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It's a rare treat for Ryuk to see Light like this: her defences softened by the exhaustion of a long day, her squishy human-ness so plainly on display.
Her hair, usually yanked back into a severe ponytail, hangs loosely around her shoulders. Something has loosened in her posture too, the way her spine allows itself an inch of slack against the back of the bedroom's creaky office chair. The illumination of the dinky little desk lamp drags itself across her face and gives up halfway. Light is split in two: harsh white and quiet darkness. Red numerals count down her hours above her head.
As usual, Light cuts a commanding figure. The space she takes up in the world demands Ryuk's attention. The shiniest bug among all the squirming grubs under the rock Ryuk has lifted.
Light crosses her arms neatly over her chest with a huff, clearly unimpressed. Not that Ryuk needs any gratitude for explaining the whole eye deal thing. Any information traded in this relationship is purely for the sake of the game.
"A bit late to tell me all this now, isn't it," Light bites.
What a sour little thing! Ryuk chitters in delight.
Light presses on. "So? Anything else I should know about in advance? More ancient shinigami deals?"
Sneer playing on her lips, sharp eyebrow arcing. Yesterday, Ryuk watched her peer into the bathroom mirror and meticulously pluck away any hair that didn't fit her plan for her face.
"Nah," says Ryuk. "That's it."
Light hums. "Too bad," she mutters, turning away. She taps her nails restlessly on the desk. Like she does so often in those endless classes, but only on her knee where the teachers can't see.
Ryuk is familiar with this look in her eyes. Bottomless boredom.
It doesn't suit her.
"'Too bad'?" Ryuk prods, unsure if Light will even answer.
She doesn't turn around, but a small smile slinks onto her face.
"If I could trade for your wings instead, maybe I would've actually considered." Her teeth flash in the artificial glow of the desk lamp.
She has a pretty good set of teeth, for a human. Pleasing structure, promising force. They grind in her jaw horribly while she's asleep.
Light's bright gaze flicks to Ryuk and the sliver of a smirk splits into a fuller grin. "I mean, humanity has dreamed of flight since antiquity!"
She gestures excitedly, casting distorted shadows on the wall behind her.
"It would fit. Godlike," she breathes.
"You really want wings that bad?" Ryuk asks dubiously. "Wouldn't that be kinda a big giveaway? Cops would snatch you right out of the sky, kid."
"I was joking, Ryuk."
Light's voice is low and serious. Her hands fall into silence, tidily clasped in her lap. She's tilted her head away and Ryuk loses the contours of her face in the shadow.
Light is prone to these fits of fantasy in front of Ryuk, but this is the first time she's ever seemed embarrassed about it.
"Oh ho?" Ryuk leans into Light's space greedily, forcing her to make eye contact. "You got dreams of flying?"
Light rises from the chair and stalks across the room, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Knock it off, shinigami."
But Ryuk's got the scent of something fun to play with and isn't going to give up the chase. "You want wings to match mine? I know, I know; I hear about it all the time back home. 'Ryuk, however do you keep your feathers so well groomed?' Ha! A lady's gotta keep some secrets, huh, Light-o?"
"You're being ridiculous," Light scoffs, still with a hand covering her face.
Ryuk snorts. "Nah, you're the ridiculous one."
Light reflexively takes a step back as Ryuk pushes closer, but her back is against the door to the balcony so there's nowhere to escape to. Pinned under Ryuk's shadow.
"So funny how humans try to hide what they really want from each other. I told you what I want from you from the start: I want a damn good show and then I kill you at the end. See, now you can't go complaining I never told you what you're in for!
"But you," Ryuk presses a finger right between Light's eyes, "aren't telling me what you want from me."
"I don't—" Light tries. A forced chuckle. "You really are talkative today."
Ryuk decides to give her one warning, as a courtesy to the star of the show. "Think fast, Light-o."
"Huh—?"
Ryuk plunges a hand through Light's chest and shoves open the door behind her. Before Light can fall backwards onto the balcony, Ryuk snatches her up—and up, and up, and up—into the night sky.
For a moment, there is just the beating of wings on the wind and Light shuddering out a horrified breath, her ribcage contracting in Ryuk's grasp.
Her face is crushed into Ryuk's shoulder; she's missing the view. This ought to be corrected, so Ryuk deftly swirls her around into a bridal carry.
"Ryuk!" shrieks Light, her voice partially swallowed by the rushing air. She clutches at bunches of Ryuk's neck feathers in a wonderfully undignified manner.
Ryuk cackles and slows to an easy glide. "How's this for fulfilling your godly fantasies, eh?"
For once in her life, it seems Light is speechless.
The city spills out beneath them, the glowing clusters of suburbia giving way to the neon towers of the city centre on the distant horizon. The image stirs a memory. Perhaps of a long-gone era of the shinigami realm; perhaps just the familiar shape of the human world from shinigami eye's view.
It takes a minute, but Light eventually unscrews her eyes. She gapes unabashedly, her face gleaming with the joy of a child drinking in the world around her for the first time, grabbing it in greedy fistfuls.
What is it like to be an entirely earth-bound creature like Light? Ryuk hasn't thought too much on it before. You have to keep curiosity in check or you risk missing chances to be surprised—and the novelty of surprises must be hoarded by an undying creature.
Verticality is simply another dimension to travel through for Ryuk, but to Light, it means something. The sky above hangs heavy with the weight of humanity's stories, myths and desires.
Light is more industrious than most humans at ascribing meaning to the meaningless. Ryuk could get used to living in Light's world. It's fun to imagine that the death note could become more than the sort of glorified spoon that it is: shovelling lifespan from the plate of humanity into the mouths of the not-quite living. To Ryuk, killing is...well, not much of anything. But under Light's pen, a torrent of stories emerge. Justice. Heroism. Mass murder. Icarus with the wind under her new wings, chasing the warmth of the sun.
Light lets out a raucous laugh that's nothing like the polite chuckle she offers to other humans. No, this one's just for Ryuk, and perhaps the cold moon above. The only witnesses to a newborn godling's glee.
Ryuk swoops into a vicious loop-de-loop, just to make Light scream and cling tighter. Delicious.
If Ryuk dropped her right now, how quickly would her pretty red numbers dwindle down to zero?
But Ryuk does not drop her. Not until there are floorboards safely beneath her feet again.
Back in her boxy little room, Light sits quietly on the bed, combing through her tangled hair with her fingers. Bright and breathless, cheeks bitten pink by the night air.
Ryuk eyes her eagerly from across the room. "So? How was it?"
Light continues her de-tangling in silence. Ryuk sulks.
"Aw, come on, Light-o! You haven't said a word since we landed. Makes me insecure! I gotta get lots of praise on my flight technique or I wither away with sadness."
Light rewards that performance with a sharp look. "Don't pretend you give a fuck what other people think, shinigami."
"Oh ho!" Ryuk crows. "The upstanding Yagami Light is giving me lip! But I would so prefer if she rated her flight experience out of ten. Still wanna be god of the new world: wings edition?"
The look on Light's face reminds Ryuk of how she was that first night, the night they met. Fearful, shaking with it—but so very hungry.
"I want to touch," she says.
Ryuk stares dumbly. "You wanna what now?"
Light swallows, but doesn't flinch in her resolve. "Your wings. I want to touch them."
Any quip or innuendo Ryuk could possibly think to make sit dull and flat on the tongue, rendered utterly stupid in the radiance of Light's direct assertion of desire.
"I—sure."
Ryuk unfurls a wing, perhaps even gingerly. Extends it to Light. She rises from the bed and closes the distance. She does not wait for any further permission—she runs a hand decisively through Ryuk's bristly feathers.
She's right. Ryuk doesn't give a fuck. Ryuk only wants what's inside Light's head in the way an audience wants to hear a soliloquy. Ryuk only wants Light's touch in the way a chemist wants to understand a reaction.
Light's deft fingers manipulate the wing with an almost scientific focus. Feeling up the bone structure. Assessing its weight. Gently folding and unfolding the hinge joint. Brow furrowed studiously the whole time. Ryuk allows the manhandling, tracing Light's every movement with eye line alone.
Then it's Light's turn to push unexpectedly into Ryuk's space. She presses her back against the shinigami's ribs and unfolds an arm parallel to the extended wing.
Ryuk's eyes meet hers in their reflection in the dark window pane. In this position, if you didn't know what you were looking at, you could probably mistake Ryuk's wing for Light's.
Light's eyes are shadowed craters in the dim room. Her stance is fiercely dominant—expectant. Like she's ready to receive the world on a platter. Like she's owed it. No trace of the demure young lady her parents know, that's for sure. It's enough to make Ryuk snicker.
Light's jaw grinds and she abruptly breaks away. Fists clenched, she heads for the bathroom.
A beat later, Ryuk follows to find her hunched over the sink, glaring at the mirror.
"Doesn't fit," she mutters.
"What doesn't fit?"
Light whips around with a snarl. "Oh, piss off. You've had your fun toying with me today. Go stuff your big mouth with an apple or something."
Well, damn. You would think L had just pulled some new exciting move to earn that level of hostility. Ryuk leaves her be and finds amusement rummaging through Light's books and magazines.
When Light returns to the bedroom, she has the sheen of her nightly moisturiser on her sharp cheeks and her teeth are fresh with minty toothpaste. The other day, Ryuk tried to eat some of it, but it didn't taste as good as it smelled.
Ryuk does not acknowledge her and continues to browse. If she wants to talk, she'll talk. Pushing her buttons further likely won't be particularly fruitful when she's in this sort of mood.
After Light has settled under the covers, there comes a soft question.
"Ryuk. Have you ever been…unsatisfied with what you are?"
Ryuk turns to face her, considering. Ryuk has not had any reason to deceive Light so far, but does not have any reason to dig up a truth either.
A shrug. "I guess sometimes I wish I could fit more apples in my mouth at once…"
"No! Not like that." Light runs a frustrated hand through her hair. "I mean…god, why do I bother. You wouldn't get it."
Ryuk knows what she means.
"Try me, kid."
Light's palm slips from her scalp to cover half her face. "Sometimes…" she mumbles. Then, stronger: "Sometimes I don't feel like I was meant to be a person."
Ryuk waits for her to elaborate but she doesn't.
"Like…a human?"
Light sighs. "Sure. That too."
"Did you feel like a human tonight? Up in the air?"
Light looks towards the night outside the window and says nothing. And with that, the door to her squishy bug insides has closed and bolted.
They will probably never talk about this night again.