story. A lifetime is a series, and when the book ends, that's not the ending, because you'll still move on and live your life afterwards."

"An ending would be death."

"Right."

"And unless you're going to kill me..."

"I don't think it will come to that." he can hear the smile in L's voice, and that makes him want to smile.

"Would you even want to help me tell this story? You'd have to spend a lot of time with me, you might get sick of me."

"Light, I don't think that's going to be a problem. I write interesting stories about interesting people." L assures him, his voice going straight into Light's ears, rather than just wrapping around his head and giving him a general sense of what's being said. "And I have a good eye for good talent, much like my brother. When he told me you needed a ghost writer I all but volunteered. I like interesting people. And I think you're interesting."

"You do?" Light's suspicious, because he's a suspicious person by nature. "Why's that?"

"It's just something I can see in your eyes." L tells him, but then scoffs. "Forgive me, that's the writer in me talking. No, they way you carry yourself, the way you talk and the things you say...I can tell there's a story there that's desperate to be written."

"By you."

"Yes, by me, if you're willing."

A firefly lights up past him, making Light consider his next words carefully. "Yeah. I am." he tells L with some frightening finality, because, Oh God, he's really going to do this. He's going to bare it all and expose himself for nine dollars and ninety-nine cents plus tax. There's only so many ways this can go and though he hopes it won't end in the worst possible way, experience is his friend, and it usually never ends with a closed book that's worthy of acceptable closure. "I want you to tell my story."


I don't own anything besides the waiter, and not even him, really. He's owned by capitalism.