Disclaimer: Novelization of the 'Ai no Kiseki' doujinshi by D3. Characters belong to Ohba&Obata, plot idea belongs to Tazaki Yositora.
Using the metro in rush hour is sheer torture. Too crowded, too close. Never liked it, but there's no pick and choose.
The train is already packed, but everybody wants to get home, so more and more people are tamping down the overcrowded train car. Pushing. Ramming. Groaning and still packing into.
Damn it.
In the end, I find myself almost flattened against the sliding door by a tall guy; he's setting his arms against the door astride my head to hold back the pressure of the crowd. There is no other possibility but to stay sticking my face into his dark-blue trench coat and…
Wait. Dark-blue?..
-
(the day before)
"So, what does he look like? You can say that, at least, can't you?" Useless shinigami glutton.
"Um, well…" Ryuk crunches on an apple and looks at the ceiling, all sunk into memory and brain-working. Come on, give me something. "He's black-haired, tall…" Oi, thank you very much, it helps a lot. There are scores of tall dark-haired men passing by me every day of the week. "… wears black suit and dark-blue jacket. That's pretty all, I guess."
-
A quick furtive glance in his face convinces the truth of my conjecture. It's him.
How unlucky.
In the meantime our trip goes on; there's a long way to travel yet. I'll be standing like this, feeling the warmth of his body, sensing the throbbing of his heart…
"Ouch!"
Whatever happened, but suddenly the carriage jerks and the congested mass of people tumbles and coasts. And again, I find myself clinging onto the stranger in front of me, wringing thick fabric of his sleeves and panting mutely into his shoulder. He obviously tries his best not to crush me. What a commendable care...
For some reason, it's getting harder to breath. As if ventilation systems are working the wrong way round, or are down or nonexistent at all. I feel dizzy, go hot and cold all over, and an unwitting sob escapes my lips.
"Are… are you OK?"
His voice sounds hoarse and uneasy. He should be suffering from closeness, too, let alone the fear to expose himself – and yet, these words...
It's agonizing.
I don't move. I don't face him. I don't utter a syllable. I hold on him, inhale faint scent of his cologne; and till the electronic voice announces my station, the only thought is whirling in my head, reminding me: 'I am Kira; Kira is me. I need his name…'
I have no other choice.
And it is so awfully damn agonizing.
-
Because… For many reasons, extermination the offenders by the use of the Death Note is easy – technically. Emotionally – not very difficult. Remote control is probably the best thing about it. No tangible experience, no personal impression, no sensation, no feeling. The impersonal retribution, nothing more. At least, I prefer to believe it being this way.
I had no reason to doubt this statement so far.
But now, something's changed. And why – when this heart was beating so close by mine, – why the idea of bringing it to stop drives sleep away and evokes such unbearable anguish in my own heart?..
…Huh. Ain't I an idiot after that?
No. Not a sentimental idiot. I am Kira. This warmth… I have to get rid of these silly distractions. Freeze them off. Wash them away. Once and far all. Because if it goes on this way, I'm bound.
-
"Light! Hey!" Ryuk looks with curiosity at me. The kind of spectacle must I be: sunk on the floor under steams of cold shower, semiundressed, chocking with bitter, pathetic tears. A worthy aspirant for world supremacy, indeed.
"What happened?" His bulging eyes are watching me intently, only I don't care. "Is there something wrong with your body?"
It's nothing serious, Ryuk. Just another sleepless night.
But of course, I never answer him aloud.