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Misa’s self-image wavers between a beautiful vase her mother kept behind a glass case and a mannequin: Specifically, a mannequin Misa saw once while she and her sister shopped at the mall. She’s eleven, thicker, and dark-haired. The mannequin is tall, willowy, and bald. Her sister shoplifted two bangles – one for Misa, one for her – and the guard said nothing because their dad owned the department store.
Light buys her clothes, or he has Sayu buy them. All these clothes, they’re very normal: beige, brown, black, and taupe. Misa often loses these Light-approved clothes in her closet, behind better and prettier items, but she’ll pull them out for Yagami family dinners. Dressed in normal attire, she poses herself like the mannequin. Hand on hip, arm raised to delicately cup her head, and legs just over shoulder-width apart. If only her sister saw her now.
When she’s not out, Misa wears her own outfits: pink, lacey, and skin-baring. Being in their apartment doesn’t mean she’s not on display. Vase, glass case, you remember. She walks around unsure what her job is beyond death and decoration. Clean the kitchen, vacuum, make dinner, or do the laundry? Oh, Misa really doesn’t want to do that. Like, sure, Light’s mom does all that, and Light loves his mom. He always asks Misa to do errands with Sachiko, too. Maybe he thinks the domestic is a viral illness: Misa’ll breathe in the housewife germs from Sachiko and have a fever only broken by home-making.
Honestly, being in their near sterile flat is boring enough Misa considers calling Sachiko. It’s not like any of her own friends pick up when she telephones anymore. They get mad, like, pissed off Misa can’t go out anymore or how she never returned their uniforms or wigs. But how else is Misa supposed to get all her wigs? Buy them at a store? Blech. Misa gags with one foot in the kitchen.
At the fridge, L stands. Misa swallows a scream. He’s picking at their fridge magnets – well, Misa’s magnets. She brought them from her old apartment. Light decorates with nothing but his smile.
“Hey!” Misa hits the wall and L drops the ceramic lemon magnet. It shatters into a million, billion pieces.
“Amane.” L snags the strawberry magnet and stows it in his pocket. “You see me?”
“Get out!” She doesn’t go in the kitchen. Just raises her voice. “You’re not supposed to be here at all.”
“Hm. Well.”
L vanishes. Misa sweeps up the magnet. Sadness wells in her throat because, like, okay, that magnet was from her friend – the one who helped her make the Kira tapes. Her friend who came over because Misa hadn’t talked to her in awhile but now they were having a girls’ night. A sleepover where they fabricated evidence. Misa hasn’t heard from that girl in a while now. Was she dead?
All the lemon pieces slide into the garbage like snow off a roof – plop, plop, thunk. Falling back on the kitchen entry way, Misa sighs. Boy. Would’ve been nicer to see her maybe-dead friend than ol’ detective creep.
When Light gets home, he doesn’t ask Misa about her day. He yells at her for not writing any names, and she yells back that of course she didn’t write any names because there weren’t any dumb bunny names to write. No new criminals, no new names – duh! Light scoffs, and his nose crinkles. Misa wishes he’d be normal for once – a normal guy, he’d take Misa in his arms and kiss her. Light storms into the kitchen. He steps on a lemon sliver and shrieks. Whoops. Misa wasn’t good at sweeping.
As Light yells at her about not cleaning up enough, Misa slides deeper into the couch and stares at the ceiling. Is L still here? Does he see Light yelling? She chews her lip. Did Light know L was here? She opens her mouth to ask but doesn’t. Sweat beads on Light’s forehead and Misa wants to lick it off him. When he’s angry – when he’s passionate – Light is so hot.
They have normal sex: bedroom, no lights, no clothes, and Misa on her hands and knees. Light fingers her with searching jabs. His technique is a nervous payphone user searching for a coin in their purse – and her cunt doesn’t appreciate the treatment.
Misa drops her head down, bangs flopping on her forearms, and shouts. From between Light’s spread legs peers L. Big sunken eyes blink in long wet intervals and when their gazes meet, L winks. He sucks his fingers, tongue wrapped around each digit, and Misa groans. She didn’t mean to, honest, but like. There’s not much else to look at from her current position. Wet fingers a whisper in their dark room, L reaches out and touches her thigh. Misa screams.
“Fuck.” Light jerks his fingers out of her. “Was that too much?”
Yes, because a ghost touching her with his ghost spit left Misa stunned, and also yes, because being violently un-fingered by Light hurt. She fumbles forward, climbs to a seated position, and stares at the edge of their bed: No L. Misa curls her legs to her chest, arms wrapped around her knees. Light swears, again. He takes a pillow and blanket.
“I’m going to sleep in my office tonight,” he says. “Get a hold of yourself by tomorrow, okay? We have work to do.”
Okay, here’s the thing: Misa did see L. She knows she did. But she doesn’t tell Light about that because: Well, this reason will sound bad. It’s not that she doesn’t trust him. Why wouldn’t she give all her trust to Light, to Kira? However – and that’s a big how and ever – this is L. Light never thinks right when it comes to him. So Misa keeps a secret. So what? Big deal.
Then Light goes on a work trip, and Misa does a photoshoot: Life moves on despite their being collectively Kira. Ghosts don’t haunt where Misa looks because she looks forward. She looks to the forever promised in Light’s stingy smiles. Those smiles – far and few between – are what lull her pretty head to sleep. Never mind Light’s still taking his REM cycles in his office. Boys are silly. That’s why they go to Jupiter – to get more stupider – and Misa goes to bed alone, playing the longest game in the world.
One night, she wakes to the covers being lifted. Finally! She’s won and Light’s come crawling back. Misa pretends sleep longer and her theatre is rewarded. Two hands slide between her legs. They’re cold but gentle and lay flat-palmed on her inner thighs. A soft push separates those thighs. Cool breath rolls over her cotton panty front and Misa shivers. This is tender, easy, and slow. Her eyes fly open. That’s not Light.
“Amane.” L says. “You’re so warm here.”
“You!” Misa hisses. “You pervert!”
She jams her fist down on his head, shocked when meat hits bone. L groans when struck but doesn’t let her go. Misa twists her hips, tries to dislodge him, and only gets those cold hands slid further up her legs. She’s still wriggling when L crests his hands over her hips. Under her panties he slips to grasp her bottom. His touch is firm and more than she’s gotten from Light in ages.
In her cunt, traitorous arousal stirs. Misa shuts her eyes and shakes her head while L laughs.
“You’re a dream,” she says. “Undigested food or something.”
“A blot of mustard?” L flexes his fingers, digging them further into her plush ass. “More gravy than grave, maybe?”
“What?”
“Nothing.” He drops his head against her still-spread thigh, and Misa twitches. Soft hair tickles where L nuzzles.
“Why are you here, anyway?” Misa whispers. “Don’t you have a family to bother?”
“Maybe I like being around old friends,” L says. “Or maybe I just want to keep you company.”
He kisses her thigh. His lips, cold as they are, slide just right into warm flesh. No tongue and yet the kiss is sensual – enough to dampen where Misa ought to be bone dry. L doesn’t stop in one spot: he puts a kiss next to the first one, then another right above. Freezing little blessings decorate her and Misa melts.
“More,” she mutters. “Give me more.”
“Greedy.” L trails his half-open lips until his mouth wets her gusset. “But I suppose all hungry little girls are.”
Misa doesn’t whine about being called greedy, or hungry, or little. She’s decided: This is a dream, and she’s going to enjoy it. That’s why she lifts her hips when L drags her panties off. Her bare cunt has only a gold thatch above it, so her lips sing when L licks them. All those sweets and coffee, she expected sandpaper. No: his tongue is soft around her clit. Rocking into the warm muscle pillows all her nerve endings in a wet clutch.
Her eyes roll under their lids and her nipples tighten. L has his arms around her. His mouth slinks through her pussy with more aplomb than it’s seen in years. The motion reminds her of how L used to eat sandwich cookies, his needy tongue gouging out cream from between chocolate layers. A giggle floats from her: She’s the cream now.
When Misa moves her leg, she drags against the firm erection L’s got behind zipped jeans. Hard? For her? Of course he was. She suspected L wanted her during the investigation, but she’d never give him the satisfaction. Only a real freak would allow such a hunched and skeletal pervert to touch them. Such aberrant desires never occurred to the beautiful vase, or the mannequin, and neither did it occur to Misa.
But a dream is just a dream. She strokes over where L’s cock tents denim with her curled toes. His moan vibrates through her cunt, breath a chilly shock to her clit. In her own hands she takes her breasts. They’re sensitive, nerve endings sparkling when she rolls her nipples. Under her foot the clothed cock twitches. Both she and L moan together.
“You have to” – she shudders as he strokes a finger over her entrance – “You have to finish me off.”
“Does he ever do that?” L eases his index inside and curls the finger, searching for somewhere spongey. “Make you toss and turn until you come?”
“He could.” Misa doesn’t pay attention to her words, just says what’s available to her pleasure clouded brain. “Light’s just tired.”
“He’s not tired,” L hums. “He just doesn’t care. You’re a fool to think he cares.”
“What?” Her leg tightens and Misa pulls away from L’s cock. “I’m not! He really does care about me.”
“No.” While his dark eyes focus on her face, L plunges another finger inside Misa and this time crooks both right against her G-spot. “Why should he?”
“Because” – her speech stutters the harder he thrusts – “B-because Light loves me!”
“He doesn’t,” L says. “You don’t love him either. Whatever you think is inside you is a different animal.”
She reaches down to grab his hair and the strands lengthen in her grasp. Misa squeals, tongue and fingers all buried against her yearning pussy. With a tug, L goes up and he isn’t anymore: Blue eyes bear down on Misa as she stares at herself. Oh. Black was her natural hair color. How unflattering.
Herself crooks fingers and pushes deep into Misa. Where her orgasm starts, a flower blooms and Misa wakes with a scream.
She jolts, churning the sheets in wild spastic shock. All her muscles and holes pulse in pleasure aftershocks but nothing exists between her legs. Misa throws back the covers: empty.
Under the bedroom door blinks golden. Measured steps thump down the hall and Misa’s too confused to cover up her wide-open legs smeared by her own discharge. Light opens the door in a tank top and boxers, his sweat a ring around the collar.. He crinkles his nose.
“What’s going on down here?” Light asks. “You woke me up.”
“Do you see him?” Misa shouts. “Do you see L?”
A look freezes on Light’s face: guilty. He swallows and sways but doesn’t meet her eyes.
“You’re crazy,” he mutters. “L’s dead. Go back to bed.”
He shuts the door and Misa’s in the dark. Again.
It’s nothing she hasn’t dealt with before. Sure, right now she’ll cry in the bathroom. Now, she’ll look at herself in the mirror and stare until Light’s voice in her head shrinks: “You’re crazy,” but sung by a mouse. Misa takes off her soaked panties, throws them in the trash, and curls up bare-bottomed in bed.
Tomorrow, she’ll wake up to see the ceramic strawberry magnet on her nightstand and won’t even scream. Another win for Misa Amane.