He Watches Me
When he first made that bold move by showing a proxy on TV and claiming Lind L. Taylor to be L, I knew that he was looking for me, waiting for me to slip up. Not for me specifically—not at first—but for Kira.
Then Ryuuku informed me of Raye Penber, who I wouldn't have been aware of otherwise. After that, the video cameras. All to see if I was really Kira.
But when I got my first glimpse of him—in the exam hall—I didn't know it, and even then, he suspected me.
Then there was the tennis match, right after the ceremony in which he formally introduced himself not as a pop star but as a world-renowned detective. His wide, black eyes were trained on me then, as well, as we both attempted to best each other. I still am not completely sure how I managed to beat him.
Later, in the café, as we sat and talked, he probed for information, stuff that only Kira would know, and I did slip up. I got so pissed at that, but now it doesn't matter.
Many events followed those, where he dissected my actions and reactions—the faked father-kills-son-then-kills-himself thing and of course being chained to him 24/7 stick out rather prominently in my mind—but they all pale in comparison to the level of observation he now pulls off.
Late at night, on the verge of sleep but still awake, he's there. I know he's dead, and has been dead for years, but that doesn't mean he doesn't haunt me. He's in my dreams and nightmares, the shadow in the corner, the phantom floating over my shoulder when I sit up at night drinking tea because I can't sleep with him there. I know he's dead, and will remain dead.
I know this all, but he watches me.
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I went on a two-day vacation. It sucked spectacularly. I should have just stayed home and skipped classes. I now officially despise phones of all kinds—but especially cell phones. The little bastards. Also, this drabble sucked spectacularly.