Work Text:
It should have been Light Yagami’s birthday that day. Instead, it was the one month anniversary of his death.
Sayu sat at the top of the stairs, listening to her mother crying. Sachiko had pretended not to be crying for most of the day, re-reading the sympathy cards and looking at photos and talking to anyone who called but now she thought that Sayu was asleep, she was crying in earnest.
Sayu wasn’t asleep. She found it hard to sleep at night at the moment. Night was safe. Things didn’t happen at night. The world was quiet, peaceful. If the door and window were closed, no one could hurt her. Nothing was expected of her. Daytime was different. You had to get up. It was such an effort but she knew that she was supposed to. Sometimes she managed it these days. Sometimes she even managed to be human for a while.
She supposed if she was properly herself, she’d go downstairs now. Sit down with her mother, put an arm around her, try to comfort her. But Sayu couldn’t face it. What could she say?
She kept remembering Light’s last birthday. He’d been having a party but they’d arranged a small, personal afternoon gathering. They’d all been there. Her. Her mother. Her father. Light. Misa.
The party had been good. She’d spent hours trying to decide what to buy her brother. He was so hard to buy for these days if you didn’t want to be dull and get him a book or ties or something. In the end, she’d settled for going to as many novelty shops as she knew and buying him socks. The sillier the better. She’d bought socks with Pikachus on them, socks with laughing cartoon characters, socks with the days of the week embroidered backwards. Light had laughed when he’d opened it the package and ruffled her hair. She’d tried to make him promise to wear them but Light had been tight-lipped on that, just laughing and ignoring her demands. He had worn them though. Misa had assured her of it.
They’d invited Misa over today, but she’d refused. The last time Sayu had seen her was at the funeral. Misa had stood, pale-faced and thin and had ignored everyone. She was probably alone, like Sayu was. Maybe thinking of last years party or – no, she’d be thinking of more recent times. Sayu had hardly seen her brother since he’d moved out. He must have spent most of that time with Misa, mustn’t he?
For the first birthday when he’d moved out, he’d invited her to his flat. He’d kept her in the living room and entertained her there, asking her how everything was going, entertaining her. He’d assured her that things would get better with Dad soon, that everything would be fine. She’d bought him a recipe book that year and ordered him to do some cooking for Misa which had amused him.
It had been the only time she’d been to his flat. Strangely, the only thing she could really remember about it now was how strongly it had smelt of apples.
Her mother gave a particularly painful sounding sob. Sayu tried to force some feeling into her legs to go downstairs but nothing seemed to want to work. Maybe she was just pathetic. Light would have gone downstairs and sat with their mother and reassured her and told her that it would all be better. He’d have known just the right words to say and the right way to say them. Sayu never knew any of that. She’d always been the less satisfactory Yagami child.
Now she was the only one left.
*
It should have been Light Yagami’s birthday that day. Instead, it was the one month anniversary of his death.
Misa hadn’t known what to do with herself. She’d drifted through the flat, picking things up and putting them down again, staring vaguely out of the window and trying to find something to occupy her. She felt as though she was trapped in a dark fog that there was no way out of. She didn’t feel sad or angry or hurt. Just totally and utterly empty.
Motchi had arrived about half an hour ago and was now in the kitchen, doing the washing up. He’d made her a meal that she’d managed a few bites of before getting distracted and wandering over to the bedroom to sit for a while. She knew her behaviour was irrational but there didn’t seem to be anything she could do about it.
Light was supposed to be there. It was his birthday.
She’d brought his present while they’d been in America. A book about the role of Gods in myths about justice. She couldn’t quite remember why she’d chosen it now. A set of detective novels would have probably been more appropriate. But she’d bought that book and it was all wrapped up and waiting for him to open.
Except that he never would.
On his last birthday, she’d been to his family celebration, then let him go out for a discreet party in the evening. That had puzzled her because Light hated parties but he’d told her it was a work related thing. He’d arrived back late and slightly tipsy and she’d been waiting up, in a silky, almost see-through negligee. Light didn’t often seem to appreciate her outfits but that night he’d laughed and put his arms around her and told her how pleased he was that she always looked beautiful for him. She’d eagerly pressed against him and he’d responded to her advances warmly, arms around her, hands in her hair. He’d made love to her with enthusiasm and afterwards, he’d told her how much he loved her. He was often sparing with the actual words – clearly to make them mean more when he said them – and Misa always felt such a thrill when he actually did. She’d curled up against him and for once, he’d let her cuddle. Light had never been a cuddly sleeper, preferring his own space and Misa took advantage of it when he allowed it.
Now he would never allow it again and the bed would always be too empty.
Motchi sat on the couch now, looking too big and awkward for the surroundings. Misa drifted vaguely over to him and sat beside him, resting her head in his lap, wondering if she would ever feel anything ever again.
*
It should have been Light Yagami’s birthday that day. Instead, it was the one month anniversary of his death.
Matsuda sat alone, a bottle of sake in front of him. He’d been out in the pub earlier but it had been too loud, too boisterous. People smiled at you in pubs or whispered about why you were drinking alone. He hadn’t been able to face the stares, the possible gossiping. So he’d returned here and now sat alone and in silence, slipping the burning liquid and wondering when he’d get so drunk that he’d stop feeling.
This time last year, Light had been in this flat, drinking sake with him. Laughing at something stupid Matsuda had said, head thrown back, showing off his beautiful neck. Matsuda found everything about Light almost compulsively beautiful. As though Light was some sort of amazing statue that had somehow been brought to life.
A stupid, romantic thing to think. Childish, pathetic. But then, it had been a childish and pathetic relationship, hadn’t it? Matsuda’s hopeless crush had spilt over into reality and Light had taken advantage of it and used him with ease, the same ease it turned out that he’d used everyone.
But Matsuda hadn’t known that then. He’d known Light couldn’t love him because Matsuda knew that he was intrinsically unloveable. Not unlikeable as such but simply too silly and flawed to ever be the object of someone’s love. But Light liked him and enjoyed Matsuda’s touch and that was enough for Matsuda. He’d relished their relationship, the snatched hours they had together. He’d never questioned anything Light had wanted from him, never complained when Light hurt him. Simply accepted.
He still couldn’t understand why Light had done it. Had it been a game, to see how far he could push Matsuda before Matsuda broke? Had it been for some sort of sick, twisted amusement, enjoying Matsuda’s naïve stupidity? Light had told him very little of his motives for their affair. Simply that sometimes he was so lonely, that he felt soothed by Matsuda-san’s presence, that Matsuda-san was so kind to him. Matsuda had lapped it up like a cat lapped milk. He’d never cared about Light’s motives, on the whole.
He was paying for that now.
Another gulp of sake and the glass was empty. The bottle was nearly empty too and he closed his eyes, miserable and despairing. He wanted to stop caring. Wanted to stop feeling like a murderer, even though in the end it had been Ryuk who had killed Light Yagami. Wanted to stop wishing that it was last year again; that Light was sitting on the table before him, a little flushed with drink and ready to sink warm and pliant onto Matsuda’s lap and whisper “Let’s go to bed, Matsuda-san.”
Because it wasn’t last year. It was this year and as far as Matsuda was concerned, nothing would ever really be right again.
*
It should have been Light Yagami’s birthday that day. Instead, it was the one month anniversary of his death.
Sachiko sat alone in the living room, trying not to smudge the photograph she held with her tears. She’d been struggling with tears all day but she’d held them back. People kept calling and talking to her and she had to sound proper for them. Had to keep a respectable face to give to the public. Sayu had said very little all day. As far as Sachiko knew, perhaps her daughter didn’t even know that it should be her brother’s birthday.
No, that was unfair. Sayu wasn’t as ill now. She responded to things, she talked and did things herself. She had been quiet all day, avoiding her mother and that probably meant she was all too aware of the date. Sachiko supposed she ought to have sought her daughter’s company, offered her comfort but she didn’t feel up to it. She didn’t know what to say to her. She didn’t really know what to say to anyone.
Her son was dead, barely two months after the death of her husband and she didn’t know what she ought to do. She didn’t know if she should be crying every minute or pulling herself together, being sensible, living for her daughter. There didn’t seem to be any logic to the world any more. She’d wake up in the middle of the night and reach out for Soichiro, trying to find his hand in the darkness, only to remember that he wasn’t ever coming home. He’d died thousands of miles away from her and she hadn’t been able to say a proper goodbye. And now, Light would never come home either.
The tears fell faster. She thrust the photos away from her and covered her face with her hands, crying wretchedly. Damn Kira for stealing her family away from her. He’d stolen her husband, son and her daughter and now he had the cheek to vanish as though he’d never been? To leave her alone, broken, with nothing?
“M-mother?”
Sayu stood in the doorway, her face pale, eyes big and uncertain. Sachiko stared at her, somewhat surprised. Then she reached out her arms and Sayu tumbled into them, hiding her face in her mother’s shoulder. Sachiko buried her face in Sayu’s soft hair and tried to stop her tears.
Not totally alone. Not yet.
*
It should have been Light Yagami’s birthday that day. Instead, it was the one month anniversary of his death.
Mogi suspected that Aizawa wouldn’t approve of him being here. But he really wasn’t sure that he cared.
He wasn’t by nature an emotional man. He never has been. But he lived with Misa for some weeks and he’d spent a lot of time with her before that. He’d grown fond of her and he thought maybe she might have grown fond of him. At any rate, they’d rubbed along well enough.
And no one, no one deserved this.
She’d wandered around the flat like a ghost all the time he’d been there. She’d lost weight and she had precious enough body fat to lose. Her eyes were shadowed, her hair had lost it’s lustre and her make up was only partly done, as though she’d forgotten what she was doing half way through the action. Having watched her in action, that scenario wouldn’t surprise Mogi in the least.
She was lying with her head on his lap now, seemingly half-asleep. He stroked her hair gently, hoping that it was comforting. He almost believed that she was relaxing until her nails suddenly dug into his knee and she jerked up right, staring at him with hazy eyes.
“No!” she said fiercely. “No, Light won’t like it! You shouldn’t be here without his permission! You have no reason to be if it’s not about Misa’s work! Light won’t like – ”
“Light’s dead, Misa-san,” he said gently. “You know that.”
Her eyes filled with tears. She stood up and walked away from him, heading into the kitchen where she began to mechanically wash up the things that he’d already washed. He watched her silently, not interfering. When his mother had died, he’d behaved in a similar fashion, desperately trying to fill up his life with meaningless tasks. He’d done it slightly more productively than Misa but then, his mother had been old and frail, her death had been expected. Light’s death had not been.
Misa dropped a glass and it shattered all over the floor into great jagged pieces. She bent down to pick one of them up and suddenly afraid, he bounded forward and caught her arm.
“I’ll do that,” he said, trying not to sound harsh. “Don’t worry about it.”
She looked at him blankly and he half expected her to start shouting again, or to cry. She did neither. Instead she carefully pulled away and sat on the counter, watching him carefully sweep up the glass.
“Motchi ought to get a girlfriend,” she said quietly. “Lots of ladies would be lucky to get Motchi.”
“I haven’t met the right woman,” he answered, tipping the glass into a bag to keep it safe. “Perhaps I will one day.”
“I hope she loves you forever,” Misa said quietly. “I hope you have lots of little Motchis and they all grow up just as nice as you and as beautiful as her.”
Somehow, that was sadder to Mogi than any of her distracted tears.
*
It should have been Light Yagami’s birthday that day. Instead, it was the one month anniversary of his death.
Ide wouldn’t have remembered if Aizawa hadn’t mentioned it to him. He’d never been great on birthdays, it was a regular joke between him and everyone he knew. He had them written on his calendar at home if they were really important but he’d never really felt close enough to Light for the man to warrant a reference on the calendar. Aizawa was there and Mogi and Matsuda but not Light.
Aizawa always remembered birthdays. He remembered the birthdays of people that he hardly knew. When Ide had asked why, Aizawa had dryly said it came of having a wife who liked to see him celebrate anniversaries, particularly if he was neglecting her for his job. The habit had just sort of stuck.
Once Aizawa had mentioned it, Ide couldn’t stop thinking about it. It didn’t bother him that much. He and Light hadn’t really been close and the revelation that Light was Kira had wiped out any fine feelings Ide had about him. But a little thought kept nagging at him, a thought it was hard to ignore.
“Going home,” he said to Aizawa at last but it was a lie. He left the bar and walked through the cold streets, wishing that he didn’t feel quite so duty-bound to do this and knowing that if he didn’t, he’d regret it.
Matsuda was clearly drunk when he opened the door. He stared at Ide for a long moment before silent tears began to ooze down his cheeks.
“You idiot,” Ide said, not unsympathetically. “What sort of state have you got yourself into?”
He made them both coffee, trying to ignore Matsuda’s continued sobs and forced Matsuda to drink it, threatening to call Aizawa if Matsuda didn’t comply. Matsuda was fairly docile after that, drinking the coffee and mumbling that he was sorry Ide had to see him like this. Ide ignored the comment, bullying the younger man into having a shower and drinking some water before putting him to bed.
“You don’t have to do this,” Matsuda mumbled. “I’m sorry to be a pain.”
“Oh, forget it,” Ide said with a shrug. “Not doing anything else.”
And you were in love with him, weren’t you?
It was on the tip of his tongue but he didn’t say it. Matsuda believed that his affair with Light had been a secret and Ide had no intention of crushing that belief. It had been a secret for the most part but to Ide hadn’t needed to know much about romance to understand the looks of longing that sometimes passed over Matsuda’s face when he’d stared at Light. Hadn’t needed to know much about love affairs to understand what it meant when Matsuda touched Light’s hand as he made him coffee. And he didn’t need to know that the reason he noticed it so clearly was out of pure jealousy.
He sat next to Matsuda when Matsuda eventually curled up in bed, awkwardly patting his shoulder from time to time and wishing he knew the right words to make Matsuda feel better about everything and knowing that words like that didn’t exist.
“You … you could stay?” Matsuda whispered into his pillow. “You … s’late to be walking home, don’t you think? The couch is comfy and I can make you breakfast in the morning … ”
“All right,” Ide agreed. “I’ll stay.”
He didn’t sleep on the couch though. He half-lay on the bed beside Matsuda, soothing him when Matsuda whimpered, caught up in the grip of some nightmare. When he finally fell asleep himself, he was woken in the morning to find that somehow, he’d wriggled down in the night and he and Matsuda were cuddled up together, Matsuda clinging even in his sleep and Ide’s arms carefully round Matsuda’s waist. It was not entirely uncomfortable.
Next year, it wouldn’t be so bad. Next year, Matsuda would be feeling better. Maybe next year, Ide would finally get up the courage to actually talk to him.
*
It should have been Light Yagami’s birthday that day. Instead, it was the one month anniversary of his death.
Time passed differently in the Shinigami world but Ryuk was still “jet-lagged” and very aware of what date it was in the human world. He was already growing bored of the Shinigami world again. He’d had so much fun in the human world and he didn’t really want to have to accept that it was over. There was only so much pleasure that could be gleaned from watching the humans he’d got to know. They just weren’t as dynamic as Light.
He watched some of the humans that he’d got used to for a while anyway, amused by their sadness. Light would have killed most of them without a second thought if it would help him achieve his goals. Why were they all so sad? They knew what Light was, what he had been and yet they still grieved?
Humans, Ryuk thought, really were so very interesting.