Ryuga, predictably, seems a lot more interested in watching your reaction to Star Wars than in actually watching Star Wars. You don't actually notice at first, accustomed as you are to his fidgeting and basically zoning it out as you enjoy the movie, but when he's actually climbed up onto the handrest of his chair and is watching you with his face half an inch from yours, his eyes as wide as black voids, it's hard to ignore anymore.

"I'm not rooting for Vader, okay?" you say irritably.

"Of course not," Ryuga agrees. He opens his mouth, probably to say something along the lines of 'although since Kira thinks he's doing the world a favor, he wouldn't root for Vader' and you beat him to the punch by adding, with pointed cheerfulness, "After all, how can I take him seriously when he uses such a dumb voice modulator?"

Ryuga doesn't blink, but he stops pushing his thumb against his teeth and you know the jab has hit home.

He doesn't move away, though. He's sitting so close that you can feel the wetness of his breath against your ear, and you wonder if he's trying to force you out of your seat through sheer discomfort. It's not going to work. You turn your head to look right back at him. In the dark, with the eerie glow from the movie screen against his already sickly skin, he looks like some sort of zombie that's crawled from its grave, his eyes wide and unblinking, bugged out as though they're trying to physically pop from his skull. They shimmer like solid glass, and you feel like if you looked closer, you'd see your own reflection in it—but not the one you usually see. Not Yagami Light, hardworking honors student, Soichiro's son. You'd see something else, something that's hidden in the blur of real life, something that only the camera, with its juxtaposition, could uncover. You feel like he is searching for Kira hidden in your own eyes. But there is nothing to see.

« December 6, 2003. You wake up from an odd dream. You only remember the tail-end of it, it was something about a test in school, but somehow when you wrote down the correct answers, by the time it got gathered up into the pile you knew the writing had changed behind your back. You were trying to answer a question about the trolley problem, and you couldn't decide who to make the train kill. None of them were criminals. It didn't matter, though, because when you got the test back it was marked "L."

The moment you wake up, that's the image that sticks with you, that fires your rage more than anything else. That gothic letter on the screen after you'd killed Lind L. Tailor, mocking you. »

« December 20, 2003. Earlier today you were in a bus-jacking incident. You wrote Osoreda Kiichiro's name into the Death Note, and watched everything play out perfectly. As you get ready for bed, you can't stop thinking about his body lying on the ground in front of you. Real, and jarringly close. There had been so much blood.

For a moment, your hand trembles as you unbutton your shirt. You pull your pajamas on blindly. In the corner of the room, Ryuk says, "today was pretty interesting, huh, Light?" He sighs in appreciation, and floats over to your desk to pick up an apple. "You even used me against him."

You glance over your shoulder, to see if Ryuk is offended by the idea, but he's grinning and seems perfectly content. Of course, you think, letting out a breath. Why would you even worry? Ryuk is a simple creature. He doesn't have pride to offend—he cares only about apples and how much fun you can be, as though he's watching a favorite television program starring you as the protagonist.

Well. You won't disappoint. »

April 17, 2004. Ryuga moves his left hand, presses his fingers against the pulse of your wrist. He is still staring at you, sitting on the edge of the theater chair as Star Wars plays on the screen, and watching you, eyes wide. "Ryuga…" you say.

He drags the edge of his fingernail in a circle on your skin. Says, "I couldn't help but notice the burn scar on Yagami-kun's wrist."

"Is that supposed to have something to do with the investigation?" you ask mockingly.

"No," Ryuga says. "I was just curious."

Your pulse catches.

"It was just a stupid thing, really," you say. "I was messing around with my soldering kit a few years ago and burned myself." You wonder if he's trying to observe you in a lie, and you know that if you let yourself think he will hear your heart thunder faster, faster. So you speak calmly and evenly. You know you cannot tell the truth, even though the truth is innocuous. It had been Sayu's thirteenth birthday. You'd been making something for her, a gift, you'd been moving too quickly, your hand had slipped. The scar doesn't bother you, and it's nearly unnoticeable, a bare shade paler than the surrounding skin.

There's nothing in this observation that could have anything to do with Kira, he is just digging into every piece of you he can find.

L is not above dragging your sister into this game. You've already seen him accusing her of being a suspect under consideration. You are sure that if you showed him how easily he could get to you through her, that he would happily do so, and it is too late to change the outburst you made at your father's bedside. But you can choose not to mention Sayu now.

L thinks of you as someone who cares for no one?

Perfect.

It should be easy enough to direct his attention away from your family.

« December 27, 2003. You have killed twelve FBI agents, including Raye Penber. You watched him die from within the train, looking into his eyes dispassionately. A heart attack is different than a car crash. Not so much blood. Not so much mess. Only his eyes, and the look of terror and betrayal on his face as he realizes who you are. Kira. You had smiled, then, and you smile now, remembering it. It was only a few hours ago and it's probably the remains of the adrenaline rush, but even though you know things will become much more complicated from here on, you can't bring yourself to regret this preemptive strike. Ryuk is busy watching TV, so, very quietly, you sneak a hand down your pants.

Honestly, you're seventeen years old, and you feel like god. That's more than enough to explain your sudden lack of common sense.

You should've bribed him out of here with an apple instead, because of couse Ryuk notices, no matter how quiet you're trying to be as you jerk yourself off.

He looks over with a grin. "What'cha doin', Light?" he asks.

"You can see perfectly well," you bite back, irritated, "so go away and leave me in peace, or shut up."

You're not sure why you gave him that choice.

He grins wider, and floats closer. "Let me guess," he said. "You're all excited because you went to the scene of the crime today, right?"

That's not it. You're justice, you're not some kind of perverted killer getting off on his crimes. Of course, since Ryuk has said it, now you can't get that thought out of your head either, and to your mortification, it does nothing to lower your… 'excitement.'"

"Didn't I say the price of staying was that you'd be quiet?" you volley back coolly.

Ryuk chuckles. "I'd almost think you wanted me to stick around. You know I don't really care about masturbation and all that human crap, right? We shinigami don't procreate at all."

Then how do you reproduce? you wonder, and try not to imagine him as a plant propagating by budding. The only thing worse than Ryuk would be some kind of miniature clone of him. …And now you're thinking about Ryuk and sex. While jerking off.

This really wasn't where your evening was supposed to go.

Resolving to ignore him, you pay attention only to your body. You remember Raye Penber's eyes, and the heady feeling that had tightened in your gut when you realized you'd gotten rid of everyone in your way. I am Kira, you think. I am the god of the New World. »

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