A/N: A change of pace here, nothing funny. Came to me when I was doing the dishes. Water always gives me ideas. Bathroom, toilet, kitchen sink, anywhere it's bloody inconvenient to grab a pen and start writing XD

DISCLAIMER: Death Note is not mine, cute guys are not mine, just this story is mine.

JAPANESE TRANSLATION: anta no baka – fucking idiot.


"Why do you like it up here?" I say. I don't see the attraction myself. The wind is cold up here on the roof and there's a smell of rain in the air, clouds hovering low.

"I don't know, Yagami-kun," you say. "I just do. It's empty. I'm alone. Nothing and nobody else."

Thanks, I think, I'm nobody. Charming, Ryuuzaki. So polite. Not.

You look up at the sky, there's nothing to see but clouds but you look anyway. Your hair blows around your face, your shirt bagging and billowing in the wind. Of course, you didn't bring a coat with you. No point expecting you to do anything as sensible as that.

I sigh, pointedly, but you take no notice. I didn't really expect that you would. So I resign myself to standing here freezing while you commune with nature or whatever the hell it is you're doing.

I look down and realise that you don't even have shoes on. Why am I surprised? Do you ever have shoes on? Well, yes, when you were pretending to be a University student you did.

Not at the entrance exam though. I remember you had your bare feet up on your desk. The invigilator wasn't too thrilled about that. When he told you to sit properly, I turned around to see what was happening and there you were. A weed in a field of flowers. I'd never seen anything like you and I had to turn around several times after that to be sure I didn't imagine you. You seemed like some kind of fairytale creature, a spirit, a kami, a karasu-tengu with the ability to transform into a crow. Your black, wild, feather-fashion hair certainly suggested it.

I see you're shivering, you're so exasperating sometimes, you have no idea how to take care of yourself.

"It's going to rain, Ryuuzaki," I say.

"Yes," you murmur, absently, as if you're not really listening. "It often does that, up here."

You don't seem about to move, so I take off my jacket and put it over your shoulders. I'm not sure you even notice. Do you ever notice anything about me? Except that you think I'm a killer. And that I'm useful to you, helping you by investigating my own supposed crimes, only you could have come up with that twisted idea.

I stay where I am after that, standing close behind you, perhaps I can shelter you from the wind. You're so underweight, I think it's almost possible you might blow away, right off the roof. Of course, then everyone would blame me, say I pushed you off because you found out I was Kira. I'm so tired of these games we play. I know I'm innocent – but there's no way I can find to convince you.

The wind changes direction, slaps you in the face and you recoil, brushing up against me. I put up my hands to catch you, holding your arms, your back pressed against me. Your hair blows back from your face, black silk ribbons, and you turn to look at me.

That's when it happens. How did I not know before now? Why this sudden revelation? On the roof for God's sake?

I stare at you. Down at you. We're the same height but your posture is appalling. How can you be such a mess and be so fucking beautiful, all at the same time?

You don't pull away from me, just turn your face back into the wind and shut me out again. And I'm left staring at you, my mind horrified, my body on fire despite the coldness of the wind.

I'm in love with you. I say it to myself and it takes on a life of its own, hangs there in front of me like a death sentence, like the gallows noose. Am I crazy? Why would I love someone who knows as much about such matters as – as the damn wind does! Don't I have a choice about this I ask, turning my own face up to the heavens, feeling the first spatter of rain on my head.

You don't seem to notice the rain. I've never seen you like this before, so far away from everything. I want to take you inside before you get soaked, but whatever it is you're doing, you're doing it with an intensity I don't want to break into. I slide my arms right around you and wait, the rain pattering then splashing then bouncing around us, dripping off my hair and face, pasting my shirt to my body.

You sigh and almost slump into my arms. I hold you, it seems you might fall. You twist around to face me, maybe you're trying to get free but I don't feel like letting go just yet. Who knows when I'll ever get to do this again? Maybe never.

"It's raining, Raito-kun," you say to me and the familiarity with my name makes me happy.

"I know," I say. "I told you it would."

"You're wet," you say, and move as if to take off my coat.

"Keep it," I say. "It's too late for me."

You look up at that, staring into my eyes. Are you wondering if I just confessed to you? I did, Ryuuzaki, but not the confession you're hoping for.

"We should go in," you say. "It would seem like cruel and unusual punishment for me to let my suspect catch pneumonia."

I let go of you, follow you inside, down the stairs.

"I'm hungry," you say. You're always hungry and no wonder, your diet isn't exactly high in nutrients. I'd like to cook you a decent meal for once – anta no baka, Raito, I tell myself, what the fuck are you thinking?

So we go to our room and we sit, you eating, me drying myself. I've lost my appetite. It gives me some kind of dark satisfaction to see I have at least one of the typical symptoms. Maybe I won't be able to sleep either? Maybe I'll just lie awake, listening to you working, then listening to you breathing.

You pick up your fork in that odd grasp and I watch you from beneath my towel. Imagine those slim, elegant fingers on my skin. Touching me.

You cut a piece of cake with your fork, place it in your mouth. Your mouth. I think of kissing. I think of your mouth all over me. I shudder and you glance at me with concern, you think I'm cold. I don't think I'll ever be cold again, Ryuuzaki.

I've never commited a crime. Much less the torrent of murders you feel justified in accusing me of. But I'm going to be punished anyway. Every time I look at you and hope, for once, you'll look back at me the same way. Every time I have to pretend friendship when what I feel is so much more. Every time you eat or sleep or sit in that strange way or talk or breathe or just exist where I can see you. Thanks, Ryuuzaki, good phrase, I'll use it often. Cruel and unusual punishment.