Chiaroscuro
By: aishuu
Fandom: Death Note/Viewfinder
Note: Written for the 31days theme exchange with a list assigned by scoured, 31 Ways to Leave Your Lover. Warning for some disturbing imagery.
The shoot's been going on for nearly six hours, and Takaba finds his eyes drooping. He's doing good work, he knows – the model is beautiful and the scenery is breathtaking, but any ham-handed idiot could take a decent picture under these conditions. He calls for a ten minute break, hoping to regroup and maybe get something worth putting his name to.
Takaba knows his work has suffered since... he doesn't like to think about it. Every time he shuts his eyes, he's back in that moment, watching helplessly as Asami dies. He sighs deeply, placing a hand over a his eyes as he mentally bargains with his insomnia. He'll take a pill tonight and knock himself out cold in a dreamless sleep; he just needs to survive until he gets home.
"Photographer-san?" A sugary-sweet, nearly diabetes inducing soprano interrupts him.
He opens his eyes, and isn't surprised to see the model standing next to him, a concerned look on her vacuous face. Models as a rule aren't terribly bright, but most possessed a kind of animal cunning. He wonders what she wants, and what it's going to cost him. "What?" he asks, not bothering to point out that he likes to be called by his name.
"Do you not like Misa Misa?" she asks, pouting her lips prettily.
"I don't know you," he replies, turning his attention to his camera, and hoping she gets the hint that he's not interested in her come-on.
"You know, they say a good photographer is always a little in love with his model," Amane Misa says, and she presses a hand over his heart, a gesture that is too intimate for strangers.
He stares at her blankly, her touch sending jolts of revulsion down his body. It occurs to him that she's the first person to touch him since Asami. He hasn't been able to bear the idea of touching anyone.
"I saw the pictures you took of Asami-san," she says, and suddenly she's speaking like a normal person. "Maybe you should pretend I'm him, that you want me that much."
His throat is dry, and she steps away, back onto the set. Lights are adjusted, and he turns toward her, his camera moving as he snaps the shutter closed. She smiles at him, like they're sharing a secret, and suddenly he's a real photographer again.
Every time he looks through his viewfinder at Amane Misa, he discovers another angle to explore, another aspect of the model he wants to capture. For the first time since that horrible night, when Asami collapsed on top of him, Takaba feels something aside from despair.
When the pictures are developed, he realizes it is not love that had moved him. The images are stark and striking, but there's something horrifying about the way Misa Misa looks, like a goddess amused by suffering.
Predictably enough, Vogue loves them.