Welcome to chapter 5, todos! Worry not, slow as the updates may be, they're still updates. Yes? Yes.
Now read.
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Light was pacing in his room while his mind went crazy. It was already 2 in the morning which meant that L had had at least 4 hours to watch some of the recordings of Light's behavior from previous days as well as the footage Watari watched of the two of them together. It made sense to Light that L didn't want him to be in the building with him while he investigated, so he wasn't upset that L had sent him home.
But it had been 5 hours since Light left. Shouldn't L know by now? He should. He really should.
Wouldn't L call him?
Light made a point to pace once in front of the camera's field of view so that L knew he was awake.
Nothing; he didn't get a phone call.
He paced again next to the door and looked straight at where he knew the camera monitored his bedroom door. Now L would know that Light knew that L knew he was awake.
Nothing again.
He was losing his mind.
He should have just confessed and let himself get rejected or accepted.
Light took another loop around his room and collapsed on his bed around 3.
"This is the worst," he whined into his pillow as he covered his head with his hands. He wanted to sleep, but his nerves wouldn't let him and he almost felt like he needed to vomit.
Maybe he was hungry.
He decided that was a task he could actually accomplish and pushed himself off his bed and headed to the kitchen.
"Sayu?" he asked as he got to the kitchen and saw his sister cooking at the stove with all of the lights on.
"Mhmm?" she asked, nonchalant, as if it was totally normal to be up at 3 in the morning cooking . . . something that smelled excellent.
"What is that?" he asked, already distracted.
"Scrambled tofu with tomatoes, spinach, garlic, lemon, soy sauce, and a bit of sesame seed oil," she answered as she turned around with a smile.
If he wasn't salivating before, he was now.
Sayu giggled, "Do you want some?"
"Yes," he answered immediately before remembering he was supposed to be polite, "I mean, if there's enough."
"There is; I thought you might be hungry too."
"My bad," he apologized, knowing she probably heard him pacing and grumbling to himself for the past however many hours it had been.
"Oh, it's fine; I usually get up around this time on weekdays anyway."
Light grumbled as he took a seat, "You'd get along well with L."
"You mean Ryuuga?" she smiled knowingly, setting down a filled bowl in front of her brother.
"Yeah, him," he groaned. What did it matter if she knew? She already knew.
"I might not after all the anxiety he's putting you through," she answered, turning around to grab chopsticks and two glasses of tea.
"I'm the one putting me through it," he admitted, accepting the chopsticks.
She plopped down in the seat across from him and began eating, "You didn't tell him."
"I gave him a chance to figure it out," he informed. "What kind is this?" he asked after sniffing the tea.
"Chamomile with almond milk," she answered before agreeing, "I think he would like the challenge of figuring you out."
"This is really good," he complimented.
"The tea or the food?"
"Both."
Sayu smiled proudly and took a giant mouthful.
"Oh, good morning my children," Sachiko smiled as she joined them wearing her house coat and slippers.
"Good morning?" Light asked, wondering why on earth both his mother and sister woke up at this unsightly hour. Seriously, L would love them; he wouldn't have to waste time letting them adjust to his hours.
She kissed both him and Sayu on the cheek before sitting down with a cup of tea of her own.
"Light hasn't been to sleep yet, mom," Sayu informed.
Sachiko looked worried for a moment before she fell thoughtful and asked with a sad smile, "Boy trouble?"
Light groaned and let his head fall to the table. Why was everything infinitely more embarrassing when asked by mom?
"It's okay, honey, just be yourself," Sachiko offered sincerely, sipping her tea.
Sayu hid her giggles when she heard Light grumbling to himself.
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Their mother had forced him into bed after they finished eating and talked about normal topics and not—thank whatever god there was—his love life . . . slash lack thereof.
And she did force him; she'd tucked him in and everything as she did when he was a small child. He didn't want to admit that it helped, but he did quickly fall asleep only to be awoken a few hours later by the sun piercing through his blinds, not by his anxiousness.
He debated for a long time if he should go in to the investigation tower today or if he should await L's call. They should have set something up—anything was better than not knowing what his own next move should be. He didn't want to pace around in his room doing nothing, so he got ready for the day by showering and primping as usual. He decided that he would walk in the direction of the tower and stop at a café or a bookshop.
Or both, as it turned out. He bought a book he saw in a bookstore's window about some futuristic trans-human dystopia and then settled himself in the corner of a café with a cup of black tea (and no sugar, thank you very much). After five chapters in, he was pleased with his decision today; he needed a mindless distraction.
After four more chapters and another cup of tea, he began to feel anxious again: morning was over and the afternoon had begun. That translated to about a thousand years of waiting time. How long could it possibly take for L to figure out that he had disturbingly strong feelings for the (supposed) best three detectives in the goddamn world? Misa, his father, and Watari had figured it out already, L needed to hurry up and get on their level. . .
. . . but what if that wasn't the cause for the delay? Light smashed his nose into the book to hide his face as his mind dug into wounds. What if it was the worst outcome and L was now uncomfortable – no, disturbed – nay repulsed?! Light had never been considered gross, look at him! He's beautiful! Who wouldn't want that?!
What if L was the one person that didn't want that? Light sat the open book on top of his head, mindlessly letting it brush back his hair as he stared intently at the floor—which had an ugly purple rug, by the way—did L find him undesirable? Jeez that would be his luck: everyone wants him except the one he wants. Yeah, that sounded right.
He let the book shut without bothering to mark his place and put his hands over his face. What had he done to deserve this torture?!
. . .
. . .
. . . besides murder a couple heinous criminals?
. . . right, right, a couple hundred heinous criminals.
His thumb found his bottom lip in a very L-like manner as he pondered anew: perhaps he did deserve this.
No. His thumb dropped and he shook his head. No, no one deserved this. Why did he keep putting himself in these limbo situations? He slouched a bit in his chair and stared out the window at nothing. He knew one thing for sure: This. Sucked.
He took a breath to calm his brain and maybe curb in his mind. He grabbed onto his tea mug and held onto it, bringing it to his face to breathe in the aroma. Did he really want to know what L had to say? As horrible as his imagination was, as long as he didn't know, then he could hope. And of course he was still hoping for the best of the best, even while his mind was obsessing over the worst of the worst.
"Agh!" he groaned again, throwing his head back.
"You may want to set your mug down, dear," came a scratchy voice he didn't recognize.
Embarrassed that his outburst had been witnessed—apparently he was not alone in the world . . . or even in this café—he lowered his mug and sheepishly looked at the elderly woman who had had the balls to speak to him (or, decidedly, didn't have balls). He blushed for an unknown reason: this woman looked ancient.
And if she was at least 80 as he suspected, she certainly had to have accumulated some wisdom, right?
What did he have to lose?
"You," he said quickly, not giving himself time to change his mind, "Can I get your advice?"
The woman grinned, letting close to a thousand new wrinkles appear on her face. She shuffled over to the padded chair next to him and slowly sat in it. She then looked at him with open eyes, allowing him to look directly into hers.
"Are you blind?" he slipped out, in awe at the very progressed cataracts in both of her eyes. He quickly corrected himself, "Ah! I mean, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be rude." He felt his cheeks burn again. He'd asked someone he didn't know for advice and then immediately insulted her. He was so frazzled over his current situation that he wasn't acting like himself at all.
"No worries, dear; life is far too short to worry over formalities," she answered, smiling. She continued with, "Yes and no regarding my vision: I have only peripheral vision left."
Light cleared his throat, "Well, they're pretty, any way."
The woman laughed, flattered, "Now, do you really think so?"
"Yes," he replied, tugging at his hair, why was this so embarrassing? "They're blue." He'd never seen blue eyes on an Asian before, let alone a woman so extremely old.
"You are quite the sweet heart aren't you, dear?" she laughed, waving her hand as if to dismiss the topic, "Now what is it that's bringing trouble to such a fine young man?"
Light sunk back in his chair, keeping his eyes on the woman's, "Well, it's an accumulation, really."
She said nothing, only waited patiently for him to explain. He told her about how he came to fall in love with another man, a man he really couldn't be with if all played out as they should. He told her that he had done horrible things—the worst she could think of and then some, he assured. He told her about their intelligence and did his best not to brag nor sugar coat. Then he told her what he'd allowed L to do: figure it out himself.
"The waiting game," she nodded after she listened to his whole story. He'd left out only that he was Kira and that his love was for L; he couldn't stop talking once he'd begun, it just felt so good to finally tell someone everything (…minus being Kira, but as he'd said, he'd done horrible things).
"It's killing me!" he whined, grabbing his hair.
"Now, now, I think you have done just about everything right; it is hard to admit your feelings, but it sounds to me that your Mr. Hideki is the kind of man that likes to solve puzzles."
"Yeah, but I didn't tell him because I was scared, not because I thought he'd like the challenge."
"A happy coincidence," she stated, waving her hand again. "And stop fussing over the thought that he was using you: I am sure he was unaware of your feelings; those who are extremely intelligent are typically not intelligent in the social area."
"I know," he whined, pulling tangles out of his hair, "I just can't stop hating myself right now."
"Have you tried writing it all out?"
"Eh?" he asked, stupidly.
"Writing, sweetie, with a pen and paper," she explained, wondering if perhaps the youth these days only used computers.
"Why would that help?" He'd never thought to write everything out. How could that possibly accomplish anything?
"Dear, do you feel better talking with me? Don't lie, now, I can't bother to be offended."
"I – I mean, yeah, I do," he agreed, his voice quiet.
"And you asked for my advice, so here it is: write down your feelings and what you need to admit."
"No one else has to read it?"
"Of course not! Just remember—always remember—never write anything that you do not want anyone to see. At least burn it after if you absolutely cannot have anyone looking at it. It's safe to assume written things will be read," she advised.
He sighed, letting some anxiety flow out with the exhale. It couldn't hurt. "Okay, I can do that."
"Good," she nodded, "and another piece of advice, dear: life is too long to lie all the time."
He found himself blushing again; this woman could read him like a book yet she was essentially blind. "I thought you said life was too short," he retorted.
She chuckled and replied, "Yes, it is too short, but it's the longest thing you'll ever do."
"That's sly," he mumbled, shaking his head. "May I ask your age?"
"How old do you think?" she asked, with an impish grin.
"Uhh," he hesitated, knowing how weird women were about age, "Eighty two?"
She let out a bark of a laugh, "Honey, honey! Didn't I tell you one shouldn't waste time being polite?"
"Uh," he said, oh so eloquently. He had guessed honestly . . . how old was this woman?
"I will be one hundred and three years old in just two months," she smiled hugely, letting her wrinkles deepen and branch.
"Shit," he muttered, his eyes wide. She was ancient. He really should heed her advice . . . she didn't seem to be senile, after all.
"Thank you, boy," she laughed.
"No, thank you, really," he replied, feeling eons better than when he'd left the tower the day prior.
She smiled and pushed herself to a stand.
"If you insist on being polite even still, then I suppose I'll tell you that you are very welcome, dear boy," she answered, rustling his hair with her hand. Normally he hated that, but he didn't mind so much right now.
She smiled warmly once more and turned to leave. He found himself calling after her, "Light!" he called, "My name is Light."
Without turning around, she called back with her scratchy voice, "And what a warm name it is!" He couldn't see her face, but he knew she was smiling still.
He shook his head and sunk back into the chair. Maybe he should go back to that bookstore and buy a journal . . . he certainly had much to write.
"Fine," he conceded, chugging the last of his tea; it was cold now anyway.
Without really meaning to, he returned to the same spot after buying a journal. It just felt like the right place to be. He dragged over a table and set his pen to the paper.
Then he wrote.
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Yes, that is an OC, no she does not have a name (sure, you can name her in your head if you want, I guess?) and yes she is human.
Now that that's out of the way: Thank you for your concern about the guest reviewer who's been commenting on my stories that (she, I presume?) thinks I should go die, I'm a fag, go get aids, my stories suck, blah blah blah. No, I don't really care, and freedom of expression: I think she can say whatever the hell she wants, so I'm not deleting the reviews. Why should I? I don't care enough. But thank you to those of you who were concerned and private messaged me to make sure I was okay—I am super, thanks for asking.
Now, who knows that reference? ; )
再见
~Aia~
附：我说中文说的不好， 我是学生。因此， 我必须练习。（我的西班牙语es mucho mejor que mi chino. Esto es porque tengo mucho más práctica con español.）