Part VIII

Music

I walked to the room that was L's to find all of the belongings I had brought with me.

The room itself was a simple square shape with plain, ice blue walls and pale white carpet. The small oak computer desk in the back left corner held a fancy computer, and the storage tower beside it was loaded with cds. The chair looked extremely comfortable, but I changed my mind when I saw the bed: a queen-sized four poster with four pillows, two for sleeping and two for decoration. It was neatly made as if it hadn't been used in forever. Or, maybe it had never been used.

I shuddered. The last thing on my list of priorities was learning about Ryuzaki's personal history. After all, I thought, he's a rich detective and he probably lives the life of a rock star.

During further exploration, I found a walk in closet filled with dusty clothes and shoes. Most of the clothing still had the tags on… designer tags. Of course. I shouldn't have expected any less.

Then, a new wave of curiosity hit me. I shut the closet and peeked out of the bedroom door to make sure no one was watching me, and I flitted over to the rack of cds. They weren't dusty like the clothing in the closet, which meant Ryuzaki must have used them often. Now I'm investigating you, L, I thought. Let's see what you listen to. I made a mental note of each as I glanced at the sides: Bon Jovi, System of a Down, Disturbed, Metallica, AC/DC, Ozzy Osbourne, Sublime, Coldplay, Korn, and Dir en Grey just to name a few. Then I gasped when I saw Cradle of Filth.

Wow, I thought, for an idiot he has great taste in music.

I was about to continue my "investigation" when I heard the sound of someone clearing their throat. Slowly, I turned around. In the doorway stood the last person I wanted to see. "Ryuzaki." I acknowledged him emotionlessly.

"Why are you in my room, Kita?" He shuffled over to me, his expression menacing.

"Correction, Ryuzaki… our room. And I just wanted to see what type of music you listen to is all."

"I see," he replied with a glare. "So you think that just because Watari said you were to stay in here that you suddenly own the place?" His onyx eyes betrayed him, as they were full of interest. "What do you think of what you see?" Ryuzaki's gaze was scrutinizing.

"I-it's great," I admitted shyly. "I like most of it."

The mysterious detective didn't respond, but instead walked over to sit on his bed. I raised an eyebrow at Ryuzaki, but he just crossed his legs and clasped his fingers. "Which is your favorite?" His voice was silky, yet rough at the same time.

"Disturbed… and Dir en Grey," I told him. "You?"

"I like them all equally," the detective replied absentmindedly.

"I'm quite surprised that you listen to Cradle of Filth, though," I commented. "Are you gothic?"

"No. Can one not listen to gothic music without being gothic?"

I shrugged. "I do, so apparently."

"Fair enough," he mumbled as he aloofly chewed on his right thumb.

I rolled my eyes. Such a weirdo, I thought, but he does have a good taste in music. Why do I even hate him in the first place? "Uhm, Ryuzaki?"

"Yes, Kita?"

I placed Ryuzaki's cds back in the storage tower and then shoved my clothes bag under the futon across the room as I spoke. "I-I'm sorry about earlier, but I swear I didn't mean to offend you. I was just curious. Forgive me?"

L looked down at me, his ebony eyes narrowed to slits. "What exactly are you trying to do, Kita? Five minutes ago I would have sworn on my life that you hated me," Ryuzaki mused.

Without unfolding the futon, I flopped upon it on my back and allowed my expression to fall to a frown. "Oh, well. So much for my gesture of peace." I sighed, then mumbled, "Sharon was right. Men really are heartless."

Ryuzaki glared at me with pained eyes and hissed, "I may be different, Kita, but don't ever assume I am heartless." I couldn't help but blush at the smoothness of his voice. However, I blinked and he had left the room.

After a few moments of boredom, I popped a random Disturbed album into the large stereo upon the computer desk. After listening to it for awhile, I climbed off of the futon again to peer outside through the closed black curtains. Darkness. I checked my watch. 9:45. I decided to finish the song that was playing and sing along:

I can hear the voice but I don't want to listen

strap me down and tell me I'll be all right.

I can feel the subliminal need to be one with the voice

and make everything all right…

I smiled as I sang, growing tired. Voices is a great song, I thought as I shut the stereo off with its remote. I carelessly laid it on the floor beside the futon and fell into a dreamless sleep.

End Part VIII