AN- Oh, what to say about this one. I...felt like writing something pretty...something eloquent and beautiful. Meaning that it is ridiculously long, wordy, and probably going to bore half of you to death. It's not a one shot, but this was all written in one sitting. Really. Two hours, and this is what happens when my Muse slips a noose around my neck and says "WRITE, DAMN YOU!".
So yeah. Might turn Yaoi...none for now though. Don't expect my usual updating madness. This is different.
I do not own Death Note, nor any other famous piece of music/composer I mention in this work.
Light was at the theatre. A full scale theatre, designed to carry the exquisite sound of classical music all the way to the top of the stadium seating. It was kind of theatre that hosted master performances every three months, and sold tickets by season. There were hardly many people here at the top balcony, but then again, there never were. Perhaps if the theater itself were of lesser quality, Light would have paid the extra twenty dollars or so to sit on the ground level. That was not the case, however, and he found he preferred his high spot any way. It allowed him to see every detail of the orchestra, for his high-caliber mind to anticipate the movement of the music, and he found it easier to lose himself to it that way.
Light only came here for the master performances, for the composers that sent ripples through the world of music, leaving their mark on everything that came after. He found modern day composers to be nothing but poorly inspired mimics, ears trained to a sound that existed long before their time, and thus doomed to repeat it. He came for the sake of getting away from everything, because here, for just a few hours, he could enjoy something that had nothing to do with his life. He could see a movie for less than a quarter the price, but nothing touched him like a full symphonic performance. He'd come the first time on a whim, dating some music major who was required to attend for class. He'd dressed the part, the elegant date, glittering in the perfection that surrounded his life, made up who he was.
He'd never come back with another, though he still dressed for the occasion. That first night, the opening piece had rattled him to the core…worked its way into his soul and left him breathless. To see, to hear the sheer beauty that the human mind was capable of, to see it performed in flawless synchrony…it was astounding. It took hold of his heart and trapped him there, in that theatre. He'd never come with another date, because he wasn't willing to share that. That music was for him, for people like him, people who understood what it was like to be trapped and suffocating in a world that didn't take the time to notice. Here, he knew, there was peace. Here, there was fluidity to life, time stood-still and held him close.
There were no words…nothing to lead him to thoughts of his troubles or his accomplishments. There were no lyrics, just raw emotion transmitted through the air, emotion he could feel through the soles of his shoes, rattling through his lungs with every indrawn breath. It was here that Light could forget who he was…he could make full use of his genius without any form of responsibility or need. He could be himself without worrying about others asking for his help, making demands. He could simply enjoy himself, take the time to notice the small things, pick apart every song, every concert until he found the pieces that made it up, and made it beautiful.
It was Debussy, he remembered…that wild and dramatic tone that marked the concert. Playful almost, alive and full-bodied, capable of lulling him half to sleep and then shocking him awake with a glaring crescendo. The face across the balcony drew his attention as the orchestra finished a turn. He glanced to the side as the violins rose to chins and stared.
The man was commonplace, his casual attire glaringly obvious in the dim light and sea of suits and tuxes. Government officials were present, their dates in glorious designer dresses and glittering stones. Students, dressed as well as possible, were seated together in small groups of five or six, some even taking notes. Elderly people, grandfathers, retired musicians…they were all in the same jacket and tie that Light wore, with buttons done and cufflinks shining.
He wore jeans, and a white shirt…he was barefoot. Perhaps that was what drew his attention away in that split second that the music was silenced. As the next movement began, he found himself glancing back, as thought to reassure himself that he was not dreaming. No…the man sat there, his bare feet on the chair's edge, his arms wrapped around his legs. He sat by the door, an elderly man to one side. Light felt a rush of anger, because how dare he? How dare he bring the sight of the mundane into his place of solace? How dare he remind Light that the real world existed?
At the third glance, his irritation faded. Somewhere between the orchestra and back, it just died completely, fell cold and useless in his breast. He supposed it was the look on his face, the way his large black eyes, almost a part of the shadows themselves, were glued to the orchestra with a familiar intensity. An intensity to rival his own…he could tell even from here that this was another person, another soul who reached into the music and pulled himself away from life desperately. Let him dress as he liked then…he needed this just as much as Light himself.
That first night, Light returned his attention to the music and spent the last of his two hours escape gone as usual, dimly conscious and deeply aware.
It was months later, the next master performance, and Light was particularly excited about this one. He wore his best, and though he thought it ridiculous of himself to do so, he didn't change his mind once he'd laid the clothes out. Bach was his favorite composer, and the only reason he dressed so nicely in the first place was that he wanted to show respect to the great composers that granted him a few hours serenity.
He checked his tie and headed out, telling his family goodnight. He always returned late from his concerts, and if anyone remained awake when he returned, it was his father…usually working. Light would come home and generously fix coffee for him, help him review whatever case was scattered over the table that night. Light was always in his best mood after a concert. His smile was real, and easy, his movement fluid and relaxed. His father didn't understand the music's power, but he was grateful for it. He knew the hardships that came along with Light's gifts.
Light slid into the taxi and winced at the cigarette smoke that clung to its fabrics. He didn't mind for long though, because nothing could reach him on nights like this. He looked perfect, and he felt better. This, the theatre, this is what brought him alive. Much like opera, people either loved or hated a classical music concert. It either touched them, or drove them insane. Light knew well enough that it hadn't touched him so much as slapped him in the face. He made a note to thank that first date of his some day.
Almost before he could blink, he was sliding into his seat in the back rows, early of course. He watched the orchestra set up, crew in black suits moving the expensive and heavy instruments in as though made of fine spun glass instead of wood and metal. He held his breath as the harps were lifted from the dollies and set to the floor, praying along with the crewmen that it didn't shift and throw itself off balance. He watched the cello players adjust their stands and the bass drum player rearrange his tools, measuring the distance between each of the large drums. He smiled to himself as the violinists entered almost at the same time, like a flock of birds, and talking amongst themselves to ease the jitters of an opening performance. He flipped through his program, idly reading the director's biography, and the list of sponsors and players of note.
The orchestra was soon assembled and the fine tuning began; that mess of notes and scales that starts off every concert. It was the last chance to tune, straighten, adjust, read-through, and prepare. When the orchestra rose in respect to its conductor, this time Light stood too, feeling foolish but confident that no one would notice or care. A few students did as well, but they likely played at their various academies. No, Light stood simply because this man would be leading his favorite piece, and doing a better job of it than the orchestra at the university. It was simply a matter of professionalism. To the men and women at the university, it was a job or a grade. Here…at the theatre…it was simply a way of life.
Concerto in D Minor was led by two violinists, and they took their seats as the conductor made his bow. A moment later, a lifetime later, the music began, and Light found himself a smiling. The music was loud, powerful, and signature to this composer alone. No one else quite captured the same sound and magnitude with that grace and style. It was an ocean's storm, confined to a lagoon, a wild horse properly tamed. It was Light's piece, and he was basking in it as it carried on, thanking someone, anyone, that this was possible.
He wasn't sure when he first felt the stare, but it pulled at him just as surely as the music did. Towards the end of the first half, moments before intermission, he finally wrenched his eyes away from the musicians and answered it. The man…there across the balcony.
He'd almost forgotten, but he didn't care tonight. He returned the steady gaze for just a moment before returning his bright eyes and smile to the vast air between him and the stage. Let him watch…Light was enjoying himself too much to care. Intermission came and with a sigh of released tension, he slid down in his chair a bit. His grin was still present, though more subdued, and he felt as though he'd just won a game of tennis. The tremors in his body reminded him of a brief run, or something equally contained and stimulating. He loved this music.
The lights were up when he glanced over towards the strange character again. Just far enough to make out the details of his face, but not close enough for much else. Subtleties of the expression were lost in the gap between them, blurred by distance and the slightly elevated beat of Light's heart.
He was still there…still watching. The elder man next to him was talking, and he carried on the conversation while holding Light's eyes. Light was thankful when the lights went down again, and another brief warm up announced the concert's continuation.
It wasn't long until he was gone again.
Light stepped out of his cab and shivered violently as the freezing rain hit his momentarily exposed neck. It ran beneath his collar and he sighed as his umbrella caught the rest of the winter storm, sparing him the chill. November was a bitter month in Japan, snow and sleet mingling harshly. Still, as he flashed his card to the entrance steward, he arrived early to the theatre, as always. Even the weather couldn't keep him from his escape anymore…it seemed that his day to day life was designed to drive him slowly mad. He wouldn't miss a concert for anything, especially since being named valedictorian.
Beethoven that night, and the wind howling outside the door brought a wry smile to his lips. He'd always considered the man's work to be slightly cold, gripping in its power and fierce efficiency. As he entered the stadium, he smiled as a grand piano was wheeled onto the stage, its owner fretting in the corner as the crew lowered it off the platform and to the ground. Light enjoyed concerts like this, where some refined tastes like the piano found a voice in the larger body of the orchestra. The woman nodded her thanks to the crew as her piano was placed without difficulty, and the last of the cold left him as she sat and began to play. The piano, currently the only instrument that didn't need prepping, was quiet, but even that carried across the wooden sound-support. Really, the acoustics of this theatre were marvelous. He felt as though he sat next to her on the bench, it was so close and well preserved.
This time he remembered, and glanced across the balcony. The strange man was not there tonight, and Light wasn't really sure how he felt about that. He found himself glancing across the room more and more as the audience filed in. The musicians set up, the tuning began, and Light flipped through his program again. They'd be starting with his 9th symphony of course…they usually performed the more famous pieces. Finally, as the lights began dimming, the side door opened and the man and his companion slipped in. Their eyes met across the distance again, and Light frowned. He turned his attention back to the orchestra as the opening bars rang through the silence, shocking the audience into obedient silence with its power.
They'd called this one of his more brilliant pieces, and Light tended to agree. It was a wonderfully sculpted bit of music, appealing to everything Light liked in his classical styles. It was powerful, well-thought out, nicely rounded, and subtle enough to hold his attention without droning on or giving him a headache.
He couldn't concentrate on it. He felt that stare turn upon him as the song ended, and it took all his willpower not to turn and glare at him. After a moment, the piano opened the next piece, a softer song, and the eyes finally left him. Almost against his will, it was his turn to look across, and he found the man with his thumb to his lips, his focus once again on the music. Strange really, the way he held his thumb that close to his lips. Light entertained the idea that he was sucking on it, like a child, but then shook the thought off. No…he was biting it if anything. He turned attention back to the music.
Not a damn moment later did the man look at him. Really, it was quite annoying, and the hand wrapped around his program tightened slightly. He again briefly considered turning to acknowledge him, but something, pride likely, refused to let him. Perhaps he'd looked back, but that was not his fault, and it certainly wasn't an invitation for the other to stare at him like this. It was unnerving to feel those dark eyes on him again. He refused to look. Refused.
Three concerts ago, it had been annoying. Now it was downright infuriating. This man, this stranger, disrupted everything about his concerts, everything. His clothing, his appearance, his eyes…
It was frustrating, to have his solace invaded like this. He doubted it was intentional on the stranger's part, but he'd come close to ripping his program in half this concert. He'd been stared at all his life. He'd been ridiculed, admired, openly pointed and gawked at for the majority of his years because he was a genius, and a good looking one at that. People simply didn't know how to handle him. People approached him, and the second he opened his mouth, they would fall back, slightly star-struck at whatever witty comment he'd decided to throw at them. He took no small pleasure in driving people off with his biting sarcasm and tightly laced insults. Light was not an affable person by nature, and when he decided to be charming for whatever reason, that was precisely was it was…a decision. Few people were worth his time, he found…and while it was easier to keep up appearances and keep the resentment low, he found it tiring. Usually towards the end of his three month wait, in the weeks before his concerts, that's when he'd drop all pretense of being a nice person, and stop worrying about it.
This was an entirely different matter, because the man wasn't really doing anything. He came to the concerts, took his seat, and enjoyed the music, just as Light did. He watched Light for about half the performance, but when Light had glanced at him, he still seemed lost in the music, he just happened to be looking in Light's direction. No, that was too general…he was looking at Light, he was sure of it. Just…not directly.
He'd started disappearing during intermission, though. That offered some relief, and yet none at all. The man got under his skin when he just up and disappeared like that. Light thought once that perhaps he was being stalked, but the man didn't reappear until the last second before intermission was over. Ten minutes of…being alone like that…began to bother him. It was completely ridiculous of course, because the only reason he came here was to be alone. To get away from everything he knew, and yet this person…this complete stranger, had managed to work his way into his routine. Something as distanced as the concerts lent itself easily to routine, because each event was subsequent, a stand alone deal that fit into the grander scheme, painting a picture of a typical concert. Now that idea had the added note of an awkward staring session between him and this black-haired bare-foot man that sat like an abused child. If not for the gleam of intelligence in his eyes, if not for his obvious adoration of the music, Light might have thought him retarded. The notion was shattered as quickly as it was formed, however, because there was no way on earth that was possible. Light just…knew that the man was like him. He knew he was beyond intelligent, possibly another genius.
Bloody hell, he was gone again.
Light had glanced, irritated with himself for even doing that much, and found the seat empty. Tonight he was anxious, after a particularly stressful semester and his father's sudden doubling in cases. He'd been promoted, and the extra workload was starting to wear on them both. Light stood, forcing himself to leave the program on his chair and for the first time in the two years he'd been coming to the theatre, he left the stadium during intermission.
He headed straight across the lobby to stand by the windows, looking out into the fall night. It was clear and cold, and the stars fought valiantly to be seen against the city lights. It was calming, to be this close to the frigid glass, so close that the coldness formed a line between the heated the air inside and the raw chill outside. He stared out at nothing, looking off down the street as officials and professors bought brandy and fine wines at the bar across the room. On a whim, he headed back to the stairs, ascending to the third floor landing, the floor below his balcony. He'd never left during intermission before, so he didn't want to be too far away when the concert lights flashed again. The landing was a foot away from the glass wall he'd stood before a moment ago, and now he could see over rooftops. A single car drove past, and in the silence of it, it seemed to bring the night's stillness more to the front than break it.
He felt a presence beside him, a reflection of white in the glass telling him who it was before he turned. He merely glanced over his shoulder to acknowledge the stranger, his concert companion. The man said nothing, merely came to stand next to him and share the view. Neither moved nor spoke, and though Light wanted badly to turn and demand an explanation from him, he didn't. He wanted to…he wanted to turn and rant and shout at this stranger, demand something from him, anything…an explanation on hydroelectricity would have sufficed. Recognizing his paranoia for what it was, however, he contented himself to ignore the person's existence…for as long as possible.
Still, when he finally reached his breaking point, turning to open his mouth, he was interrupted smoothly. The man's eyes were much more…disturbing in person, but the voice that came from those lips was anything but expected. It was young, as young as his, and quiet.
"The concert is starting again. We should return to our seats." Light watched him turn and climb the last flight of stairs, turning left at the walkway. Light followed, watching him disappear around the wing, and then turned right, heading to his seat. He glanced over at him only once as the secondary warm up began. He received a short nod, and then his dark eyes were back on the stage.
Well, damn it.
Light left first, this time. He was out of his seat and in the stairwell before the majority of the guests had even made it to the hall. It was ridiculous, to feel this paranoid, to be this unnerved by a simple stare. He'd been tense, unforgiving in his satire and sadistic attitude. It was getting worse, until he almost dreaded his concerts as much as he craved them. The weeks before were hell on everyone he knew, and he really didn't give a damn. His escape was becoming his torture, and it infuriated him. This man, this stranger, was somehow managing to ruin his evenings.
He loosened his tie in irritation as people filed past him. Leaning on the rail, he waited, fully intending to break the silence tonight. Four concerts, four, and they'd shared intermissions here, in the stairs…just staring out into the night, watching seasons change, because time stood still in this building. He belonged in this world, even as a spectator, because there weren't enough people that truly experienced classical music. Thousands heard, but few hundreds understood. He supposed that he should feel some kind of camaraderie with the man, but all he inspired was this fierce uneasiness.
There, he was at the top of the stairs. Light didn't know how he knew this, but he did, and he knew every step he took after. The murmur of the crowd died as they descended, meeting with old friends and old coworkers on the bottom floor. The stranger came to stand next to him. He never stood straight, his back curved, making him shorter than Light. It was a lie, however, because Light was sure they were close to the same height. His hands were in his pockets, the dark circles under his eyes vicious in the moonlight coming in the window. Light wished he had the luxury of pockets and instead crossed his arms over his chest.
"You come here often." The man glanced sharply at him, surprised he'd broken their silent agreement not to speak to one another.
"Now that I am in Japan, I suppose. It took a while to find a theatre I liked."
"This is the only one in Tokyo that I come to."
"You seem the type to follow a routine." Light just nodded at that, refusing to look at the man he spoke to.
"Do you have a name?"
"I'd rather not tell you that just yet."
Damn the rain, damn November, and damn the bloody cold. Light turned his collar up against the wind and tried to hail a passing taxi. The fools were all but running from the people tonight…no one wanted to work in this weather. There was a limousine parked in front, but that wasn't at all uncommon. There had been a line of them when the theatre first opened its doors and the wealthy and the lucky came out mingled together in a single crowd.
The theatre was nearly empty by now, and Light wondered to himself why he never bothered to borrow the family car when he went out. He hated the subway, but that seemed to be the only option tonight. It meant he'd have to walk two blocks in the rain, then another five to get to his house. Damn it.
He glanced up when the man in white exited, surprised (and yet not) to find that he was still there. He watched, fully expecting his companion to open the door for him, and was surprised when the older gentlemen just took the keys from the chauffeur and got into the drivers seat. The man opened his own door and paused.
Light snapped his head away when the man looked at him, forcing himself not to pull his long coat tighter. He was freezing but there was no need for him to know that. Light found himself wondering how he could just stand there, barefoot in the slush, and not even blink at the cold.
He knew, anyway. Light knew he would.
He glanced back to find a curious expression on his face, a slight narrowing of the eyes as he watched the younger man shiver in the rain. Another taxi sped past, and Light cursed himself for missing it. The man hesitated in the door of his limo, then stepped back.
Light stared. He merely raised an eyebrow and gestured into the black car. How infuriating…Light didn't need or…well, he wanted it, but he wasn't about to accept it. The wind picked up, whipping cold rain directly into Light's face and making him hiss in irritation as his cheek went numb. The man, who was standing there with his lips pursed as the rain took him full on, opened his eyes again and called over the storm.
"You're trying my patience. Just get in the car."
And damn him, but Light went. He slipped into the limo like he was born to this life, and he hoped the bastard noticed. Blessed heat came rolling from strategically placed vents and he moved down the long seat to the inside of the car. He was peeling off his long over coat when the man slipped in after him and shut the door, casting him an irritated glance. Light folded the wet fabric in on itself to minimize the water escaping to the leather seat. He set the bundle next to his feet and glanced up to find the man watching him again.
Infuriating….and he didn't even know his name yet. Almost a year now, and he was still a stranger, completely, and utterly unknown. Those dark eyes were both foreign and familiar, and Light couldn't help but feel trapped beneath them.
Finally, with a sigh, he put his feet on the floor and reached to roll his long pants legs up. Once the wet fabric was hidden away within itself, they were almost an appropriate length. Light chuckled to himself, earning another frown from the man. He reached over and pulled a hand towel from a compartment beneath the mini bar and Light's amusement doubled as he tried to dry his hair somewhat. He leaned back again and his hair was spiked comically, even messier than its usual nest. Light slung his wet, but still straight, hair out of his face and grinned. The man looked like he wanted to throw the wet rag at him, but thought better of it.
"Do you drink coffee?"
The man nodded and leaned back in his seat, reaching to the panel over his head. Light glanced over his shoulder, trying to peer through the driver's window, but all he could see was his own reflection in the black glass and dim lights surrounding the open space.
"Coffee and then…" The man glanced down again. Light wasn't comfortable giving the man his address.
"The East Station please."
"Then to East Station and home."
"Very well then. And yes, son, I can see you." Light whipped around to peer at the black glass again, and a quiet chuckle came over the intercom. He waved blindly before turning back around. The warmth was amazing, and he was soon relaxing in his seat, ignoring the cold water dripping to his shoulders. The city glazed by the window in a foggy haze of lights and brief pauses. The man fiddled with the panel and Bach came over the speakers, Concerto in D minor. He gazed in surprise at the stranger, but the man ignored him, digging in the compartment for something. A box of cookies, it turned out, and he leaned back with a small smile, his hand already in the package. Light just shook his head…this man was almost insane. The dark eyes glanced up him, a smattering of crumbs along one cheek as he spoke. Light couldn't help but grin a bit.
"Bach is your favorite, yes?"
Light nodded. "What's yours?"
"Mozart." Ah, that explained a few things. Complicated, subtle, dizzying with its ability to draw the mind through its various emotions and leave it breathless with the dance. He thought about it for a moment…
"It almost makes sense."
"Bach suits you perfectly as well."
"How did you know?"
"It was in the way you smiled."
"Oh." Light shook his head. "Well…almost two years since we met, but at least I know your composer now."
The man shrugged, nibbling at a cookie. "If you consider meeting my eyes across three hundred feet of empty space an introduction, I suppose so."
"I'm not an overly friendly person."
"Nor am I. In fact I'm still wondering what you're doing in my car."
"Yeah…me too. Do I get a name now?"
Light hadn't really expected it anyway. They came to a stop, and Light reached for his jacket before he remembered that they were pausing for coffee. The man watched him, a thumb coming to his lips. Light was right…he bit it.
"I make you nervous." Light's eyebrows rose but he didn't deny it as he leaned back in his seat again. The strangers head turned to the side a bit as he regarded him. "You bluff it well, but you're very tense to be striking such a relaxed a pose."
Light rolled his eyes and stretched his legs out, crossing his arms loosely over his chest. "Better?"
The man chuckled. "You're very arrogant, you know."
"Yes. I do." The door opened, and his reply died on his lips as he wordlessly accepted to cups of coffee from the older man. He passed one off to Light, and the younger man watched with sick fascination as a fistful of sugar packets were dropped into his empty palm. A murmured thank you and the door closed again. Light sipped his own coffee, and was pleased to find it strong and black, just as he liked it. It was a good brand, and he thought he recognized it, though he couldn't make out the café name through the tinted glass.
He took another sip, watching the man decimate fifteen sugar packs into his cup before commenting wryly, "You like your sugar."
"Your powers of observation amaze me." Light was almost offended until he realized the man was joking, his lips turned up in that smile again. He contented himself to sipping his own and staring out the window. Twenty, he found himself counting, went into the cup before he gave it a final stir and put the lid back on. He tapped the panel.
"Okay, we're ready." The limo started moving again, and Light could tell this was an age old practice between the two. He was curious, he had to admit, but he obviously wasn't getting any answers tonight.
An hour later, he was walking the five blocks to his home, soaked to the bone. Any memory of the warmth from the limo was distant at best, and if not for the rapidly cooling coffee in his hands, he might not have believed it had happened at all. H almost wished that he had given him the address, but he waved the thought off. It was smart of him not to; he knew nothing about the man. The urge was just him sulking because he was cold and wet. Nothing more.
"Sit with me." Light glanced up to find the stranger next to him in line. His season pass for the last year expired, and he was in line to renew it now. The man stared at him expectantly, both hands deep in his pockets. He was bare foot again…
"Wouldn't they throw you out for that?"
"We have an agreement."
"I sponsor here."
"Oh. You're rather spoiled, you know that?"
"Yes. Sit with me."
"What about your companion?"
"The spirit is willing, but his knees are not."
"Arthritis?" The man nodded, and Light moved forward with the line, regarding the stranger with a stare to rival his own. The dark eyes faltered, and he sighed.
"What do you want?"
"Your name. Tell me that and I'll sit with you." The man frowned at him, nibbling at his thumb again. People were beginning to stare, but neither of them cared. Light would have sat with him anyway if it meant an end to the staring. He was really just pushing the envelope to see if he'd get it this time.
"You may call me L." Light sighed, but supposed that was something.
"My name is Light. If I sit with you, will you refrain from staring at me this season?"
The man smiled. "So you were paying attention. I did not mean to stare at first, truly…it's just nice to know that some one else can appreciate the work the way that I can."
"At first? What about later?"
"I just wanted to see if you'd notice. You're quite amusing when you're frustrated."
"…Very well then." The man…L, as it were, reached forward and pulled him along as he left the line, heading for the stairs. Light snatched himself out of the grip at his arm. "I haven't bought my ticket yet!"
"I have already purchased it for you." That irritating smirk was back as his hand slipped into his pocket and pulled out the laminated card. Light stared at him, furious.
"You bought it anyway."
"There was only a thirty-two percent chance that you would turn me down. I rather thought you'd demand my name and if I gave you one, that percentage dropped even lower."
"…L-san, you're insane."
"Just the opposite in fact, but I'm sure you've figured that out by now, Light-san." It was strange, very strange, to be addressed by name after two years of silence between them. L shifted, idly scratching his leg with a foot. "I would also like to extend an invitation for you to use my limo."
"You're offering me a ride home?" L nodded, biting at his thumb again as he stared out the window. Light thought about taxis, with their dirty floors and smoke-stained windows. He thought about the prices, especially, overcharging bastards. The subway, with its crowded trains and filthy stations…they were almost enough to ruin the concerts completely. Still, Light refused to answer him for a moment, just to be an ass. He turned back, frowning and looking a bit put-out. Light shook his head.
"If it's no problem, I'd appreciate it." L grinned again and headed up the stairs without another word. Light again felt that flash of irritation, but it was another Bach concert tonight, so he didn't allow it to bother him for too long. L waved down at someone once he reached the top floor, and Light noticed the older gentleman was waving back from the ground floor. Light nodded a greeting to him, and got a grandfatherly smile back. It was strange, to share his nights with other people.
L led them to his row while Light slipped the new pass and his unspent money into his wallet. It was still in the nose-bleed section, but in the center of it this time. L slid into his seat and Light checked his seat number before putting his wallet away. He was on L's left, and as he sat he noticed what he couldn't see before because of the distance. L's eyes lit up when the orchestra began to enter. They'd entered almost half an hour before the show even begun and L had to have an agreement with the theatre because the ushers let him in without another word. Light felt a spark of jealousy, but it died quickly as L leaned to ask him, "What's your favorite instrument, Light-kun?"
L paused, rolling his eyes to the ceiling as he considered the question. "I suppose that against my better judgment, I've come to consider you a friend."
He glanced back at him. "Is that too forward of me?"
"I've realized that everything about you is forward, L." Light leaned back in his chair, and considered the nearly empty stage, watching as the crewmen began to set out the chairs for the performance. "I don't have a favorite."
"You lie." L smirked at him again, and turned to regard the stage again. "I'd bet on the trumpets…perhaps the piano."
"What's yours?" Light's irritation was carefully hidden, but the man glanced at him again anyway.
"Don't be upset. I've been observing you for a while now. Mine are the violins, undoubtedly."
Soon the doors opened to the public and the guests began filing in. The orchestra itself began to assemble, and the first stray notes of the warm up began, ringing through the air. Light hated to admit it, but the peace again returned to the scene now that the stranger was at his side. It was difficult to explain, even more difficult to deal with. He'd spent years coming to this theatre alone. Then this man showed up, and everything had changed now. He shouldn't feel this relaxed knowing that there was someone else this close. Yet, he didn't feel as though he were sharing anything. This man had his own fascination, so Light wasn't really losing anything by sitting next to him.
It was still annoying as hell. However, once the music began, Light found L resting his chin on his knees and ignoring him. That was some relief at least, and he didn't have to worry for long. Bach always eased his mind, and soon he was smiling, ignoring everything but those beautiful tones emanating from the trained professionals on the floor. It was one of his lesser known pieces, but they played it with no less respect. The violins picked up, and Light felt L twitch a bit next to him. Being this close allowed him to see all the details he'd wondered about from a distance, the way his eyes were actually half closed when he finally wrapped his arms around his knees. It was nice. Nicer than he expected it to be.