So I changed my mind and wrote for Misa instead…in which turned out much darker than I intended…oh well!
A side note: If you are ever in a rut with writing Misa, listen to "Eileen" by The Hush Sound. I had it on repeat the entire time I wrote this.
I still don't own Death Note.
misa.
i used to be snow white, but i drifted. - mae west.
It is no question that Misa adores pretty, clean things, things she can touch without soiling her fingertips, things she can look at and let out a happy sigh. Misa likes beauty, especially when it comes in the form of powder white, frosted over cities and falling in her hair.
It makes her feel pretty, which is why she stands outside the dismal grey headquarters and stares up to the sky, the snow's mother.
She dressed up for the occasion once she heard the news, all because she hasn't been given the opportunity to dress up in ages. She would like to forget about the past month and a half she had spent strapped to a metal plank and prodded with questions she couldn't answer and voices she wishes she could forget (she's seemed to have forgotten quite a bit lately…she can't put her finger on it, but she knows that something is missing that used to be there).
Misa puts this out of her mind once she feels the icy snowfall melt upon her face. Her stylist would have slapped her wrists and tugged her back indoors for threatening her makeup and flattening her hair with anything besides an iron, which is why she gives a wicked snicker at the realization that she isn't there, beside her client beneath ashen white clouds entirely dressed in black.
Black…she isn't sure why she wore black to stand in the snow. She surely stands out to anyone passing by, but that wasn't her intention.
She wanted to blend in, if not only once, with something clean, white, virginal.
Perhaps it was because she doesn't own much of anything white in her wardrobe…or perhaps she knows that white washes her complexion out, makes her look pasty and not nearly as striking as black.
Or perhaps it's because it's pure instinct anymore.
She shakes that thought off immediately, like a beetle on her dress that makes her squirm. There is snow at her feet, not regret or memories or grief; none of those horridly midnight affairs. It's morning, it's snowing, it's…
Oh, she's getting flustered now. She imagines the tip of her nose reddening and swelling from the cold, her blonde fringe resting flat and distorted on her forehead. The hem of her dress brushes against cold, wet, and she is sure that her stockings are now successfully soaking through to her legs. She will catch a cold, surely she will, and Light won't want to kiss her when she has a runny nose and isn't clean and pretty like the snow she adored just five minutes ago.
She hates the snow. Hates it, hates it, hates it, because it reminds her of Ryuzaki: destroying her pretty things, reminding her that she can only ever wear black because it's instinct, soaking through to the very core of her being until she is forced to look away, to admit defeat, to go put something black on when all she wants to do is fit in with the white at her toes.
Misa makes an abrupt turn on her heel when she feels the tears come on; it's what she always does anyway.
A flash of white cotton meets her eye. Her mind has conveniently fogged over the fact that he has been behind her this whole time, refusing to give her even five minutes by herself. Nevertheless, she gasps, scrunches her nose up at him, clenches her petite fists when she sees it has no effect on him.
"Are you coming in now?" Ryuzaki asks, his stupid thumb against his stupid lips and looking at her with that incredibly stupid expression that she's begun to see in her dreams. He won't even leave her alone when she sleeps, for heaven's sake, and standing outside in the snow is just completely out of the question in the detective's mind.
But where there is Ryuzaki, there is her Light.
"Where's Light?" she demands when she can't see him.
Something shifts in Ryuzaki's cold grey eyes, something that greatly resembles boredom, but Misa is sure that it's just a mistake of her own eyes. There would be no reason, no logical reason why he would be bored at the mere mentioning of her Light, for it had been his idea in the first place to chain himself to him, and Misa regards this with a frown.
Ryuzaki jerks his chained wrist upwards, and Misa hears a grunt of opposition come from the other end that harbors Light. "He's right here, of course," Ryuzaki drones dryly, his eyes still lidded with monotony. Misa wishes he would stop looking at her like that; the cold, melted snow has fully seeped through her stockings, a sign that she needs to return inside instead of waiting for this gangly thing to move out of the way and let her pass.
She huffs out an irate breath, warming her forearms with her gloved palms. "Then can Misa see him?"
An dark little smirk sweeps over Ryuzaki's lips, just beyond that insufferable thumb. "I'm not stopping you, Misa-san."
"Yes, you are!" Misa objects. "You're not letting Misa get by to see Light!"
She doesn't realize how close she is to his face until she sees another grey shift in those round eyes of his. This time, it is something softer, cryptic, yet still unreadable to an extent where Misa simply huffs once more and turns away from him. "Ryuzaki stares too much," she mutters.
"Misa-san wears too much black."
The statement takes her off-guard and she whips around once more, turning her back to the snow. She has nothing to say, for he isn't smirking any longer.
Staring, with something somber in his eyes. She doesn't like this look on him, she realizes; then again, she doesn't like any look on Ryuzaki, especially when it's aimed at her.
They have nothing, nothing at all, in common, nor will they ever. This stays firmly rooted in her mind as she pushes past him, even though he has made a generous amount of room for her by now. Light sits in a chair by the doorway, twiddling the hem of his sweater with a tired look in his eyes, and he doesn't look up at her when she prances over to him. A surge of warmth shoots through Misa's heart and she flings her arms around his neck. Before she can squeek out an affectionate greeting, she hears Light mumble, "Get off, you're all wet."
It's a mumble, but it still reaches her ears in a cold rush. Are Ryuzaki's eyes still on her?
She reluctantly abides to Light's firm request and releases him, taking a step back and looking over her shoulder at the black-haired hermit by the open front door.
Yes, yes his eyes are still on her, with that bleak, indecipherable fog laying thick atop the grey.
Defeat reaches her again. She notices that her stockings are torn when she glances down at her shoes. "Misa is going to go change," she says with a faint smog of exuberance. A final hateful glance at the snow outside, and she bustles out of the room.
Months later, she tells herself that she didn't hear Ryuzaki's soft voice as she fled: "You should invest in being more kind to her, Light-kun."
Oh, I really do love L…I think he and Misa would be interesting together…
Sigh. Anyway, reviews are greatly appreciated! They keep the cogs of my brain a'turning.