Chapter Text
_____________________
“What are you staring at?”
Nothing, really.
He’s staring at the way the cityscape glitters and dances along the skyline and how the tops of broadcast towers bleed red light onto dark clouds. Ide’s stomach sank initially, mistaking the warm strip across the horizon as daylight breaking and thinking they’d worked until morning, but no— just city light reflected on the night sky. He’s unsure if he’s loopy from lack of sleep and his eyes are blurring and morphing the view into some surreal colorful scene, or if it’s always been this strangely beautiful and he’s just never noticed.
But it’s far too late at night to put all of that into coherent words and he’s not sure he wants to distract Matsuda further by answering his question when they’re supposed to be finishing their reports.
“Nothing, really. Just tired.” Ide pulls his gaze from the window and returns his focus to the incident report he started an hour ago and somehow has yet to put a dent in. And there are three more to get through before their night is done…
It’s always the same. Same circumstances, same heart attacks. It’s important to keep track; note the demographic of victims, locations, times of death— he knows. But as Kira deaths pile up as they always do, something that should be so horrific has become mundane, his eyes glazing over each body displayed as text on a screen. They roll in without fail, filling the quota he’s come to expect each day. And perhaps these thoughts are in poor taste, but he’s certain everyone on the investigation team feels it.
Matsuda peers at him from the corner of his eye before opening a file and scrolling the page mindlessly. He taps the keys only to backspace then leisurely type out the same line again.
…He’s not really doing any work, is he? Ide sighs, then reminds himself it’s not like he’s getting much done, either.
“That’s not like you,” Matsuda says under his breath.
“What? To be tired? I think that’s ‘like’ all of us for the last several years.” He speaks bluntly, but he knows his annoyance is somewhat feigned, secretly relieved to stall completing his work.
“No, it’s just…” Matsuda shakes his head. “What I mean is you usually power through. You’re not the type to daydream– or nightdream? Well, you’re not the type, anyway.”
Ide lets out a scoff and pretends he’s completed his report, clicking open a new file. “You don’t know what type I am.”
“The too serious type.”
“No, I think you’re just the overly carefree type, Matsuda.” He feels the hint of a smile shine through his words and before he can think, he’s reaching out a hand to ruffle Matsuda’s hair, surprised by how natural the gesture feels. Aizawa had once offhandedly remarked that the two of them seemed close, and at the time he’d been caught off guard by the comment, didn’t understand it. It’s not like he and Matsuda were any more or less close than anyone else on the Kira Task Force— coworkers sharing the same stuffy apartment suite for often days on end, so sure, the circumstances are a little unusual, but they’re all in the same boat. Then again, it’s moments like this, his fingers lingering longer than they should in soft dark hair, when Aizawa’s observation rings true in his ears.
Matsuda returns his smile and lightly bats his hand away. “…Then you don’t know what type I am, either.”
“Yeah, right. I can read you like an open book.”
Maybe they really are close. Maybe he already knew that. He’d love to be able to claim he never gave it much thought, never read into the easy flow of their conversations or the comfortable silences they share. But the truth is, he has thought about it. Many times over. (Too many to count—) He still thinks about it.
Matsuda turns to look over his shoulder, something outside the window catching his attention. Ide follows his line of sight to that same strip of red across the skyline he’d been entranced with earlier.
“It looks like a sunrise, doesn’t it? I mean, thank god it’s not,” Matsuda laughs. That bright and lifting sound. And Ide realizes he doesn’t mind filling out these reports as cruel and devastating and endless as they may seem. In this room where the air is stale and the surrounding monitors never seem to flicker off and give them pause for rest— he doesn’t mind it so much, so long as he can keep hearing that pleasant sound. Matsuda turns to face him. “It’s the light from the city shining on the clouds, I think. Sometimes it makes the whole sky turn red. Strange, huh? Have you ever noticed?”
“…No, I haven’t.”
“It’s pretty.” Matsuda cranes his neck to stare at the view again.
Ide doesn’t. “It is.”
They quietly soak in the scene and for a moment HQ disappears and they’re somewhere else entirely, some alternate reality where Kira never rose to power or even existed in the first place. In a world like that, maybe they could have worked a normal case together that didn’t consume their every waking moment. Or maybe they never would have met at all. …And on second thought, he doesn’t want anything to do with that hypothetical.
Ide settles heavier in his seat, to the presence next to him —this small moment in time— and finally gives Matsuda a nudge and tells him to get back to work, or else it really will be sunrise by the time they’re done.
___________
January 26, 2010
Only two days until…
Until what?
Near kept it absurdly vague on the call yesterday morning. A meeting at the specified location, some abandoned warehouse in Yokohama called Yellow Box where they’ll come face to face with the SPK for the first time and Near will share his evidence. Lay everything out on the table— some revelation that will bring this case to a close and put an end to Kira. So Near claims.
Or, according to Aizawa, it’ll be the day Light attempts to eliminate every single person in that warehouse, including the Kira Task Force. Including them.
Aizawa’s more restless than Ide’s ever seen him these days, and it unsettles him more than he thought it would. Caught him pacing the lobby of their building on multiple occasions when he thought no one was looking, then outside the glass doors, cigarette in hand, a habit Ide thought he broke years ago. Distress painted across his face, clearly shaken from the burden of having more seeds of doubt sown after speaking with Near on the phone. Aizawa told him bits and pieces of their conversations, including something about Near informing him the Task Force is essentially out of the picture as far as the case is concerned. When Aizawa relayed that information, Ide shot him a look that said, Bullshit, because they’re the ones who have had to work with the suspect, hell, practically live with him, for the last five years.
Aizawa winced at that, but gave him a resigned nod. “I know. But we need all the help we can get,” he’d said. “And Near seems to know what he’s doing.”
So it appears Aizawa’s placing all his trust in Near. And most of the time, he’s inclined to think Aizawa’s decision is the right one, equal parts dependable and convincing as he is. Someone whose opinion he trusts.
But Ide also knows that righteous nature of his can sometimes manifest itself as being downright stubborn. An unwillingness to consider other possibilities, one of those many possibilities being all of their deaths at the hands of Light. If Light is indeed Kira and he’s been deceiving them since the first day he joined the case, then there’s no doubt in Ide’s mind someone so cunning would be perfectly capable of killing them off in one fell swoop. He’s always been like that, after all; one step ahead. He was certainly a step ahead of the first L, wasn’t he?
(So then what chance do we really have?)
But, as the Kira Task Force, they’ve got to do something. Because if they leave it all up to Near, and then Near can’t outsmart him, if Near gets them all killed in two days—
…
…Even if they were to take matters into their own hands, what on earth would they do? One misstep, and Light may as well do away with them before they even reach the 28th. Powerless as they’ve ever been during this entire godforsaken investigation…
So maybe it is all hopeless and they’re sitting ducks playing the part of a team until Light inevitably puts them out of their misery. Seems silly to be wasting his time at headquarters right now doing busywork when they'll probably all be dead in a couple days time. He should be cherishing these last moments alive saying goodbye to his loved ones.
And who would those loved ones be, exactly?
Fine. Maybe this is exactly where he belongs, sitting here at HQ on another thankless, late night.
The news hums in the background as it always does; Today’s Miss Takada flickering onto their screens at 9 o'clock right on schedule. Footage of her adoring fans flooding the street outside the broadcast station plays, the crowd clamoring over one another, faces bright with some twisted mix of desperation and worship.
Takada’s voice speaks calmly over a small disruption breaking out amongst the sea of people. …Some poor soul who doesn’t have the sense to shut his mouth in public. He can’t be more than 20 years old. Just a kid. He raises a sign, eliciting nothing more than a few heads turning his way as he shouts into the masses in a sorry attempt to incite an anti-Kira protest. Before the crowd’s even really registered his presence, he’s apprehended by several of Takada’s bodyguards, clad in black suits, carrying heavy black Glocks that normally wouldn’t be allowed anywhere near the streets of Tokyo. But things haven’t been “normal” in a very long time.
Ide’s heart is in his throat as he watches the boy wildly thrash in their grip, the struggle earning him a severe hit to the temple with the butt of a gun, and his neck… His neck goes limp and his head just hangs there, thick blood spilling over his face— until the footage cuts and the screen goes dark for half a second, then promptly cuts back to Takada sitting there at her desk, expression unfazed. Clean, polished. A sterile set on a cream colored backdrop, safe from the cruel display below at street level. Unstained by that red trickle of blood surely pooling on the asphalt as she speaks, able to so easily wash her hands of this.
He can only observe the screen with hollow eyes and a suppressed gag for so long before he has to look away. But her gentle voice continues to shake him. He takes solace in focusing on the opposite wall, surface blank and cloaked in shadow. Devoid of any of this insanity.
Bleak as it is, this room has essentially become their second home. It's changed location since returning to Japan, but somehow stays fundamentally the same. The mood hangs too dark and the monitors shine too bright. He sits hunched over on the sofa, an ache crawling up his spine that’s only grown worse throughout the night. Aizawa’s been anchored to a desk at the other side of the room for god knows how long, his back turned to him. He’s hardly spoken a word since this morning, and so it comes as a surprise when his voice emerges out of the darkness, low and direct.
“Keep an eye on Matsuda until the meeting on the 28th, would you?”
“…What?” Ide blinks, adjusting to the dim room as well as the sudden request. “Why?”
“Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed. Matsuda and Light-kun— they’ve been practically joined at the hip for the last couple months.” He turns in his chair to face him. “It doesn’t sit right with me.”
Of course he’s noticed. How could he not? His hand spreads over the couch cushion next to him, over soft linen and little loose threads, a spot usually filled by…
He can’t meet Aizawa’s eyes, opting instead to untangle microphone and earpiece kit wires that scatter the table in front of him. “You know how it is with Matsuda. He’s always admired Light-kun. It’s not unusual behavior for him.”
Aizawa shoots him an incredulous look before hauling himself up from his desk. “It’s just to be safe. I don’t want any more of a wedge driven between us, especially at a time like this.” He makes his way over to Ide on tired limbs, coming to lean on the arm of the couch. Pinches his brow. “All I’m asking is that you… I don’t know, talk to him.”
“You reek of cigarettes, you know.”
“Yeah, well, that’s really the least of my worries these days. Don’t change the topic.”
“Hm. What does Eriko have to say about it?”
Aizawa breathes out a weary laugh. “I barely step in the door before I have to leave again. I don’t think she has time to notice. And even if she does, we… we don’t talk much.”
Ide doesn’t push it. He can’t begin to imagine maintaining a functional marriage with their work situation, much less with kids. Aizawa has his permission to smoke two packs a day if that’s what’s keeping him sane right now. He lets the subject pass. “I’m not sure Matsuda will listen to me. Why do you want me to do it?”
“What do you mean? You and Matsuda are close, aren’t you?”
“…”
___________
“Close,” huh?
Aizawa’s words replay in Ide’s head over the next several hours, flitting in and out of his thoughts as he alternates between half-hearted work and staring out the window at low hanging clouds. It looks like rain.
He’s aware Aizawa’s preoccupied with keeping tabs on Light rather than noticing the deteriorating relationship between his other coworkers, but why the hell did he have to say that? Shouldn’t it be obvious enough? He lets out an agitated sigh.
He eyes Matsuda, who finally decided to join them after spending the majority of the work day upstairs in Light’s suite. He’s planted himself in the armchair in the corner of the room, lounged back with his chin resting in one hand, the other typing away at a report on his laptop. Ide packed up his bag, his umbrella, and other belongings long ago. Aizawa as well. It’s late. So late, it may very well be past twelve, the sky drenched in heavy black. Matsuda never used to like working after midnight if he could help it– that’s not– it’s just not who he is.
…But Light also works late.
So, no, they haven’t been “close” for a long time. Haven’t even really interacted, not since the explosion three months ago in L.A. at the Mafia base. Since Mello died and took Deputy Director Yagami out with him. When they were all still broken and bandaged and then Matsuda just had to think out loud and announce to the room that while he doesn’t claim to support Kira—
“Do you guys ever think that maybe Kira isn’t completely evil?”
—he wasn’t ready to outright condemn him, either.
“I guess I must be crazy or something, huh…?”
While he could tell Matsuda regretted saying it out loud, that was all; it wasn’t as though he regretted thinking it, or worse, believing it. Whether they’d admit it or not, his confession that night would stick in their minds for the foreseeable future. It managed to thoroughly rattle all of them. All of them… except Light. While he and Aizawa reacted with instant shock and push-back, Light responded with ease and confidence, with warm acceptance. Folded Matsuda’s doubts up neatly in the palm of his hand and relinquished him of guilt.
“No, you’re not crazy. You’re normal.”
That’s when things started to change.
Ide remembers the shift in Matsuda’s expression well— disheartened gaze pulled from the floor and guided up to a beacon of grace and approval and transformed into something new, something Ide had never seen before. Something that pulsated in his head and heated his face and made him want to grab Light by the collar and make him shut his mouth, though he couldn't articulate the reasons why at the time.
But it made sense that Matsuda would so easily fall under the spell of such a seemingly insignificant line. Why shouldn’t he? Presence acknowledged by Yagami Light, the man with all the answers. Alluring words full of solace that sweep love-starved people like Matsuda off their feet.
He convinced himself to write it off at first. Ignored the way Matsuda’s eyes followed Light around the room the following weeks, the cheery “good morning”s and the yearning looks accompanying his “goodnight”s, his taking every small opportunity he could to inch closer to the man, bump shoulders or brush past him in the hall. Those interactions were tolerable because Matsuda… he’d always had a fondness for Light, maybe even something akin to a crush. But Light had never indulged it or reciprocated it. No, of course not.
Until he inexplicably did.
It was evident in the late nights. In the way Matsuda found a sudden sense of investment in the case, working later and later into the small hours of the morning until the rest of the Task Force eventually all returned home and left him behind at headquarters with Light. The way Ide turned the corner to the kitchenette one morning and caught them smiling, talking. Light, as reserved as he’d become since the death of his father, uncharacteristically half sitting on the counter next to Matsuda with a relaxed arm around his shoulder. Their faces were close, too close, and Matsuda parted from Light’s grasp with a small jerk when he noticed Ide in the doorway like he’d walked in on something—
Their relationship is evident tonight, as well. It’s gotten worse in the last month with Mogi and Amane detained by the SPK, because Light lives alone now, and so naturally the time Matsuda spends at HQ has only grown more frequent. Come to think of it, when was the last time he went home to his own apartment? The cluttered one bedroom unit is probably long abandoned, save for when Matsuda stops by to pick up a change of clothes.
And so it’s evident tonight as it always is… as Matsuda shows no signs of leaving for the night.
Ide inches his arm through the sleeve of his coat, drawing out the simple process. He finds his gaze consistently drawn back to Matsuda, afraid he’ll slip away back upstairs to Light’s suite if he loses sight of him for even a moment. A small hope lives in the back of his mind that Matsuda will stand from his chair and bundle himself up in his jacket and muffler and the two of them will brave the cold on the way to the train station as they always used to, walking at a brisk pace, Matsuda smiling like an idiot and running ahead of him. Nearly tripping over himself to tease Ide over his shoulder, goading him to keep up. Wide grin, hair disheveled by a gust of winter wind. Back when things found a way to be simple and happy and carefree despite it all.
Aizawa pauses under the front doorway and glances at his watch, then catches Ide’s attention and gestures to Matsuda with a nod of his head. An expectant look. Before he can react, Aizawa’s stepped out and closed the door behind him, leaving him to… do what? What exactly does Aizawa expect him to say? There was a time in the past when being alone in a room with Matsuda would have felt natural. Comforting, even. But now it’s hollow and strained, and staying feels like intruding, and it’s really pathetic he ever thought they shared anything beyond friendly workplace pleasantries, so he should probably just leave. There’s nothing he can do or say to change things, anyway. He needs to leave—
“What time is it?” Matsuda shuts his laptop and stretches his limbs. Squints at him as he yawns.
So much for that. “…Morning, maybe.”
Matsuda throws his head up to groan at the ceiling. “No way… Really?”
“So, c’mon. Let’s go.”
Please.
Ide braces, biting the inside of his cheek and somehow unable to look Matsuda in the eye. Because he’s taking a chance and maybe, just maybe, this time will be different. “I think it’s started to rain, but if we leave now we can make it to the station before it gets any heavier. Besides, you’ve always hated working late, so why don’t we get out of here?” It’s a question, but it mostly sounds like pleading. He finally brings himself to face Matsuda, but the answer is clear on his face before he speaks a word. It’s the way he shrinks into his chair. The way his pitying eyes look up at him.
“Oh, I’d like to, Ide, but…” Matsuda searches for the right excuse. “The case is really all I can think about right now. You know, so much has been going on lately.”
That’s not true, Ide thinks. It’s glaringly apparent Light has been purposefully running their investigation into the ground these past three weeks. Zero progress has been made for no reason in particular, other than Light realizing he no longer needs to keep up this charade.
…Ah.
He hates this.
“You’ve been sticking close to Light-kun lately.” He could really mess this up right now if he wanted to. Maybe he’d like to, maybe he— “Like tonight. This is how many nights in a row you’ve stayed over, now? If I didn’t know better, I’d think there was something going on between the two of you.” He adds a laugh, like it’s a joke.
Matsuda chokes on nothing, gasping for a response that doesn't quite come. Once he finds his breath, his words are nervous as he stumbles out some sort of half-formed defense. “I don’t… I mean, why would you think that– It’s not like that.”
Matsuda’s a bad actor and it pisses him off that he thinks he can convince him of such an obvious lie. You really didn’t think anyone had noticed? And even though Ide already suspected their relationship, there’s something about confirming it that makes him feel so hopelessly foolish.
His rational side tugs at him and reminds him that Matsuda’s personal life isn’t any of his business. This isn’t him; he’s not so immature and spiteful. But there was a reason Aizawa wanted him to speak with Matsuda, right? Because this is necessary. Because this meeting with Near the day after tomorrow could go south and they can no longer put their trust in Light. Yes, that’s why he’s saying and feeling these things and nearly boiling over. It’s because Matsuda’s in potential danger and he’s probably in too deep to dig himself out.
That’s right. If Matsuda were together with someone else, someone who didn’t risk sabotaging this case, who didn’t potentially plan on murdering all of them, anyone other than Light— that would be different. That would be okay. He could live with that. (And that might just be the most egregious lie he’s ever tried to tell himself.)
“Don’t you think it’s a little strange? I mean, why would Light-kun suddenly spend all his time with—” Ide starts.
“What?” The mood shifts and Matsuda’s no longer shaken, no, he flicks his gaze up to meet Ide directly and the heat practically radiates off his words. “That someone would want to spend their time with someone like me? Is that so strange?”
Christ’s sake… “Come on, you know that’s not what I meant.”
“Then, what? What are you trying to say?” Matsuda’s fingers curl into the tops of the armchair, clutching at the upholstery with a slight tremble.
Ide drags an exasperated hand down his face. “Listen, it’s not like it’s a secret, Light is probably… If Light-kun is Kira, you shouldn’t be–” How the hell should he put it? “I don’t know how long this has been going on, but it’s best to keep your distance from him. It can only mean bad news that he’s taken a recent interest in you. I don’t know what he’s got planned, but it’s better to play it safe. So can you– can you just do that?”
Matsuda stares at him in disbelief for a beat, then scoffs. “Hold on. Where did all that come from? …We can trust Light-kun. I’m sure of that. I mean, if you knew him like I…” he trails off. “I don’t know why Near’s suddenly gotten into your head, but Light-kun needs us on his side. He tries not to let it show that the accusations bother him, but I know they do. I’ve seen him with his guard down. I can tell.”
If he were wiser, he’d hold his tongue before he says something he can’t take back, but the words spill from his mouth before he can stop them.
“You’re not special to him, you know. He’s just…” Shit. “…He’s using you.”
An immediate wave of regret floods Ide’s senses as Matsuda rises from his chair and makes a few quick, pointed strides over to him, face flushed with bewilderment, a hot streak of anger. Of course it wouldn’t go over well, he knew that. But it needed to be said. (And he wanted to say it.)
“What- what the hell do you know? You don’t know anything about… What gives you the right to—” Matsuda starts to launch into him, but Ide doesn’t give him the chance.
“For god’s sake– Wake up! We’re worth more dead than alive to him! And if what Aizawa says is right, Light’s taking this next opportunity at Yellow Box to prove that.”
“‘Aizawa’...?” Matsuda stills then takes a step back, face twisting with some awful realization. “God, Ide, who cares what Aizawa thinks? He had it out for Light-kun the instant Near started feeding us whatever nonsense he thinks he knows about us. He was probably jumping at the chance to accuse him. Why would you listen to Aizawa? I mean, it’s clear you two have been talking…”
Ide catches the trace of a sulk in his expression.
Oh, come on. Is he really…?
It’s not like they were trying to exclude him. When Aizawa initially informed him of his suspicions they were in New York immersed in the riot fiasco at SPK’s base while Light and Matsuda were in L.A. It couldn’t be helped with how chaotic things became; there wasn’t any time for long distance discussion, much less risking Light overhearing it. And sure, he could have told Matsuda later, but he wasn’t sure how much credit he wanted to give Near’s word when he never held a high opinion of him in the first place. And maybe, more truthfully, he didn’t want to take the plunge and try to convince Matsuda that the man he idolizes isn’t who he seems. Didn’t want to open up that can of worms and make their relationship any worse than it already was. And another part of him silently hoped Matsuda would figure it out on his own.
So, no, they weren’t intentionally keeping him out. Well. He wouldn’t have listened, anyway. Just like now. Just like now, right?
He takes a long look at Matsuda, and the longer he looks the more he becomes aware of the invisible wall that separates them, a barrier he helped build brick by brick. Anything he says now would only fall on deaf ears.
Oh. He’s ruined it, hasn’t he?
Then what’s the use in trying? “Yes, we’ve been talking. Because this is important, and I’m not ready to watch us die at the hands of Yagami Light.”
“…I don’t know why you’re telling me all this,” Matsuda says to the floor.
“I’m cluing you in. That’s what you wanted, right? Don’t blame me that it’s not what you want to hear.”
“Well, you’re wrong. You’re wrong about Light-kun.”
It’s a weak rebuttal, and Matsuda seems to know so. And then it dawns on Ide.
“You’re scared it’s true,” he realizes out loud. “That he is Kira. Some part of you knows he is, and…”
“I—” Matsuda falters, color draining from his face. His voice comes out low and stilted. “No one wants Light-kun to be Kira. Even Aizawa admitted he’d rather not believe it.”
“No. This is different.” Ide feels himself dropping through the carpet, the walls closing in as his words continue to pour out. “You don’t mind that he’s Kira, right? So long as you don’t have to be confronted with it. You’re content living a lie so long as you get to keep playing out this… whatever it is with him. A part of you knows, you know. We’re all at risk, and yet…” Then, before he can stop it—
“How selfish…”
It’s a mistake the instant it leaves his mouth.
It cracks, breaks like glass. That’s the only way to describe the face Matsuda shows him. And he never wants to see it again, much less be the cause of it.
“You don’t know anything. So stop talking like you do.” He’s shaking. It’s a type of anger Ide’s never seen Matsuda wear before. Fragile, as though he could fall apart at a moment’s notice, but the thorniness in his stare negates it. Cuts straight through ide. It stings. Matsuda slings his coat over his arm and reaches out behind him, fingers scrambling, searching for the door handle. “And stay the hell away from me.”
The slam of the front door sounds out deep and loud like heavy thunder. The shock of it runs through Ide’s body, and all he can do in the following silence is stand where Matsuda left him at the center of the floor, bathed in the cold, artificial light of the monitors. He can’t move. Where is there to go? What is there to do? He’s failed. The situation crumbled away in his hands when all he’d really wanted to do was shelter it, preserve it.
It’s all over and he can’t fix it.
Long legs glide into view, snaking their way past him. Ide watches each fluid stride, following their path along the carpet. The motion is somehow surreal, like a dream, but judging by the way his stomach sinks, it’s more likely a nightmare.
Light moves casually across the space and pauses by the sofa. Flicks his fingers through a stack of papers sitting on a nearby desk. He plucks a sheet out and files it into its correct folder, going through the routine movements. As though everything is normal.
He looks up from the paperwork. “Oh, Ide-san. I didn’t realize you were still here.”
Like hell you didn’t.
Light continues, “What are you doing standing there alone in the dark like that?”
He can’t make a sound, voice caught in his throat. The room tilts and shakes and he fears his legs might just give out from under him. How long was he—? Did he hear all of that? How stupid, of course he did, of course…
How careless to let what was supposed to be a level-headed talk with Matsuda devolve into an argument and to let it happen here of all places. He lets out a short breath and closes his eyes, grounding his weight down into his feet in an attempt to steady himself. Even if he’s unintentionally confessed his suspicions about Light to Light himself, he’ll have to act on the assumption he didn’t hear anything. He’ll have to. That’s… the smart choice. Probably.
“I was about to head out. The incident reports took me longer than I thought. Just checking to make sure I didn’t forget anything before I leave,” Ide says. He’s pretty sure he says. He couldn’t hear the words as he spoke them, their sound muffled by his pulse throbbing in his head. He’s hoping there was some semblance of normalcy in his tone. Hoping Light, perceptive as he is, might look past his flimsy act.
Before he can force out another half-baked lie, the spindly form of Ryuk emerges from the center of the wall. Ide’s not sure he’ll ever get used to that. His figure impossibly tall and thin, could almost mistake him for something human-like if you only caught a glimpse of him. Ever-lurking through the halls, sometimes perched in the corner of the ceiling like a spider. Looming over what’s probably a doomed investigation. He figures a god of death suddenly making an appearance in their lives doesn’t exactly forebode good things to come.
He stares into that ghoulish white face, like if he looks long enough the shinigami will reveal what he knows, show some mercy and end this madness. As if it were that easy. Ryuk’s made it clear he has no interest in helping or hurting them, prefers to sit back and enjoy the show, though Ide’s not sure how entertaining it could be to watch them stumble around in pitiful circles until their likely demise.
Ryuk’s impenetrable, mask-like expression towers over him from up on the wall, and as Ide’s eyes travel down, he’s met with Light standing below, smiling calmly, falsely— his presence somehow more unreadable than the supernatural being hanging above his head. It all at once becomes terribly clear to Ide. The unfairness of it all. How the cards have been stacked against them from the start.
“That’s odd.” Light lifts his chin and feigns a glance around the room. “Have you seen Matsuda-san? He implied he was going to work late and spend the night here at HQ. I thought I heard the door slam, maybe he stepped out to get some air.” His gaze trails over to meet Ide’s. “Do you know where he went?”
“I don’t think he’s coming back.” He didn’t intend to be so curt, but he can’t bring himself to veil what he knows anymore. (What happened to the ‘smart choice’…?) If Light can see right through him, and he surely can, then what’s the point of keeping up this pointless performance? The urge to put everything out in the open only builds, because screw tiptoeing around this and screw leaving their fates up to Near. Kira is probably standing right in front of him and he could so easily tell him so. …As dangerous and ill-advised as Aizawa would probably tell him that would be. Yes, he’d probably end up dead in his apartment before he even wakes up tomorrow, wouldn’t he?
Light observes him for a moment, then folds his arms across his chest, relaxing into the tense atmosphere with ease. He’s too confident, too smug, though he’d never let it show on his face. But Ide can feel it. It seeps out of him.
“You care for him, don’t you?” Light asks, but it isn’t a question. “Matsuda-san.”
“Not particularly.”
Light closes his eyes and moves past his answer, because it’s obvious there isn’t an ounce of him that believes it. “You care enough that it seems to bother you when he and I spend time together.”
There's a good reason for that, but it’s not like he can voice it. Well, he shouldn’t, anyway. He swallows the waver he feels rising in his throat because Light doesn’t need to hear that, doesn’t need to know he’s getting to him because he isn't. He’s not so easily intimidated. “Matsuda’s prone to trouble, and so I try to look out for him, that’s all. We all do. He’s easy to worry about… especially when he’s not acting like himself.”
“Oh? That’s interesting. Because to me…” He makes a point to look Ide in the eye, surveying him coolly. “He seems more himself these days than ever before.”
Liar. Heat rises up his collar. He feels his composure slipping because that’s not true, Light doesn’t know, couldn’t know— “No. He’s—”
“He’s become more actively involved in the case because I’m making an effort to include him. That’s what he wants. Always wanted, isn’t it?” Light pauses and seems to take in the anger Ide didn’t realize was so blatantly displayed on his face, then gestures to him with a small wave of his hand. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you. Please.”
…
There’s nothing to say because what Light’s saying is true. And there isn’t a thing he could say in response that would give him the upper hand, not up against someone like Light. He knows that.
And so all he comes up with is, “Don’t get close to him.”
Light eyes him.
A shiver shoots down his spine. He revises his statement. “For now. What I mean is– yes, it’s a good thing Matsuda’s stepping up his efforts with the investigation, but Aizawa’s concerned because we don’t see much of him lately. We think it’d be better to focus on regrouping before the 28th, since… Well, we don’t know what to expect.”
“I understand your trepidation about this upcoming meeting, but try not to worry too much. Regardless of what Near has to show us, I’ll do everything in my power to keep this investigation running smoothly,” Light replies.
It’s a clean-cut answer typical of Light and Ide’s finding it increasingly difficult to stomach what he now knows to be scripted words. He digs his nails into his palms, wincing as the piercing sensation burns his skin, yet he can’t release his grip. Just… anything to change this. To knock that mask off Light’s face.
“Is it really alright to just go along with what Near wants? Things might not play out the way you expect.” He's walking on thin ice, but tries to maintain the bite behind his words nonetheless.
…He’s aware this is stupid. He shouldn’t be gambling his own life by letting his spite get the better of him and saying the wrong thing, but damn if it doesn’t feel good. Despite his better judgment and the quick and pounding sound of his heart filling his ears, he manages to stand tall and meet Light’s gaze as though they’re playing on equal ground. “I don’t exactly trust Near, but he’s L’s successor and he’s clever. If you underestimate him, you might find yourself walking into a bad situation. Have you accounted for that?”
He swears he catches Light’s face drop for a beat, but it’s immediately replaced by a smile. A smile… that masquerades as normal and reassuring, the face of the leader of this investigation, a face he’s come to know as the second L through the years— but there’s something wrong with it. The shadow of something sour and cruel paired with gentle eyes. And it’s frightening.
“Something as important as this…” Light leans his body forward, the motion sharp and sudden, and though he stands all the way across the room, Ide feels himself flinch. “I’ve accounted for everything. Anything less would be an insult to all we’ve worked for. I make it a point to be prepared. I wonder if you can say the same, Ide-san?”
Light’s words are acidic and it’s unlike him, though Ide has no idea what’s “like” Light at all anymore, the line between what might have ever been real and what was show irreversibly blurred. Light seems to realize this and softens, redressing himself in his usual persona as though Ide never witnessed that hint of venom at all. “Well, you’ve done your best, though. All of you have. I guess there’s nothing left to do but wait until the 28th and see. I’m sure Near won’t let anything happen to us if he’s as confident as he sounds.”
The message is crystal clear. It’ll go exactly as I planned. So just accept your fate willingly, because there’s no escape for any of you.
“And what might ‘happen’?” The question leaves Ide’s mouth before he can consider whether he really wants to know the answer.
Light looks past him, like he’s of no importance at all. Like he might as well already be dead. “Hopefully nothing of note,” he says, and it falls on Ide’s ears like a threat. Don’t trouble yourself attempting anything unnecessary— it won’t work anyway. “With any luck, the investigation ends tomorrow.” His fingers trail across the surface of the desk beside him, absentmindedly brushing over piles of cords and dried-up ballpoint pens. Rings stained in the wood from years of coffee cups and late nights. Ide feels the sudden urge to yank his hand away; he doesn’t get to touch that, those pieces of history. Not when it doesn’t mean a damn thing to him and means everything to them.
Light hums. “I know you don’t trust me, and I don’t hold it against you. But you know…” He turns to look out the window, profile doused in shadow. “It doesn’t matter if you believe I’m Kira or not, because it’s not really about that, is it?”
He didn’t expect “Kira” to roll off Light's tongue so casually, for him to bring it up himself. And now he’s drowning here, out of his depth. In so deep he’s lost his footing, left to stumble around blindly and fend for himself in this dark room.
“I never said… What are you getting at?”
It’s an expression Ide can’t quite decipher, but the look Light shoots him almost seems disappointed he can’t keep up. Light doesn’t give him the chance to dwell on it, letting out a soft sigh. “Aizawa-san doesn’t exactly hide his distrust for me. Mogi-san also seems to have gradually… Well, you understand. Surely you’ve observed it.” Each line he feeds him is spoken with ease, Light leaning back against the wall without a trace of worry. Awfully blasé for someone accused of being the very culprit they’ve been after all these years.
Light continues, “Their suspicions have only grown over the course of our getting in contact with Near. Believe me, I’m aware. But that Ide-san would turn against me so quickly… Why is that? I wasn’t under the impression you valued Near’s opinion much. Was it just Aizawa’s word that convinced you? No, I don’t think that’s the case, either. You’re not the type to be swayed by the majority; in fact, you’re a fairly individualistic thinker. That’s why I’m starting to think your eagerness to suspect me is just an excuse.”
The surrounding monitors drone with a low buzz, filling the space, mixing with Light’s voice and becoming an unbearable cacophony of sound. Sound Ide doesn’t want to hear.
Light doesn’t know what he’s talking about, he needs to shut his mouth, stop—
“I’m right, aren’t I?”
“No–” Ide hears the rise in his voice so he sucks in his breath. Exhales. Starts over. “No, you’re not right. ‘Excuse’. Why would I need an excuse?” He knows the answer. And Light surely does as well. What a stupid question.
“It’s easier for you if I’m Kira. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have the right to warn Matsuda-san to stay away from me. You wouldn’t have a right to say anything at all, would you? It’s an excuse I’m sure you’re grateful to have.”
That stabs into Ide. Hits a bullseye he struggles to grapple with.
Light strides towards him. “But it won’t work forever,” he says. He steps closer and closer, still. The burning need to run flashes through Ide’s mind, the need to escape from here. Some innate survival instinct rises up in his lungs and spirals him into high alert. But then Light’s already brushed past him, out of view. He speaks very quietly. “If you hold onto something so tightly, it’ll only slip away.”
Matsuda’s slipping away from him. He knows. He’s known for some time.
“It’s fine if you don’t trust me,” Light repeats. “But really, isn’t it miserable being so bitter? You don’t know one way or another if I am Kira, you’re just using it to claim the moral high ground and justify your own jealousy. Looking down on Matsuda-san while you’re no better…”
Light’s next words slide under his breath, and Ide can almost pretend he doesn’t hear them— “How selfish.”
Ide’s mind goes blank, the sudden belief washing over him that any effort is fruitless. There’s no way forward when every move he’s faced with is perfectly choreographed, each word smooth as velvet, impossible to match and piercing him exactly where it hurts. Light’s steps across the carpet become quieter and quieter as he moves to leave the room. Each faded sound sparks a hot flash of fear in his chest with the knowledge he’s being left for dead.
Light pauses under the doorway leading to the hall, then turns to him. “You’re welcome to sleep here if you don’t want to travel in this rain. Last I checked, it’s coming down out there.” It’s the right thing to offer in this situation. It’s common courtesy. It’s the kind of person Yagami Light has always been, and the contradiction it presents, the fact he’s kept this act up year after year after year, unsettles Ide to his core.
Raspy laughter leaves Ryuk’s gash of a mouth, reminding Ide of his presence. He barely catches sight of him, when the gangly creature’s already phased through the back wall. Though that awful deep and coarse sound lingers, echoing in his ears.
“No, I…” He hates the way his voice rattles in his throat. “No, I’m heading home.”
“Goodnight, Ide-san,” Light says before disappearing down the corridor.
___________
Tokyo’s never been so empty.
Not a soul around. Not in rain like this. It comes down in relentless sheets, drumming off the top of Ide’s umbrella like bullets. It's all he can hear. He can barely see. And he could laugh— he really could laugh. It might as well be like this; it figures, doesn’t it? Who the hell cares anymore?
His eyes travel up the surrounding highrises and lead him to that dark pit of a sky. Cold water trickles into his shoes and pelts into his pant legs and shoulders, leaving him shivering. Surely a damp and sorry sight. But it hardly matters. All that matters right now is that he continues to follow the path of streetlamps lining the sidewalk, his guiding light on route to the station. Maybe things will start to make sense again once he reaches that familiar place. Maybe he’ll wake up from this bad dream.
That’s when he spots him. A slouched figure across the street, curled in on himself under the alcove of an office building, taking shelter from the rain best he can. Ide shares a small moment of pity for the poor guy who got caught in the storm. Just two idiots out at this hour with no one to pick them up—
“Ah.”
Of course. Looking closer, it’s Matsuda. He stares down at his feet, clothes heavy and sticking to his frame. It’s really him.
Matsuda. Ide turns his heel and takes a brisk series of steps towards his new destination, thoughts traveling faster than his feet can carry him. Shoes slapping wet pavement. Matsuda lifts his head to the sound and flinches. He jerks his head to scan the street in the opposite direction and seems to seriously consider making a break for it, but must decide against it. Instead, he resigns himself to standing there stiffly and backing himself up into the wall as though if he makes himself small enough he could disappear.
“Forgot your umbrella?” Ide asks, raising his voice to be heard over the heavy rain.
There’s no answer. Matsuda won’t look at him.
“I always tell you, you have to check the weather forecast before stepping out—” Ide stops himself. This isn’t helping. “It’s…” He rolls up the cuff of his jacket to check his watch while daring to take a few steps closer. “Half past midnight. Let’s go, we’ll just make it. Last train leaves one A.M.” He tilts his head and gestures Matsuda over, offering him a place next to him under his umbrella.
No answer, still.
“How are you going to get home otherwise? Call a taxi?” No. He knows very well Matsuda could (will) turn around and head straight back to Light’s apartment. “You can’t go out in this, you’ll get soaked to the bone and catch cold if you haven’t already—”
“I’m waiting it out.”
“It’s not stopping anytime soon. Come on, already.”
“Ide… Just– go home. Go. You can’t just…” Matsuda spits out the words, exhaustion seared raw and hurt into his voice. His clothes drip from his body and he shudders. “You can’t just come up to me like nothing happened and pretend that’s fair.”
“…”
It isn’t fair. What he said to him back at headquarters wasn’t fair, either.
He recalls Light’s words, “You wouldn’t have a right to say anything at all … It’s an excuse I’m sure you’re grateful to have.” They weigh heavy in his stomach. “…justify your own jealousy…"
In the end, what Light said is true; maybe he is hopelessly jealous and selfish and he doesn’t really have any right to say this. He doesn’t, but.
But—
“You were right. When you said I don’t know anything. I don’t know what’s going on, not really. And that… terrifies me,” Ide says, honesty accompanied by a tremble he can’t suppress. “The only thing I do know is that I want all of us to be safe because god knows what’s coming. And I…” He focuses his attention on water droplets bouncing off nearby asphalt and takes in a long breath of cold, wet air. “I just don’t want to see you come into harm’s way or get tangled up in anything bad.”
He motions Matsuda over to join him one last time. Just this one last time. Maybe it’s stupid to keep holding out hope, but this time might be different. “It’s cold and I don’t want to leave you alone out here.” Please. “So, please.”
The movement is hesitant, but Matsuda gradually shifts from his spot on the wall. His coat hangs on him, waterlogged, and so he opts to remove it as he makes his way forward, peeling it off with a final tug of his sleeve. He moves wordlessly to stand beside Ide under his umbrella, still unwilling to meet his eyes, but Ide exhales a sigh of relief nonetheless. The warm presence next to him feels nothing short of a miracle.
They walk through the city side by side in silence for a long while, Ide’s left shoulder growing increasingly damp as he shifts to make room for Matsuda, but he doesn’t mind. In fact, the steady tap of rain pounding into his jacket distracts him from the stretch of quiet that lingers in the short distance between them.
Sooner than expected, their steps echo within high beamed ceilings and the rainfall becomes a muted pitter patter as they enter the station without a single word exchanged the entire way. Ide wouldn’t have known where to start, anyway. All of his words left him when he was drowning in that room with Light some thirty minutes ago.
Under shelter at long last, he lifts the umbrella and folds it up, surprised to glance Matsuda’s way and find him staring back, finally meeting his gaze. Matsuda looks him up and down, taking in his drenched form now lit by the fluorescent glow of electronic signboards and timetables. Then, unexpectedly, he breaks the silence. “…Some good the umbrella did you,” he remarks quietly.
It’s true. In the end, there wasn’t much point in carrying it, not in a rainstorm like this. But the company isn’t bad. Makes him grateful he brought it today. “It’s better than nothing.” A smile tugs at his lips, but quickly dissipates. Matsuda’s looking at him, talking to him, he should— “About what I said before, back at HQ, I—”
“You want to know about it, don’t you?” Matsuda interrupts him. A train running in the opposite direction races past, rumbling rhythmically across the tracks and ringing in Ide’s ears. It nearly makes him miss Matsuda’s next words, “Me and Light-kun.”
Whether he heard correctly or not, he decides to touch the subject before it has the chance to fade away. “…How long have you and…”
Matsuda shrugs and looks off across the empty platform. “A few months, give or take.” There’s a pause as he shifts and backs himself up against a nearby pillar. He fidgets with the cuff of his sleeve then straightens the front of his shirt, hands smoothing out creases in damp cotton. Stalling. He finally says, hushed, “It started not long after the Chief died…” The passing train hums and whirs somewhere in the distance, its sound trailing off Matsuda’s voice and into the night. “You know, I think a piece of Light-kun died when his father passed. And what’s left- I’m not even sure what it is. But it’s lonely. And I noticed it and I understood it, and…”
He peers up and catches Ide’s gaze, prompting him to stand a little taller, a defensiveness seeping into his tone. “It’s not exactly like we’re seeing each other. Not in any kind of official way. It’s just, we needed each other, I think. He needs me. And you… You have the wrong idea about him, Ide.”
Ide’s fingers flick over the indents still raw in his palms from earlier, the urge to dig his nails back in rising. He holds his tongue, though a part of him wants to stride over and shake Matsuda by the shoulders, make him see that this picture isn’t as pretty as Light’s painted it.
“Because he gave me purpose. Or maybe it was kindness,” Matsuda continues. His eyes soften as though recalling a warm memory, fingers finding their way to his heart and stretching over the air dried fabric covering his chest. “He showed me I have a place here. In this investigation— a reason for being here that makes it all worth something. Makes someone like me worth something.”
Ide winces at that. Matsuda moves past it like it’s nothing. Like his lack of worth is an obvious fact that requires no debate. “…Before then, I didn’t know what I was doing, or- or if anything I did mattered at all. Life was really… It was terrifying. The world was terrifying and I was barely holding it together.” He chuckles through that last statement like it’s hyperbole, but it’s a forced out sound. A sad sound that tells a more truthful story.
“I didn’t know the case weighed so heavily on you,” Ide lies. A scummy lie he’s force fed himself time and time again. The Kira Investigation weighs heavily on all of them, of course it does, and he knows very well Matsuda was never exempt. But at some point he made the decision to take every joking remark and positive smile at face value, pretending their daily reality didn’t affect him like it did the rest of them. Because it’s Matsuda, right? He doesn’t get bogged down by such things, nor think about them too deeply in the first place.
What a load of bullshit. He can admit on some level they had probably… neglected him.
Even now, as Matsuda presents him with a small smile, it’s only a sheer veil of a thing. It can’t mask the face lined with worry that lies beneath, so close to the surface. So clearly drowning in it all.
Hell, if someone special like Light started showing Ide attention during those darkest times, he’s not sure he’d be immune to it, either. He’d probably be scrambling to keep it. Have the same look that lingers behind Matsuda’s eyes now—
Desperately crying out, Please don’t take it away from me.
Matsuda exhales a shaky breath and clutches the jacket draped over his arm a little tighter. “Our task force never really mattered in the long run, did we? Left on our own without L, we didn’t get close. Five entire years of nothing. God, it just… it all felt so hopeless. And I would sometimes wonder why we even bother trying. It was always like that, every day coming into work. I mean, didn’t you feel it…?”
He did. Every day. But right now —and perhaps it’s simply the clarity that comes before imminent death— he’s realizing those are the most cherished days of his life. Matsuda’s presence every early morning, tired afternoon, and coffee-fueled night, being the bright point. He loved it. He really loved all of it. These last few years were an endless maze riddled with dead ends; public opinion turning against them, and the last dwindling hope of those still willing to stand against Kira weighing on their shoulders all while they steadily lost their own hope. And yet he wouldn’t take it back for anything.
He’d relive it a hundred times over, if it meant Matsuda was in arm’s reach. By his side on that couch each night. Those wavering days are all so terribly dear to him, but they’re slipping through his fingers, so he’ll hold onto them until he can’t anymore. Until they all cease to exist. He wonders what sort of face he’s making as he croaks out, “Those times weren’t all bad, though. I might even… I’ll miss them. Very much so.”
“Stop doing that.”
“What?”
Matsuda shivers, looking over Ide with careful glances. Something fearful flickers behind his eyes. “You keep talking like we’ll never see each other again. I mean, you– you don’t really think…” he stammers. “You don’t actually believe we’re all going to die in a day? That’s— There’s no way Light-kun would let that happen.”
Ide can’t answer that. Can barely stand to listen to it.
Matsuda searches his face for an answer, a solution. “He told me it would be okay. He told me. Aren’t we supposed to trust him? I mean– I do trust him, I…” When Ide can only respond with a pained expression, Matsuda slumps back into the pillar and shakes his head weakly. He holds eye contact with Ide until he can’t, until his head falls to stare at the ground. “Why the hell did you have to say all that stuff earlier, Ide?” He breathes out a hollow sigh. “I don’t know what to do.”
“I don’t think any of us do…” I certainly don’t. He tentatively reaches a hand out, and when Matsuda doesn’t shy away, he rests it on his shoulder. “But you know, you… You do have a choice. You always have a choice.” He’s half convincing himself. He’s not good at this, he knows he isn’t, but he’s standing here in front of Matsuda right now and he owes it to them both to at least try. “And we need you more than you realize. More than ever, we need you with us. Could really use your quick thinking, your optimism. It almost makes coming to work each day bearable. And you’ve got one hell of a sharp shot, much quicker and more accurate than I could ever hope to be and I’ve been with the NPA, what? Twice as long? So that’s…” He trails off with a faint laugh. Matsuda doesn’t raise his head and the silence that follows erupts with pounding rain, overflowing Ide’s senses until it’s too much and he needs to fill it with something, anything.
“It’s more than just needing you or requiring your help, I want you… I…”
Matsuda takes in that unexpected admission with startled eyes and raised brows— an expression Ide can’t get a read on much to his discomfort. It leaves him wishing he could swallow back his words. Though soon enough, Matsuda’s surprise melts into a more familiar expression; a glimpse of the person he used to walk home with on late winter nights like this one. That playful gleam in his eyes and the hint of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. A teasing grin Ide knows all too well, having been on the receiving end of it on many occasions. But unlike the times in the past when they were only poking at each other and bantering without any real stakes, Ide can see the genuine question start to form on Matsuda’s lips that he is not at all prepared to answer. It dawns on him how hot his face feels. He hadn’t realized—
He cuts Matsuda off before he can speak a word. “We all want you here. Got it?” He internally chastises himself. Christ’s sake… This isn’t a damn love confession.
He’s not sure it’s a very convincing recovery as Matsuda continues to give him that same look, eager to prod for more. But much to his relief, he eventually gives a slight nod in response and that’s all Ide can really ask for at this point. His face burns. In an attempt to cool himself down and regain some composure, he presses his icy fingers to his cheeks in a motion he hopes is discreet. But Matsuda only leans back against the pillar and lets out a laugh through his nose he seemed to be holding back.
“You’re an idiot, Ide.”
“Me?”
“Yeah, you just hide it well.” He flicks his gaze up to him and smiles. “I don’t hate that side of you, though. In fact, I think I like it better.”
Ide’s face heats up all over again. What is he going on about? “I can’t say it makes me happy to be complimented for being an idiot, Matsuda. I do my best so you don’t see this side of me. You’re not supposed to like it.”
Matsuda laughs, that lifting sound. “Yes, yes, Ide-san. Don’t worry, it’s actually very cute,” he teases, stepping forward to close the distance and give him a playful pat on the back. And Ide’s instantly reminded of a version of Matsuda from several years ago. Younger, more chipper. “You know when you get all flustered, your ears go bright red.”
“Shut up.”
“…I really do like that side of you. It’s honest. You should show it to me more often.”
…
God, why does he do this to him?
Ide’s heart trills in his chest. It’s warm and real and strangely bittersweet. “And you don’t bother to hide that side of you at all. You’re a lot of trouble, you know that?” he quips. A feeling he can’t put a name to tempts to wrack through his body. Not quite a sob, not quite a chill. But it’s there, too overwhelming to ignore, washing over him. It’s whispering to him, urging him to pull Matsuda in close. Hold onto him and never let him go. “…But the trouble isn’t so bad. I like having it around.”
Matsuda doesn’t respond to that, only looks at him, unreadable emotion settling into his features. Face flushed with the sting of a cold wind rolling in. Hair damp on his face.
“Ah, your hair’s dripping.” Ide raises his hand before he can think and wipes a droplet running down Matsuda’s forehead. His fingers instantly remember the feeling of that soft hair as he brushes it out of the way. Silk in his fingertips. The movement is still so natural after all this time he forgets to pull away, lost in the closeness, and he shouldn’t but he’s begging, please, please don’t end, because, god, it hasn’t been like this in so long. And this may be the last time. That final thought sinks into his brain. The cold, wet wind as well; it all at once seems to bore straight through him, seeping into his chest. It aches.
It’s only when he catches Matsuda staring that he snaps out of it and starts to draw away, a voice in his head yanking him back to reality and demanding to know what the hell he thinks he’s doing. But a tug at his sleeve stops him and inexplicably there’s a warm weight resting in the palm of his hand, Matsuda leaning into his touch. It’s unexpected and maybe he’s imagining it, but he’d give anything for it to be real. He lets his fingers continue to trace through rain-soaked bangs. Yellow light reflects on wet concrete and a siren echoes far, far away, its sound hidden somewhere in the rainfall. When it passes, the platform is quiet. So quiet. It’s dark and empty and somehow the safest he’s felt in days.
Matsuda’s head dips slightly forward, perhaps accidentally, but it brings them face-to-face. And it feels good to be so close. Their combined breath lightly exhaled, hot against cool air, against each other's lips—
“If you hold onto something so tightly, it’ll only slip away.”
A flash of white floods the station followed by the squeal of brakes as their train comes rushing to the platform. There’s a weight. Ide feels it leaning into him, his forearm holding it back, and he’d— Oh. He’d…
He holds Matsuda back. They were about to… And he pushed him away.
For a few moments, they stay like that, an unanswered question held in the space Ide created between their bodies and regret trickling cold down his back at the realization of what he’d just done. The fact that he allowed Light’s words to get in his head ties a knot in his stomach that only tightens with each passing second. Makes him feel sick. And maybe worst of all, Matsuda looks surprised but not entirely hurt, like rejection was expected.
Their train car hums across the tracks as it comes to a slow halt, followed by a short jingle of bells and chimes. An automated voice plays over the intercom and echoes through the platform announcing the stop. This is what he’d wished for. The doors slide open. It’s what he’d wanted, the scenario he’d desperately clung onto. Convinced himself that if the two of them could make it to the station together and board their train, then everything would be okay. If he could just get Matsuda to do this, things would find a way to be normal again and life might go back to how it was.
They both step inside and it should feel like old times, but it doesn’t. They ride the same train together they have for years and watch the same Tokyo dressed in night pass by, and everything tells him it should feel the same, but it doesn’t.
It doesn’t. And he’d be kidding himself to believe it ever would again.
___________
All these monotonous years being strung along, Light playing the part and all of them falling for it, hook, line, and sinker has always led to this. This ending. Yes, that’s probably true.
Ide finds himself walking in no particular direction since getting off at his stop. Killing time. Each step drops through the ground, sinking deeper into the earth. The usual crowds will come soon, flooding the crosswalks. People headed to work like nothing’s wrong, and if he keeps walking like he is now, maybe he can delude himself into believing it’s another normal day for him as well.
He watches as the rain gradually lessens to a few sparse drops falling from the sky and wonders in passing if Matsuda made it home from his stop okay.
He handed his umbrella over to Matsuda when they parted. He needed it more. If he spent another second unsheltered from the rain, he’s almost certain the guy would catch hypothermia.
It’s been an hour since he left the station. No, longer than that. Detoured up one side street, then another. And now he’s not sure how long it’s been. Long enough that the night’s been eaten away by the morning sun threatening to rise over the city, tomorrow approaching far too soon. It only serves as a reminder of this intangible countdown, that what’s coming is inevitable and he’s not even sure what “it” is, only that something horrible is going to happen and they may very well be powerless to stop it.
Would it be too shameful to run away? He could ask the others to abandon this case and never make an appearance at the final scene, the supposed life-or-death climax. Hide away somewhere… Of course, they’d be “found” eventually, though, wouldn’t they? They’re not safe anywhere and it would only be a matter of time, a number of strokes written in ink. No use.
So, no, he won’t run. As appealing as it sounds right now as day breaks on the empty street, as he finally makes his way home to his apartment with icy blue light spilling over his back and wet asphalt under his shoes— only to walk back to the train station and into Light’s clutches in a number of hours. Nowhere else to go.
…What a sad existence. But there’s no escaping it.
Besides, if he were to run, it’s not like Matsuda would agree to come with him, anyway.
It’s just a small daydream before the end of days.