subversion | [private] instead of stressed i lie here charmed.

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[private] instead of stressed i lie here charmed.

It's a kitchen, deserted except for Light, who's ... more collapsed than sat at the table. His arm is resting on the surface, and his head is pillowed on it; the other hand is touching a half-eaten piece of toast - perfectly square, spread thinly with some kind of golden-yellow jam, and at least an inch thick.

Over the last week or two, it's got harder and harder to keep his temper; he keeps blowing up at people. It's intolerable; the solution he's chosen is to use (not abuse) some of the prescription sedatives in his medicine cabinet. He's been careful; he's started on the lowest dose, intending to titrate upwards. Unfortunately he didn't anticipate how severe the interactions with his usual medication were likely to be.

He's literally fallen asleep at the table.

[[OOC: private to

stripesandheels.]]

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I found you in the kitchen a little under sixteen hours ago. We made it back slowly, I got the jam out of your hair, you slept. I've been in and out since- mostly in. Caught up on my sleep, and my reading.

It said that amnesia was a frequent side effect of this kind of overdose. Although you didn't really overdose, did you? Just cross-reacted.

[At first he reacts against the accusation, protesting too much; it's too subdued to be emphatic.]

I did not overdose. I'm not an idiot...

[Shifting to something else, catching up, watching her. He's mistrustful; doesn't quite believe her.]

Wait, I had jam in my hair? How did I get jam in my hair?

You went head first into your toast.

[She finishes her part of the bread, and reaches for an apple and a paring knife, cutting it into half, then into slices, coring it into a tupperware container that used to contain slices of cheese and grapes and now only has a few grape stems left in it. She got hungry while she was waiting. The first slice of apple, she offers to him.]

You didn't overdose, you probably just underestimated how hard it'd hit you, given what was already in your system. This stuff is easy to make mistakes like that with.

[The bread is still sitting on what's passing for his lap; the apple slice, though, he takes between two fingers and sucks on delicately, chasing juice from it.]

It was the lowest dosage. I was expecting it...

You waited all that time, though. Why? I mean, why all this?

[Her presence, looking after him, is a burden; useful, but sickening. You can't look after yourself, so I'll do it for you. There's something odd about it, too: disturbing.]

So that you'd wake up and fall into my arms, obviously, tell me you were wrong to be unkind and that you never want me to leave your bed again.

[She has a deadpan to rival L's. The goggles help with the expressionlessness. She dips a finger into the jam again, and licks it off, looking as smug as the cat that got into the cream.]

Alternatively, because I am fond of you and you scared me. I guess I had to know you were going to come out of it.

Ah, no, you're one of those? Wonderful.

[It doesn't even begin to sound as if he means it: it's groaned, collapsing backwards into the single pillow. The apple slice goes with him, slowly shredded between broken teeth.]

What I mean to say is, of course, that I'm grateful for your concern, but it's unnecessary. I would have been fine. Embarrassed, but fine.

Maybe, but like I said, I was scared, and you didn't see how bad you were.

[Slicing the rest of the apple, crawling up the bed a little to offer him the second piece, after he collapses and finishes the first.]

More water? Less light in the room?

[Taking the second apple slice, he eats it the same way as the first - tiny nibbles, like a squirrel. The room's already dim, with nothing but the bright bathroom light shining through the door. It's painful to look at, though.]

Less light sounds good.

[Even if he'd heard it in Japanese, he would have been no less aware of the irony. It's weird, her sitting there covered in jam (for all that she's not, he feels as if she is; as if she leaves tacky fingerprints on everything she touches), being so solicitous to him when she should hate him. He'd really like her gone, more than anything - but since she's here...]

You have a medicine cabinet in your room, do you?

Yeah, I do.

[She stands, clears the food off the bed and goes to the bathroom, stepping inside it to wash her hands before flicking the light off. Her footsteps sound out in the dark, and after a moment the mattress tips, as she climbs on.]

Why?

[Silence, before he replies, except for the tiny crunching apple sounds. In the dark, it's easier to ask things like this. There's no reason he shouldn't take advantage of her, after all - though through the headache and the mist, the suspicion chatters like monkeys: What's she getting out of this?]

I don't suppose there's any diazepam in it? [It's grudging, as if he'd really rather not ask. Such a ridiculous thing to ask, to ask her, but...] Ah, you're going to hit me now, right?

I'm going to ask why you think adventures with diazepam will go any better than what just happened.

[Curling up next to him on the bed.]

It isn't like you to make the same mistake twice.

It's far less powerful and easier to combine.

[And it's what he's been given in the past, even if he did spend the time drifting around in a hideous mental fog, and even if he'd been under constant medical supervision at the time. A stabbing pain goes through his temple as she moves on the bed; wincing in the dark, he shifts, ending up curled into himself on the edge of the mattress. As far away from her as he can get.]

Refining a process isn't - [ow, headache] - making the same mistake.

Do you really need to tranquilize yourself?

[She just slides closer, and rests her forehead against his back for a moment.]

You're so smart. It's- it'd be a shame, you know?

[At her touch, his skin crawls, and he tenses as if she's cut him. For all that he's still mostly dressed, she's into his personal space.

The compliment's not without difficulty, either: he knows he's smart, thank you, but other people tend not to believe it of him. It conjures voices from his past: Most intelligent people have accomplished more by your age, Yagami-san. She isn't judging him by himself, but by those others.]

Don't touch me. Don't.

[He can't pull away further without falling off the bed, but he retreats into himself.]

I have to do something, that's all.

Turn over, look at me.

[She slides over, and kisses the spot between his shoulders. Her voice is still soft, her touch is still careful, and as soothing as she knows how to make it. She's not going to hurt him, not this time.]

Believe something for me? Everything is going to be all right. I know it hurts, but in a few hours, you won't hurt any more and everything will be right.

[Okay, that time he throws himself forward, out of the bed and onto the floor, twisting as he goes, eyes staring over the top of the bed in the dark. The pain, as his head moves, is nauseating; the tiny sob he can't quite bite back could easily have been a lot more. It's a few seconds before he can speak, and when he does, it's barely there. Empty, not angry.]

I told you once already. Get out.

Okay.

[She climbs off the bed, off the other side.]

I'll put the prescription in the kitchen, in the pan we made the eggs in. I won't bother you again, Light, please don't worry.

[Against the bed, he's wrapped his head in his arms; it's bursting. Once she's out of his hair, he can rest and go at his own pace and put himself back together, tiny brick by tiny brick.

The voice that cackles in the background is a girl's voice: Nothing's going to be all right, never again. The politeness is odd, after what he just said; incongruous.]

Thank you.

Okay. If you ever change your mind, you know how to find me, huh, kitten?

Take care.

[He doesn't say anything more, just waits for her to leave, curled into his ball. As if he'd change his mind. She's nothing, after all.]

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[private] instead of stressed i lie here charmed.

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