Death Note Fan Fiction ❯ Champagne Petals ❯ Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Not mine.

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- Six -
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"Ryuuga," Light says, and reaches over and links pinkies with her, "I was wondering where you were."

"Light-kun is not privy to that information," Ryuuga says, lifting their joined hands to inspect their fingers like a particularly intriguing piece of evidence, "and I did not expect her to wait for me outside the classroom."

"We didn't spend all that time picking classes for you not to be there with me," Light says, "this is kind of a terrible start to your official day of tailing me."

"Light-kun is very demanding for a suspect," Ryuuga chides agreeably, and Light rolls her eyes and tugs her into the classroom.

* * *

School is wonderful, because thanks to their introduction she's been strange from the beginning, and no one really expects a model student out of a genius, not anymore, not when she refuses to stray from Ryuuga's side, not when on the first day of classes they prove perfectly capable of derailing an entire class into a debate on the slanderous practices of Greek orators that lasts later on, through a late tea and an even later dinner, and the preoccupation is a wonder and a distraction and a clever tactic all in one, and the satisfaction in all of that is that Ryuuga's running on just as much distraction as she is, that they're tripping each other up with questions designed to trap and linger, and sometimes she wants to reach out and pull her close, closer than usual, slip her hands in her pockets and lean in for a kiss, but that's a dangerous thing to want, and both Kira and L are always, always cautious.

If they'd still been playing their game, their first kiss would have been three days ago, an awkward sweet moment in the sunshine, and Light regrets it, just a little, that she's never going to have that chance again.

Attraction's a fine thing to play on, a more dangerous thing to use, so she holds her hand during class and her arm while they're out walking, and pretends that she's shy enough not to take that last step, even though her dreams are filled with heat and chapped lips and low laughter, even though she lets her gaze linger much longer than she should because the best lies are made of truth, and in her own way, L is beautiful.

She starts trading skirts for slacks, and makeup is more trouble than it's worth, now, because there's only one person to perform for and she's already seen right through it. It makes it easier, too, less time for preening means more time for subtleties and intrigue, more time to hide bits of the note and smuggle glances at newspapers and television screens, and if her mother's staying quiet and worried and her sister is beyond suspicious, that's fine too.

One of these days, Light thinks, she might just try things Ryuuga's way and ditch the bra altogether, but it's just so undignified. But then again, I'm growing up, she considers silently, tilts her head back to stare at the sky and bare her teeth where no one can see, and isn't coming out in college the usual way to do it? Fit into the little box and no one thinks twice about it, they just move along with their insignificant lives like the sheep they are.

Typical, typical, boring and she'd die of ennui without Ryuk's gift, so she keeps indulging him in apples and the occasional game of Mario Kart, and it's not so bad, really, being friends with a thing that's not quite a boy or a man, not really. Much better than she would have ever expected, anyway, and it's amazing how much she can see, it's amazing how the world has spilled itself open and revealed both rot and wonder, and she wants to save it even more, now that she knows what it can create, that one a billion chance for greatness.

It's in her, she knows, that brightness, and maybe in others, but what's worse is when it's snuffed out, or worse, never allowed to grow, and she can't stand it, she can't stand what the world has become just because people are so petty and selfish, she can't stand the injustice of it all.

It's only circumstance, it's only a chance, and it's ridiculous that such tiny insignificant details sway the whole course of a life, shape and location and identity shouldn't mean anything, all that should matter is that the few who deserve it can try, and maybe Light's jealous, just a little, of all that Ryuuga already has that Light never could reach, not like this, maybe there's a hot thick knot of rage somewhere in her belly every time she watches her flaunt her careless wealth and every time she catches a glimpse of what might be L behind Ryuuga's endless eyes.

If Ryuuga were a boy, Light knows, she would hate him.

But she's not, and that makes all the difference.

* * *

"I'm not a misandrist," she laughs over cookies and tea, "I hate everyone equally."

"You despise weakness and those who profit from it," Ryuuga says, pointing the handle of her teaspoon like an accusation, or maybe she just likes the shine of the overhead light against the silver, "like all idealists."

"I'm too cynical to be an idealist," Light retorts, halfway tempted to roll her eyes just to make sure the reaction's exaggerated enough, "and not kind enough, either."

"What happens to a dream deferred?" Ryuuga asks abruptly, the English as natural on her tongue as Japanese, maybe moreso, a blurry hint of an accent buried somewhere in the sharpness of the question. "Broken visionaries break more than themselves, given the right motives and weapons."

Light spreads her hands across the table, palms up, offers her a smile. "A little too soft to hold weapons, don't you think?"

She used to hate her hands, when she was younger, the tennis not enough to give her calluses, not enough to make her seem strong and capable--it's the one thing she envies, not having her father's heavier build, even though being lithe and graceful is its own weapon, even though it's so pathetically easy to let her smile and the fall of her hair do her work for her--and then, somewhere along the way, she stopped caring, learning that artifice was already a given and that she needed to prove nothing because she was already better, already stronger than anyone else, and she's never had anyone to impress, not before this, not before she was finally given the chance she's needed all along.

It's all different now, a gentle show of vulnerability to soften her image, blunt all her razor edges, and she always feels like laughing when they're together, even though it's so dangerous, but she can't stop playing the game, not like this, not when there's adrenaline singing in her veins and a thousand plans buzzing in her mind.

Being Kira feels like running past exhaustion straight into euphoria.

Ryuuga leans across the table, a girl in gargoyle form, and drags one fingertip down her palm, almost too lightly to be a touch at all, but it sends an electric shiver down Light's spine, the bait offered and accepted, a gentle spin and dip in their dance, the barest hint of a whisper as the knife slips from one hand to the other, and she's been dreaming in metaphors since this all started, and maybe it's silly and superfluous but it's also wonderfully fun, and she hasn't been bored once since this all started, not even for a moment.

"Your hands aren't this soft by choice," Ryuuga says, her voice like a stone dropped into water, too rounded to be sharp, but humans smashed in skulls well before knives were invented. "And everything is a weapon, if you use it right."

Light chuckles and tilts her head down, playing at shyness, but there's a warm thrum somewhere, low in her belly, and she curls her fingers quickly, just fast enough to catch Ryuuga's before she pulls away again. Caught you, she thinks, and ignores the for now that lingers in the back of her mind like a threat, or, better still, a promise. "And you think I'd choose to fight?"

"I know you did." Calm and clear, as though the sky is blue, and water is wet, and Light Yagami is Kira, and it's still a little amazing, even now when she should be used to it, that she's still letting herself be charmed.

Light glances up through her lashes, squeezes her fingers a little too tightly. Considers a grimace and settles for a vague tightness in the lips and eyes instead. "I've told you I'm not Kira," she says, "I wish you would believe me."

Ryuuga tilts her head to the side, a cue she doesn't really use the way she's supposed to, and regards her thoughtfully. "I wish I could," she replies, and it's stupid, stupid to have that hope jump into her throat, because of course she's lying, and she's so good at it that it's wonderful, each sweet word a drop of poison.

"...so we're stuck," Light murmurs after a long moment, letting her grip relax, but still not letting go. She's never going to let go, not until she needs to, and that's its own threat, maybe she's challenging herself too much, except that could never be, because she must be perfect. "You'll never believe me no matter what I say."

Ryuuga does a perfect imitation of a disdainful snort. "Light-kun is Kira, therefore it would be foolish to believe anything she says."

Light thinks about stretching her leg across the booth to kick her off balance, maybe, or tugging so sharply she crashes down straight into the crockery, but she's not that petty. "Light-kun is not Kira, but Ryuuga might be L, therefore it would be foolish to believe anything that she says."

That perks Ryuuga's interest, Light can tell from the way her weight shifts, the sudden tension in fingers that were content to lie slack in her grip. "Why foolish?" she asks, and Light smiles, just a little, on the inside, because this is easily one of the most childish things she's ever done, a gentle tug-of-war over china worth more than her whole house, probably.

So she smirks, making sure it's extra-smarmy, and says, "The great and mysterious L is supposed to be a scraggly, socially inept genius who hates shoes and is allergic to hairbrushes? One would think that L, of all people, would know how to blend into a crowd and adjust accordingly."

Ryuuga's disappointed, she can tell in the faint slump of her shoulders and the slight narrowing of her eyes, but she won't even let something like this go. "The terrible Kira is supposed to be a pretty, brilliant college student who is remarkably antisocial despite her carefully-constructed popularity on campus? One would think that Kira, of all people, would know how to blend into a crowd and adjust accordingly."

Light smirks to disguise the laughter that wants to bubble up. "Parroting my words back isn't making a point."

Ryuuga smirks back at her, a mirror in disheveled disaster. "Rather, it is making the perfect point."

"Which is?"

"Like L, Kira doesn't care."

It would make her pause if it weren't so true, but she lets the silence linger for a moment, simply because it would be appropriate to do so. When the proper amount of time has passed--shorter than she'd allow with anyone else, but this is Ryuuga, after all--she leans forward, shifting her weight onto her elbows, the picture of attentive innocence. "How so? One would think it would rather be the opposite."

Ryuuga looks like she might want to pontificate if she only knew how, and Light is briefly amused by the mental image that conjures, though it's broken once Ryuuga starts to speak again. "One may assume that Kira is operating under a twisted interpretation of the same ideal as L--that is, the dedication is to justice."

Light raises an eyebrow just to be contrary. "I disagree--that implies rather a lot of caring on both of their parts."

"Caring about justice. Not about people."

"I care about people," Light says, leaning back again, just enough to seem affronted, not enough to seem offended. "I love my family, I enjoy the company of others."

"You enjoy my company," Ryuuga corrects, as though she's never leaned back at all, "as I enjoy yours. Both of us scorn those we consider to be beneath us, but feel obligated to care for them, as they are incompetent to care for themselves."

Light shakes her head, a little too hard, because enthusiasm makes her look even younger and ruffled hair just adds to the effect. "That's cruel."

"You disagree?" It's said calmly, like a casual observation, and Light almost snorts in disgust, because that's a bit blatant, isn't it, Ryuuga?

But she pretends to consider it, looks down again, admiring the clean lines of her forearms against the crisp of the tablecloth, the awkward jumble where their hands are still joined, the smoothness of Ryuuga's sleeves, only shades lighter than her skin, the delicate pink china so ridiculous that it's almost useless, and thinks about beauty and dreams, thinks about power and what it looks from the outside, for the servers, maybe, the other diners so far away they might be on another planet, thinks about the three dozen men dying, maybe right now, maybe ten minutes from now, because she judged them and found them wanting.

"You know I don't," she says at last, "that's what makes this awful. Do you know what if feels like, to finally meet the right person, and find that she thinks you're a serial killer?"

"I know what it is like to finally meet the right person and find that she is all wrong," Ryuuga says, and Light lets her nails bite in, this time, because she deserves it, because if this were real it would hurt, but it doesn't.

"Cruel," she repeats, "it's cruel for you to treat me this way. I might be your suspect but I don't deserve your ire. I shouldn't even be with you so much, not when everything I do just makes you suspect me more." She blinks, hard enough to force tears to well. "You know how I feel about you, and you still treat me like a murderer."

"I cannot treat Light-kun like anything but what she is," Ryuuga says, and then she's lifting her free hand and brushing her knuckles against Light's cheek, soft and delicate, half a caress with all the force of a mortal blow. "And because I am L, so Light-kun must be Kira."

Light stares at her through damp lashes, at the sad, thoughtful curve of her lips, and for a moment can't breathe.

"...I'm jealous," she says at last. "If I ever killed anyone, it would be Kira, for distracting you from me."

"I wonder," Ryuuga says, and when she lets her hand thump back to the table, Light is quick to catch that, too, and lace their fingers together, counting her own heartbeat and the slow, steady sound of her breath, thinking of numbers ticking down, slowly, one by one, into stillness.

* * *

"That was pretty cozy!" Ryuk cackles, later, once they've parted, a long goodbye on another street corner, like long-ago lovers. "Why don't you try to get her on your side?" and suddenly it's all Light can do to not hurl her philosophy textbook right through his head.

"How dare you," she hisses, fingers clenching into a claw around the pen, "never insult her like that again."

"Why's that an insult?" he wonders, "you like her, she likes you, why wouldn't you want to convince her that you're right?"

"I do," Light snarls, because of course she's thought about it, how much easier being Kira would be with Ryuuga's resources and power, how brilliant they could be together, how easy it would be to sway the world to their cause.

Of course she's thought about it. Of course she has, she's not a fool and she's not blind, and and emotions aren't weakness, they're just a liability, but there's strength in that too, because she won't--she won't ever--

If only Ryuuga weren't so perfect they could be perfect together, but she is, and they can't be, and there's no sense in grieving over what could never be.

"I'd love it if she joined me but she's better than that."

"Better than what?" Ryuk wonders, and Light rolls her eyes and goes back to writing down names, quietly fuming, quietly feeling a little sick, quietly feeling like she might explode. "Sometimes I don't get you, Light."

Ryuk is an idiot. L would never sink that low, she thinks viciously, and carves out a swathe through a series of high-profile serial killers, she would never.

You don't dance with anyone who isn't your equal, and you don't duel with someone who isn't willing to kill you or die trying, and this isn't some other world, this isn't paradise, this is the world she's got to save, this is the destiny she's chosen for herself, and she knows it was right, she's known since the first time she turned her head to meet dark eyes across a crowded classroom.

Light knows.

Knowing doesn't make it any easier, but the world is worth it, and if she keeps telling herself that, she'll eventually believe it, because Light Yagami is a consummate liar.

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