Mirror, Mirror on the Wall…

She looks at them. Looks at the mirror.

Because she isn't supposed to be in the same room; Raito thinks she'll be in the way. She might want to contribute, prove him wrong on that, show that she can be meaningful to him – on the other hand, the only way she can be in the way is as a distraction, and if he finally does find her distracting, that's the greatest and most flattering thing ever.

So she looks at the mirror instead, dedicating a brief study to her newly painted cherry red lips before letting her gaze glide beyond her own reflection, catch the two figures glimpsed through the doorway. She can see them quite well, has to curb the impulse to wave in secret delight at Raito. It wouldn't do to let them know she sees.

There he is, her Raito, sitting uncharacteristically hunch-backed in the sofa; the metal clinging so tight and inescapable 'round his wrist forces his spine from its usual straight line into a queer curve, makes the lines of his body strain towards Ryuuzaki-san.

L too is leaning forward, chin centimeters from an intimate joining with the whipped cream crowning his latest beloved cake, a whisper of unruly black hair brushing Raito's forehead.

A few days ago she'd have found the picture revolting – another human so close to her Prince Charming! A man, an ugly, suspicious man infringing on what should be only hers and Raito's.

Now she considers the scene rather cute, like a mother might glory in the sight of her son charming other children at the playground. She doesn't know when she became maternal, but she is now and yes, she'd like for Raito to protect her but she knows she'll die for him.

Before or later, that is how it is to be. It's destiny, like their love and her astrological sign. She's read all about that, and today the miniscule article said she and all other Cancers would enjoy a splendid day. The blinds will fall to reveal unexpected love, the morning paper announced.

That could only mean Raito finally realizing and admitting love to her, right?

She forcefully represses the impulse to hug herself and laugh with glee; checks instead that her makeup is perfectly applied and that the black dress shows the exact right amount of pale shapely thigh. She wouldn't want Raito confessing love to anyone unworthy, after all. (i will always do my utmost to be perfect for you.)

Well, there's time enough. He's still sitting there with Ryuuzaki-san, talking intently, so immersed in the conversation his hands are actually moving a little, fingers illustrating his words. L nods every now and then, the movement making his hair caress Raito's face again and again. Neither of them appears to notice.

She really did think he was horribly uncultured at first, that foreign detective, but perhaps he's not so bad. He has said she is cute, after all, so evidently he isn't wrong about everything. Moreover, he likes Raito. She can tell – has done enough of that staring speculatively at his lashes and fingers and hips to recognize the behavior in others when she sees it. He's admirably stealthy about it, and probably tells himself he's doing it to look for clues on the Kira case, but Misa knows better.

You don't stare like that unless you're staring because you just really like what you see, want more of it.

He cares for Raito; yes, she can tell.

That's why she's so calm, almost trusts him now. She'll kill him if Raito asks her to, but she doesn't think that'll be necessary. Even if L were somehow to find out Raito is Kira, and wouldn't it be wonderful if that were true, Misa doesn't think the detective could truly act on it.

In the choice between their lives and Raito's, she feels assured enough to declare with certainty that they would both choose Raito's. She can't really put words on it, but there's something vibrant, meaningful about him. L has purpose and Misa has passion, in the center of both these commitments is Raito, and he has them both, both of the qualities and both of his companions.

It couldn't be otherwise.

So she studies them, still, and isn't annoyed by Ryuuzaki-san's hair in Raito's face, not even when Raito finally smiles a little and pushes it almost tenderly away. When his fingers linger an instant on L's fronthead afterwards, she thinks with a glowing thrill of excitement he's at last become the least bit tactile and might touch her today.

She supposes L is fairly cute, in a rough, sharp, boyish fashion. A good contrast to her groomed, golden Raito. They make for a sweet tableau.

She just wishes, sometimes, that he'd sit with her like that. Look at her with that intensity that makes his eyes warm, touch her in passing, as though it were natural and irresistible. Of course, that might have something to do with being chained to Ryuuzaki-san. But yes, it'd be nice if he would talk to her every now and then, say things she wouldn't understand but would love to hear because he cares about them, because they're so important to him they make him shine with interest and enthusiasm or sometimes indignation.

Not everyone can be so painfully conscious of everything as her Raito; for him, she will try. She won't ever reach his level, of course, but the attempt in itself should count for something, shouldn't it? She'll be doing it for him, after all.

He believes he hides it, below the masks of perfect student and detective, underneath the facades of innocence and cynicism that he puts on and off in accordance with every situation, but he can't fool her. She knows he cares enough to master the world and reshape it in his image, like a god, and because his image is godlike the new world will be too.

Then they can live in Paradise together; maybe L too.

She doesn't mind him, these days, and no matter how much antagonism and fights and denial Raito tries to hide behind, it's obvious Ryuuzaki-san is the most important person in the world to him.

They understand each other in some weird way – male bonding, she has learned to accept it as. They comprehend each other and challenge each other, and there's intensity born from that, and sometimes something vaguely, disturbingly reminiscent of closeness.

L's hand is on his own face now, pinkie lying against Raito's thumb. The cake is gone, leaving only the crumbles on the discarded plate and the little bit of whipped cream sticking to the corner of the detective's mouth. Oh, and he's still sucking on that thin silvery spoon he has. It is apparently very special to him; she picked it up once, curiously, and he practically jumped across the table to retrieve it.

Raito curls his fingers around it now, and she winces in trepidation as she waits for L to freak and the two of them to fight, but nothing happens. Out of the sugarcoated pinkness of L's mouth glides the spoon, is put away by a grinning, head-shaking Raito.

Once again his hand lingers in acute vicinity of Ryuuzki-san's mouth, probably so the detective won't try anything drastic to reclaim his treasured utensil.

He doesn't, this time, just licks his lips very slowly and contemplatively, presumably in the vain hope of finding some stray sugar flakes. Then his oral muscle tingles against Raito's thumb on its way across the unbecomingly pale lower lip, and they both startle, and there's staring.

Misa stares too, stares at L staring at Raito and Raito staring at L.

Stares at them inching closer, a bit like they do when they're preparing to exchange blows, and suddenly her chest spasms, like an invisible giant is clutching her heart, and she thinks for a moment Kira is killing her. And that's okay, because her life is his if he wants it, but she's surprised because she's hard pressed to think she's given him reason and she'd really have liked to live for a bit longer. Just to watch Raito be wonderful.

It seems Ryuuzaki-san isn't satisfied with just watching, though, for he has a hand around the back of Raito's head now, fingers tight and reverent in the honey-colored hair, and he's stronger than he looks or Raito is more willing that he looks, for it's a matter of seconds before their faces are even closer to one another than they were before. Touch-close, by now, and Misa is distantly cold, goose-bumps breaking over her bare arms and the naked overside of her breasts, consumed by absent chill as she watches the ignition that is Raito's mouth on L's.

Horribly, she's never had the opportunity to find out if Raito's lips are really as soft as they look, but she has the fleeting suspicion they taste sweet, because in less than a minute Ryuuzaki-san is positively devouring them.

She blinks slowly, caught by the reflex that tells her crying will ruin her mascara, bites with great precision and dedication at her lower lip. That's sweet too, from the lip-gloss. Tastes like strawberries.

Maybe L would like that, she thinks dementedly and wildly, except suddenly the taste is salty, and that's when she realizes she's crying after all.

Raito has L up against the wall, Ryuuzaki-san's teeth white around Raito's red lips, worn jeans a ribbon around brownish school-uniform pants.

It was fair, before. When they were both just watching. She had the advantage of social acceptance, of soft curves and short dresses; he had their work and interests, that intellectual home he shared with Raito. She was able to style herself the girlfriend; he could chain himself to the one they both wanted.

It was never spoken but she'd thought it mutually accepted, had planned to win eventually, by slow steady maneuvers, but now – she swallows. Now L has taken things into his own hands, literally and metaphorically, and he's so much smarter and why did she ever think she had a chance?

Healthy teenager or not, why would anyone believe Raito the genius who looks so sharply and easily into people's souls to go for a blond bimbo when he could have a pallid detective?

And have him he does. Oh my.

"Don't look," she says reflexively as Matsuda enters the room. There's no need for anyone else to watch her humiliation.

"What? Are they fighting again? Those two!" And then he actually looks, at her mirror, and what it shows, and goes pale, and gulps, because their chained hands are intertwined and Raito's shirt is open and his free hand is soft on L's body, and really, it isn't anything at all like fighting. "Are they…?" Obviously robbed by shock of the ability to form coherent speech, Matsuda points at the wildly snogging boys.

"I would think so, yes," she says, because it's the only thing she can say and she's proud somewhere beyond her icy crying that she sounds to pleasantly sophisticated. Maybe like Raito would like for her to sound, sensual and mature – only then the remembrance hits her that Raito doesn't want anything from her anymore, he never did, did he? and how could she ever have forgotten that when she's still staring at the spectacle of him exploring every minor millimeter of Ryuuzaki-san, who has apparently gotten his hands into Raito's pants now. Quite literally. Oh. Well. Fast work, that.

They stumble into the bedroom at last, where there are no cameras and where no mirror reaches, and Misa methodically starts removing her ruined makeup.

She'll take a look at things tomorrow and see what she can salvage. Crying is always hard on her looks, but with the right foundation it should work out.

"Goodnight, Matsuda-san," she says calmly and pleasantly and without rubbing at the tears glittering diamond-like on her cheeks. "I'll be going home now."

She has a mirror there too, and it gives her a much more pleasant answer when she asks who's the prettiest in the kingdom.

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