Maybe he's more like Misa Amane than he likes to believe.

Unlike Pluto

| acting on your best behaviour |

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'Kurou Otoharada has taken hostages…'

Mirai has never been the patient type (he wakes at night, roused from sleep by thoughts of death and Shinigamis, skin drenched in sweat, heart thumping in anticipation and he wants, no, he aches for what is to come).

And if people say that time flies quicker when one is occupied, then – they're idiots.

By the time he's almost twenty, he's become something of a celebrity with his boyish pouts and tousled blonde hair. He's on the cover of magazines and some people call him a heartthrob, even if he's never had a girlfriend (or a boyfriend and some people speculate, but they don't know shit).

School is hard, but it's nothing he didn't anticipate. He has to put in actual work to keep up, not only to get in, but to stay afloat while some people breeze by. Mirai is cunning and, in a way, smart, but there are nights he spends buried in textbooks, dark circles under his eyes and pens and papers scattered everywhere.

His mother tells him to sleep, his father brings him snacks and even tries to help and the normalcy of it all makes time pass by even slower (he doesn't want normal, dammit, no, he doesn't want that at all).

His only advantage in this life is knowing the events before they actually happen and so far his knowledge hasn't served him at all (the Amane family remains alive and never once makes any mention of having another child, perfectly content with the one they already have), but –

Less than a month before his twentieth birthday, Mirai –

Mirai stares at the screen of his television with rapt attention. He can't recall the name of the man at first, but the incident is so similar that he has to pause on the news channel and waits with bated breath as the spokesperson explains quickly that a man has taken hostages in a nursery school.

So, here it is, here is the first main event of the timeline. Light Yagami should have picked up the notebook and be seated in front of his TV, pondering the truth of the Death Note and what it can actually do.

As people wait for a savior, Mirai wants death.

He bumps his knee several time, eyes fixated on the screen his fists clenched so tight he can't feel them anymore (there's a trail of something wet and he'll only realize later that it's blood, nails digging so hard into his palm that it broke the skin).

He swears to himself that if it doesn't happen, he'll find the notebook himself and shove so far up Light Yagami's ass that even the Shinigami Ryuk won't be able to find it.

(And that thought, even if vulgar and without any real taste, makes the corners of his mouth twitch, a slow smirk spreading on his face and turning it almost, well, evil).

But then, then it happens – the camera zooms and moves to the right where people are coming out fast, running into the streets and into the arms of loved ones and policemen alike.

For a second, Mirai forgets to breath.

'It appears that Kurou Otoharada collapsed from a heart attack.' The news lady announces, hints of disbelief in her tone and with eyes softer, as if this is an act of God himself.

For a second, Mirai doesn't know what to do. There's something that pulsates inside his vein, moving and coiling inside his body, a metaphorical snake that hisses and bares it's fang, ready to bite.

But reality reappears, the faint buzz of the television in his ears as he throws himself back on his bed, fists coming undone and that grin on his face, as if awed that it actually happened (and no, he isn't crazy and the memory of straightjackets and white padded cells becomes distant).

He basks in the afterglow of the revelation, that Death Notes exist and that he really can divine the future and what will happen. This is only the beginning, a small flame that has started a fire bigger than anyone will ever anticipate.

(Later, much later, he'll wonder about choosing sides, about righteousness and justice, about his morals – that are barely there to begin with – about dark haired detectives and pretty boys with amber eyes).

"Mirai…" His mother knocks, but she opens the door even before he told her to come in. She finds him like this, sprawled on his bed, television still on and now showing something else he doesn't pay attention to.

He waves at his mother, but doesn't bother to stand up, that stupid awed grin still plastered on his pretty face.

"Your father will be out late. I was thinking takeout?" He sits upwards and smiles at the woman. Even with her greying hair and the few wrinkles on her forehead, her looks are still so similar to his.

"How about we go out?" It's not that takeout with his mother doesn't sound delicious. "My treat." It's just the recent events make him feel generous.

And while his parents are rather well-off and pay for everything he could ever want or need, he does make a fair bit of money from the shoots and magazine covers (he stockpiles hundreds of dollars carefully, always expecting the worst, an old habit, one he can't shake).

His mother raises an eyebrow, but there's a smile on her face.

"Something good happen?" He can't really tell her the truth, can't tell her that today marked the birth of the most notorious killer the world had ever seen, that tomorrow there would twenty more dead inmates, that Mirai would waste half of his life if it meant he could see people's name and write down names very aware that he would kill them.

He merely stands up and moves towards her, pushing a hand on her warm shoulder.

"Not really." He smiles. "I'm just in a good mood today." Which isn't technically a lie, it's just not the truth either.

"Fine, don't tell me…" The woman shakes her head, a few blonde hair falling from the bun on her head, laughter in her voice. "Put on a jacket, it's supposed to be cold out tonight."

He rolls his eyes, that stupid grin making his cheeks hurt and, as he takes out a jacket from his closet, he has the urge to plop down on his bed and flap his feet in the air (he doesn't even shudder at the thought, the memory of stripped red and black stocking and pigtails vivid in his head even if it never happened).

Maybe he's more like Misa Amane than he likes to believe.

a/n: Mirai is... I don't even know how to describe him. He's everything you want him to be and not at the same time. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this, thank you to everyone who reviewed last time, I'm glad you enjoy Mirai. Thank you for reading, let me know what you thought and I'll see you next time.