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bazpango · 6 months ago

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Crack, cont'd: [aka the LightGojoverse, pt 3]

[part 1] [part 2]

Thursday

“Buddy, c’mon. Pencil moving.”

“They’re still on the weather!”

“Oh,” Satoru says, ducking his head out of the kitchen, “so they are.”

It's not that the kid's a liar, but it just so happens that today is Thursday, December 22nd; Fushiguro Megumi is officially twelve years old. A lot slides in the Gojo house on birthdays, but not homework.

Satoru darts out of the kitchen. Two plates of tamagoyaki balance on one arm, a leather crossbody is tucked under the other. A toothbrush hangs out of his mouth. He looks positively rabid, and the toothpaste foam isn't helping. “Eat up," he orders, tapping the still-blank worksheet, "this is due today, right?”

Megumi answers with a groan. His head thuds into the kotatsu, and yes, so it would seem this is due today. He is still in his pyjamas.

“I’m going to fail. Can’t I just skip?”

“Not if you want to go to the arcade after school,” Satoru hollers, already running out of the room again.

It's one of those mornings where it feels like the sky is falling. They're only a little late, but those extra thirty minutes—as a treat!—have set them back forty five. When Gojo returns, it is with two slices of birthday cake and a plastic bag.

"This is a lot of food."

"You don't have to finish what you don't want, but make a wish before the wax gets everywhere," Satoru says, passing Megumi his slice of cake, lighting the candle as he goes. He tosses the small plastic bag on the kotatsu, directly on top of Megumi's unfinished assignment. The kid's eyes light up the second he sees it.

"S'that my birthday present?"

"That?" Satoru jokes, acting quizzical, "Better open it and find out."

Like a dog at the races, Megumi snatches the bag and rips it open. The bow, the box, and the manual go flying.

"Holy shit!"

"Language, buddy."

"Sorry," Megumi says, and no he is not sorry one bit. He pulls out a brand new, state-of-the-art, Moto RAZR V3, smiling like, well a kid ought to. He doesn't smile nearly enough, and Satoru remembers why they're having refined sugar so early in the morning.

"Complete with MP3 and MPEG-4 accessibility. Do you like it?"

"What's that?"

Satoru shrugs between bites of Megumi's cake, he finished his already. "Uhh. The kiosk lady said it was good."

"It has games!"

"It does, only a few. Don't download anymore."

"Ok."

"And don't use the internet."

"Ok."

"And I put my number in there for emergencies."

"Ok."

"Do you want me to show you how to find it?"

"Ok."

"Hey," Satoru flips the phone closed, hands enveloping Megumi's. Maybe he should have said this part first. Even though Megumi doesn't much act like one most of the time, he is still a kid. "It's important you know how to reach me, if you ever need me. I'll always answer, and if I can't for whatever reason, it has Nanami's number as well. Okay?"

"Ohkaaaaaaaaay."

Next year Megumi will be a teenager. His body is already hinting at manhood, and Satoru realizes that when they go clothes shopping he'll also have to pick up a set of safety razors for the peach fuzz just sprouting on his bottom lip. It's bittersweet. Satoru takes another bite of cake.

"Hey," he repeats, dropping his hands and squeezing Megumi's shoulders.

"If you want to go to a friend's after school—"

"Ugh, stop."

"—or bring someone to the arcade tonight, just lemme know."

"Gojoooo."

"Okay, okay, s'all good. We're cool, we're cool." Satoru takes his hands off Megumi like he's touched a too-hot pan. Five years he's been negotiating. He knows when not to push, and has pushed already. "Just don't text too much, yeah?"

"Yeah."

The phone is for emergencies. That is what Satoru will tell him on the drive to school. But the lady at the kiosk was so very nice, and when she offered a—frankly, ridiculously expensive—payment package that included unlimited SMS messaging, Satoru grew hopeful and a plan unfolded before his eyes. Megumi's growing into his independent phase, and there's nothing like a little reverse-psychology to invoke a twelve year old to rebel against The Man.

Satoru is smiling wistfully, until the lady on the television throws back from the weather and Megumi's head snaps up. "I need to write this down."

"What, exactly?"

"We have to do a group broadcast at school, like we're on the news. Step 1 is to break down a real one."

"Cool."

"Another attack in Shibuya this week in what the NPA is suspecting to be connected to a series of terrorist attacks."

"Woah." Megumi grabs his pencil. "Cool."

Satoru turns around to face the television. "Not cool."

He doesn't watch the news, or television for the matter, often—more of a movie buff. Crime prevention is an industry that in and of itself is usually corrupt, and therefore there is no need for sorcerers to cooperate with civilian law enforcers. It's a one-sided agreement by sorcerers that everyone stays on their side of the fence.

Now that he thinks about it, his opinions aren't flattering about a lot of civilian systems. The police, the press, the man in the ugly brown suit and orange spray tan, they're all—in their own, rotten little ways—technically making Satoru's job harder. If it bleeds, it leads. Money makes the world go round, and fear makes the money. Etc. They're generating fear, in turn, making more curses. Hurting more people.

For a minute, Satoru thinks maybe it is better to just let the kid fail civics.

The ugly orange man throws to Cindy, a less ugly woman, and she is doing a live hit in some sort of conference room. Satoru, realizing that they're now running quite a bit more late than intended, buttons the last remaining of his shirt in a frenzy.

"We are just waiting for the Chief to take the podium…"

Megumi won't be attending Jujutsu Tech until he's of age, which is another year and a half of civilian school. The change will be disorienting, and there's a fear that Satoru's poisoning the well by letting him watch this stuff. He just had to let the kid's homework slip, and they just had to analyze a terrorist investigation. Maybe his teacher will award points for flair, if she's cool.

"Gojo?"

"Yeah, buddy?"

"Isn't that—"

"Yagami Light, Chief of the NPA is taking the podium now."

Holy shit.

Satoru's hands are stuck, frozen on the top button of his shirt.

"You need to brush your teeth. Get a move on."

"But my assignment?"

"Go brush your teeth," he orders, more stern than is deserved on one's birthday. He makes up for it. "I'll take care of your assignment."

"Fuck yeah."

"Language!"

"Sorry!" Megumi hollers, racing out of the room. Nearly bouncing off the walls with his new phone and newer found freedom. Fortunately, he is seemingly unfazed by the sudden outburst, even though it makes Satoru's chest clench.

He stares. Fixated. The man smiling back is Yagami Light, or someone wearing his skin. His smile is so big and white and foreign in its fakeness. It's fascinating.

He is wearing a dark gray suit (very, very well). His hair is pushed back into something professional and understated. Satoru can't quite believe this is the man who's bruised his prostate.

"What's wrong with the tv?" Megumi asks, brushing in the hallway.

Satoru picks up the remote and flips to another channel and back again, shrugging at Megumi. The more Yagami Light talks, the more pixels die in the operator's camera. He hadn't noticed. It gets so bad they have to cut the live hit short.

So, Yagami is the Chief of the NPA.

Looks like they both got a present.

---

Friday

"Find anything?"

"Light," Matsuda sags into his chair, hands anxiously stroking his thighs. He's wearing blue jeans. "I can't find someone with only one name to go on. I just can't do it."

"Sure you can," he counters, and Matsuda wilts. Eight days a week, he's useless, but it's when Light says he's capable that he really flounders. So much for positive reinforcement.

"Well, maybe I could conduct some interviews and build a profile, but you haven't even told me what kind of crime this guy's committed."

"It's complicated," Light says, "not impossible."

Today is Friday, and Matsuda is wearing blue jeans. Everyone is wearing blue jeans, except for Light. Friday is, by far, the most stressful day of the week, and today is no exception. The Monday-through-Thursday grind always lags until there is a comically large pile of shit to sort through before end of day. Whoever decided to throw Casual into the mix ought to be castrated. There is only so much time in the day to judge the wicked and punish the damned, and adding 'investigate one supposedly uninvestigatable fuck buddy' to the mix is just too tall an order, so he must rely on Matsuda today.

"It started with an S."

"Yes, I know," Matsuda nods, frenzied. Like he ought to get a gold star for listening.

"Can't you get the ball rolling with that?"

"S…Gojo. In law enforcement. Innnn…"

"Tokyo. A private company. Security, maybe." Light waves his hand like he's listing off grocery store ingredients. "Start there."

"There has to be dozens of companies like that, hundreds of emplo-"

"-Well it sounds like you better get a move on, then."

"I dont know, Light…"

"And what's the plan for you and Misa Saturday?" Light taps at his keyboard, copying several files to a thumb drive. The screen is bright, and he didn't sleep well, which is going to set him back even farther than he'd hoped. He's going to have to take his work home with him.

"Light," Matsuda exhales, "that's terrible."

"What?" Light spins in his chair to face Matsuda when he doesn't answer, and he looks like a sad, orphaned dog. To think he's in any place to judge anyone. He's wearing a Timex for God's sake.

"…You're really not going to spend Christmas Eve with Misa?"

"One more thing."

"Light!" Matsuda exclaims, switching gears when it's clear Light isn't going to dignify his asinine question,"we've talked about this."

"Have we?"

“I can't be your assistant."

"Sure you can."

Matsuda exhales, "are you alright?" and with it, the last of his dignity for the day. He might as well clock out so Light can lead the manhunt.

Light is not alright. Light is fucking fantastic; he is the Chief of the NPA, he is wearing a Balmain suitjacket in charcoal, and he got sucked off by his girlfriend before Matsuda even gained consciousness this morning. Perhaps he still hasn't.

"If you don't like our current assistant we can hire a better fit. She is still on probation."

Light scoffs.

"Did someone call for me?" Takada asks, rounding the corner with a tray of coffees in hand like some comic relief in a prime time sitcom.

"Flowers," Light says flatly to Takada, "Saturday. Order flowers for Misa."

Does he have to do everything?

Lunch passes into late afternoon without consequence, and Light works straight through it. The rope of his esophagus whines and he has to physically restrain himself from gagging. His stomach feels like it is eating itself, but minimizing the amount of actual work for the weekend is paramount, here. Work hard. Play hard. Fuck the big dick blonde so hard he goes cross eyed.

"Um, Light?"

He turns in his chair to meet Matsuda. Sheepish thing, he's poking his head through the door like he's expecting a firing squad on the other side.

"Did you eat?"

"No, did you?"

"Yes, um," Matsuda shakes his head, "Listen-"

"-Good," Light says, a stack of manilla envelopes beside him. He gathers them in his hands, and flutters them in the air with emphasis. "These came in an hour ago. You need to sort them before day's end."

"U-um," Matsuda stutters.

"Why do you look so queasy?" Maybe he gambled again on a bad seafood boil at one of the new street vendors. He's always gambling in the name of adventure. Adventure, on a plate? Sad.

"I, um. Well. Gojo-"

Light brightens, rising from his seat. "Oh, you found something-"

"-Is in the lobby."

"What?"

Matsuda creeks the door open until, sure enough.

Lounging on the three seater Corbusier in the task force's lobby is Gojo. He's dressed in a black overcoat and has chosen Cartier sunglasses, a Montblanc briefcase, and a comically large scarf to accessorize. "Hiya," Gojo smiles, teeth blinding, and Light drops the stack of casefiles. "Have you had lunch, yet?"

"Oh no," Matsuda exclaims, darting to the mess. "Sorry Light, I'll sort these right away!"

"Okay," Light hears his mouth say, but he doesn't feel it moving. If he had a nickel for every time an obsessive blonde invaded his personal life, well.

Matsuda stands, a massive unorganized mess in his arms, and whispers, "should I arrest him?"

"What, no?" Light barks. "What are you doing here?" he asks Gojo.

"I owe you a proper lunch," Gojo says, shrugging. Like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"It's four thirty."

"No time like the present, right?"

"…I have a lot of work to get through."

"Oh, work!" Gojo bursts, rising from his seat. "I have a tip for you, regarding the KIRA case."

Matsuda gasps, spinning on his heels. Three sheets of paper flutter to the floor. He drops to pick them up.

"Do you?" Light narrows his gaze, lost.

He doesn't like this, not knowing the rules, or even what game they're playing. Gojo is a loose canon, and there's a not so slim chance he's going to follow Light home. Part of him wants to take Matsuda up on his offer to put the guy in cuffs and throw him in a jail cell. Peace of mind and all that.

"Yeah, I saw you on tv when I was getting Megumi ready for school, he says hi by the way." Sure, Light thinks. "And I have a theory about KIRA that I think really holds water."

"Light, isn't that amazing? It's been months and," Matsuda pants, practically slobbering on the proverbial tennis ball, "we haven't had a lead since Ryuzaki di—"

"Fuck! Matsuda!" Light interrupts, and for fuck's sake, he's losing it. He's fucking shouted in the office and it's all too late. He never shouts in the office.

Gojo's leaning in the doorway to the task force, head tilted curiously.

"That your partner?" Gojo asks, and Light feels like his chest is caving in.

"No, that's Misa-Misa," Matsuda says, and if Light can't find a way to fire him by Monday he'll at least make sure the denim wearing fuck is drowning in General Data Protection and Confidentiality in the Workplace training.

"Oh!" Gojo says, surprised. "Misa-Misa, the idol?"

"Yeah!" Matsuda cheers, and Light might actually die.

"Wow, that's…wow."

It doesn't take a rocket scientist to see all the skeletons falling out of Light's closet in rapid succession. "Did Megumi have a good birthday?" Light redirects, sweating.

"He did, we made onigiri and watched the Saw movies."

"You had something to say about the KIRA case," Matsuda prods, and Light exhales, relieved. He never thought he'd see the day he'd be thankful that Matusda is the one asking the questions.

"Yeah. But I actually just realized I need to be somewhere." Gojo drops his head slightly and his glasses slide down his nose. He makes direct eye contact with Light and his are so pointedly icy blue that Light can feel his blood run cold. "Maybe I can come by tomorrow?"

Light's phone sits heavy in his pocket.

"Oh, it's Christmas Eve, we won't be here." Matsuda explains.

"I'd be willing to make a house call," Gojo volleys. "Any plans tomorrow, Yagami?"

"Well, if it's pertaining to KIRA…" Matsuda considers, looking at Light and tapping at the stack of papers in his arms. He then takes in a sharp breath, and Light knows he's got an idea. "There's no way I'm getting through all of this today. Why don't we take his statement tomorrow, We can do dinner at my place! We'll do KFC!"

"Sure." Light grits his teeth, caught in so many crosshairs. "Great. KFC. Your place."

"Takada can give you my address," Matsuda says, struggling with the loose leafs.

"Sure, it's a date," Gojo says with a wink. "See you Saturday."

---

Saturday

"You made it!" Matsuda cheers, opening the door. His apartment complex is painfully ordinary. So is his sweater.

"Don't sound so surprised," Light chides. "Sorry we're late."

"You're right on time! Gojo and Megumi just got here with the chicken."

"G-"

"-We brought chocolates," Misa interrupts, and Matsuda gasps. They're like two kids during Show and Tell.

"Ooh, chocolates!" exclaims the disembodied voice of Gojo, inside Matsuda's apartment, and Light's entire body stiffens. They'd made a plan, albeit a ridiculous one. He shouldn't sound so surprised, even though he is. His phone vibrates in his pocket.

Gojo: so when u said saturday Gojo: this wat u had in mind ?

They make their way into the foyer, and Matsuda seals them in with the heavy thunk of a deadbolt. "Shoes off, please."

Light wants to keep them on just to assert his dominance. Matsuda's never ordered him to do anything before.

"I don't want food to get cold, but, do you guys want a quick tour before we eat?"

"Please! I can't believe Light and I have never been over!"

"He has a life outside of work, Misa," Light says, playfully. Cool as a goddamn cucumber. He takes off his shoes.

"Not really," Matsuda jokes, smiling depricatingly at Misa. Yeah, yeah, get a room, why don't you? "At least not with KIRA out there. Right, Light?"

"Right," Light placates, smiling stiffly.

They take a brief, unnecessary tour of the two bedroom, and then Matsuda and Misa abandon Light with Gojo and the kid in the living room. Light falls into a sofa chair as far away from anyone as he can manage. It is a small apartment.

"Long time, no see," Gojo says with a smirk. "You remember Megumi."

"Megumi," Light acknowledges. Jaw off kilter. He couldn't have gotten a sitter? "Happy belated."

The child plays on a cell phone, gangly legs hanging over the couch.

"Megs," Gojo warns, "someone is talking to you. Be polite."

The kid lowers the cell phone a single half inch, says thanks, flatly, and then resumes whatever game he was playing. So, that's what passes for politeness in the Gojo house. Parent of the year over here.

"How's work been?" Light asks.

"Oh, great."

"Catch a lot of bad guys?"

"Liars, cheats, and scoundrels, it's what I do best."

"Sounds like a lot."

"This month's been pretty slow." Gojo says with a smirk. "I've just caught the one cheater, so far."

Light's cheeks burn. Gojo looks good. He always looks good. It's annoying.

"What's he talking about?" Megumi asks Gojo, and that confusion in is tone makes Light smile.

"Your not-dad, he works in law enforcement."

"What? No he doesn't."

"-Don't worry about it, Megs," Gojo assures, crossing his arms. He's all smiles, too. Not disappointed in the slightest that he's been outed as a liar.

They're both smiling. Then Misa walks in and ruins everything.

"Who's hungry!"

---

Light is dead.

There is simply no other explanation.

It is Christmas Eve, and Light is eating fried chicken with his wine-drunk girlfriend, least favourite coworker, illicit fuck buddy, and his illicit fuck-buddy's bastard kid.

For the last forty minutes, Matsuda has been playing detective while Gojo has been playing footsies under the table.

"Misa," Gojo says, deflecting. "An idol, what's that like? It must be incredible."

"Oh," she hiccups, "I don't want to bore you! It isn't all that glamorous, really." Her other arm is stroking Light's back. Her nails are long and they come to a point at the end. It's something new she's trying out. Light instantly pictures medieval torture devices and wonders how much it would hurt if she tried to claw his eyes out with them.

"Nonsense," Gojo debates with a smug smile, egging her on, and Matsuda steps in to boast about his managerial expertise. He's drunk as well, satisfied with his interrogation of Gojo that yielded, as expected, no new insights into the KIRA case. The more he waxes on about Misa's success and his minimal part in it, the more exaggerated Gojo nods. His foot continues to travel up Light's pant leg as he feigns innocent and curious above table.

Light checks his watch for the umteenth time that hour. If he found a way to get Gojo's wallet, he could have everyone here dead in the next two minutes. Faces slumped into their plates. Death by fried chicken.

Gojo's foot climbs up his leg and settles between them. Light coughs into his wine.

"Are you alright, Light?" Matsuda asks, "do you need a glass of water?"

"Nope, I'm-" Light begins, and then Gojo takes his foot off the gas, only to press even harder on his dick. "M'good," he chokes out, coughing harder. "M'just gonna use the restroom. Excuse me."

The chair makes a sharp sound when Light extricates himself, and he thinks if Matsuda ever gets the balls to woo Misa proper, he'll send him a cheque for the scuffs. No one is the wiser when he leaves the room except for Gojo, smiling like the village idiot he is.

When he makes it to the restroom, he collapses onto the lid of the toilet and exhales, long and shaky. His pulse has quickened and it's making his skin hot. He undoes the top button of his dress shirt.

Knock, knockknock.

"It's me," Gojo whispers, and Light curses under his breath. He wants to run.

"C'mon, lemme in," Gojo asks.

The bathroom feels like a coffin. Everything is telling him not to open the door, but Gojo is knocking again and Light stands, unsure how far the sound of it travels in Matsuda's apartment.

His hand shaking on the doorknob, turnlock heavy under his thumb. He doesn't want to open it at all. "Fuckingfuck," Light mutters. His free hand pulls at his hair. The walls are closing in on him.

"What's going on? You ok?"

You, you're fucking what's going on. Light wants to scream, and he just might if Misa weren't here to run to his rescue.

His pocket vibrates.

Gojo: lemme in :P Gojo: plz ?

He's sweating and it's ruining his shirt. There's no way out. Bested, he unlocks the door and silently ushers Gojo into the bathroom.

"You're actually a stalker," Light chides, and Gojo laughs. "What's so funny about that?"

He has to argue at a reduced volume, but the disdain is there. He hasn't drank much tonight—a lesson learned from their first meeting that he can't trust himself when he does. Still, his cheeks burn like he'd raided Matsuda's liquor cabinet.

Gojo is smiling like he's won something, and says "you and Misa make a cute couple." L was a sore loser, but Gojo's a sore winner, and Light hates that far more. His jaw tenses.

"I like her." Snide bastard, he's smiling like he actually does.

"No you fucking don't," Light seethes.

Gojo chuckles, and it's a laugh he hasn't heard before. "You're really one to talk, Light."

"I don't know what you think you-"

"-Does it ever get tiring, lying all the time?"

"I haven't lied to you once."

"You have a fucking girlfriend," and finally, finally there's some grit in his voice, too. Light can work with that. Gojo's favourite toy has been taken away; it's understandable that he's lashing out. Light is everyone's favourite.

"Oh, I'm sorry? I didn't think it bothered you," Light barks, "seeing as how you were foot-fucking me under the goddamn table."

"You loved it."

"I-"

"You love making her look stupid. It's mean." Gojo steps forward and his hand swiftly goes between Light's legs. They can both feel the half hardness in his pants that Light can't explain. "See? You're a bad person," Gojo says under his breath, eyes searching.

"…Why did you come to my work?"

"Well, funny story. Someone made Christmas Eve plans with me and then cancelled. So."

"Rescheduled," Light corrects.

"It isn't rescheduling if you don't follow up with the person."

"I was going to."

"I don't believe you."

"So instead of, oh, I don't know, taking the hint, ygh-" Light looks for the words, which is hard to do when your balls are in a vice grip. He gestures wildly to the kitchen. "You decided this is how you wanted to spend your Christmas Eve?"

"Well, not exactly," Gojo admits, tilting his head. "But I think Megs is having a good time."

Light's voice drops low. They need to get out of the restroom. "I just needed to tie up a few loose ends. I was going to call. I really was." He isn't sure if he's lying.

The loose end scream-laughs in the dining room and the sound travels all the way to the bathroom. Matsuda's own laughter chases it.

"I'm sorry I, I didn't explain my situation," Light placates, musturing his most sincere, apologetic tone. Mercifully, Gojo's grip on his sack loosens. Hook, line, and sinker. "I couldn't have you over."

"No shit," Gojo grits.

"I was going to book us a place."

"Book us a place?" He sounds insulted. "That's just sad."

It isn't sad. It is discreet. At least it was going to be, but now everything is far more messy than it was twenty four hours ago. "What do you want from me?" Light scoffs.

"I w-"

"-A boyfriend?"

"Please," Gojo laughs, proper, and doesn't that just make Light furious. He crosses his arms, and Light is, truthfully, a little insulted himself the assault hasn't turned into him facefucking Gojo to tears.

"I…" Gojo thinks, aloud, "I just wanted something fun."

"We're having fun-"

"-No, we're not. This isn't fun for me."

"So why are you here?" And the way Light asks it makes him sick. He doesn't know why his tone has softened so much.

"I…like you, I think. I hate it."

"Wow, thanks."

"I feel like, like I'm going to insane lengths to get to know you."

"What if I don't want you to?"

"Why?" Gojo asks.

"Because," Light says, soft, "this is easy. This is working. Isn't it? We both get what we want, don't we?"

"What do I want, Light?" Gojo asks like he's on a full on soap opera. All big doe eyes and melodrama.

He thinks about the day they met, the way he waxed on and on about Suguru. Suguru, who he still has a chance with. Who's still alive and breathing.

"Your kid doesn't need a step-dad," Light cooes, something small and hateful and heavy in his gut. The indignation in his voice is completely invisible. He brushes the hair from Gojo's eyes. "This doesn't have to get any more complicated, right?"

"It already is complicated," Gojo says, quietly.

There's a silence, then, in the small bathroom, so big it feels like Light's eardrums might shatter. Gojo's head drops and for a second Light thinks he's going to attempt to hold hands.

"That's a nice watch," Gojo says, deflecting.

"It was a gift," Light submits, too unsure of where they're going to take pride in it. "My Dad bought it."

The room is tense and he doesn't want to give Gojo a tenth of what he is asking for. His eyes are sad and sullen and he feels like he is so far away. Light supposes he is.

A part of him is jealous of the very air that surrounds Gojo. Another part is afraid he'll be followed home and killed in his sleep tonight.

"He's gone now."

"How do you know that?" Light whispers.

"Death follows you, Light Yagami."

And then something truly frightening happens.

Gojo grabs his wrist, gently. His thumb swipes over the watch face, slow, and then hovers on the quick release mechanism. Light holds his breath. A piece of the Death Note is millimeters away, hidden in the watch's false bottom, and Gojo's looking right at it like he has x-ray vision.

Gojo is not an idiot. Not by a long shot. He knows far more about Light than he's letting on, and it's like Light's been walking around blindfolded all this time, completely unaware. If Gojo isn't a PI, he's some sort of cosmic karmic stalker sent from beyond L's grave to give Light his comeuppance. He's sure of it.

"What do you actually do for work," Light, voice shaky, asks. Desperate to know.

"Law enforcem-"

"Don't fucking lie to me," Light snarls, hands coming up to shove Gojo. But his hands don't even reach him in time to deliver their first blow. In a split second, Light's body is thrust into the wall and the wind is knocked from his chest.

He's sandwiched there, his little rabbit heart beats thin. Trapped in the gaping maw of a wolfhound, his ribs feel like they might break.

For a second, this is the first time he's ever felt close to death, and then he coughs and Gojo immediately lets up.

"Stop running from me," Gojo pleads, his breath hot on Light's ear.

He imagines his corpse splayed out on Matsuda's bathroom mat in a pool of his own blood. Misa, on hand and knee, wailing incoherently. He doesn't want her scream to be the last thing he hears.

"Gonna," Light heaves, "hear us."

"And that would be just terrible for you, wouldn't it?" Gojo taunts. Light coughs, and Gojo seems to ease up a bit. "She loves you, you know. You don't even care."

Light says nothing—not like he could—and Gojo shoves off of him, sickened. When Light turns around to face him, Gojo looks at him like he's killed a litter of kittens. His eyes are darting between his chest, the watch, and the dinner table. "There's something wrong with you, Light."

Light still says nothing.

"Well?"

"Well, what?" Light says. "You'll have to be a little more fucking specific."

Gojo shakes his head, and leaves the bathroom. Light is finally alone. His head is swimming, sick from lack of oxygen, and he tries to wretch into the sink but nothing comes out. When he looks in the mirror, he looks the same as he did when he entered. But everything feels off, now. He's been staring at this face for too long, a word on a page that's lost it's meaning.

When he thoroughly dusts himself off and finds himself back in his seat, Gojo is telling a story that has everyone belly laughing except for the creepy kid. He always looks at Light like he's seen a ghost.

Misa wipes a tear from her prettily made up eye with a talon. "I'm sorry you don't have a special someone to spend Christmas Eve with," she says to Gojo, and apparently it's up to Light to use context clues to figure out what they're talking about since no one wants to fill him in. "I feel like I don't know any of Light's friends at all."

"Well now we're friends, too," Gojo says to her, and he smiles. It's such a sad, pathetic little thing. "How did you and Light meet, anyway? I'd love to hear the story."

She shrieks, elated, and Gojo flashes a quick look to Light, as if to rub the salt in.

"It isn't very noteworthy," she jests to Light, all teeth and smeared lipstick. This isn't the first time she's tried to display her cunning. He could fucking strangle her. She knows he hates puns.

But he keeps his mouth shut and waits for this absurd conversation to run its course while he fills his mouth with sawdust.

"Are the potatoes alright?" Gojo asks Light.

"Perfect," Light says, "thank you."

"You just made a face is all."

Light wants to punch him in the face. He didn't make a face. Like everything, he is far too in control to ever let that happen.

But Gojo tries. He takes every opportunity to draw attention to Light every time Misa makes a particularly sappy comment about their romance. The conversation flows like bad wine and, after a bottle of it, things should feel easier, should they not? Misa hangs off Light's shoulder, and every single sentence that comes out of her mouth seems to make Matsuda shoot wine from his nose.

Matsuda excuses himself to the kitchen to clean up, and when he returns, he's brought dessert with him. Great, another course.

It's angel food cake. Decorated with strawberries and drizzled honey. Matsuda serves up a plate for everyone, saving the biggest for the kid, who actually smiles when he sees it. Light didn't know him capable.

There's a brief moment of silence as everyone takes their first bites. "Is it okay?" Matsuda asks, "I'm taking classes."

"Fantastic," Gojo cheers. "Could you teach me, sometime?"

"I'd love to!" Matsuda sings, forgetting his allegiances, and Gojo beams at Light. Yes, everyone fucking loves Gojo. He plucks a strawberry off his plate with his thumb and forefinger and brings it to his lips and Light wonders what Matsuda would do if he flipped the table.

“Light," Gojo asks.

"Yes?"

"How do you like your cake. Didn't Matsuda do a great job?"

It tastes like sandpaper. But he wasn't going to say anything. That would be rude.

“Oh no! Is it not alright? I thought it was your favourite.” Matsuda asks, and Light can't understand for the life of him why Matsuda would think that-

“Or was that Ryuzaki?”

“You keep mentioning him," Gojo notes, "who is he?"

From the uptick of Gojo's smirk, the colour has definitely drained Light's face. Strangely, the kid's head snaps up, then. He looks scared. What the fuck is going on?

“Oh, Ryuzaki's just an old friend of ours, he worked down at the station with us. Um, he," Matsuda explains, poorly, “he's no longer with us. We lost him in the KIRA case.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. My condolences.”

“Aww, that’s so sweet of you,” Misa assures, reaching a claw over the table to pat Gojo's hand. "Don't worry. It was a long time ago."

"Were you close?"

Matsuda waits for Light to offer an answer, and when he doesn't, steps in again. "Uhh, well. Light knew him better than the rest of us, but…But he was an all around great guy. Smartest I've ever met. Like, suuuuper smart. Amazing at tennis and chess and hacking and stuff. Just like, great at everything."

"Hmm," Gojo says, holding his dessert fork to his teeth. Light can't feel his fingers. "You guys play a lot of tennis?"

“Light doesn’t like tennis," Misa interrupts. Paranoid for God knows what reason. It isn't like L can just pop out of the grave and sweep him off to Wimbledon.

"Really?" Gojo asks, pivoting. "I thought you mentioned-"

“-I’m too busy for games," Light says, flatly.

"Are you now?" He says with more emphasis, suppressing a laugh. Eyes darting from left to right, thinking he's being subtle, or maybe not. It's good fortune everyone's had their fill of wine.

“I’ll say!" Misa steps in again, "now that Ryuzaki’s gone it’s like you live at the station.” She pours herself another glass.

“Misa."

“Yes, Light?”

The kid is looking at Light, no, looking at Light's watch, and something clicks. He doesn't know how, but he knows they know. It isn't paranoia. It's clarity. There is something very wrong with this family.

"Something isn't agreeing with me," Light announces, "I think it's time for us to go. Thank you for hosting us, Matsuda." He feels so sick.

"Oh no! Sorry I can't finish the story," she squawks, halting her pour. "I'll get the keys. Um, can you drive? I've had a couple glasses."

---

Streetlamps paint his face in burnt orange as he makes the thirteen minute drive home. Misa is curled up in a ball, sitting in a way that would have her killed if they got into an accident. The seatbelt would take her head clean off, emergency brake locking it in place and potentially severing her at the torso, too. It wouldn't hurt her, though. It would all be over far too quickly. Her nerve endings wouldn't have even a full second to sprint to her brain in warning.

"You seem off tonight."

"I'm fine," Light mumbles.

"Okay."

A few minutes pass in almost silence.

"Gojo is nice."

"Yeah."

"I invited him over next week," she utters, softly. Her voice is sad. Like she's waiting to see if she's in trouble. Light supposes if he had the energy, she would be.

"That's nice."

"Yeah, I thought it could be nice. The three of us."

The whirring of the road makes him feel like he's floating. She won't stop looking at him.

"Are you okay?" Light asks.

"Yeah."

"Okay."

He contemplates turning on the radio. The silence is awkward in a way it usually isn't, ever. He's probably imagining it. She's had a lot to drink.

"I'm sorry we talked so much about Ryuzaki."

"That's okay."

"…Do you miss him?"

"No."

"It's okay if you do. He." Her voice is chalky in the way it gets before she breaks out in tears. "…I think I kind of miss him."

"Misa," Light warns, "rest your eyes a bit. We'll be home soon."

There's a moment where she's pondering, eyes locked on Light's profile. He can always feel it when she's looking at him. She bites on her thumb and Light doesn't know if that's a little jab. Her taking her rebellion in spades and hiding it under a girlish ignorance. Neither of them willing to say the quiet part out loud.

"I love you," she says, and closes her eyes.

"You too."

---

He stares at the ceiling fan, watches it spin around and around and around.

Rise. Judge. Execute. Around and Around and Around.

Misa sleeps soundly next to him, a safe distance away in her own twin bed pushed up against his. Within arms reach, but never reaching.

He could have asked her Gojo's name on the drive home, but then she'd know.

It's a mournful discovery, how much she doesn't let on.

Gojo has to die.

---

thank you @shydroid3000 for being the best beta reader on god's green earth, may santa bring you lots of strawberries and doomed yaoi fics <3

#bazpangofic #death note x jjk #light yagami #satoru gojo #satoru gojo x light yagami #light yagami x satoru gojo #crack fic #crack treated seriously #also on a03 if you prefer that : )#the hockey au is coming along nicely