Chapter Text
♱⋆.Beyond Birthday x Reader.⋆♱
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Of course, a boy who knew your name before you would say it was declared special. And special, in Wammy's House's terms, means someone with grand potential, someone intelligent, someone, therefore, who may one day succeed—and not just succeed, now, surpass L.
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How foolish, foolish it was. What a mistake it was.
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But then again, at this time, people did not yet know about the existence of Shinigami. Or some, perhaps, did, but not in a way that would be truly crucial to the world globally. This is happening before Kira had appeared, before the Death Note was discovered by L, and before he, the greatest detective in the world, died. He was still alive and young, solving cases and inspiring children and adults from all over the world.
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That is, if by inspire it means driving crazy.
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It's hard to say if a monster is built or born, but it seems like monsters are also gifted. Beyond Birthday, known only as B now, didn't have to trade half of his lifetime to have the shinigami eyes. Many of the minority of those who know about the Death Note and how it works would assume that knowing people's names and lifespan is useless, but in fact, B knew how to use it to his advantage. It's always when a powerful tool comes into the hands of a human being that it will be exploited. Stupid people use it carelessly and cause trouble. Smart people often get blinded by the control they have over other lives, and their desires grow bigger, hungrier, twistier.
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B is not, as you can guess, an idiot.
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You weren't, also, because you formed a part of this dysfunctional family of trained geniuses. For some reason, B has taken a liking to you. Maybe it was a teenage crush.
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Yeah, no, a psychopath like him, *feelings*?
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A correct way to describe that would be fascination. Curiosity was his main drive in everything. And also a sense of wanting to be superior. Superior to L, at least. B knew that you did remind him of A quite a bit, though. And he didn’t want the same fate A suffered to happen to you.
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"(Y/n).." A breath hits your skin uncomfortably from the whisper right behind you. B didn't need to touch you for you to feel trapped by his presence; he knows it. Even his appearance alone, for you to imagine in your mind how he's currently sulking behind you with his lanky body, is enough to inflict at least the tiniest sense of fear.
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He knows your real name, naturally coming. There was a system, and there were the rules; every kid's name in Wammy's House was hidden, buried in the papers no one would be able to find, and, therefore, B didn't have the right to announce anyone's names of those who were his brothers and sisters, his co-students and rivals. How could a sane, rational adult assume that a child (now a teenager) has supernatural powers? He didn't plan to reveal his secret either. No one would believe him, and he didn't need them to. It would be too easy, and so would be to threaten every one of his peers and even older ones into submission.
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But you? That was something more personal. He manipulates you by letting you know that he has the upper hand. Perhaps not really. He never directly ordered you around nor used it to make you perform embarrassing actions like most boys of his age—15—would do. But coming up behind you every time, sweetly murmuring your name into your ear. Your real name. One you haven't heard being spoken out for several years. One that doesn't feel yours anymore. However, B makes it feel yours—like the curse you carry engraved into you with your existence, something you can never, ever, erase, not even with your death.
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"I came up with a puzzle." He smiles—it's supposed to look innocent, yet B is never but terrifying. He never acts otherwise, doesn't want to be anything but abnormal.
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"Solve it." A crossword puzzle neatly drawn on paper gets gently pressed to your chest. At first glance, it may look like it was printed, but despite the perfect organization and shapes of numbers and letters, you could see the faint glint of the ink, undeniably natural.
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You sigh and glance at the crossword, already thinking how to solve a majority of the puzzle in your mind. B stares at you like he’s expecting you to solve it in record time. “I’m not that much of a genius”, you think as you rolled your eyes and held your free hand out towards him, expecting B to hand you a pencil obviously.
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“Are you asking me to dance?” B responded teasingly, handing you a pencil anyways. You gripped it a little harder than necessary and began to write down several answers nonetheless. B continued his usual staring (that looked anything but usual) which would’ve made most people freeze up in intimidation, but you knew better than to do that, especially around someone as weird and dangerous and B. Before you knew it, you managed to solve the whole crossword, taking him by surprise for a split second, then hardened back into his usual crazed expression. You noticed the flicker of what seemed like he was impressed, and grinned cockily. However, B quickly shut that prized moment of silent arrogance with his next sentence.
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“How peculiar. Perhaps you’ve gotten used to these puzzles? I figured I'd try something new, but it seems you’ve already beaten it again.” Again. You’d feel a little pitiful for him, if you didn’t know him–if you could even call it that– but B began talking before you could respond properly or even think of a cohesible sentence to say to him. “You seem to do this with ease. Have you done crossword puzzles before?”
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“...No,” you mutter, trying to recall if you’ve ever touched this type of puzzle from your memories. “Maybe I just have a good vocabulary!~” You exclaimed cheerfully, masking your discomfort with positivity. Something most kids at Wammy’s didn’t have the ability to possess– or were taught to not show any type of emotion. That was the default after being here for more than a few months, the effect happened to every new kid. You felt a little bad when someone different entered, luckily you still have empathy, something a majority of people lack nowadays.
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“No, I doubt it beats mine.” B replied with a hint of a genuine smirk plastered upon his lips. Wow, he needs chapstick, you thought again as you looked through your pockets to see if you had Vaseline. Something you brought with you from home, it was a big container too, so it wasn’t odd you still hadn’t emptied the capsule yet. Your fingers gripped something with a cube-ish form. Bingo. You pulled it out of your pocket, B’s eyes following your hands. “B, do you want Vaseline?”
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“...I don’t think i-”
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“Come here.”
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You smeared a little glob of Vaseline across B’s dry lips, noticing how his eyes softened just a fraction. You smiled back at him, and pushed his head away after you finished the shared moment of nonverbal affection. God, if others saw this, they’d totally be yelling that you two were a couple. At least, when B wasn't there. You knew you’d get mocked and teased for it, so most of the time when these types of moments occurred, you were glad people seemed to stay away from B. You couldn't blame them, not at all, you were repulsed by him too at first. You still slightly were, in some aspects, but it wasn't that you would outwardly avoid him like you did in the past. Before he became...well, clingy wouldn't be the right word to describe B’s actions. It’s too soft of a word for him. Maybe attached, it sounds more...scary? Yeah, before he became attached to you, you also would run away from him like B had the plague.
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