A/N: Sorry the chapters are so short. Hopefully I can continue to update quickly. Thank you again to merichule and cratermaker.
A/N2: Things in italics are in a different language.
Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note.
Lawliet wasn't as astounded by the house as Quillsh had expected him to be. Given the boy's previous circumstances, he had expected the child to be awed. Lawliet, however, barely reacted. It was odd behavior for someone so young, Quillsh reflected. Roger noticed this too and commented on it quietly.
"I don't like the look of him," the man hissed as he followed Wammy into the house. "He looks sick. Or disturbed. Something is definitely wrong with him."
Quillsh frowned, his mustache making him look much more severe than Roger knew him to be. "Don't say such things," he scolded.
"It's true," Roger replied. "Besides, you were talking with him in German in the car. What are the chances he's going to understand us?"
"Not high," Quillsh conceded honestly. "I was told he only speaks German and a limited amount of Japanese. Still, though, he can certainly understand tone well enough. So bite your tongue. As to his health, we'll discuss that another time."
Lawliet, meanwhile, stood quietly in the doorway, watching the two men with a blank expression. He had wrapped his arms around himself, fingers still toying with the fabric of the coat the man had given him and the straps of the knapsack that held all of his other possessions. While he didn't know what they were saying, he knew the man who had med them straight off the ferry did not like him. He wasn't surprised. Many people were put off by his appearance and he drove the rest away the moment he opened his mouth.
The man Quillsh Wammy was speaking with had been introduced to him as Roger Ruvie. Roger Ruvie, he had learned, was a close personal friend of Quillsh Wammy. Quillsh Wammy had only said something indicating that they were acquaintances. Lawliet, however, had ascertained by watching the way they interacted that they were much closer than that by observing how they interacted. Exactly how close, he couldn't be sure , as they were foreign and therefore might have different ways of showing closeness than what he was familiar with. He knew that much just from watching his mother and father. His father was German, his mother Japanese, so they behaved far differently with people they were close to. Often people had had trouble telling when his mother considered them to be close friends because of her learned ways of showing fondness. It might have been that they really weren't that close and that Englishmen were simply different, but he doubted it. But that was a matter for another time. Quillsh Wammy was speaking to him again.
"Come, Lawliet. You must be tired."
In honesty he was more curious than tired, but he followed obediently. He had fainted on the way there. Resting was probably for the best. The house, he observed as he made his way through the corridors after the man, was very large, but it was not an isolating type of large. Instead, it seemed very warm and welcoming, if a bit formal. The décor was an interesting mix of various European traditions as well as a few things the child couldn't place. Torch style lights and large windows lit the halls in place of the harsh strip lighting of the orphanages. This place was much less sterile, much less cold. He knew it was foolish to let this lull him into a false sense of security, but it was difficult not to. As much as he knew he could trust no one but himself, a part of him really did want to believe that everything would be alright.
But things had never been alright before, so why should they start now? His memories of home were filled with the blurred faces of strangers, with bright lights and loud sounds, with uncertainty and fear. Things had been so chaotic there. The landscape of his childhood had been one of shifting dunes of bottles and wrappings and the like scattered amongst a forest of syringes. Every time he thought he had adjusted to the way things were, something changed. Though the workings of the house had frightened him, he had known there was nothing he could do about it. And so he had just kept his head down and done his best to survive.
He was drawn out of his thoughts as Quillsh Wammy stopped and opened a door near the end of the hallway. Lawliet was beckoned forward and shown the interior. There was a bed in one corner with clean, white sheets. Cream colored carpet covered the floor and white curtains hung over the windows. The walls were painted white as well. The only touches of color in the room were the dresser and the bedframe, both of which were dark stained wood.
"This is to be your room," the man said. "You may change anything you wish. I do not expect that you will want to leave it white."
Lawliet nodded, but did not speak. Instead, he merely stared at the man. There were no changes he could think of that he would like to make, aside from perhaps a different color that wouldn't remind him so strongly of the orphanages. Really, they had been closer to hospitals or perhaps even asylums than normal orphanages. But now, for the first time, he had a room of his own. For the first time this was really just his. For now, at least. He knew better than to count on anything remaining the same. Things around him had always changed too quickly.
"Well, I'll let you get settled in, then," Quillsh Wammy smiled warmly at him. "I know it's late and neither of us has eaten yet. I will call you for dinner in about an hour. Try to get some rest."
Lawliet nodded and stepped into the white room. Wordlessly he watched Quillsh Wammy close the door behind him. Home, the man had told him on the train from Germany to Belgium. This was to be his home now. And in spite of himself Lawliet was anxious to see how this new home would turn out.