Chapter Text
L and I went to an art exhibit downtown. It was a trendy, upscale, gallery with a lot of up-and-coming artists. I liked the artwork, a series of murals that were clearer from a distance and dissolved into a blur of colours up close, all themed around grief. It was hard to focus however because L was busily telling me that he would secure me a much better gallery for my first exhibition. He critiqued the lights, the layout, the canapes being served and the vintage of the champagne. All while telling me we would do it better.
While trading our glasses for more complimentary champagne L realized there was a VIP section he wasn’t invited to and started to harass the bouncer to let us into the velvet roped section of the gallery. It wasn’t even an interesting party. Most of the ‘VIPs’ were poets who weren’t actually drinking or partying so far as I could see but filming some kind of performance piece with the primary artist and gallery staff. Still L felt snubbed we were not invited into the back even as security tried to explain the situation to him.
L returned with two more glasses of champagne, irritably asking. “Do you like the art at least?”
“I do.” I said.
“Light, can I ask you something personal?”
“I like to think we’re friends, L.” I replied. “Go ahead.”
“Since the transformation, do people seem…” L sighed. “Different to you?”
“I’ve changed, certainly.”
“No, that’s not what I’m asking,” L said. “How do people appear to you?”
I glanced at him. “What’s troubling you, L?”
L nursed his drink, one hand stuffed in his pocket, his hips thrust forward. He looked like a statue. He was handsome enough to be the chiselled work of some great artist. Even serious and contemplative his face was attractive. I knew L was not a selfless man, but his jawline and his pale features created a very heroic profile that I knew the media would exploit for years to come.
“People frustrate me.” L said. “I don’t have patience for them anymore. I can see, very clearly, how the world could be made supremely efficient. I think people would have to be cracked into place, and it would hurt, but I can’t help but think they’d thank me in the end.”
“Control.” I supposed.
“Don’t you think?” He asked.
“Control is a lie we tell ourselves.” I shrugged, gazing off into the crown moulding of the white ceiling with its recently installed lighting rig.
“You don’t think people can be controlled?”
“I think people can be made compliant.” I corrected. “But the truth is, L, is that people are much more predictable under stress.”
“Stress?”
“In a state of panic people are animals. Animals are simple.” I explained. “If you can induce panic, you can assume a level of control far beyond what you’re suggesting.”
L was silent and it took me a moment to realize he was not responding. Not able to respond. I glanced and found him staring intently at me, almost mystified. I worried I would find his expression to be one of horror. I could never say something so brazen with Misa, Kiyomi, or Teru but L looked spellbound by the anecdote.
I meet his gaze, unsure what to say. L seemed to be considering his own response very carefully when, flustered like a wet bird, he changed the subject. “They won’t let us in. Guest list only. Absolute fucking losers.” He seethed what I already knew. “He threatened to kick me out.”
“Would you like to repay him the favour?” I asked him.
“Very much.” My spoilt rich boy grumbled.
I didn’t point but I murmured over the rim of my champagne glass, drinking slowly, chatting slowly, my arms folded. “Over there, there’s a fire alarm. If you pull that they’ll have to evacuate the entire gallery. It’ll be an hour, at least, maybe two or three before they can handle the fire department and get everyone back inside. Most people will get sick of waiting and leave. Some won’t wait at all. It’ll ruin the event. Thousands of dollars down the drain.”
L gaped at me, but I saw a hot wire spark inside him. At first, he was incredulous, unsure he could really do something like that, then he was delighted at the prospect, fascinated, like a child who’s just been told he can set an anthill ablaze.
“Security will see me.” He said.
“I’ll distract him.” I offered. “Do you want me to?”
L hesitated.
“Decide,” I prompted him, “I won’t be able to buy you much time.”
I handed L my glass and headed over to the velvet rope. The bouncer straightened up as I approached, clearly expecting a bad attitude to rival L’s tantrum. I put myself in front of him. He was a big man in his early thirties. Stout and grizzled.
“Are you doing this all night?” I asked.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m going drinking later.” I said. “You should come with me.”
“I think I’m a little too old for you, Sir.”
“I don’t see a wedding ring.” I challenged. “Are you too old for fun?”
He fumbled, as much flattered as he is surprised. I held my hand out.
“At least let me give you my number.” I demanded, waggling my hand expectantly.
He chuckled and dug in his pocket. His phone had only just slapped into my palm when the alarm started to blare like an air raid siren. The bouncer swore, grabbing his phone back, and hurried behind the velvet rope to get the VIPs out on the street safely with their valuable camera equipment.
Hitting the street, walking past the assembling fire engines, L and I were laughing arm in arm.