Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note.

A/N: Hello! So this is already finished and will be posted rapidly in very long chapters, for a total of just about fifty thousand words. It's pretty different than any other DN fic I've ever posted.

The premise for this fanfic was taken from Light's internal monologue in the canon: "The world is rotten." I wondered what it would be like if that manifested for Light in a slightly different way than he meant it in canon. It's also… sort of a HS AU… maybe?

Also, if you like (original) books about gay wizards, check out this author. I got to read the manuscript and I ship it so hard… www dot aprilpresnell dot com. If you sign up for her newsletter you can get a free short story of the gentlemen.

The world, Light knew, was rotten.

He stared into his room, backpack still slung over his back, and his brain filled with the smell of his own particular rot. He was rotten too, of course. Or more accurately, he was rotting— swelling, elongating, and dropping off at the joints. He watched as the dust, little flecks of his own skin and hair and dirt, floated in front of his window, catching the light and glowing for a moment, disturbed by his opening the door.

Dust. Dust was rot, and he and everyone else on Earth inhaled it during every moment. In through the nose, in and down. Dust was particles of people and animals and objects, tiny. Particles of rot that could fly up into his nose and throat and lungs.

Light breathed rot. Everyone breathed rot, always. Rotten lungs sucked in air riddled with rotten dust and snatched out the oxygen and injected it into rotten blood, and rotten blood circulated veins made of rot, to every single rotten cell in his rotting body and the rotting bodies of everyone else.

Most people didn't think about it. (Light envied them, as much as he could envy something he loathed.) Yes- most people didn't think about the rotting, and was another problem. They didn't think, and their brains were rotting away, the gyri swelling and sulci shriveling in until their brains looked more like a coil of worms. A rat king. Of maggots, digging in the rot and leaving a trail, interconnecting like ant tunnels.

They looked at the world and didn't think anything of it. They didn't think anything of it. People smelled the worst, much worse than animals or objects. It was like the scent was emanating from their nostrils, their ears, sometimes even their pores. People smelled like putrefaction. The closer they got, the more it permeated. The more they spoke, the more swallowing felt like forcing down spoiled milk. Chunks. The more it made him gag.

There were no exceptions- Light had never met one, anyway. Even Light, who thought all the time, smelled. The world was simply so rotten that even when someone tried to think, like Light, the reek clung to them. Even though his brain was rotting less than others, he could still smell it oozing out his ears, even though he tried to stay occupied, tried to keep engaged. There just wasn't enough in the world to do it. The world was rotten all the way through, every nook and cranny and corner and peak was soft, sickly, turning brown and black.

Light crossed his room and dropped his backpack on the floor.

His mother called him down for dinner and he went. She smelled, and his father smelled, and his sister smelled, but Light sat down at his seat at the dinner table without complaint. He ate the food his mother served, even though it tasted sort of like bitter cardboard. It was a noodle dish, he thought, at least it looked like one, but his ability to taste the difference between foods was minimal at best. He ate methodically, only enough to live and maintain his current weight.

He made small talk with his family as if nothing was wrong, because really nothing was. Nothing that hadn't been wrong his whole life, anyway, and he knew better than to say anything about it. No one else could smell it but him, he'd learned long ago, and he knew if he insisted they'd call him crazy.

So he kept it pleasant. He kept his parents pleased by how respectful he was. He kept his sister awed by how great of a big brother he was. He kept them proud.

His father smelled like halitosis. His mother, like a sewer. His sister, like unwashed socks.

The aroma of all that blended together was just wonderful.

When he could, he said he had homework, which he had already completed, and excused himself to his room.

At least there were no other people's smells in this particular room, except for the waft up from downstairs where he could hear his parents and sister still chatting.

He could stay up for a while. Watch some TV. Study some more. Listen to some music, maybe, or organize his room (again). Maybe a combination of these things.

Or he could go to bed.

He could just go to bed and it could be over for now.

He went to bed.

Light slept.

He woke up, he brushed his teeth, showered, and his shampoo smelled like gasoline. He got dressed, did his hair (quite the ritual, took over ten minutes), gathered up his homework. He went to school.

Before he crossed the threshold into the school, Light took a deep breath of relatively fresh air. He would try (fail) not to obsess over the stink all day because it was inescapable, but the first moment walking in the doors was the hardest part of the day. He held his breath as long as he could, making himself smile as he walked down the hall. When he couldn't hold his breath anymore, he breathed, gagged, recovered. Then he smiled again, and people smiled back because it was just so damn appealing.

He radiated. In addition to radiating stink (he knew) he radiated aloof, untouchable, but so very compelling. He was barely in the building and already he saw an underclassmen girl with a note folded into a heart clutched in her hand. She'd been leaning on a wall, waiting for him. He averted his eyes, letting his gaze go thoughtful. He paused by a window, gazing out of it, lost in thought. He wasn't. Light didn't get lost in thought, he simply thought, but he didn't want to deal with this child.

Other people got lost in thought. Thought was so unfamiliar to other people that when they went into it they never found their way back out of it.

The girl stopped, hesitated; Light exhaled a silent breath of relief. The girl took several deep breaths to calm herself, and Light idly wondered what it was like to take in the rotten air and feel strengthened by it and not feel like it was coating her lungs with another, smothering layer that bit by bit decreased her overall lung capacity. It had worked for millions of people for thousands of years, but Light wasn't like them.

The girl's breaths hadfortified her, and now she was approaching him again, and the closer she got the more he could smell wet dog and burnt hair.

She was speaking so he turned around, but it was like he was underwater, or like she was. He watched her lips move, watched her face flush. He watched her shift her weight from foot to foot and talk, and talk, and talk. She was still talking, and he hadn't heard a single word. Her voice was only muffled mumbling. She as an entity was no more than a mumble. Just as easy to overlook, dismiss.

He formed his face into what he knew was a beautiful smile. He knew, because he had practiced it in the mirror when he'd practiced not cringing every time he breathed. Her breath caught and she stopped her silent babbling.

He hadn't heard her, but he knew what she'd said. Something about them dating. Something about reading her note. Something about thinking he was 'cool.' Something about loving him. As if. As if she could, as if she had any idea.

He had a stock answer for this, as it was hardly the first time. He looked down at her outstretched hand which held the now-crumpled, palm-sweaty love note, arranged in its pathetic heart shape. His face still the very picture of grace, Light looked back up at her and said, in an apologetic (fake), sincere (fake) voice, "I don't date."

Nervous mumbles, now. Still underwater, but he could see her expression change, her blush becoming a flush of embarrassment. Her hopeful lean forward becoming a retracting, withdrawing, folding in on herself. She was sorry, she hadn't known, he should tell her if he ever changed his mind. Then she was backing away, then she was fleeing, and she may have had tears in her eyes.

Light went to class.

Light took his seat in the back of the class in the desk nearest the window. He took his books out and placed them neatly on the table. He removed a pen and a notebook, as well, although he wouldn't be using either of them. Instead, he rested his chin on his hand and looked out at the world on the other side of the glass. Not for any interest it held- not at all- but because it meant he did not have to make eye contact with anyone else in the room.

They all went about their lives, chatting (rotten potato), teasing (rancid meat), gossiping (sour milk), socializing in their rapidly depleting time before the teacher would enter the room and hush them. He could tell that there was a low buzz of energy in the room but he couldn't sense it himself. He only knew it was there because he knew what to look for: smiles, movement, laughter, people turned around in their chairs. Those were the things people did when they were happy. It was a favorite time of day for many students, he knew. As long as he faced the window, it could be a tolerable time of day for him, too.

He turned his head to sneak a glance at his watch and was surprised to see a new student.

The new student was staring at him. He was seated at a desk that happened to be empty that day, on the other side of the room from Light. From his angle, staring at Light couldn't have been particularly easy, but the boy was making a decent job of it which was especially impressive given he was crouching on his chair like he intended to stand up on it. Light watched him back, interest very slightly piqued. He was used to people staring at him. They did it all the time. Girls, and sometimes boys, would often stare at him, imagining things about him. Innocent, sometimes, but often not. Wondering about him or thinking about things they wanted from him. They were so obvious, even when they were 'being subtle' that Light could all but hear their thoughts. Some of those thoughts would be pretty damn flattering if they were coming from someone who was not simply a mound of putrid flesh.

This boy was thinking, but from his big, blank, dark-eyed stare Light did not get a sense of wondering or wanting. But he was clearly thinking. It was so nice to see someone thinking. And, apparently, not even at a time when he was being forced to. He met the boy's eyes and watched them start to dissect him.

He wondered idly if they could.

He sincerely doubted it.

He did not, however, try to stop them. Not actively, anyway. He didn't throw up any more barriers than he'd already wrapped around himself, didn't build up any new walls. If that boy could get something out of him just by looking, then Light welcomed the intrusion.

After several moments of eye contact, he saw the vaguest hint of confusion pass over the other boy's expression, followed instantly by renewed interest. He hadn't gotten anything, and he was used to getting something, and he liked not getting it.

Light just was not like other people, and this boy's tactics, whatever they were, were not going to apply. Shame.

Light turned back towards the window, interest gone, at least for the moment. Whoever this boy was, he wasn't important.

Nevertheless, Light kept an eye on him. The biggest surprise was not the appearance of the boy, but the teacher's lack of comment upon it. For a moment Light became concerned that this boy was a figment of his imagination, a product of a mind that was very ready to start cracking any time, now, but he caught other students sneaking curious glances at the boy, too. It wasn't just him. More, it wasn't just Light who had not seen this boy before. He wore the uniform (though he didn't wear it well, Light couldn't help but notice- 'askew' would have been a polite word for the arrangement of his clothes) but he had no books, nothing at all on his desk. His hair was definitely not dress code, untamed and far too long. He also was not exactly wearing his shoes, but he wasn't exactly not wearing them, either.

The boy wouldn't have seen any of the curious looks he was getting, though, because he did not take his eyes off Light.

Light didn't approach the staring boy, and the staring boy did not approach Light, so Light ended his school day without any further information about him.

Light went home in a daze. Travel was just travel. It was a beautiful day but it made no functional difference- pavement was terrible rain or shine. It was ugly, for one thing, it was man made, for a terrible other thing, and worst of all, it was so rotten that it felt in his mind like his shoes stuck slightly to it as he walked, as if it hadn't yet cured and he was walking on it too soon. Rotten things were sticky, of course. The sound of a footstep was like the sound of his shoes peeling off the pavement. The smell of the tar, long dissipated, was the smell of moldy cake.

He didn't hurry.

He announced his return home out of habit, taking off his shoes, but otherwise he did not wait for his mother to come to the door to greet him. He headed straight for his room as always but today she was too fast- she'd happened to be near the front of the house, arms full of laundry- and she cornered him.

"Light!" She was always so happy to see him. He instructed his face to smile back at her, because if he just kept staring at her blankly she would worry, and if she worried she would pry, and if she pried she'd be near him more. "Welcome home. Did you read that pamphlet about choosing a major?"

"Yes," he answered automatically.

"Are you okay?"

She was frowning. He thought hard, wading through the muck of her presence, querying his echoic memory for a transcript of what she'd said. "Yes," he said finally. "Just tired." He checked his face in her expression- apparently he hadn't smiled. He focused extra hard and made his face do it now, and he could tell the moment it worked because her features softened.

"Long day at school?" she asked sympathetically.

He shifted his bag on his shoulder. "Yeah."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No." But he couldn't leave her with that. That wasn't enough. She had to have a reason firmly in her mind. She wasn't abstract enough for anything beyond happy, sad, and tired. "An underclassmen girl tried to ask me out today."

Her eyes sparkled. "Oh? Does my son finally have a girlfriend?"

Light shook his head, doing his best to look bashful. "No, Mom. We'd never spoken before today. It was a bit of a shock. I felt bad turning her down because she looked so sad."

She smiled. He had provided enough. "You're such a nice young man. Well, it's her loss, but she should probably try for a boy her own age. Or at least one she has spoken with before!"

"Yeah." He nodded. "I'm going to go work on homework, okay?"

"Oh, of course." It was the one thing that could always get her to go away. "I'll bring up some tea in a bit."

"No," he said too quickly. "Thank you. I'm just going to take a nap after I finish."

She let him go and he was relieved to vanish into his room.

His room was dark and relatively peaceful. He didn't drop onto his bed this time. Instead, he crossed immediately to his desk to do his homework. It didn't take him very long, and the moment it was done he had nothing to do but languish. He considered his TV. He could watch the news, see more proof of the rotten world. Sometimes watching the world go to ruin in slow motion sort of improved his mood. Usually, though, it just made the air in his bedroom smell even worse, and after a full day of school he wasn't sure he wanted to deal with it.

Instead, he simply sat in his chair, staring at the black TV screen, his room lit only by the desk lamp he'd been forced to turn on to do his homework.

There was some dust collected on the volume buttons. He stared at it for several moments, then extended his finger to brush off the dust. It clung to his finger. Dust. He'd read once that dust contained plant pollen, bits of hair, fibers from clothes, specks of paper, minerals from the soil outside, skin cells, meteorite particles, and other things. He had not read anywhere about how it felt when it stuck to his skin, about how it gave him the overwhelming urge to scrape his finger along his trousers to remove it. He did. He wanted to wash his hands, too, but he knew it wouldn't help. It was all in his head, including the sensation that the dust was still there, pulsing on his skin.

He rubbed his finger firmly on his trousers again for good measure, then stood. He wanted to go. He wanted to go. But there was nowhere to go. Everywhere he'd ever been was exactly the same as where he was now, so even if he started walking in a random direction, he'd always end up having gone absolutely nowhere. He hovered where he stood for a moment, torn between trying it yet again anyway and giving up, but then the urge to go, quickly, now left him and he dropped back into his seat with a loud exhale. He couldn't just go wandering about in the streets. It was a school night, after all.

There was a knock at his door. His father's knock- he knew the signature knocks of all his family members because he left his room as little as possible and if they wanted him, they had to come to his room and knock. So he'd gotten used to all of their knocks.

"Light, may I come in?"

Apparently today was the designated day for his parents to Discuss Things with him. He could only hope that he'd get his father out of his room as quickly as he'd gotten his mother to let him go.

"Sure, Dad."

Soichiro opened the door, smiled, and entered. Light watched him, resisting the urge to hold his breath. His father crossed to Light's bed and sat down on it.

"Sit with me."

Light rose, moved, and sat, keeping a fair distance between them. He certainly didn't want to invite any closeness. Now, what would be the topic of the day? He bet he could guess…

"Your mother told me you read that packet about choosing a major."

Light won the bet. He looked at his father. His father was so normal. Not in a bad way, really. He was a good person. One of the best people Light had ever met, in fact. But Soichiro was so incredibly ordinary. He thought ordinary thoughts about normal things, such as what schools his son was applying to and what he was having for dinner that night. He did things like initiate family meetings and read the newspaper and surprise his wife with small gifts. He worked hard and provided for his family.

He oozed ordinary.

He oozed pus, like a festering wound that needed to be squeezed. His odor was just as tangy.

"Yes," Light finally said after what he hoped was not too long a pause.

"That's good," his father said. "Have you put any thought into it?"

"Yes, Dad."

"You shouldn't wait until you're already there," he told Light for the thousandth time.

Light was really an excellent son. Systematically, he'd applied to every university his parents had wished him to apply to. He'd get into any of them based on the strength of his essay, let alone his grades, but he diligently kept applying, playing along with the system. But the system didn't work on him. How could it when it was meant to measure people and sort them into places that would challenge them but not too much. For him, nothing would ever be too much and nothing would ever be a challenge other than basic daily function, so there was no way to sort him.

They'd had this conversation, and the longer Soichiro spent repeating himself the deeper he sank underwater, until Light couldn't hear him even though he was trying to. He just watched his father's face and nodded when it looked like he should, smiled when his father smiled, shook his head when he sensed he was supposed to.

"You should turn a light on in this room," Soichiro said, not unkindly, and those words popped out because they weren't simply a regurgitation of everything they'd talked about last week and the week before. "You'll ruin your eyes."

Light wondered idly what it would be like to be blind. Would the world be completely black, or would he still be able to see blurs, shapes, or shadows? Would it be interesting to be blind, to need to relearn his entire life? Would it be interesting to blind himself?

"Mhm," he finally managed to say, forcing away the image his brain was trying to create of taking scissors and slicing open his eyes.

His father reached out and put a heavy hand on Light's shoulder. "I'm proud of you, son," he said, and he really did look it. After all, what was there not to be proud of? Light was the perfect young man. The perfect son. He behaved in school and got perfect grades and did everything his parents ever asked. He didn't bring girls home or stay out all night or do drugs or drink. Soichiro's pride was completely warranted, Light thought, except that if his father could see inside Light's head he'd have him committed, not put him on a pedestal.

"Thanks," he said. He looked at the clock. "Do you mind if I go to sleep, now? I had a long day."

His father patted his shoulder twice, then took his hand back. "I didn't mean to keep you up," he said. "Just wanted to check in. You're always in this room, it feels like I never see you."

If only. He smiled and nodded, and he kept doing this until his father eventually did leave.

He'd been tired before but now Light was truly exhausted. He laid back on his bed. It was only 9:00, but that wasn't too early to go to bed. He'd definitely gone to bed earlier than that. Thinking about this, he watched the ceiling, trying to decide if he had the energy to brush his teeth and do his bed preparation routine. He rarely missed teeth brushing- the last thing he wanted was bad-smelling breath, even though toothpaste was rank- so maybe he could afford to, only this once, just slip out of his clothes and into bed.

He committed and soon he was naked and in his bed, the blankets wrapped around him tightly. The blankets were cold, not yet warmed by his body heat. He'd left the desk lamp on and it cast long shadows of the contents of his desk onto his walls. He stared at the shadows, absently trying to match them up with what was casting them without looking at the desk. When he'd matched them all up he simply stared at the ceiling, counting his heartbeats. It was a reliable way to pass time when time seemed like it had stopped, like it usually did at night.

Eventually, Light was able to doze off.

He slept poorly that night, like most nights, waking up several times but only halfway, locking him in a half-dream, half-lucid state where he could neither regain nor relinquish control. When his alarm clock finally woke him all the way he was as tired as if he hadn't slept at all.

He showered and got ready for school. He brushed his teeth twice as long (gagging, almost getting sick) to make up for skipping the previous night. He got dressed, shaking imaginary dust out of his clothes and choking on the imaginary smell. He went downstairs and he ate the breakfast his mother made for him, chewing methodically and swallowing, over and over until it was gone. He was never hungry, so the best policy was simply to clean his plate whenever food was offered.

Then it was time for school, and he went, and travel was travel and today was rainy but it didn't matter- the pavement was sticky either way. He crossed the train tracks and paused on them for a moment, looking down them. He could walk that direction. Better yet, he could get on a train going that direction, whatever that direction was, and take the train and its connections until he couldn't anymore, and then he could take a taxi or a… or whatever they used to travel, wherever he ended up. Maybe a bike. He'd take a bike and keep going, and then he'd be at the sea. He'd be at a port, and he could get on a boat, and he bet… he bet ocean air did not smell like anything.

He hesitated for a moment longer on the tracks, and then he put his head down against the rain, and he walked the rest of the way to school.

The boy was there at school again, and the classroom was positively atwitter. He was sitting in the same spot as before. He looked up when Light came into the room and Light stopped, looking back at him. Were they going to do this again? Was it going to be a daily thing? Maybe this boy just liked to stare. Maybe he just had a face that always made it look like he was staring. Maybe the boy was staring at Light, and was wanting something from him. Though, looking at him, Light couldn't imagine what he might want.

Whatever it was, he was staring. That was the objective truth.

For the first time in ages, Light felt compelled to speak to someone before they'd spoken to him. He took a few steps closer to the boy, still keeping a good distance between them, to indicate that it was to him that he was speaking.

"What's your name?" he asked.

The boy put his thumb to his bottom lip, scratching at it. As far as Light could tell, he hadn't blinked once. But then, how often did Light really notice people blinking or not blinking? It was probably just the unwarranted intensity of the stare that made it seem like he wasn't…

No, Light was pretty sure the boy wasn't blinking.

"You may call me Ryuuzaki," the boy said. He voice surprised Light. It was lower than he had expected, for some reason, though he hadn't actually put any thought into what his voice would be like.

"I'm Light."

"It is nice to meet you. To formally meet you, at any rate."

His face was expressionless but his voice was expressive. It was a strange juxtaposition that made Light… uncomfortable?

"Likewise," Light replied politely. Ryuuzaki went back to staring and Light fell silent.

A few other students came into the room. One, a particularly rancid, idiotic boy, brushed past him, actually coming into slight physical contact with him. A touch, he hated being touched by other students. His mouth filled with bile, laced with the flavor of the boy's scent, rotten chicken. He choked. The boy turned around to apologize and Light managed a smile, and to wave it off, but if he opened his mouth he was sure he'd be sick. There were more students coming in and he didn't want it to happen again. If it did, he couldn't be held responsible for what he'd say to them, or what else might come out of his mouth. He spun around and hurried to his desk, taking shelter in the little ring of solitude. He took several deep breaths to calm his stomach but it didn't help. He knew better, he shouldn't have tried. He squarely faced the window and concentrated on staring out of it.

The teacher came in at some point, but the world was so loud that he couldn't distinguish the teacher's voice from the rushing in his ears and the shuffling of other students. He missed when it was underwater. How could he make the world be back underwater?

Class was endless. He didn't have the brain capacity to actually mark the time, but he knew that the world had narrowed down to only this one class, and that this one class would last for the duration of the universe being in existence. He felt like that every day, of course, but if he could just go home…

The bell rang. That, he heard. He looked up from where he'd been memorizing the lines of his empty notebook. It was only the bell for the end of first period. He sighed hugely and considered putting his head on the desk. That would attract attention, though, so he simply went back to resting his head on his palm. He certainly didn't need someone coming over to ask if he was-

"Are you feeling quite well, Light?"

He forced a smile on his face and turned it towards the speaker. It was the boy. Of course it was the boy.

"I'm fine," he said politely.

"You looked as if you'd be sick."

Light glanced around the room. No one else was looking at him. He could tell that no one else had been looking at him, either. He was a popular student. Distant, but popular. If he looked sick, at least one person would have asked if he was okay. He was absolutely certain that his reaction had been completely internal.

So he looked Ryuuzaki in the eyes and said, simply, "No I didn't."

"True," Ryuuzaki granted. "Nevertheless, you were about to be sick, weren't you?"

"What makes you think so?" he asked, letting his eyes drift as if he were entirely uninterested in Ryuuzaki's answer.

"You made the slightest face…" Ryuuzaki said, taking a step closer to get a better look at Light. "Just the slightest. As if you'd just smelled something horrid. And then you rushed away and took some deep breaths, like someone does when they're trying not to vomit."

Astute. Certainly no one else had noticed Light subtly taking deep breaths while facing away from them.

"You are very observant," Light said.

The faintest hint of a smile crossed Ryuuzaki's lips. "Yes I am. Thank you for noticing, Light."

Light looked away.

"So what did you smell?" Ryuuzaki asked, taking yet another step closer. Light fought the urge to lean away. "I have a very good olfactory sense and I am completely certain that there were no negative odors at that moment. Yet, you smelled something so strongly that it made you very nearly vomit."

Now Light was staring at him. He had gone seventeen years without anyone noticing anything like that, without anyone even edging towards the topic, and now here someone was, straight-out asking why he was making 'that stinks' faces in a room with no bad odors.

"In fact," and here Ryuuzaki leaned forward, "the student who bumped into you is one of the least-offensive-smelling teenage boys I've ever met, and it was then that you reacted most strongly."

That boy didn't smell bad? It boggled the mind. He was always one of the worst. Sometimes it was the rotten chicken, sometimes it was simply feces. He was the worst student in their graduating year, barely passing, and his stink oozed out of his ears where his disused brains would leak out if only there was enough of them to do so. And apparently he smelled good to other people.

Light didn't react in time, and his cover was blown. It was too late now, so he didn't bother.

"So it's true," Ryuuzaki said, shoving his hands into his pockets. He stood at a weird crouch, but at least he wasn't leaning in anymore. "Fascinating."

No one had ever called Light fascinating, unless they were referring to how he moved or something he'd just said, primarily if they were hoping to get him into bed. It was weird.

The teacher walked in and Ryuuzaki looked up. "We shall speak more on this later," he informed Light.

Like hell, Light thought.

Ryuuzaki went back to his seat. He didn't stare at Light anymore, but he could feel Ryuuzaki's attention probing him, waiting for him to do something else. To stand up in class and shriek, perhaps, or simply to cough. Well, Light would be doing none of that. He would be a model student. He would keep his eyes on the teacher and nowhere else, and he would give Ryuuzaki no further hints into his mind. Or into his nose, as the case may be. He'd welcomed the attempt the day before, but that was before there had been a measure of success. No one knew him. He'd never allowed it. He certainly wasn't going to start now.

Light found his eyes wandering towards Ryuuzaki. He tried to keep it only to the corners so it was less obvious, but he felt like the boy knew he was looking from the slant of his shoulders. Ridiculous, probably. Insane, possibly, but Light was basically mad anyway so what was the harm in adding a little paranoia?

So Ryuuzaki had suspected that Light smelled a rat, as it were, and his lack of reaction had confirmed it. What did the boy really know, though? He didn't know that Light smelled bad things all the time. He didn't know that it was all Light ever smelled, that it pervaded, that there wasn't a moment when it didn't almost choke him. There was no way Ryuuzaki could have put that together, right?

So maybe he could keep trying to pry Light apart. He wouldn't win, that was for sure. It could be amusing to watch someone get a little bit close and then still fail.

And maybe he wouldn't fail. That would actually be really interesting, too. What would Ryuuzaki do? Just stare at him some more? It was his only method so far. Really, Light knew nothing about him…

He didn't learn any more about him that day, either. When the bell rang again, Light's eyes went to Ryuuzaki, expecting the boy to approach him. He didn't. Had he lost interest already?

Ryuuzaki didn't approach him again that day.

When the final bell rang, Light completed his duties as assigned. Then he went home.

Travel was travel. The pavement reeked, and his shoes seemed to stick with every step. The sky was gray, today, and the weather was misty, neither rain nor not rain. The humidity smelled like a foot, but Light didn't rush home.

Home. Mother, yes to whatever she wanted. Sister, no, he would not play today because he had far too much homework. Bedroom. Desk lamp only, homework complete (not very much, he'd lied), desk lamp left on to semi-light the room. A shower, the shampoo cringe-inducing, the water steaming but the warmth not sinking into his skin. Putting on pajamas and getting into bed. Getting out because his sheets stank, swapping them out with fresh sheets, getting in again and they smelled exactly the same. Burying his face in his pillow. Realizing he'd left the lamp on, not having the energy to get up and turn it off. Realizing he'd forgotten to go downstairs for dinner, not having the energy to do it now. Lying still. Waiting for sleep.

Waiting for sleep, but it was only 7:30.

Waiting for sleep.

Sleeping.

Waking up and still asleep, really. Walking to school asleep. Taking his seat asleep. Listening to the teacher asleep and underwater, not taking in any of the information but it didn't matter because he was still the best student in the school. Asleep and going to lunch, staring at his lunch and realizing he hadn't eaten since lunch the previous day, as he'd forgotten breakfast that day in addition to dinner the night before. Asleep and eating mouthfuls of cotton and cardboard. Asleep and back in class. Asleep and leaving. Asleep and travel was travel and the pavement stuck to his shoes, flowed up over his shoes and into them, making his feet sticky. Asleep and answering Mother, asleep and doing homework, asleep and remembering to go downstairs for dinner. Asleep and eating his shaving cream and toenail clippings meat dish. Asleep and going back up to his dark room.

Asleep. Getting into bed, forgot to turn off the light but too tired to do it now. Asleep, lying still.

Waiting for sleep. It's only 9:00.

Waiting for sleep.

Sleeping.