You're wandering through your house. The ground floor is completely empty. Everything is set up as you last saw it, the couches in the living room, the table in the kitchen, with a few cups sitting out—as if the rest of your family had merely decided to get up and talk a walk; and yet it has the air of a place that hasn't been inhabited in ages.
You climb up the stairs and push open the door to your room. The paper flutters onto the floor—and more importantly, the graphite lying over the hinge is unbroken, and you're able to lift the handle a quarter inch. No one's been inside.
The thought should be a relief, and yet you're still uneasy.
As the door swings open it reveals the interior of the space. Your desk is there, with your TV on it; and there's your bed with its simple blue quilt on top. But your bookshelf is gone, and your books are still scattered across the floor.
The curtains across the door to the balcony are open, letting in the sun. Dust motes float quietly through the flash of brilliance, and you kneel to look at the pile of books. You're not sure what to do with them; the bookshelf is gone, after all. Maybe you could at least straighten them up and pile them with their spines out against the wall.
On top of one of the books is a rubber duck.
You stare at it.
This is all your fault, L, you think angrily.
Its small black eyes are watching you. It seems to have even the slightest smug expression on its jauntily-tilted beak.
You pick up the rubber duck and walk over to your desk, opening the top drawer. When you put the duck inside, its head almost reaches the top. You poke your finger down the inside of the drawer. Frown.
Then kneel down and look at it from the outside.
The drawer space is smaller than you remember, isn't it? By nearly an inch.
You take the duck out, stick it on top of your desk, and then pull the drawer all the way out of the desk. You turn it over in your hands. Grab a pen from the mug on your desk to serve as a makeshift ruler. It really is.
Such a thing would seem to suggest a secret compartment, but the drawer is completely solid, sides and bottom, to your visible inspection. When you shake it, there's no noise and nothing moves around. You turn it over and slam the palm of your hand against it and still, nothing dislodges.
It really is just an ordinary drawer, with nothing unusual about it at all.
Except that it's smaller on the inside.
You put it back in the drawer, feeling uneasy, and look around the room again.
It really is hard to recognize as yours. Maybe because it's so bright in here; noonday-bright. Over the years, you'd progressed to keeping the curtains closed more and more. But now they are flung open. Perhaps someone is watching?
But no.
No one is watching.
Maybe that is the difference.
This emptiness. This quiet.
Whatever it was that you expected to find here should have taken up all the space, but it's just you.
/
The odd, uneasy feeling the dream had instilled in you lasts when you wake up. Almost worse than a real nightmare, where you can dispel the terror by reminding yourself—you are not in confinement. You are not sitting in front of the barrel of a gun. The thought of the drawer, smaller than it should be, haunts you like a memory of something forgotten, and your gaze is drawn to it as you open your eyes, trying to keep still and quiet, remain in that illusory privacy before Ryuzaki speaks. Your desk. It's here, and it's perfectly possible to check it and reassure yourself that it's everything it should be.
Ryuzaki's typing quiets down, and after a moment you hear him shuffling about, the covers tugging this way and that as he crawls over to you and peers down from above.
"Seriously, Ryuzaki?" you grouse, pushing him out of the way. He moves with your hand, and you catch the edge of his nonchalant expression as you sit up.
"I was trying to make sure Light-kun was awake," Ryuzaki says.
"Great," you say. "I'm awake. What now?"
"I have a surprise."
You eye him uneasily. "That's not ominous."
Ryuzaki smiles slightly. "It will be waiting by the apartment door."
He neglects to explain any further.
So, all through the morning, you're followed by that thought. It hangs around you in the shower, and inside the wardrobe. It stares up at you out of your coffee. What exactly is waiting by the apartment door, and why did Ryuzaki look so happy about it? Whatever it is, you're certain from past experience that it's going to be something troublesome. What it might actually be, though… you can't even guess.
It's sitting on the console table by the entrance, just as Ryuzaki had said. He darts over to grab it and present it to you with a flourish—a phone. One you've never seen before.
"Is this for me?" you ask, eyeing it uncertainly. It doesn't make sense. Ryuzaki's incredibly particular when it comes to phones, speaking sharply if any of the task force members ever dare to have theirs on or even take it out of their pockets. And who are you even supposed to call—?
"I thought I should get you a present, since it's our one month anniversary," Ryuzaki says.
"Our—what now? Ryuzaki, what the hell are you talking about?" But even as you say it you're pretty sure you have a good idea.
Ryuzaki jingles the handcuff chain. And you're not sure about the date, but you'd bet that makes this…
"August 23rd," he confirms. "Exactly a month since the handcuffs." He says it matter-of-factly, and something about the whole scenario startles a laugh out of you.
"God, Ryuzaki."
"Certainly a cause for celebration," Ryuzaki continues, with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Neither of us are dead yet."
"Yeah, I suppose you're right," you say, reaching for the phone. He pulls it out of your reach.
"This is only for calling Amane," he cautions. "In case you ever have to get in contact with her when she's out. If you use it for anything else, I'll have to take it back."
"You can't take back a present, Ryuzaki," you say, rolling your eyes.
"Hey, if these terms don't work," Ryuzaki says, "I don't have to give it to you," he moves as though to put it in his pocket, but slowly, and you grab it from his hand.
"No, no, the terms work for me, okay? Geez," you say.
"Also," Ryuzaki adds, as you turn it over in your hands, "it's only for when we're downstairs working. When we get back to our floor you'll have to put it back on this side table, and I will remember to ask for it."
"Yeah, I got it," you say absently, looking at the phone. It's got a glass screen on the outside, and under the camera lens, small words boasting its VGA zoom 4x. The phone is created from shining aluminum, thinner and sleeker than any you've seen before. Ten millimeters thick. "This is a Motorola Razr—?"
"Motorola Razr V3, yes," Ryuzaki says, with the way he's bouncing on his toes betraying his excitement. It had been announced, but wasn't available to buy when you went into confinement; one day after class Ryuzaki had spent the entire time, in the coffeeshop, talking about the specs and the design and even mentioning how there was supposed to be a hot pink one eventually and he was gonna be the first to buy it in that color. So I guess this must really be brand new. It's fairly wide across, to account for the size of the screen inside and the larger buttons which have a smooth metal finish, and when you open it to look at the inside the phone turns on—it's already been charged and set up—and the buttons glow blue around the edge. The metal part of the buttons, too, are nickel, and ripple brightly when you turn it. The whole phone shines.
"Thanks, Ryuzaki, this is incredible," you say. "Sorry I don't have anything to give you." When you close it, it snaps shut satisfyingly. You open it and then close it again with a grin.
Ryuzaki waves a hand. "I can buy whatever I want. It doesn't matter. The important thing is, do you like it?"
"Yeah, Ryuzaki," you say with an amused smile. "I like it."
You take it out downstairs, of course, and Ryuzaki's unusually lenient about the matter. Maybe it helps that you shoot him another smile, or that you're obviously trying to show off how cool the new phone is. You're in the middle of figuring out how to create a ringtone—hey, you might as well, right?—when, finally, someone mentions it.
"Wow, Light-kun," Matsuda says, stopping in his tracks as he passes by, juggling a pile of papers in one hand and two cups of coffee in the other. "Is that a phone?"
Well, the question's pretty stupid but at least it gets the job done.
"Yeah, Matsuda-san, it is," you say. You show it to him, making sure to keep it out of range of his cups of coffee. "It's new."
"And Ryuzaki's letting you use it?" Matsuda asks.
"Obviously," Ryuzaki says. "Don't be getting any ideas, though. It's just so he can set it up. The phone is for calling Amane, and that only."
"Cool, like mine!" Matsuda says, reaching around as though to pull his own from his pocket. You see the accident waiting to happen and grab his cups before they go flying to the floor, then set them down on the computer table.
"Ah, thanks Light-kun," Matsuda says sheepishly. Then pulls out his own red phone and shows it to you with a grin. "This is so awesome. We're phone buddies!"
"Uh, yeah, sure," you say.
The rest of the task force stays out of it then, but a few minutes later Mogi wanders by and peers at the phone, which you make sure to hold so he can see it.
"It looks great, Light-kun," he says quietly. "How's it work?"
"Well, uh, I haven't actually gotten to try it yet," you explain. You're in no hurry to let Misa know you have a special way to contact her—she'll pester you about it forever.
"Oh, right," Mogi says. "It's just for Amane." He glances at you with a slight question in his eyes but, as usual, opts for the option of silence.
Your father mentions it too, later in the day—you're pretty sure because Matsuda hasn't stopped talking about the matter.
"It's good to see you taking your relationship with Amane seriously," Soichiro says, nodding at the phone in your hand.
You were pretty sure he refused on principle to watch your dates through the security cameras, but now you're certain, because serious is the last thing anyone could call that.
You smile at him politely. "Yeah, well, what can I say? I guess she grew on me."
"I never expected to say this, but," Soichiro clears his throat and then continues, "I think she would make a good wife for you someday."
In the background, you can hear Matsuda saying "whoa, is that what I thought I heard? Light-kun and Misa Misa have his father's approval—" and Aizawa saying something inaudible but irritated.
"Thanks, tōsan, that means a lot," you say, and Soichiro smiles at you, looking relieved.
After that, you poke around in the phone's other features. It's got golf, billiards, and skipping stones, which you play just to say you've done it, since you doubt you'll get the chance in the future; and then you open the internet and set down the phone while you wait for the browser to load. Pretty pointless, really, since you have a great connection on the computer right in front of you, but on the other hand this is a phone, so it's cooler.
"Hey Ryuzaki," you say casually as you glance up from the loading bar, "too bad I can't call you on this."
"We're right next to each other," Ryuzaki says, looking over at you with a blank expression.
"Still," you say. "It's not like I can put any other numbers here, so…"
"Hm," Ryuzaki says, nibbling absently at the tip of his thumb. "I see your point." He holds out a hand, and you pass him the phone. He types, and a minute later hands it back.
"Really? 'The Great Detective'?" you say, looking at what he's set as his name. Ryuzaki shrugs.
You go into the saved contact, change it to 'The Great Asshole' and have a fit of silent hysterics that prompts Ryuzaki to grab the phone back and look at his new appellation.
He stares at it for a second before saying, "very mature."
"Yeah, like you," you say, grabbing the phone back. You can't wait to find a song to set as his ringtone.
/
It's pretty ridiculous how happy the present makes you feel. But hell, it's been almost three months since you've had anything to call your own, let alone a new piece of technology. And this is from Ryuzaki. Which shouldn't make a difference but… it's definitely more fun than getting something from anyone else from the task force. Or Misa.
And it means something.
It means that the game you're trying to play with him—he's up for it.
The success of your plan should make you satisfied, sure, but there's a distinctly giddy feeling you get every time you glance over at the phone on the desk next to you. Every so often you pick it up again, just to touch it. It's stupid. It's probably Stockholm Syndrome and exactly what Ryuzaki's been after this whole time. He's probably thinking pretty highly of himself at how much you're under his control.
You'll definitely hate him for it.
But not quite yet.
.
.
.