Work Text:
Misa was home alone again today.
She hated her days off. Light was always busy, every single day, pretending to be hard at work tracking down Kira. He barely even came home, preferring to spend the night at the facility, doing… What did he even do? Chase down false leads? Intentionally mislead his coworkers?
Misa sighed, leaning back on the couch. It was only two in the afternoon, but she had already popped open a bottle of wine. Not that Light cared much what she did around the apartment. He said she could decorate it to her heart’s content, give it a woman’s touch, but she couldn’t bring herself to take much out of storage. Somehow, there were just too many old memories that had grown painful over time.
She swirled the wine around in its glass, watching the blood red liquid almost splash out onto her lap. Misa had already taken care of plenty of chores—and wasted plenty of time doing them—but she still had plenty of time before it was “safe” to get the notebook out. Light had told her to kill criminals in his stead, but asked her to keep to the former schedule as much as she could, to continue indicating Kira was a student. It would be hours before she could do anything productive. Even with the free time she had, Misa couldn’t bring herself to do anything fun.
She lifted the wine glass to her lips, downing it all in one go. It was sweet as far as wines go, but she was still getting used to the maturity of the taste. Her mother had loved this wine…
Misa set the glass back down on the coffee table, a little forcefully. Enough of that. She stood up, stretching her back. She should turn on the TV and find some fun fashion show or cartoons or something. Or maybe read. She scanned one of the bookcases sitting against the wall, the one on which she kept her belongings—trinkets Light didn’t dislike, copies of magazines she’d appeared in, books she brought from her previous apartment.
She spied something she didn’t recognize, sitting among the decorations on the top shelf. A jar, filled with some kind of… Ashes? Misa stood on her tiptoes, gingerly picking it up to take a closer look. It was a decent size, and she was surprised she hadn’t noticed it sooner.
Misa sat back down on the couch and screwed the lid off, peering inside the dark glass jar. The grey sand sparkled as she tilted it back and forth, watching it sift. She reached her fingers in, clawing to see if anything was hidden inside, but found nothing.
Misa dusted her fingers off and stared at the sand for a minute longer, trying to figure out where it came from. Had Light done this? Would he?
Wait…
Now she could remember.
Light had told her what happened after they moved in together—Rem had killed L, and, as far as he could tell, turned to sand upon dying. Matsuda had swept up the sand and stored it for investigation, but once they were done with it, Light had taken some of it home with him. He didn’t say where he kept it, so she just assumed he put it in his closet.
She stuck her finger in the sand again, tracing an image on the surface. She could remember that Rem’s face was gaunt, and one of her eyes was covered by a bandage and her hair… Misa never asked why; if she had lost her vision in that eye or if she simply liked the way it looked. The tip of her finger moved slowly and carefully through the sand, drawing Rem’s nose, her lips, her fangs…
“Misa.” Rem’s voice had finally stopped startling her. “It’s getting rather late for you, isn’t it?”
Misa glanced at the clock—nearly midnight. “Ah, yeah. I didn’t even notice.”
“You should rest. You have a shoot in the morning. You’ll get bags under your eyes again.”
“Mhm.” Misa put down—what did she have? A magazine? She thinks so—she put down the magazine.
Now if she accidentally stayed up too late, she just paid for it by being exhausted the next day. Maybe she should get out of the house more even if she didn’t need to. But if she did that, and Light needed something, she might not be available, and he might get mad at her…
Misa set the jar back down, eyes started to sting. Light was a good boyfriend, he was just busy. He never raised his voice. He was calm, and intelligent, and alluring in his stoicism; but she had thought he would eventually warm up to being touched by his own girlfriend, or want to spend more time around her.
Her stomach growled.
“You need to eat, don’t you?”
“I’m not that hungry today, Rem.”
“You humans get sick if you don’t eat enough. Even if it’s just something small, you shouldn’t go without eating.”
“Aw, but I need to watch my weight, or I won’t look good in photos.”
“Didn’t you say they edit the photos after they’re taken, anyway?”
“Well, yeah…”
“Surely it can’t hurt, then. You typically eat this time of the afternoon, anyway.”
Misa stood from her bed, stretching her legs. “Okay, okay. Thank you, Rem. I’ll get some food and you can stop worrying.”
Rem made a small, satisfied noise.
Rem had always watched out for her over little things… She had been watching before Gelus killed her stalker to save her… Was Rem still watching, somehow? Maybe that was a ridiculous thought, but…
Rem had looked after her. Taken care of her, as much as she could. Better than anyone else had since her parents were murdered. She could never figure out why, but it made her happy, when the only other things she could focus on were her work and finding Kira. If Gelus had truly cared as much as he did, then maybe Rem…
Her face grew warm. The alcohol suddenly burned in her throat. Misa thought Rem was just overly loyal to Gelus. Was she misremembering?
Her eyes flicked to her hand. Upon her left middle finger…
Misa peered into a glass case, brimming with rings—gold, silver, steel; thin, plain bands to thick, engraved ones; set with diamonds, emeralds, rubies, sapphires, and gems of all shapes and sizes.
“That’s a nice color.” Rem pointed to one in the case: a thin, shiny silver band that curled around a four-pointed violet stone.
“Ooh… Amethyst, I think? Pretty.” Misa caught herself before she glanced at the Shinigami in public, not wanting the cameras to see her head whip to speak to thin air. “It would suit you,” she continued, pretending to talk to herself.
A few tears rolled down Misa’s face. She screwed the lid back on, tighter than before, and got up. Rem was right. She should eat something, especially before the wine made her dizzy.
Misa would move the jar somewhere she could keep a better eye on it, later in the day. Maybe on her vanity, right next to the wood-carved hand she used to store her own ring and her parents’ wedding rings.