DS
Disclaimer: …tea and crumpets, anyone?
Me: So my muse of EZ-Cheez was being bored one day and she got the wonderful idea to read Raito's last name backwards. Guess what it is?
Chibi L: Raito IMAGAY.
Chibi Raito: WHAT???
Me: Oh, it's true, fangirls and fanboys! Explains EVERYTHING, doesn't it?
Chibi Raito: But… but…
Chibi L: There's no denying it now, Raito. You can't pretend anymore. We know.
Chibi Raito: This is NOT fair. I'm calling my lawyer!
Me: 'Death God' my foot. Now we know the author's real reason for choosing Raito's last name.
Chibi Misa: No! D:
Chibi L: Yes! XD
Me: I think we should have Mr. I'magay introduce us to this new chapter.
Chibi Raito: -not listening-
Chibi Misa: Readreviewandrelax! D:
D S 13
For the most part, Raito Yagami's week was full of 'nnnnggghhhh.' He threw in little bits of 'muhhhnnnnn' and 'hmmmm' in for variety, but generally, the week was 'nnnnggghhhh.'
It was no great wonder to Raito how this had happened. As a matter of fact, he suspected that the reason for this dreary change was entirely and ridiculously unnecessary. For, you see…
…Kira was on drugs.
How foolish he had been to assume that, since his psychiatrist was working with his nemeses, his pills would be placebos.
No.
Before now, he didn't expect anyone to be so stupid as to actually give him pills. A and W didn't seriously think he was a schizo, did they? On the other hand…
…Raito had different fingers…
…Wow…
…Anyway. On the other hand, this meant that his acting was as good as gold and better. That he could convince the world's two best detectives of something untrue was phenomenal. Accompanying the revelation on this other hand, there was a downside as well. Raito would have to act as if the symptoms of his schizophrenia were waning. This wouldn't be hard, but, if his slip-ups leading to this mess were anything to go by, making Ryuzaki disappear completely was no easy matter.
Ah, well.
If he screwed up, he could always say he didn't take his pills.
Which he was planning on doing anyway.
…Which, in turn, led him back to the present.
Raito sighed unhappily and rolled over once again on the living room couch. He felt positively wretched. The usual side-effects of his drugs, as Halle so helpfully supplied, were limited to drowsiness, headache, and lowered blood pressure among other things.
Currently, Raito was playfully inviting divinity to smite him. 'Drowsiness' was putting things lightly. 'Headache' was a word to be laughed at. The pain and pressure in Kira's head was enough to numb his mind and turn him into a raving, mumbling lunatic. Due to his overwhelming lethargy, he had made the couch his home since his first dose and now adamantly refused to leave. He stayed so long, in fact, that he had his blankets and pillows and whatever else delivered to him, despite his father's suspiciously grudging pushes of 'Maybe you should go to sleep in your room.' Whenever he rose to accomplish some motive or other, he had to do it in slow motion, lest he suddenly fall unconscious from his staggeringly low blood pressure.
This, as he and Ryuzaki both surmised, was not normal.
Side-effects of this magnitude never ever happened. They were improbable and inconvenient. Raito, who had gotten himself off of the couch long enough to do some productive research on his computer, discovered that the life-threatening side-effects of his drugs were low white blood cell count, cardiac and respiratory failure upon sudden movement, paralytic ileus, and other rather unpleasant-sounding words.
He remarked offhandedly to Ryuzaki that perhaps his fatigue was due to a chemo-therapy-like drop in white blood cells, upon which, Ryuzaki offered the chilling revelation that, believe it or not, the Shinigami were probably going to kill him by means of his medicine.
This was where Raito decided that his pills could go to hell in his place. The mortal didn't particularly feel like dying that night.
Though he did feel like a temporary solace from bodily pain was in order.
Like now.
If any person had walked into the room at that point in time, they would have heard a displeased 'nuuuuhhhhhh' emanating from the mountain of quilts and pillows on the couch.
Interestingly enough, this person was Sayu.
"Raito-kun?" she squeaked fearfully. A hapless 'hmuuhhhhh' and a heaving sigh of the mountain of blankets was all to herald Raito's weariness. Sayu took this as encouragement, apparently, as her footsteps creaked cautiously around the edge of the sofa. "Are you okay?" she asked stupidly.
Honestly, Raito loved the girl to death, but wasn't the situation… oh… very painfully obvious?
"Goawayyhhhh…" was Raito's answer.
"Okay…" his little sister peeped before the pitter-patter of her sock-clad feet tagged elsewhere.
Silence and darkness reigned gloomily inside of Raito's Fuzzy Fortress of Acoustic Invincibility for about three seconds.
"Your health concerns me," Ryuzaki stated in a mumble. Judging from the position of the quiet aura in which the mini-death perpetually surrounded himself, he had been purposelessly tracking an oval around the perimeter of the couch for the past twenty seven minutes.
A dissatisfied 'nnnnggghhhh' was all Raito gave him for his trouble.
"I see," remarked Ryuzaki in a woeful tone, probably with his thumb to his lips.
Then, as if by magic, two pairs of feet, one having a stride longer than the other, pattered into position behind the couch. A third set of feet padded slowly and reluctantly in the distance. A moment of hesitation passed, and then, "Raito-kun," worried Sachiko's voice, "You haven't touched your dinner. Are you still not feeling well?"
"Hmmmmmphh," said Raito.
Sachiko clicked her tongue and the side of the couch where Raito's feet were was suddenly heavier. A light assaulted his eyes and Raito then registered that his mother was purposely intruding on his misery. He didn't mind much, as there wasn't much he could do about it. The more blankets Sachiko peeled away from Raito's face, the further he hid.
The light trying so desperately to break through the brunette's eyelids was suddenly extinguished and Raito ventured a peek at the outside world. His mother cooed fretfully and for a moment Raito wondered how badly disheveled and sickly he must've looked. After all, he was hungry, tired, achy, and hadn't had a good shower in four days.
"Raito-kun…" his mother whined, petting his ruffled, greasy hair, "You poor dear."
Sayu poked her face into his line of vision then and he ventured a puffy-eyed glance at her. She squeaked and retreated with a flop of her pigtails before sneaking into his peripheral vision and staying there. As Sachiko pressed the back of her palm to Raito's forehead and said, "You have a fever," Ryuzaki floated in, upside-down, and remarked, "Oh my. You're quite the apparition today, Kira."
Raito groaned at him.
"How do you feel?" Sachiko asked earnestly.
"Like I have AIDS," Raito grumbled quasi-coherently.
"What?" a manly voice roared and thundered closer. Raito sighed in his wake. Leave it to Soichiro to take a figure of speech as a medical emergency…
"I'm kidding, Dad," sighed Raito tiredly. "Good God…"
"Don't kid around, Raito," Soichiro reprimanded sternly. Raito took a gander at the dark, flashing eyes before him and instantly decided that any further vocalization on his part would be dangerous and useless. He sighed listlessly and closed his eyes once more as he endured the attentions of three humans and one invisible cloud of something-more-than-arctic-air.
"It'll get better," soothed Sachiko, still caressing his hair, "You'll see, Honey."
"Mmmmmhhhh!" murmured Raito before forcefully tugging his blankets over his face. Sachiko made a surprised noise and hesitated, not knowing how to cope with her son's moods. Ryuzaki had a slightly better understanding and snickered, "Nice try."
"Sachiko, Sayu," sighed Raito's father, "I think it's best you left."
The brunette finished his father's thought with a 'so I can bug Raito instead.'
Raito didn't know what form of communication passed between the three of them, but the two lighter pairs of footsteps plodded off into the distance while the larger, more menacing bipedal, carbon-based life form stayed behind.
And Raito could not wait to hear what it had to say.
A taxed sigh emanated from somewhere in the room and Ryuzaki interrupted the atmosphere with a strategically placed, "Here we go…" while Soichiro took a seat somewhere and growled, "Raito…"
Raito knew all too well where this conversation would head. Soichiro informed Raito during one of his worse moods that he'd searched Raito's computer and found suspicious e-mails to an unknown man. He also informed Raito that he knew very well the nature of these e-mails and that any effort on his part to deny the situation would be promptly shot down and incinerated.
In short, he was aware that Raito had a secret crush.
On a man.
"Why," heaved Soichiro in a fatigued sigh. "How? How did this… Why?" He floundered for a bit as Raito breathed and braced himself for the barrage. As articulate as he was ever going to get, Soichiro mumbled, "You know what I found on your computer." A pause occurred, in which both Raito and his father collected their thoughts. "How long has this been going on?" Soichiro droned.
"None of your business," mumbled Raito.
"Yes," assured Soichiro, "yes it is."
"You're violating my privacy," Raito growled dangerously, "You're a detective. You should know that."
"I do know that," warned Soichiro, "but I'm also concerned for the welfare of my son. If you're doing something or… dating someone I've never met… Raito, I never knew you… you could have told me about this."
'This,' of course, being Raito's sexual orientation, which he wasn't quite sure of in the first place.
"So you could yell at me for it?" Raito grumbled tiredly, playing the part of the angry rebel.
"No, Raito, I… I wouldn't have yelled," reassured Soichiro.
"Oh, right, right," grumbled Raito acidly, "You would've locked me in my room, forbid me from leaving the house, taken away my computer and my television, raided my personal space, stripped me of my dignity and then yelled about what a horrible son I was."
"Raito!" Soichiro swore, "Then what? What were you hoping to do? Were you just going to… bring him over to the house sometime and expect me to understand? Were you going to run off and leave your mother, your sister and I behind? You can't hide a secret like that from me forever!"
Oh yes. Yes he could.
"I'm sorry, Dad!" he yelled. Seriously, he wanted to get this damn thing over with as soon as possible. His headache was coming back. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you, it's just…" and here he trailed off for dramatic emphasis, "I… I didn't know what you'd say. You'd be angry…"
"I'm not angry," growled Soichiro doubtfully, "Well, maybe I am angry, but I'm angry because you tried to hide this from me."
Raito rolled his eyes.
Fantastic.
Was it just him, or was this turning into a typical conversation? Was it just him, or was he going to have to sit through half an hour of 'I wish you would have told me' and 'I'm not mad' and 'who is this guy anyway?'
Raito didn't want to hear it. He had a headache, he was extremely uncomfortable, and he wanted nothing more than to sleep. He sincerely wanted the side-effects of his medicine to subside soon so he could lucidly wander into the world and order Ryuzaki to name off his victims. He knew for a fact that his supply of dying criminals was soon to run out, so the quicker he could escape, the better.
This would prove to be tricky, Raito thought, as his father would undoubtedly be watching him like a hawk.
He needed a few drinks, a cold shower, and a nice, amiable dinner-date with Teru.
Preferably including another drink or two.
Or five.
You know, just to put his current migraine into perspective.
"So…" Soichiro sighed, shuffling his feet slightly, "What is this man's name?"
"You should already know that," Raito grumbled.
"Alright then," Soichiro returned the grumble, "tell me about him."
"I'll just leave now, I suppose," Ryuzaki grumbled, having been set into a dreadfully foul mood at a hint of Mikami's name. He growled obscenities to himself and slunk off to nowhere in particular.
Seeing as how his biggest distraction was gone, Raito searched for a sentence to begin with. "Well, he's… nice," Raito hummed in a roundabout way. He didn't want to talk about his 'secret crush' any more than Ryuzaki wanted to hear about him. Soichiro gazed very intently into the brunette's eyes and he found himself involuntarily looking away. Being 'found out' was embarrassing in itself, even if Raito counted on his family discovering him sometime.
"Go on," Soichiro pushed.
"He's… I don't know, dad," Raito racked his brain. "He's in college, like me, he's smart, and I can talk to him."
"You can talk to me," mumbled Soichiro.
"Not the same thing, dad," deadpanned Raito.
"Right, right…"
"Anyway, like I said, he's nice. After I told him what happened between you and me over the phone, he let me stay at his house. We watched movies and talked. You know, stuff like that."
"He didn't try to… take advantage of you?"
Raito groaned and pushed the heels of his palms into his eyes. "No, dad," he gritted his teeth, "We didn't do anything. Just kissed. That's all."
Soichiro frowned, perplexed and abashed. "And you felt okay with this?" he asked dumbly.
"No, Dad," deadpanned Raito, "I felt absolutely horrible. That's why I did it."
"Don't get smart with me," his father warned dangerously.
"Sorry, sorry," Raito growled irritably. He just wanted to close his eyes and sleep the week off.
Unfortunately, his father wouldn't allow him to do that. Another question materialized from the cocktail of the atmosphere and landed on Raito's aching head like a brick. "Do I get to meet him?" Soichiro hinted commandingly.
Raito blew a puff of air at his bangs. What an eventful day that would be. Teru would have an anxiety attack. Nonetheless, Raito was inclined to answer that yes, his father would meet him sometime. Whether this meeting of his was to be held in the near or far future, Raito was at loath to disclose, but when his father nudged him ever-so-authoritatively, the brunette was forced to agree to arrange a get-together as soon as humanly possible.
Shit.
This wasn't going to end well.
----
When L waltzed into the room later, he was met by the rhythmic sighing of a sleeping Kira. He glanced at a slit between the blankets and the visible sliver of the boy beneath it and marveled at how quickly a mortal could fall asleep. Raito had surrounded himself once again in blankets and was now more or less peacefully oblivious of the outside world.
One who was not afforded the fortune of peaceful sleep was now pacing back and forth between the kitchen and the dining room. Raito's father sported large dark-circles under his eyes and L was jealous for a moment that they might have out-darkened his own. Mr. Yagami hadn't been sleeping well since Raito's last escapade. He occupied his time with the surveillance of his son and his occupation in the NPA.
L pitied him.
He must've been trying as hard as he could to be an ideal father to a secretive serial killer.
Therein lay the problem.
L knew for a fact that Raito was a force of nature which couldn't be bottled or bound.
Except, perhaps, while he was asleep.
L hummed and somersaulted to the back of the sofa, where he watched quietly as Raito's fluffy fortress rose and fell. Fluffy fortress… hah. He might as well have been talking about a five-year-old girl with a runny nose hiding beneath her favorite, felted princess blanket.
Boy, if Raito heard that one.
A sleepy sigh drifted upward from the aforementioned boy's cocoon of cotton. The blankets flattened as Raito stretched and groaned.
"Nnnhhhh…"
Soichiro cast a bloodshot eye in his son's general direction before resuming his pacing. Raito emerged from his burrow of blankets and cast a narrow, bleary eye at the world around him. In sighting L, he sleepily stretched his arms and rolled over. L noticed in curious alarm that his shirt was sticking to his skin. In the consideration of the state of that shirt, L ventured an observation as to the quality of the rest of Raito's visible self.
Raito's shirt was indeed stuck to his back, and in good company. His glowing auburn hair appeared to shimmer wetly in a dusty, lackluster shade of brown. His brow glistened with perspiration and held captive a few oily bits of the aforementioned hair. L could tell merely by looking at the puffy, pale state of Raito's hands that they were cold and clammy. His groans had grown more frequent as the week sailed on and the suspicion rose in L that something was, indeed, amiss here.
Raito could no longer die of a high fever, but that didn't mean a shinigami couldn't give him one.
An obvious sign that a shinigami had been involved was that Raito hadn't asked for help regarding the state of his health. The usually practical mortal refused to ask for assistance from any member of his family, and his family was taking no action in the interest of intervention.
In short, L was acutely suspicious, and he was quite eager to let Raito know.
"Ask your father for a bag of ice," commanded L to the sickeningly unhappy brunette. Raito glared up at him in a grievous manner, eyes dull and burned out with fever.
L frowned. "Or a glass of water. Now," he demanded relentlessly.
A glimmer ignited briefly in Raito's eyes which suggested that his thoughts had crossed L's a while back and he had deemed the situation to be entirely hopeless. L caught wind of his reasoning, being that he could no longer die of a fever.
Ah, but this is exactly what the shinigami wanted him to think, was it not?
L was beginning to conceive that these hell-spawned death-gods harbored more mental substance than they let on.
He informed Raito of this immediately.
"That's just what the shinigami want you to think, Raito-kun," L mused. "They want to lure your attention to your fever and not some other means of underlying destruction. They could be killing you a variety of ways, dehydration being one. Excessive heat can cause a variety of-"
"Dad," grumbled Raito, "could you get me a glass of water?"
L grinned at his persuasive ability.
Soichiro grunted an affirmative and trudged into the kitchen in search of a glass.
As his father made himself scarce, Raito ventured a glance at the digital clock on the cable unit beneath his television. He squinted, then mumbled, "Ten already?"
Soichiro made his way into the living room, glass in hand. Wordlessly, he handed Raito his water and similarly wordlessly, Raito took it. He then requested a few fever-reducers or a handful of whatever pain medication happened to be on hand at the moment.
Silently as before, Soichiro stumbled off. Raito and L both watched him leave. More to the room than to himself, the brunette mumbled, "Wonder if he's gotten any sleep."
"No," replied L factually, "I believe your father has gotten around eight hours of sleep since your outburst. I also suppose that he'll be leaving for another midnight shift soon."
The mini-death then had a peculiar revelation, only having a substantial bit to do with anything. "You know, Raito-kun," he hummed, curling his toes about the back of the sofa, "Once the cameras are out of this house, we should follow your father to work."
Raito gave him a look clearly communicating that he thought L was out of his mind.
"Oh no," L remarked calmly, "I'm quite serious. It would be a thrill, would it not? You could hop in the trunk of his car and see where on earth he goes every day."
'You're insane,' glared Raito flatly.
"I suppose you're right," mused L, "After all, heaven knows what will happen should anyone see you."
Raito rolled his eyes, groaned as he'd become accustomed to doing, and lay there pathetically until his father returned. Raito eyed the array of color-coded pills that his father had so dutifully brought him. L joined him, critically examining each and every pill for what it was.
Fever-reducer, Aspirin, sleeping pill (Oh yes, since Raito hadn't been sleeping all day), nameless pills, and, much to Raito's sardonic delight, another lovely tablet of schizophrenia medication.
Raito gave L the eye.
L gave Raito the eye.
In short, it had crossed through both of their minds at much the same time that some strange, deadly interaction could have occurred between the various pills. Raito broke eye contact and addressed his father, asking if all of these things could be taken at once.
"Yes," was all he said, but L secretly suspected him of being tired beyond logical reasoning. Raito visibly considered the same suspicion and came to the conclusion that caution would benefit him. Disdainfully, Raito accepted the handful of drugs and picked his schizo-pill out from the fray. He eyed it narrowly.
As if he were a contestant on a freakishly disgusting game show and the pill was a live scorpion that he had to eat in order to advance, Raito stuffed the thing into his mouth, grabbed the glass of water, and gulped it.
Soichiro demanded to see the evidence of the pill's disappearance. Raito stuck his tongue out at him. Since the old man was tired and vexed, he accepted the pill's vanishing act and demanded that Raito chug the others. This happened quite uneventfully and for a second, L was concerned that these pills were indeed poisonous when mixed. A complaint floated halfway through his vocal cords, but stuck there when the offending medication found its way down Raito's throat.
L gave him a goggle-eyed glare and barked, "Raito-kun! You're in danger!"
Raito gave no one any clue that he'd heard. He merely thanked his father and turned over. Soichiro hovered there for a minute, unsure of what to do, when he suddenly remembered what he'd been doing before Raito called for help.
He paced.
As Soichiro walked off, an interesting event occurred. Raito shuffled about beneath his blankets and L witnessed something nearly imperceptively being stuck beneath the cushions of the couch.
Ah, indeed.
Clever boy.
Raito probably knew the combined effects of the three common medicines and thus deemed them useful and safe, while he counted the drug that initiated his misery among the ones he didn't need. He simply stuck it under his tongue, knowing that his father's mind was too preoccupied with other things to think of asking him to lift it. After he swallowed the helpful pills and his father had left, he spit his expensive prescription medication out and concealed it expertly beneath the cushions.
"Sly," remarked L with flat detachment.
Raito nodded absently and withdrew beneath his blankets once again.
A minute of boredom converted to a minute of consideration for L. Upon this minute of consideration came an observation, and upon this observation L noted that it was unlike a feverish mortal to surround itself in warmth.
Oddly, L addressed the mortal.
"Raito-kun? If I may ask, why is it that you, whose temperature has gone through the proverbial roof, insist on surrounding yourself in things which will only make you more uncomfortable?"
The brunette sighed something which sounded suspiciously like 'hmmmcooolllldddd…'
This alarmed L, who found the revelation startlingly unexpected. He racked his brain for an answer and stumbled unceremoniously upon one which was further from the front of his mind than it should have been. The answer was this: that, simply, mortals got cold during periods of high fever. Due to the misplaced sense of urgency coursing through L's body, he couldn't discern the cause of this strange reaction, and instead conducted a vote between he, himself, and him, who unanimously agreed that Raito was in some oblique form of critical danger.
"Raito-kun," L muttered, not quite registering that the mortal could not conduct a proper conversation with him, "I have reason to believe that this fever of yours is nothing to be ignored."
Raito snorted at him.
"Yes," growled the psychopomp while drawing his brow earthward in a scowl, "I know you've been through a fever. Though I suspect, as I told you before, that there may be something more to it."
Raito bothered to slither out of his blanket and glare as if to ask what, exactly, was the problem.
"Dying of a fever is very general," noted L, "You could have died of a number of things by means of this fever. Take insanity, for example. You could've lay there for any number of hours, allowing the heat to quickly eat away at your brain until you were nothing but a mindless vegetable, upon which you would eventually die of brain damage. Another example: Perhaps your fever, being a bodily defense, was deployed in an effort to rid your body of a pathogen it had contracted earlier in the day. Chances are good that you would have died from said pathogen, yet my appearance saved you somehow."
Raito was giving him a leery look which suggested that he was not at all happy with his sudden insecurity.
"You've been warned," L remarked.
Raito made a vague, inexplicable gesture with his hand, which, incidentally, L interpreted as a sign to come closer. He stuck his head halfway into Raito's fortress and the brunette grumbled incoherently, "hrmmmppphh… hmmm… hhhnggghhh…"
L heard, "Why, Ryuzaki, would you kindly check the couch for any bugs? I'd be ever-so-grateful."
But he knew it sounded more like, "Get your mini-death ass in gear and look for those goddamn bugs."
Ah, Raito and his divine, queenly wrath.
"Of course, your highness," humored L witlessly. Raito gave him a casually-aimed kick in the shin and L hopped away to regain his balance.
Wobbling precariously on one foot, L grumbled to himself and set about searching the creases of the sofa for bugs.
It was a long and tedious search, but alas, L found none on either the couch or the surrounding furniture. He informed Raito with an annoyed, "The coast is clear."
Raito gestured obscurely with one arm in a yawn-like manner. L snuck up to the foot of the couch and listened.
----
"You bitch."
The growl was quite toneless and lacking in depth, but Raito quite liked it that way and thought that his pitch generously suggested the dry anger rising from the penumbra of an irritating week.
Ryuzaki quirked an inquisitive eyebrow. "Pardon?" he sought.
"When you told me that I was immune to death-by-fever, I should have known that you were only telling me half of the story!" Raito shrilled in a whisper.
"Well, shinigami aren't very specific, you see," Ryuzaki defended just quickly enough, "So the possibility of an intricate, pinpoint death did not appeal to me at the moment. Due to the existence of human Anti-Kiras, as you call them, I cannot discount this now. They could very well be experimenting with specific methods to kill you."
"Perfect," Raito growled.
"Do not be alarmed," reassured Ryuzaki with calm radiance, "You have me here to save you, Raito-kun, remember?"
Incidentally, this did nothing for the mortal's mood.
"Indeed," muttered Raito.
Ryuzaki's voice audibly drooped in an irritated sigh before Raito twitched at the sharp feeling through one arm of his shirt.
Ryuzaki had bitten his wrist.
And now Raito was angry about it.
He attempted to sweep his arm regally out of Ryuzaki's grasp, but the mini-death held it still. Raito jerked it violently to the side once or twice, but Ryuzaki's hold never faltered. Frustrated, the brunette gave Ryuzaki exactly what he wanted and brooded without moving.
For about four seconds.
Raito gave Ryuzaki the slip by means of a spasmodic, sideways buck of the hips which sent him careening beautifully off of the couch. Raito smirked through his single vantage point as the surprised mini-death muttered obscenities about his behavior. The mortal was about to fire a wry comment into the fray when, suddenly, he noticed something.
His fever had dropped.
Stunned into momentary silence, he considered how queer the situation was.
Ryuzaki presently picked himself off of the floor and whined, "What a positively pernicious princess you are."
Raito, however, was not in the mood.
"My fever's gone," he announced.
Ryuzaki's lips made as if to form yet another insult before falling lopsided in a confused frown. "Gone?" he puzzled. Raito gave him a queer look before confirming that it was, indeed, gone. His clothes still stuck to him, but his skin had dried off. He wasn't sweating anymore and neither did he feel those unpleasant chills that he knew weren't supposed to be there.
"Well that's definitely odd," remarked Ryuzaki with an averted eye and a thumb to his lips. "Just like that?"
"Just like that," confirmed Raito strangely.
"Hmm…" mused the mini-death, "perhaps I should bite you more often."
"No," denied Raito.
"Pity," mulled Ryuzaki, "Though perhaps I was right. A shinigami may have initiated that fever of yours." He then fixed his gaze on the ceiling and narrowed his panda-eyes. "What were they trying to kill you with, I wonder?"
What indeed, if Ryuzaki was right?
On top of that, why? Why? Why on earth, after so many days, weeks, months of hiding, did the shinigami try to kill him again? Or… though Raito was at loath to admit it, perhaps Ryuzaki had merely been doing an exceptional job at warding death from his door.
An enlightened gleam flashed through Ryuzaki's shadowed eyes as if an epiphany had suddenly spread its wings and taken flight. "Your pills," remarked the psychopomp. "They were using your pills."
"I don't understand how a few pain-relievers and sleeping pills could do anything serious," groaned Raito.
"Neither do I," sighed Ryuzaki, "but the fact that your fever broke is evidence that it was required, but is no longer needed."
Raito grinned gleefully. No drug interactions for him! It almost made Raito want to go up to his medicine cabinet, grab all of the pills, and-
No.
Just no.
He didn't know what specific reaction may have killed him.
Oh brother.
Raito just wanted the world to stay static for once… He wanted to live in the comfort that He. Could. Not. Die.
Damn mini-death and his stupid revelations…
Nevertheless, Raito, who was considerably more comfortable in his own body and more ill at ease with the situation, settled cautiously into his spot on the couch and waited for something slightly less exciting to happen.
He didn't have to wait long, as his father suddenly crept into the picture and asked him how he was doing. Raito replied as monotonously as he could that his fever was gone and he was feeling much better. Soichiro nodded at this and wordlessly creaked across the floor.
And then, silence.
Having retired until midnight, if Ryuzaki's predictions were to be believed, Soichiro snuck off to bed and Raito didn't hear from him for the rest of the night.
Ryuzaki, however, was not as easily gotten rid of.
"So, Kira," droned the indifferent mini-death, "feeling better?"
Raito yawned in response.
"I see," mumbled Ryuzaki with a thumb to his lips. He scaled the far wall seemingly on a whim and hung there, half on the ceiling and half off. Dismally, he asked, "Feeling up to another round of righteous judgment, O Great Death?"
Raito grinned at him.
Ryuzaki rolled his eyes.
----
So it happened after Raito stopped taking his drugs that he had missed his first week's worth of college classes. So it happened that Raito had been swamped with busywork and the prying inquiries of his father. So it happened that Raito was very unhappy with his medication situation.
So it happened that Raito had deviously snuck himself out of the house by means of his bedroom window, a jacket, and twelve coat hangers.
And so it happened that L was right there beside him when he rang the doorbell to Mikami's apartment.
Needless to say, L was not happy.
Raito fiddled with the hems of his sleeves as clinking sounds emanated from the door. It was dark-thirty at night and L wondered vaguely what two dedicated college students were doing out of bed at that ungodly hour.
Looking prim as usual, the Mortal-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named drew the door back suspiciously and blinked incredulously as what to his wondering eyes should appear, but Kira with a heartwarming six-pack of beer.
Beer.
Try as L may have, Raito insisted that he discover the name of the single operator of the local liquor store and the mini-death could not deny him. L's deepest condolences went to the family of Nagatsuka-san, who would eventually die in some strange, terribly unjust manner, but not before he amiably tossed Raito a free six pack with complete disregard for personal identification.
Mikami blinked once, twice, and dared to repeat the action a third time before staring strangely at the fateful, clinking, and shiny aluminum beer cans. He glanced back up at Raito, who was still smiling in the most disturbingly friendly way, and then back down at the six pack. He glanced up one last time before remarking oddly, "You're up late."
"So're you," grinned Raito.
Silence once more. The tall, dark, geeky mortal raised his eyebrows in a devil-may-care fashion and pointed out, "You're underage."
"I'm stressed out," Raito smiled before airily slipping past Mikami and effectively letting himself in. L followed at a close proximity, dodging the tall mortal's arm and the door at the same time. As the brunette blew past him, Mikami breathed, "Then come in."
"Really?" Raito sighed quiescently.
"Oh yes," Mikami hummed as Raito sashayed into the room, "By all means…"
L glanced gloomily about the living room once again, which was in much the same condition as he had left it before. Mikami had thrown an afghan here and a bag of chips there, but other than that, the room hadn't changed.
The many colors and sounds of baseball flickered energetically across the television screen and evidence of a popcorn-binge lay strewn about the foot of the couch in a contained kernel-apocalypse. Raito behaved as if he had no inclination as to the state of the room or the noise of the television. He merely invited himself to deposit the beer cans on the coffee table while spinning sideways onto Mikami's couch and lying there.
The dark-haired mortal poked his head into sight and examined the scene with a critical eye. He watched as Raito heaved himself into one corner of the couch and deftly plucked one of his cans of beer out of its plastic ring. The brunette eyed his terrestrial companion languidly and motioned him over with a suggestive, "I hope you have more in your fridge, because this isn't going to last me through the night."
L knew very well that six beers would last him well into the night.
Very well indeed.
Mikami blinked before accepting that Raito wasn't leaving and settling in a seat beside him. L's nerves blazed and he bit down on his thumb to control himself.
Here Raito was, damaging his brain and his liver. This wasn't what boiled L's blood, though. It was that Raito would rather blow his mind in Mikami's company.
This was where L regained control of his mental superiority. Of course Raito didn't want L to be his drinking buddy. As far as the rest of the world was concerned, the mini-death didn't exist. Raito would be damned if he was going drinking with a man that didn't exist. L also understood the brunette's need to escape his house, and the other mortal's apartment was a good excuse to do so.
So, in the interest of being logically sound, L sat back and watched the brunette's antics. Besides, seeing Raito drunk would be quite the rewarding experience.
----
Raito was thoroughly surprised at himself. Of all things he could have done, he hadn't imagined sneaking out of his bedroom and making a beer-run to Teru's. All things considered, he was probably being monitored by all of the cameras in his room and someone was out there looking for him.
Hell may care.
No one would come barging into Teru's apartment simply because it would be a blatant announcement that Raito was being watched. A and W, if they were to blame, would not take such an obvious course of action.
The top of one can of beer popped open with a gratifying hiss. Raito's eyes radiated confidence as he breathed in the sensual smell of fermented grain.
Grain.
That was what it was, wasn't it?
Logically, Raito reasoned, grain never hurt anyone. Bread was nice, ramen was dandy, and if Ryuzaki's obsessions were to be believed, cake was divine. Regardless, beer was widely regarded as one of the foulest drinks, having turned men into pigs and pigs into beautiful women.
In Raito's case, these pigs may very well have turned into beautiful men.
It was in this notion that Raito suffered an incidental bout of pre-indulgatory-dilemma, which may or may not have been a real word. If said drink could turn men into pigs, then Raito was bound to be squealing and rolling on the floor after emptying a few cans. If said drink could turn pigs into beautiful men, then Ryuzaki would be looking mighty friendly by morning.
Hah hah.
Oh, how enjoyable it was to poke unprovoked fun at Ryuzaki.
With that, Raito threw caution to the wind and chugged half of the can in one gulp.
His leisurely enjoyed glass of beer earlier that week could not have prepared him for the sudden onslaught that was the blaze of well-made alcohol. He coughed once or twice into his fist before blowing a puff of relief at his bangs.
Observant as ever, a frank voice sounded to Raito's side. It said, "Not a seasoned drinker, are you?"
"Nope," Raito coughed into his fist again, "Not at all."
"Well then," remarked Teru calmly, "may I enquire as to the occasion?"
"I told you. I'm stressed out."
"This is how you deal with stress?"
"This is how I'm dealing with it tonight."
"That's a good way to get yourself killed."
Something stiffened icily near the recliner. Raito knew instantly that it was Ryuzaki and equally instantly what had set him off.
Bah.
Shinigami trying to kill him twice in a week? The chances were slim.
Raito didn't need anything else to worry about.
"So what are you stressed out about?" Teru asked innocently, snatching a beer of his own.
"Oh, nothing," Raito hummed, "only my entire life, which has been ruined by my father and the rest of my family. Oh!" Raito slapped his knee, "and my pills. Did I mention I have pills?"
"No, I don't think you did," the dark-haired man ventured cautiously.
"Well, I have pills," blazed Raito. "That's it."
"You're sailing uncharted waters here, Raito-kun," the mini-death's voice warned. Raito subconsciously waved him off. Ryuzaki didn't have to worry. If Teru was ever going to meet his parents, he'd find out anyway.
What did Raito care?
In a few minutes, he was going to be drunk off his ass.
Wasted.
What better time to confess all his faults?
Of course, this was also a good opportunity to confess to the world that he was Kira. This, Raito was anxious about. He'd have to keep track of what he said…
Maybe getting drunk wasn't such a bright idea after all.
…
He eyed the spider-like mini-death brooding at the opposite end of the room and grinned.
What did he have Ryuzaki for?
He'd prevent Raito from blowing his cover.
It was just a little trust exercise. Oh, Ryuzaki would leap at the prospect. Raito gulped his second round of beer a little more carefully, all the while doe-eyeing Ryuzaki in the most endearing way he could muster.
The mini-death's eyes twitched as he quirked an eyebrow and shook his head incredulously.
Raito stuck his bottom lip out at him.
"Oh, bucket of shoes…" swore Ryuzaki.
Raito doubled over and burst out in hysterical laughter.
Christ… his beer… he was going to choke on it. Much to the amusement of Teru, Raito pieced himself back together and giggled incessantly over the arm of the couch.
Through his laughter, he heard Teru calling his name in the best of humors. Raito righted himself against the couch cushions and giggled. He could tell by the goofy half-smile on Teru's face that he was trying not to laugh. "Raito," he snorted before holding his hand in front of the brunette's face, "How many fingers am I holding up?"
"Five," Raito announced proudly. Only one beer! He wasn't drunk yet.
"Well," sighed Teru with a tilt of the head, "Your brain's still working, I think. Can I ask what was so funny?"
"Oh, nothing," sighed Raito as he finished his first can of beer and dove for the second one.
"Raito-kun," Teru's voice intruded quasi-urgently, "Don't you think you should wait a while?"
"No," Raito blazed, "We're getting drunk! And if we're getting drunk, we're going to do it proper." He popped his second top and raised the glimmering can of beer on high. "To invincibility!" he cheered before downing another stinging inferno of bitterness.
"To invincibility," Teru agreed.
Raito downed his second can of beer in no time. It registered sometime through his fumbling with the third pop top that his hand-eye coordination had gone to hell. He kept… missing. Stupid pop top… moving all the time.
Raito then had a revelation.
He was intoxicated.
Marvelous, how things moved when one was intoxicated…
The prospect both thrilled Raito and scared him, along with a third emotion which had no name in particular and had no clear idea of what to do with itself. The brunette had never ever been truly drunk before, and he wondered what it was like. It was like an adventure! Only… maybe he was going to do something stupid.
…
Raito laughed again.
Raito? Stupid? Meh heh heh… Hoo… Hah! Heh hah hah! Stupid! Like that could ever happen…
…hic…
'Sides, there was Mr. Panda over there who could help him aaaannnyy time he needed him.
…
Still. Raito needed to focus. Kira didn't go insane when he was drunk. Drunk felt nice, but Raito couldn't let himself get too caught up.
…Why was he doing this again?
Oh, right. Stress.
Raito took a swig of his beer.
Stress and those goddamn pills. And school. Fuck school. Raito was already as smart as he needed to be. Umpteen more years of education wasn't going to help much. But quitting school would be too much. He could be insane and disobedient, but there was no way he was failing college.
He couldn't fail school. It was… school.
School was what made him what he was. School invented grades. Grades made Raito famous. That was all most people knew him for, after all. Plus, if Raito wasn't such a smart cookie, Kira would be screwed!
Halfway through his thought, he realized that the world was tilting.
"Raito!" chuckled a familiar voice, "Raito, you're falling over…"
"I'm not falling over," Raito corrected smartly, "The world is falling over."
"Right, right," sighed Mikami, "Now don't you think you've had enough to drink tonight?"
"No," said Raito, "I'm not drunk yet."
"Oh, I think you're drunk enough."
"No," denounced Raito with a punctual turn of the head.
"Raito," deadpanned Teru, "You're drunk."
Raito frowned and thought a moment. Yes. He was drunk. It hadn't occurred to him two seconds before, but the sequence of events didn't make sense to him, as he knew he was drunk, then forgot, and now he knew again.
Good God…
Raito needed to get his act together.
Focus.
"Raito-kun," hummed a calm voice from the top of the sofa. Raito squinted. It couldn't have been Teru's voice, because when the brunette checked last, Teru didn't normally sit on the backs of sofas.
Ryuzaki.
Right.
"Your eyes are misty, Raito-kun," observed Ryuzaki's disembodied voice, "I advise against drinking any more alcohol. You may do something regrettable, and that would make me sad."
Raito didn't want to make Ryuzaki sad.
So he had to focus. He took a deep, refreshing breath.
Okay.
He was in Teru's apartment, in his living room, and he was on his fourth round of beer. He hadn't mentioned anything about Kira yet, which was good, and he hadn't announced his schizophrenia to Teru. The room wasn't swaying, Raito was swaying. The pop tops weren't moving, the calibration in Raito's ocular nerves was off. If he didn't want to get himself in trouble, he needed to think things through.
…God, it was hot in that room, though. Maybe he needed to take some clothes off or something. Raito reached for the lapels of his jacket only to discover that they weren't there. Odd. He must've taken his jacket off earlier. He didn't remember doing that…
Anyhow, there his shirt was, clinging to his skin, and the brunette decided with no further mental discussion that it would be removed. Despite what he thought to be a surprised groan from Mikami, Raito pulled his shirt over his head and wriggled out of it.
So there he was, stripping on his not-boyfriend's couch, and failing to feel the results of his efforts. He still felt hot as hell.
There was something nagging near one of his ears and Raito realized disapprovingly that it was Ryuzaki telling him 'For God's sake, Raito-kun! Put your clothes back on!'
At least Raito thought that was what he said. He heard, "Blah, blah, blah, blah."
Kind of.
Only less coherent.
Raito sat on the couch, oblivious to the commercials on the television, the glazed look in Teru's eyes, and the incessant prattling of one agitated mini-death. He swam through his options, searching for one which could explain why he wasn't cooling off.
Suddenly, something came to him.
In an instantaneous moment of panic, Raito stiffened and recalled that his failure to open a window when he had a fever could have resulted in his death.
…He needed some fresh air.
Now.
Wobbling, Raito swayed precariously off of the couch and onto one foot. Teru peered at him and asked, "Where are you going?"
Raito's brain said, 'Well, I'm walking out to your balcony, of course.'
Raito's lips said, "Hmm gonna' walk ou-side, mmkay?"
He stumbled elegantly over to the sliding glass doors and fumbled with the latch. First, it was over here… then it was over there… God, Raito. Focus.
Since he couldn't grab it with one hand, he felt along the sides of the door until by sheer happenstance his fingers fell on top of it. He twisted the brass bolt and yanked one door aside.
He was instantly assaulted by the nicest breeze he'd ever felt.
Raito grinned, eyes easily past half-mast, and zombied his way onto the cold concrete of the balcony. Something jumped off of the couch and shouted, "No, Raito!" but it didn't sound like Teru.
As Raito was three fourths of the way out the door, he wondered why on earth Ryuzaki wouldn't want him to walk outside. Through the alcohol sloshing around in his head, he attempted to formulate a hypothesis.
This was where logic made a comeback.
Raito realized quite soberly that alcohol didn't serve to make one's body temperature rise. As a matter of fact, he was probably going to freeze. Second of all, Teru's balcony was looking suspiciously shiny, as if ice were lurking somewhere, just waiting for him to sail into it. Why ice would form without bad weather, Raito would never know. Thirdly, said balcony and said ice were quite a distance from the ground.
Were Raito to lose his balance, a trip across the edge of existence would be in order.
Raito didn't want to die.
Really, he didn't.
So he backpedaled into the house and cocked his head at the lights on the building across the street. His thoughts returned to the ice. Chances were, his eyeballs thought it would be hilarious to trick him into thinking that there was, in fact, ice everywhere. Just like they wanted him to think pop tops had minds of their own.
On the off chance that there was ice on the balcony with no weather to put it there, a disconcerting thought came to mind.
Something wanted to kill him.
Twice in one week.
"What's wrong, Raito?" asked the voice that sounded like Teru's. To this, the brunette swayed on his toes and replied that: He'd had it with people trying to kill him. He wanted a nap.
The taller man did not question his reasoning, much to Raito's relief, and went about fixing his couch in case Raito wouldn't mind staying there.
"Thank God," muttered an annoying Ryuzaki voice in the brunette's left ear. Raito wheeled precariously on one heel and glared unevenly into his eyes. Said eyes blinked once or twice. Ryuzaki then slipped a thumbnail between his teeth and said, "When you're sober, we will talk."
Raito muttered at him and flopped onto Teru's couch.
----
Well that was a disaster.
L didn't think he'd gone through more fingernails in his entire life. There Kira was, about as sober as a keg of rum, walking around half-naked, and nearly getting himself killed. Raito was a mess as of late and L didn't like it.
The brunette probably had reasons behind his actions, but L didn't care. He needed to stop being so careless.
The Witless Wonder was peacefully beyond consciousness at that moment in time and had adopted a strange, sprawled position on Mikami's couch. He lay on his stomach, head and shoulders drooping off of the seat cushions, feet propped up against one arm of the chair. Blankets were everywhere. Only one covered Raito up, and even then his feet were left out in the cold.
But no snoring.
God forbid Kira should display at least one more example of human weakness.
L sat there until morning and never once did he hear anything more than a sigh.
Sunrise, however, was a different slice of cake.
Once again, L found that Raito's morning was full of 'nnnnggghhhh.' The brunette sat up in bed with a painful groan and the heels of his palms dug far into his eye sockets. L bit his lip. Poor boy should've known better.
Raito's hair was kinked at odd angles and his clothes were in a similar degree of disarray. No amount of ironing could hope to erase the mountains and ravines in his pant legs. His shirt was still gone and the brunette shivered as if he were missing it.
Raito then shut his eyes again and complained to L that the sun was too loud. L replied that alcohol seemed constantly to make the sun more annoying and that the curtains were closed anyway, so there wasn't much he could do. Raito complained at him again and again until eventually L learned to block the brunette's voice completely.
Raito noticed that he was being ignored. Stubbornly, he stuck his nose in the air and set about rising out of his spot on the couch and assessing the damage in Mikami's bathroom mirror.
Ah, but the pain was too much.
Raito leaned heavily against the wall and massaged his eyes with his thumbs.
L observed this with some degree of pity. Though his headache was his own fault, L couldn't help but sympathize. Raito was pathetic and L felt sorry for him.
He waited patiently as the brunette splashed cold water on his face. After a moment of glaring balefully at the bathroom mirror, Raito remarked, "Well isn't this dandy?"
"Quite," deadpanned L, "and I suggest that this never happen again."
Raito snorted at him.
The mini-death quirked a dryly inquisitive, invisible eyebrow. Raito's golden eyes bored holes into his own for a few seconds before the brunette huffed, turned around, and refused to admit that the ordeal was his fault.
Of course.
L felt confident in the knowledge that Raito could not be forced to confide anything to him, but he figured he'd push the brunette off of the edge anyhow. "Whose intelligent idea led you to this mess, I wonder?"
Raito pulled one sleeve over his hand and smacked L upside the jaw.
L staggered backward in shock. He rubbed at his jaw before raising both eyebrows in indifferent disgust.
The nerve…
L hadn't deserved that.
Raito was being a moody bastard and, if the mini-death's conscience was to be believed, he deserved a well-aimed kick in the kneecaps.
L's conscience spoke.
L listened.
So, without much ado at all, L dropped to the floor and nailed both of Raito's legs with one jean-clad shin. The mortal yelped painfully and lost his balance, careening unceremoniously into the corner of the sink.
The mini-death stood up into his usual slouch and eyed Raito with blatant dissatisfaction. He really wished the two of them could actually touch each other, and not for the reason he'd initially thought. He would have thoroughly enjoyed hooking Raito's leg in the crook of one foot and sending him spinning into the wall. He would have relished a yelp of surprise should L sink his teeth into one arm. Raito's howls of surprise when the mini-death experimentally latched into his neck were horrifying at the time, but currently, L would have jumped for joy at the amount of damage he could do without a sheet between his teeth and Raito's skin.
Then again, if the two of them could touch each other, Raito's favorite card would come into play.
He could deck L with one swift punch to the face.
This, the mini-death did not look forward to.
As if he hadn't just been floored by a kick, Raito righted himself and casually flicked at an imaginary speck of dust on his sleeve. L could tell by his thin-lipped expression that Raito was suffering more pain than he intended to let on, but the mini-death's compassionate streak had ended. If Raito had the headache of the century and a sore leg to accompany it, then so be it.
The brunette excused himself from the room and marched stiffly down the hall. He then adopted a familiar position on the sofa, once again mumbling and lamenting his pain.
L sat there for a while, on the corner of the couch, and sighed. "I am well aware of your peculiar actions these past few weeks," the mini-death remarked, "but this is by far one of your worst."
"I agree," moaned Raito.
L blinked. Now this was new. "You agree?" he clarified.
Raito sighed grudgingly and nudged the bridge of his nose into the crook of one elbow. "Next time I think of something that stupid, slap me, please."
"Wouldn't that make you angry?"
"It might."
"Alright then, but if you retaliate, I reserve my right to self-defense."
"Are you saying you expect me to do something stupid again?"
"Quite."
"Bastard."
"That makes two of us."
The argument ended there. L was satisfied and Raito was satisfied, if a bit achy. As a matter of fact, the mini-death expected nothing more to be said between them that morning, but he was surprised when Raito offered yet another chance at conversation.
"You think the shinigami are out to get me again?"
L thought for a moment. Yes, he knew for a fact that the shinigami were once again feeling vengeful as ever. The ice on the balcony last night was proof of that. He answered Raito's inquiry with a plain, "Yes."
"So there really was ice outside?"
"Yes."
Raito sank back into his throw pillows with a muffled thud. "Well if that isn't divine," he grumbled sourly.
"One more tally on your leaderboard, I imagine," L offered in the interest of lightening Raito's mood.
It did the trick, as Raito ventured an amber peek at him and half-grinned. "I suppose."
The room went silent again, save for the faint ticking of a clock somewhere in the kitchen. Out of the blue, Raito hummed, "I wonder if they'll ever think of an imaginative way to kill me."
L tilted his head queerly and nibbled on a thumbnail. "And what would be imaginative to Raito-kun?"
"Maybe they'll cream me with a giant plate of spaghetti or something," Kira chuckled. L mused airily and rolled his eyes skyward. "If you're lucky, maybe a rum brewery will explode and you'll drown in it."
"Nah," dismissed Raito with a wave of the hand, "I've had enough of alcohol for one day. What if a giant monster busts out of the sewer or something and starts destroying the city?"
"Like Godzilla?"
"Like Godzilla."
"You want to be eaten by Godzilla?"
"Mothra, actually. That would be more far-fetched. Is that a problem?"
"Technically, yes. If the action is impossible, it will simply transfer to a heart attack in a death god's notebook, and you've already had one of those."
"It's not impossible. Nothing's impossible."
"Then you should be looking forward to dying in the most improbable way."
"Like a UFO dropping on my head?"
"Of course."
"Hmm… It should be shaped like a rice ball."
"What should?"
"The UFO."
"I reckon it should be made of rice as well."
"No, that would mean that I got smashed by a giant rice ball, not a UFO."
"Forgive me."
"Forgiven."
----
No sooner had Raito left the apartment than he was assaulted with the most excruciating nausea he'd ever experienced. Teru had been kind enough to offer him some painkillers and a friendly suggestion not to drink so much, but neither of them had done him any good. His head felt as if it was going to explode and his legs felt as if they were made of poorly molded steel.
The only recent triumph to his name had been that he'd been able to retain his logic while he was drunk. Granted, he probably hadn't been very drunk considering the amount of information he was able to recall now and then, but he'd been drunk nonetheless.
He resented Ryuzaki for kicking him earlier, but the mini-death had made up for it with his pleasant company and enlightening conversation. He definitely helped to lighten Raito's unease and for that, he couldn't complain.
One more uneasy event was yet to come and Raito yearned for a chance to bypass it in favor of running somewhere remote like Guatemala.
This event was another confrontation with his father, who had undoubtedly figured out that Raito hadn't been home that morning.
The brunette had turned his cell phone on that morning, wondering whether or not his father would attempt to get a hold of him. So far, the device hadn't made a sound, save for the occasional beep of a spontaneous text message. Raito ignored each one, being from various people he did not want to be bothered by, so for the most part, Raito's phone went unanswered.
And then, the phone rang. Raito whipped it out of his back pocket and examined the number on the display. He didn't know it, but he figured the only one calling him that morning would have been his father. Listlessly and hopelessly, he sighed and flipped the phone open.
And this is what he heard:
"POPSICLE STICKS!!!"
The brunette went into shock for a moment, skipped a step, flinched, and knit his eyebrows together incredulously. What on earth…
"Alright, listen up. Not like you care, of course, because you're still a human, but… Orange pancake waterfall BOOM! Normally I don't talk this much, but since you can't hear me and you're my random number of the day, I'll make an exception. Talk talk talk! I don't talk because I think you'll listen, I TALK BECAUSE YOU CAN'T HEEEAAARRR MEEEEE!!! That's right, fucker. You can't hear me!"
"Woah! Hey! Time out!" Raito yelled against the screeching, nigh unintelligible prattle coming from his phone.
"WAYAYAYAYA- Hm?" the voice stopped in mid-holler, sounding profoundly confused.
"Would you stop yelling in my ear?" cursed an angry Raito. He knew he shouldn't have answered the phone…
"Hm? Yelling in your ear, you say?" Now the voice sounded surprised and marginally amused.
Raito cast a queer eye at Ryuzaki, who was nibbling on his thumb and scratching his ankle with one foot. The mini-death shrugged his shoulders uselessly. "Yeah," the brunette growled into the phone, "Now tell me, who the hell are you?"
"I'm no one in particular, though it should make no difference to you. You couldn't possibly be talking to me. What a strange coincidence."
"I am talking to you, whoever you are," Raito yelled.
Silence reigned for a moment before the voice through the speaker sounded once more. "Hmm… so you can hear me," the voice mused.
"Yes, dumbass," then Raito added to humor his irritation, "I'm bleeding from the ears, thank you. Now who the hell are you? Do I know you?"
"Of course not," the voice purred, "But I know you."
"That's a bit creepy," Raito deadpanned. At the drop of the word 'creepy,' Raito could practically see the smug grin dripping through the speaker of his cell phone.
"You're very interesting," the voice grinned, "Perhaps I should track you down and introduce myself."
Raito's eyebrows did back flips on his forehead. Though he was uneasy with yet another unknown stalker, he hid his fear well. "Of course," he shot back with voice like red velvet, "Always good to meet another fan."
The voice huffed a playful chuckle. Raito was feeling pretty confident in his suave manner of speech and the method by which he would deal with his second stalker. All his pride melted away, however, a split second before the conversation blinked itself away.
A very crafty laugh sounded just before the phone died.
"See you later, Kira."
----
Chibi Raito: Goddamn cliffhangers…
Chibi L: You're gay.
Chibi Raito: Am not! My name is Yagami! Ya-Ga-Mi!
Chibi L: You're sure it's not I'm-A-Gay?
Chibi Raito: Shut up, dammit!
Chibi L: We've found you out, Raito. Time to come out of the closet.
Chibi Raito: No. It's nice and warm in here. By the way, that's my name BACKWARDS. It's not me! It's me… backwards.
Chibi L: Oh, it's you alright, Raito-kun. It's you.
Me: Right. Well! Now that you've all read another chapter, it's time to review. You read it, now you might as well tell me what you thought. Constructive criticism, pointers, praise, and flames. I take them all. Oh, and by the way, L doesn't have wings. Sorry!
Chibi L: Indeed. I'd have to be an angel for that to happen, but noooo… No promotions for me.
Chibi Misa: Love it? Hate it? Want to get this rant over with so you can eat dinner? Review, review, review!