Amane Misa found out later that he was an amnesiac.

The afternoon deepened into dusk. The indigo and black night was in stark contrast with the sterile whiteness of the hospital. People of all kinds occupied the place. She couldn't take her eyes off them. Young, old, healthy or not she was reminded of their fragility.

They were all humans struggling to survive.

Some of them were hurt. Most of them were hurting. A lot of them were bleeding or fighting to live. She mused that the real reason hospitals existed was not because of living but because people were afraid of dying.

The tenacity of human beings awed her. They continued to try, to fight, to put up a resistance against illnesses and accidents. They were stubborn and plucky, she smiled. It's amazing.

When she received the news, she was shocked. It wasn't what she expected. The young man had flown through the air and landed on his head. It was how he lost his memories.

She was ready to send him off to his relatives, if he had any, until she was also informed that he had no ID. There was no personal identification, no proof of existence. They could search for it, if she liked. But the chances of locating any information about him were close to impossible. She couldn't believe her ears.

The young man lying on the next room with no memories and purplish bruises didn't exist.

She wondered what hurt more: losing your body or losing your soul.

If the soul held the memories and it fled, what would happen then? Would the body survive? Would a new soul come out? She got scared at the thought that she couldn't say thank you and I'm sorry to the poor young man with pretty black hair and pale white skin.

There was only one thing she could do. She couldn't live with guilt and regret forever. Whatever happened she must recover his memories. Then she would consider herself paid to her debt.

She shook her head when they suggested other options for her savior. For once she was adamant. No, she wouldn't like to let him stay at the hospital. No thank you, she didn't want to make him go to a mental institution run by a non-government organization.

"He's my savior. Misa-Misa must save him." Misa said firmly "Misa-Misa is indebted to him. She will care for him."

It took a lot of calls to everyone from her manager to her boss until she got what she wanted.

Nobody could say no to her.

So Misa found herself with a responsibility.

She couldn't be any happier.


When he woke up, he first thought about sunshine.

The sunshine was in her hair. It was plaited into two braids and it seemed to him that they carried iridescence, radiance, a halo. She was dressed in a white baby-doll dress with white sandals that exposed pretty feet. His second thought was about innocence.

It was early morning. He tried to remember what day it was. After a lot of pain he gave up. If he didn't take a peek at the calendar on his bedside, he wouldn't have known. He frowned.

Then he realized that he remembered nothing.

A brief pause before he said aloud, "Who are you and what have you done to me?"

She stared. "I-I'm Amane Misa. You saved me."

He stared at her with large dark eyes with long lashes. She was very pretty. He couldn't take his eyes off her. She mentioned that he saved her. But since he didn't have his memory of that then did that really happen?

"See this?" The blonde girl, Misa-san he decided, showed an arm whose smoothness was marred by white gauze. "I got this when you pushed me. You're my savior!"


Savior? The word stuck.

He thought hard about that. Seeing believed. He couldn't deny the possibility that she was telling the truth. But it still left out a lot of things.

The train of thought was rudely blocked when she enveloped him in an impulsive embrace. A cloud of warm and fragrant smells made him lightheaded. Not even aware, he leaned into her bosom and inhaled.

"Thank you," she said cheerfully "you're my hero!"

He liked the sound of that.


Misa found out that he was very healthy- except for his lost memory.

Forging papers and faking documents for her, her manager managed to get release forms for him.

She couldn't believe it when she realized that she was truly going to be in charge of him. It was surreal. Walking upstairs to his room to announce that they were going home, she smiled all the way. She wasn't lonely anymore.

Pushing the door back she was greeted by the young man sitting in a crouch on a chair. He was also biting his thumb while contemplating on solving a puzzle called Rubik's Cube. She stared as he solved the multicolored cube puzzle in a matter of seconds.

"How did you do that?" she gasped.

"I don't know," he answered dully.

"Don't you remember anything?" she asked, curious. The doctor said he might, after a few days.

A shake of the head answered her question.

She approached him, eyes sad. He took her hand and pressed it to his face. Her heart went out to him. She climbed up on the bed and sat with him until he let go.

"You've got no name, no address and no identity," she said quietly. It was strange that she felt glad and relieved at the same time for that. Somehow it reassured her that he was hers and hers alone. "I'm sorry. I tried my best. Can you forgive me?"

"I can," the dark-haired boy said "what's going to happen to me, Misa-san?"

"I'll take care of you," Amane Misa said and she pulled him into her second embrace. He stiffened for a second before he relaxed. Then he snuggled closer and she felt warm. In the warm glow of sunshine they were sister and lover, dark and bright.

"You're mine."


Later, she had an idea.

"You need a name," she suggested cheerfully. He liked it when her blue eyes were sparkling. "Can I give you one?"

"A name," he repeated. His brows were knitted.

"Like mine," she shrugged unselfconsciously "Amane Misa. You must have one!"

"I'm no one. I'm nothing." He said flatly.

"You're someone to me," Misa declared as she went to the window, deep in thought. It was Indian summer. She couldn't wait until she got out of the stuffy hospital. She wanted to bring him into the world.

He sat on his unusual way, legs drawn up and arms around them. His eyes remained on her. She turned and gazed at him thoughtfully. He was Japanese like her except that the purity of his features suggested foreign blood of sorts. When he talked, his voice had a trace of an accent. It made her think of warm fires, black umbrellas and rainy mornings in dark gray buildings…

"Marcus," she suggested, counting off her fingers "Lawrence, King, Jack…"

"L," his voice rose swiftly in excitement "isn't that a letter?"

"L," she tried it. It felt strangely familiar and wonderful on her tongue. "L for loveless, lifeless, luxury…"

"L for Law," his eyes shone.

Misa laughed. It was a magnificent sound. "You understand English," she said wonderingly "Don't you want a proper name?"

"L is fine," L murmured decisively "because Misa-san gave it."

L it is.


Leaving the hospital gave them a sense of freedom.

Their hands were linked. She was protective of him. He clung to her.

Their lives were suddenly intertwined.