subversion | [private]

Placing his bag carefully on the counter, Light doesn't even have to think about it. The bowl's right there, and then it's in his hands, and then it's skimming past A's head, fruit tumbling and bruising as it goes. It explodes on the wall behind him, in a shower of glass shards.

His smile is quite insane - stare fixed, all of it too wide and manic - as he says, "I wasn't trying." - he means the bowl - "Don't mention things you know nothing about." You can't know. I haven't told anyone here - except - did I tell her when I was sick? I can't have.

A’s arms instinctively went up to wrap around his head for protection. He swore loudly, not even certain which word he had uttered until after the bowl hit the wall. Okay, maybe that was going a bit too far. I'll have to keep that in mind.

He took a cautious step away from Light, holding out his hands in protest. “Hey!” he yelled, taking a deep breath to calm his frantic heartbeat. “There’s no need to be so quick to resort to violence. I think you need to calm down.” He glanced towards the door, wondering if Light would just let him walk away. He was obviously in over his head at this point.

Light would be happy to see A turn tail and run; part of the point of the display is to drive him away. He doesn't come closer, just casts an eye slowly towards the knife block within easy reach of him. That smile grows sharp, spinning shuriken edges as well, but his voice is casual, not quite even.

"Mention that again, Sweetie, to anyone, ever, and I will kill you. Is that clear?"

Just now, he's far gone enough to mean it.

A went quiet, taking in Light's body language, tone of voice, the glance toward the knives. He swallowed back the nausea that swept over his body and began walking towards the door. Was this really the man that Matt was so keen on?

"I understand perfectly. Can you do something for me though, Light?" He was almost at the door, within distance that he could make a break for it if need be. The food that he had piled on the counter was ignored and left behind, suddenly no longer important.

Watching A make for the door, Light yawns back against the counter again, eyes narrowing like a lazy cat. It doesn't improve the look of him. "That would depend what it is, wouldn't it?"

The bored look on Light's face only proved to anger A. He didn't like losing, and even though Light was hardly doing a victory dance in front of him, he still had the distinct feeling of defeat.

"Don't go to see Matt until you've done something about that temper of yours."

"Oh, please. Run along and warn her about me. Go on."

He knows perfectly well he left her in his room, and A won't be able to find her. As one hand flips, shooing A towards the door, there's more of a triumphant edge to him; he's utterly caught up in what he's doing, and drowned. "She'll never believe you."

Never believe me? What is he implying? This is some side of himself that she's never seen, or he knows that she's too in love with him to believe that he could resort to such acts?

He should run. He knew it. So why he continued standing in front of Light, his line of sight locked directly on him, he had no idea. What he did know is that Light was obviously not of sound mind, possibly having a psychotic episode, and he was potentially a threat to Matt and whoever else he might come across at this moment. But he also realized that he was ill equipped to handle this type of situation, and the last thing he needed was another enemy.

"Where is she?"

"Nuh-uh." The demurral's easy enough: a slow swish of his head, a slide of his smirk to left and right. "Your turn to spend weeks and days and nights looking for her. I don't keep her in my pocket."

He's not thinking; the words are automatic. What he's feeling is wings, dragging him right up against the ceiling, the sound singing to him: I won, I won. Later he'll hate himself, but now ... is not then.

Ah. So that's what all of this is about.

A relaxed, his shoulders dropping and his back straightening. He only hoped that if Light felt the need to throw anything else at him, then he also felt the need to miss on purpose again.

"I don't understand. Why don't you admit that you care for her?"

I don't care for her. She's nothing to me.

Even as he is, he can't say either of them; the effort jolts him out of himself, and some of the glittering malice clouds out of his face. But only some.

"Don't make me wait for this place to spawn another fruitbowl, A."

A understood when he was pressing his luck, but he was also still flustered from having the first fruitbowl thrown at him. For now he was convinced that Light wouldn't be hurting Matt; this frustration would more than likely only be taken out on him.

He paused and quirked his head to the side, regarding Light with a critical look. "You're not as enigmatic as you think, you know," he said quietly. "If you let it, it'll consume you. And if she's worth anything at all to you, you'll do something about it." He didn't mention that he was speaking was personal experience, but the insinuation was there.

The clattering, conflicting impulses finally untangle themselves, leaving something Light can definitely say, and is oh so very determined to believe. "I don't need her." One hand slides into the bag he's hiding, and the smile reasserts himself. Like he'd back down. Like he's capable of anything, by now, other than running on instinct.

It's clear enough that whatever comes out next is heading straight for A.

He's bluffing. He doesn't want to hurt me.

"Another lovely contradiction," he said, holding up a hand, seemingly in apology; his own contradiction. "And throwing your lunch at me won't solve anything, will it?"

He took another step towards the door, only two more and he would be in the hallway.

"No contradiction. It's over your head, that's all."

The apple comes out of the bag, and bounces in his hand, as if to illustrate. Somewhere he remembers that out of the two, he'd preferred this A; that really, neither of them have done anything. "It'll make me feel better, A."

He only hoped that the apple would also go over his head.

"Light, it would be better if we could discuss this like sensible men rather than barbarians. Please."

The apple bounces a little higher, a little more threatening; an internalised voice is murmuring at him not to waste food, and he doesn't recall whose it originally was. Long ago, far away, when he was someone else entirely. He feels sick, and twin spots of pink have risen in his face; he's squinting. The kitchen is bright; perhaps he's dazzled.

Why is he standing in the kitchen holding an apple? How did he get here? Why doesn't any of this make sense?

Snatching the apple back into his hand, he glares at A as hard as he can; he'll still throw it, if he has to. "Get out."

Edited 2009-07-27 01:37 (UTC)

A sighed softly, realizing that there was nothing at all that he could say that would get through to Light at this point. Perhaps it was smarter to live to fight another day, even if he would have to live with his wounded pride.

He didn't say another word, just gave Light a polite bow of his head before making his way into the hallway to find another kitchen.

As soon as A's gone, Light spins around and folds up on the counter, holding his breath, pulling himself back together. Stupid. Stupid. What's happening to him? - well, he knows exactly what's happening, doesn't he? Everything's too loud, too bright, too immediately real and painful. Time to hide.

When he gets back to his room, Matt is still sleeping; Light places the bag quietly on the table beside her, before leaving her asleep and sick in his bed. He won't be back.

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