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Suggested Listening: "Hole in Your Parachute" - Holy Fuck

Feel It in My Bones

~Hole in Your Parachute~

The next day at work passed in a blur that was occasionally broken up with an extra dose of monotony – or another commandment from Linda (yes, commandment; commands from Linda were more extraordinary than the usual fare).

Be still, my beating heart.

I swear, if I was eighty, I'd go into cardiac arrest from all this excitement.

Fortunately for Linda, I was so... distraught – for lack of a better word – over the events of the day before, that I didn't even complain. Hell, I didn't even voice my acquiescence either. I did what she wanted, and I didn't say a word.

Linda went around smiling for that entire work shift.

"Matt, can you help this customer?"

Okay.

"Matt, can you put the returns back on the shelves?"

Sure.

"Matt, can you fix the system? It's on the fritz again."

Pfft. At least give me something challenging, why don't you.

"Matt, I just checked the shelves you stocked and well, frankly, it's a shoddy job at best. Go fix it."

It was your idea to organize them that way, not mine.

"Matt, a kid just threw up in the Family section. Go get a mop and clean it up."

Okay. Number one, that's gross. Number two, I liked it better when you were phrasing these things as questions.

"Matt, I want you to get down on your hands and knees, lick my boots, and call me your mistress."

Alright.

… Wait – what?

I'd just returned to the back room to empty out the mop water – and possibly gag a little at the odour – when Linda followed me in and put forth this horrifying request. I left the mop where I had leaned it against the wall and just stared at her.

Good Lord, I hope she's not serious, because if she is – well, for the sake of my sanity, I'm not going to go there.

She grinned at me wickedly. "'Knew that would get your attention."

I wasn't even going to dignify that with a response; I just glared at her and went back to straining the water out of the mop.

"You know," she started, and I froze at the sly note in her tone, "you recovered from that quite quickly. Are you used to getting asked to do that by a certain special person in your life?"

I clenched my jaw, feeling the heat travel over my face all the way up to the tips of my ears. My grip tightened on the handle to the point where it almost hurt.

The smile left Linda's face immediately. "Hey, I'm sorry. Is everything okay?" She reached over to rest her hand on my shoulder, paused halfway, and then retracted it as if she thought better of it. "I mean, it's not every day that you do what I tell you to do without question."

"I'm fine," I said. I turned to wash my hands at the sink in the corner.

I saw her bite her lip in the mirror before she said, "You can tell me, you know. I'd listen."

"I would if there was something to say."

I had moved away from the mirror to dry my hands, but I could still feel her eyes burning into me.

"Okay," Linda whispered, and it was so quiet that I was unsure if she'd said anything at all. The next moment, I heard the door close behind her.

I stopped on my way out to check my phone. A frown tugged at my lips before I could stop it.

The display, a picture of Mells and me on Graduation Day, stared back at me. I couldn't help but find the smiles on our faces taunting.

No new messages.

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After work, I'd planned on walking straight home, but I got lost in my thoughts and ended up starting off in the wrong direction. I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and looked back at the route that I usually took. Near and Linda exited the video store just then, talking and laughing (well… smiling on Near's part) as they walked around to the back parking lot. Neither of them took any notice of me standing there, looking like an idiot. I frowned as I turned to face the direction that my feet had carried me in.

I mentally shrugged. What the hell – when was the last time that I went on a walk, anyway?

I fished out my phone, sent my mom a quick message to tell her that I would be home by eight at the latest and to ask her if she could wrap up my dinner, and then shoved my phone back in my pocket. I made to set off once more, but faltered. Feeling like a weak-willed pansy, I yanked my phone out again and typed up a quick message.

TO: Mello (4:34):

Please don't be mad.

I immediately erased the draft and started over.

TO: Mello (4:35):

Call me when you get off, 'kay?

It wasn't exactly satisfactory, but at least I wouldn't get my head bitten off for it.

Then, without further ado, I set my feet to the pavement. I had no idea where I was going except only that that was where my feet were carrying me. No thought required. I counted my footsteps to distract myself in case my mind wandered back to the unpleasant circumstances at hand.

Slap – one, two, three – was the sound my rubber soles made on the concrete.

As I walked down Main Street, my gaze passed over all the people and places that I hadn't bothered to think of in a long time. There was Brandi Mitchell's mother, hauling groceries to her car, who used to volunteer with our Grade Two class. At the end of the block was the convenience store; out front, Mello and I used to sit on the curb, heckling the older boys riding past on their skateboards. Meanwhile, behind the store, I later found out that Mello would bully kids a great deal bigger than him for the cigarettes that I smoked on a daily basis up until I was old enough to buy them myself. The corner ahead of me was where I had first seen Mello's motorcycle when he had driven up beside me while I had been walking home from school at the end of tenth grade.

This was the street where we had skinned our knees, this was the heat of summers past that still burned in our lungs, and this was the childhood that we hadn't yet figured out how to outgrow.

A car sped past, the engine roaring obnoxiously, and my train of thought was thankfully broken. I concentrated on planting my feet down a little harder, counting in my head a little louder.

I reached the last intersection before the road sloped down the hill and I froze, looking up at the street sign.

Why had my feet carried me here of all places?

A memory I had stuffed to the bottom of the filing cabinet that was my mind flashed to the forefront, and I stayed planted where I was even as my thoughts were transported back to days long since passed.

It had been raining that day. Maybe that's not the most important detail, but it was the first thing that I remembered: the smell of wet asphalt and the already heavy scent of freshly cut grass hanging in the air made sharper by the humidity. Next, was the memory of my blurred vision, obscured by the condensation forming faster on my goggles than I could wipe it away. My lip had been sore, as it usually was after a day of school, from worrying at it with my teeth as a substitute for not being able to smoke. Strangely enough, I also recalled the taste of chocolate; Mello must have given me a bite of his Hershey bar as a consolation for having dragged me by the hand through the rain with barely an explanation other than: "Forget going home. We have places to be."

I would say that I had been a doormat back then, but that would be hypocritical. I'd still let him drag my ass all over the country if he wanted – 'cause he'd do the same for me.

At least, I used to be sure he would.

I bit my lip, breaking open a slight cut that had just begun to scab over, but I didn't give a damn. I wanted a cigarette at that moment, but I restrained the urge. Whether it was out of a strange sense of courtesy to the memory (empathy for my younger self or maybe the wish to hold onto the smell of rain just a little bit longer) or even just a sudden case of masochism – I don't know. Well… maybe I do.

Mello wouldn't approve.

I shot a half-hearted glare at the sign before turning onto the street it indicated.

Mello had been uncharacteristically cheerful the day that he had led me down the road that I was now walking on. Due to this, and perhaps some more whining on my part, he had quickly filled me in on his plan. We were on our way to someone's house – and not just anyone, either: the boy that had the highest marks in our junior high, Lawrence Lawliet.

L always hated it when people called him by his real name.

I hadn't been nearly as excited by this news as Mello had been, and it wasn't because I had already been put in a grumpy mood by having been soaked through to the bone.

No – it was because, back then, I had been intensely jealous of L (and just as afraid of what that meant).

It was strange; all through school Light had had the same rank as L, but L was the only one that Mello had chosen to idolize. Well, okay. It actually wasn't that strange at all considering the fact that Mello had already pegged Light as a prissy daddy's boy who used his charms to manipulate people – but I hadn't known that at the time. All that I had been concerned about was the sudden appearance of a rival for my cherished spot as best friend.

And when I mean sudden, I mean within the first three days of us entering the seventh grade.

Junior high was the time when Mello had been the most obsessed about his marks, and due to his constant perusals of the ranking board, he had quickly learned of L's esteemed academic standing. It went hand in hand that he should have also instantly formulated the plan to absorb the raven into his circle of close friends. Obviously, given the invitation (and the fact that L is still putting up with our presence) I'd say that he hadn't minded a bit.

So, there we had been, standing in front of that very sign while Mello had told me that his wish of the moment had come true.

And I had had the good sense to grumble, "What's so good about him?"

I say good sense because at least I hadn't said, "Why don't you marry him?" – which would have earned me a deserved cuff around the ears.

Mello had responded to my juvenile comment with an air of superiority that teetered on the line between the brattiness he'd exhibited as a young child and the entitled cockiness he grew into in later adolescence. He had squared his shoulders and eyed me in a way that had made me feel distinctly smaller. "Matt, don't be such a child."

Cowed, I had followed him to L's house that first time and was the epitome of politeness even though I'd felt stung by his remark – or maybe I had been on my best behaviour because of it.

He had redeemed himself a week later when my mother had grounded me after discovering my newly acquired smoking habit, and he had broken me out of my house and then hid me in the tree house in his backyard where we hung out until long after the streetlamps had gone on.

I'd then been grounded for an extra two weeks, but oh well.

Regardless, even as his words had cut me at the time, I'd already forgiven him. The reason for it had nothing to do with an understanding that he hadn't really meant it or that I couldn't blame him for telling me I was acting like a child when I was. It was a lot more confusing, and because of that I hadn't really examined it until now.

If I was honest, it had a lot to do with how his eyes had glared out at me from under his sopping wet fringe, as volatile and electric as the storm that had been raging overhead. His hair had been plastered against his head, and as he had spoken, a rain drop had rolled down his nose before disappearing into the crease between his lips. My stomach had suddenly felt uncomfortably hollow. I had ceased to care what he had been saying as my mind had suddenly drawn a blank.

I'd never been that good at paying attention when being lectured, but something tells me the motivations behind my lack of concentration that time were different.

Even at thirteen, I had wanted to kiss him.

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

As I reached the cul-de-sac where L's house was situated, I dialled in L's number on my phone and waited for someone to pick up. It wasn't like I was going to just waltz on into his house without asking if it was good time for him or not. If it wasn't, I could just walk home; a walk was all I wanted out of this, anyways.

I waited for a few moments at the end of their driveway with my phone pressed to my ear. I ended up getting the answering machine, and, unperturbed, I stuffed my phone back in my pocket and made to go back in the direction that I had come from. I'd barely made it a few steps when I heard a door close behind me. Taking a look back, I was surprised at what I saw.

Light had just come out of L's house and was now walking down the driveway. Furthermore, he seemed to be finishing fastening the buttons on his shirt whilst raking a hand through his hair. Over all, he looked dishevelled in a way that his perfectionism would normally not allow.

Am I witnessing what I think I'm witnessing? Is Light really doing the walk of shame – out of L's house of all places? At least, I hope it was with L… because the only other option was just… I couldn't even think about it without feeling ill.

But – Light had a girlfriend, so I couldn't jump to conclusions.

A little voice then spoke up in my head: "'Didn't stop you."

Not the time, conscience, not the time…

I cast a glance around the immediate area, deciding whether or not I should hide. He hadn't spotted me yet, so there was still a chance –

Just then, he looked up and our eyes connected.

Shit.

Apparently, I didn't have anything to worry about, though, because all he did was smirk that slow, self-assured smirk of his (the one that girls threw themselves at him for, but really made him look like a douche). His eyes didn't linger on me long, the contempt that he seemed to feel for the whole human race showing in them, before passing on again.

He got into his car without sparing another glance at the house or me. I was left there feeling… well, snubbed. There really wasn't another word for it.

Of course, just as Light drove off, a car happened to turn into the cul-de-sac and stopped at the foot of the driveway. Eyeing the tinted windows, I quirked a brow. The driver-side window was promptly rolled down and I was greeted by a smiling, familiar face.

"Well, this is a pleasant surprise. If I'd known you'd stop by today, Matthew, I would have gotten the grocery shopping out of the way much earlier," Watari said.

I returned the smile genuinely. "'Not a problem. I came here without giving you guys a warning, so it's my fault."

He glanced toward the house. "My grandson is home, but something tells me he has yet to extend the common courtesy of greeting you and inviting you inside."

"It's okay," I interjected, "really. I just got here. Besides, he was entertaining" – how has yet to be ascertained – "another guest; Light was here. I arrived just as he was leaving."

"Ah, I see." I could have sworn the corner of his lips twitched, and his expression changed minutely, as if smiling suddenly took effort. "Well, in any case, you may come inside now."

He rolled up the window once more and put the car back in drive. I followed behind him up the driveway, veering towards the front door when he made to park the car in the garage. A few minutes later, the front door opened and I was being ushered inside.

"So," he began, "to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

I shoved my hands in my pockets. "No particular reason… 'Just thought I'd stop by since I was in the neighbourhood."

He nodded. "Fair enough." Then, he threw a glance towards the staircase and said, half to himself, "L must be upstairs. I should inform him that you're here."

"That's okay," I blurted. As a result, an uncomfortable few moments followed in which he blinked at me, bemused, and my discomfort rose. It would probably be best if I offered an explanation now… "I was actually wondering if you wanted help now."

In truth, I usually liked seeing L, but after witnessing Light's strange behaviour, I wasn't as eager. L was already an oddball; I was slightly afraid of finding out what out of the ordinary meant for him.

I've had enough excitement these past few days, thank you.

"Oh," – his eyebrows raised slightly – "certainly. By all means, head on downstairs and make yourself at home. I will be with you as soon as I have these groceries put away."

I nodded before turning on my heel to head over to the basement door. I pressed my hand on the wood above the door knob, and turned the handle with some difficulty. All the while, I was inwardly laughing at the fact that Watari could fix anything from an engine to a toaster oven and yet he hadn't gotten around to greasing the handle on a door he used numerous times a day.

Priorities.

I made my descent, remembering with a pang – which in turn elicited annoyance – Mello's joke about their basement being the Bat Cave.

It was hard to imagine L and Watari as a crime-fighting team. Watari totally had Alfred down to a tee, but L would make a pretty strange Batman. How L would ever fit that mask over his gravity-defying hair is anyone's guess. Not to mention, his slouch would probably lose him some major points in the intimidation department…

… Why am I even thinking about this?

Anyways…

Watari's workshop, by some miraculous effort, was even more disorderly than usual. Scrap metal lay in heaps against the wall, tucked in behind the staircase. Various kinds of screws peppered the floor. Half-finished project littered every surface, ranging from repairs of household electronics to strange, little contraptions that looked like they came right out of da Vinci's sketches. It was clear what he was currently working on; a light was left on over the roll-top desk in the corner, shedding light on some small tools and a tiny, decorative timepiece with its back taken off, leaving its delicate inner workings exposed. That was the only corner that was kept acceptably organized by general standards. I suppose for good reason, too, considering that various family photos and awards were displayed on the desk itself and the shelf above it.

I moved an empty computer tower casing from where it was resting precariously on a stool and sat down. Then, I feasted my eyes on the impressive mess all around me.

No effort had to be exerted; I already felt perfectly at home.

From the angle I was at, a large pile in the corner covered by a canvas quickly came to my attention. I noted curiously that whatever it was had not been there the last time I was here. It was also unusual that he should take the care to cover it, unless… Then it hit me. Watari must've ordered the parts before I could talk him out of it.

There wasn't any time to go over and check what it actually was to put my feelings at ease, because just then, Watari came walking down the stairs.

"I see you've made yourself comfortable," Watari said, and the polite smile that he seemed to wear at all times out of habit made another appearance. "So, what do you think of what I've done with the place?" He gestured around the area with a sweep of his arms.

I told him the truth, "I'm jealous."

He chuckled and straightened a little at this, obviously pleased. "Well, I would say thank you, but it seems inappropriate to thank someone for their envy; it seems a little vain, don't you think?"

I just laughed. I knew a few people who would do that and take pleasure in the fact that it would get on the other person's nerves…

"Now," he hummed to himself, moving towards the work table to my left, "what shall I show you first?"

I eyed the gadgets in question (some finished, some not, and some impossible to tell which category they fell into) and pointed out at random. "What's that?"

Watari picked up a metal cone that was surrounded by a spring and some bits of wire with balls secured to the ends. "Oh, this? Yes, it is quite a curious thing, isn't it…?" He then proceeded to reach inside and wind up the coil. When he let go, the coil began to decompress, causing the wires to spin rapidly – and one of the balls to come flying off, narrowly missing my head. It hit the shelf behind me with an audible ping, causing a large stack of papers to fall to the floor.

"I suppose it's not supposed to do that…" I murmured, watching the previously dangerous projectile roll slowly across the floor.

He cleared his throat. "Well, no…" Stroking his chin thoughtfully, he examined the contraption in his hand before shrugging and placing it back on the table. "I guess it's back to the drawing board for that one. Anyhow," he said, walking over to the other end of the workshop, "this is what I want your help with."

I followed him over to yet another cluttered workspace, expecting to see some sort of Frankenstein creation that had such an outlandish appearance that one would never guess that it served a practical purpose. Instead, as I peered over his shoulder, I was greeted by a completely innocuous desktop computer.

"What's wrong with it?" I inquired, tilting my head to the side. I couldn't possibly imagine what it could be, considering that Watari could solve almost any everyday issue by himself and then some. If it were a more difficult problem, it would take him more time, but ultimately he would fix it by himself. He especially wouldn't ask for help from me, some kid (okay, I'm legally an adult, but still) decades his junior.

"That's the trouble," he said, rubbing off his glasses on his sweater before pulling up a stool further down the table. He turned on a lamp overhead, positioning it just so, before groping around under the table for something stashed on the shelf there. "All I can tell you is that it has been shutting off before the operating system loads. I haven't had the time to troubleshoot yet what with all the housework that has been piling up lately. I swear my grandson makes more of a mess at the age of twenty than he did as a child.

"I thank our good fortune that we found a new groundskeeper so soon after John had to retire because of his injury; I don't know what I would do about cutting the lawn otherwise – Ah! There it is!" He pulled out a black DVD player and set it on the tabletop. As he did so, there was a rattling sound as if something were rolling around inside of it. "Speaking of messes that L has made, this might take the cake. He somehow managed to get a gumball stuck inside of it, and now I'm going to have to take the blasted thing apart to see if it can be salvaged." To illustrate his point, he gave the object in question another shake.

Through all of this, I listened with a smile, concentrating both on removing the backing on the tower and examining its innards, and to what he was saying. It had been like this ever since that first visit when L had given us a tour of his place and we had run into Watari down in his workshop, hunched over whatever invention he had been slaving over at the time. Mello had passed through, uninterested, while I had stayed behind, watching quietly as he had manipulated metal as easily as if it were clay. Watari had looked up then, and he had beckoned me over with a smile, and I had sat down there watching him work until Mello had come looking for me and dragged me back upstairs again.

On subsequent visits, I would forgo conversation upstairs and instead slip down to the workshop where I would I sit and watch the old man at work without saying a word. Back then, Watari didn't say very much either; he mostly just smiled as if he was holding back laughter, obviously amused by the strange kid with the over-sized striped shirts and bright-red hair that nearly reached his nose that would watch him for a few hours at a time so seriously, as if he were doing something of some great weight and importance. Communication during that time usually consisted of him holding out something to show me, me pointing at whatever interested me so he could carry out the previous action, and a lot of nodding.

Mello would usually find his way down there when it was time to leave, and I would get up and leave without so much as a goodbye. As more occasions accumulated where I spent the whole time downstairs, Mello began to be much snippier on the walk home. Finally, I knew he'd reached his limit when he had followed me down and sat there steaming beside me the entire time while Watari and I went about our routine.

A petty part of myself had felt smug that he had had his own share of jealousy over me having a new friend, too.

As we got used to each other, I began to walk about the workshop and look at the pictures on the wall, asking questions about each one. It was then that I found out that Watari actually had a lot to say. Eventually, I didn't have to give any lead-in at all; he would start talking as soon as we went downstairs. I was content to listen. I had quickly realized that most of what he had to say had to do with other people; things about himself were a lot slower coming. In that way, among others, I felt a sense of camaraderie with him.

During those times, he told me about his family back in England, and the strict upbringing he had been subjected to by his upper-class parents. I had listened in disbelief as he had related tales of rebellion in his teenage years. I had laughed at his remark about his mother's indifference towards his interest in tinkering, and his father's differing opinion: "I suppose as long as my hands were busy with machinery rather than other things, my mother was happy – but my father could never forgive me for the time I took apart his favourite watch. It never did tell time the same after that…"

When he had spoken of L's parents, I had listened even more carefully than usual. It hadn't occurred to me at that time what had happened to them; I'd barely given a thought to the fact that L lived alone with his grandfather. It was just the way things were.

He told me how he and his wife had raised his daughter much more laxly than either of their parents had raised them. Katherine (Kitty, he always called her) had been like a whirlwind, he had recalled with a fond note in his voice, moving from place to place seemingly at random – but always with purpose. She had always felt injustices so deeply and cared so strongly for others, he'd said. Because of this, she had signed up as an aid worker overseas in Africa, where she had met her husband and L's father, William, an anthropologist researching for a book he had been writing at that time about tribal culture. Watari had described William as being quiet and studious, but when he got bad case of wanderlust, he could be just as unpredictable as his wife. Caught between the whims of his mother and father, L had spent his first seven years of life being whisked from place to place all over Europe, the large trunk of books his parents had accumulated over the years his only constant companion.

"How did they die?" I had blurted out at the end of this story, promptly turning bright red afterwards.

I remember distinctly that he had hesitated then, looking at me carefully over the rims of his glasses. I don't know what he'd seen in me that convinced him to answer, but he did. "It was a car accident."

"Oh."

I didn't say anything else for the rest of that visit.

After that, I made a conscious effort to talk to L more. I ended up becoming just as good of friends with him as Mello was. L and I never talked about my initial, unreasonable dislike of him, and eventually it was as if it never had been.

"Okay, Matt, what's wrong?"

I snapped back into the present, only to realize that I had been staring off into space for the last five minutes, not hearing a word that Watari had been saying.

"Nothing," I replied sheepishly, returning my attention to the open case in front of me. Now that my mind was in the right place, I quickly spotted the problem: a screw had come loose and had come in contact with the motherboard, causing an electrical short. I grabbed the first screwdriver I saw, thinking it was the last one I had used, and attempted to tighten the screw.

"I can see that," he said, and I jumped when I realized that he was now right behind me, looking over my shoulder. "I suppose you're using a Robertson bit on a Phillips screw for some other reason, then."

Well, shit. No wonder that wasn't working…

I dropped the screwdriver carelessly onto the table and pushed my goggles up so that I could rub the bridge of my nose. I could feel my pulse there, the headache that I'd been trying to ignore all day suddenly sweeping over me like a wave.

"I'm just tired," I said. Even though it was true, it sounded like a flimsy excuse even to my own ears.

I heard the scratch of metal against concrete, and then he was sitting on his stool beside me, hands folded neatly in his lap. I kept my eyes glued to the surface in front of me, following scratches in the surface and finding patterns – anything to avoid meeting his sympathetic gaze.

"Is it Mello?" he prompted finally, once it was clear that I wasn't going to let down my defenses.

I flinched. That was way too close to the heart of the matter. I knew he couldn't know (how could anyone know?) but… what if he did? What if he could read it all over my face?

Had it been that obvious to everyone this entire time?

I squashed down the thought just as soon as came, and turned towards him. I did my best to look him straight in the eye as if everything was normal, as if I had nothing to hide.

"Why would you think that?" I tried to sound nonchalant, but it came off just as prickly and defensive as I was feeling right now.

His lips curled into a smile; I didn't return it this time. "I have known you boys for a number of years now, and have witnessed quite a few disagreements between you two, or otherwise have heard of them second hand. I can spot the signs by now. Besides," he continued in a gentle voice, "there can only be one other person who could worry you so deeply, and if it were so, you would be at home and not here."

Immediately I felt my shoulders tense at this allusion, and I had to stop myself from making a biting remark. This was Watari; he meant well. I forced myself to relax and took a deep breath.

"You're right," was all I said.

He nodded. "And I suppose you do not wish to tell me what happened?"

I nibbled at my lip out of habit, tasting copper. I didn't even mind the sting as I agitated the wound; it kept my thoughts clear. "You're correct again," I mumbled.

"I see. That bad, hm?"

My eyes snapped to his face; all I saw there was compassion. Exactly what a parent would feel for any child, I realized suddenly. I had to make a decision as to how much I would tell him, this man who I hadn't fully understood until now had filled the void that had been left gaping inside myself when my dad –

I chomped down on my lip and felt relief as the pain wiped away all unwelcome thoughts.

"I don't know how to fix it this time," I told him honestly.

"The answer will come," he said, resting a hand on my shoulder, "if the relationship you have with him is important to you."

I squared my shoulders as I sat up straight, and it didn't take much effort to look him in the eye this time.

"It is," I said, feeling a strong sense of resolution. "It is."

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"Thank you for your help," Watari said cheerfully as we went up the stairs. "Oh, that's right," – he paused as he made to shut the door behind us – "I will have Ben drive over the parts on Wednesday, if that is alright for you?"

I frowned. "Watari, really, you don't have to. I've been saving up my money –"

"Matt," he cut in sternly, grabbing me by the shoulders and shaking me gently, "there are two forms of selfishness in this world: expecting more kindness than is due, and not having the good sense to accept kindness when it is. Besides, that money is for your education.

His mouth stretched into a wide smile as he let me go. "Thank you once again. Your talents are wasted at that job, you know. If ever you feel the need for a change of scenery, just let me know, and I will put in a good word."

With that, he disappeared down the hallway and I was left alone in the kitchen. I shrugged and went to go get my shoes.

I heard the crack of thunder outside as soon as I entered the foyer, and sure enough, when I went look out the window, it was indeed raining. I swore under my breath. From the sitting room the next room over, I heard a clinking sound and froze. My socked feet made no noise against the linoleum as I sneaked over to investigate.

The first thing that hit me when I peeked into the room was that it was very dark. There was only one lamp on; its golden light scarcely lit the large room and threw the corners into dark shadow. The massive bookcases against the far wall gave off an intimidating air in the dimly-lit atmosphere, seeming to almost loom over the only person in the room. In a high-backed armchair by the window, L sat perched like a raven with an afghan draped around his shoulders and his chin resting on the back of the chair, staring unseeingly at the rivulets of rain streaming down the two-story windows. A tea set was laid out on the coffee table, and at once I knew the source of the sound I'd heard.

I cleared my throat. When this elicited no response, I knocked on the frame of the archway and called out, "Hello?"

L turned his head towards me, looking at me with such a stoic expression that I almost believed that he had known that I was there the entire time. The only thing that betrayed this assumption was when he raised his thumb to his lips and curled in on himself further.

The cogs were turning; he was thinking of how to explain himself.

Without removing his thumb from his mouth, he asked, "Would you like some tea?"

I shook my head and stepped into the room, shoving my hands into my pockets. "No, thanks… Um… Are you okay?" I decided that cutting right to the chase was best.

He worried at his thumb for a few moments, staring at the floor, before looking up again. "On days like these, I swear I can hear the bells, and then I imagine I'm back with my parents in our flat a few blocks from the church. The bells chime, they go out into the rain, and they never come back." His voice was steady, yet I felt bad for him all the more for it.

I felt my mouth go dry. Searching for the right words to say, I swiped my tongue across my bottom lip and picked at a stray thread in my pocket. "Sometimes I still wake up when a car drives by our house in the middle of the night, and I'm terrified because I think it's just about to crash into – " I choked on the last part and swallowed. I swore at myself mentally, angry because I had never told anyone that before.

Well, it's out there now, and I can't take it back.

L and I just looked at each other, trying to decide what to do now that we'd both exposed secrets about ourselves that we'd sworn we'd never tell to anyone.

He set his teacup down on the tray and then made to get up. Drawing the blanket around his shoulders like a cape, he shuffled past me and into the foyer.

"I apologize for earlier," he called over his shoulder. "Yagami-kun had spilled some tea on his shirt, and it took me some time to figure out how to work the washing machine without Watari here to supervise."

I blinked at the sudden change of topic, but was grateful for it all the same. Not to mention the very reasonable explanation that suddenly made me feel ashamed…

I tried to cover up my discomfort with humour. "Yagami-kun? What did Light do to get demoted to last name basis?" I asked as I pulled on my shoes.

"Yagami-kun," L asserted, "was being a little shit today, so I may call him whatever I please."

I burst out laughing at the serious look on his face. I managed to get out between breaths, "What did he do?"

A smile tugged slowly at his lips. "He beat me at chess."

Which, of course, set me off laughing all over again.

"Here," he said once I'd collected myself, and I felt something nudge my shoulder. I looked down and saw an umbrella, which L held out to me with that strange, two-fingered grip that he used to hold just about everything.

What's he afraid of? Cooties?

"Thanks," I said, taking the umbrella and popping it open. "I'll bring it back the next time I'm here."

With that settled, all that was left were goodbyes. Once again, we stood staring at each other and I was reminded of our earlier conversation in the sitting room. I felt all of the mirth go out of me like water down a drain.

"Have a safe walk home," he murmured, raising his thumb once more to his mouth. He hesitated momentarily before patting me awkwardly on the arm with his free hand.

I returned the gesture, gave him a nod, and then walked out the door before I'd say something else that I'd regret. On the walk down the drive, I stopped and turned back to see if he'd returned to his spot in the armchair. There was nobody there in the window, and so I continued on.

I walked the streets that led me back to home with renewed purpose, thinking of my conversation with Watari and considering the options. By the time I was stepping onto the porch, I'd made my decision.

I know what to do now.