Chapter Text
BANG
The floor rattles beneath him. Matsuda is falling. He isn’t sure if it’s through space and time, or maybe a couple of inches. There’s something tugging at him. His guts have just been torn out, chopped up, and shoved down his throat. Everything is disorganized and wrong. It’s like a dream. He needs to wake up.
Matsuda’s shaking. His vision is tunneled to a tiny point. His hearing is muffled. The wet tear streaks down his face tingle uncomfortably. His heart pounds against his sternum as if it’s attempting to escape. His legs are weak like jello.
He didn’t realize the weight of his gun until Aizawa is ripping it from his hands. Matsuda’s palm is suddenly warm without the cool metal against it. It trembles all on its lonesome. He reaches aimlessly for something to grab on to. He finds a coat sleeve. He grips it like his life depends on it.
Matsuda’s ass collides with the hard floor. Pain reverberates throughout his entire body. He curls in on himself. His stomach flips. He’s angry and disgusted. He wants to vomit. Everything inside him is tarnished with this revolting feeling and he needs to get it out.
Whoever he was holding on to shakes him off. It’s easy with how weak his muscles have made themselves. In a matter of moments, he’s lost every last speck of trust and hope in his soul. Perhaps, his will to strength, fight, and even movement was eliminated with it. He doesn’t need it anymore, anyway. He’s an idiot. He should just sit here and fucking cry.
Matsuda pants. All the oxygen has been sucked out of his lungs. He forms his knuckles into fists and drives them into the ground. He puts all his weight on them, applying as much pressure as possible. First, they crack. It would be loud and echoey in the open warehouse, if not overshadowed by all the shouting Matsuda doesn’t even have the wherewithal to pay attention to. It starts to hurt after that, but he doesn’t care. He needs to not think about this. He needs to focus on literally anything else.
But how can he? The most ruthless rug was just pulled out from under him. Kira was written on it, in capital letters no less, the whole time. He’s an idiot, an absolute fool. Everyone was literally shouting it at him and he couldn’t even realize how serious they were.
Matsuda’s shoulders jerk with a contained sob. It catches in his mouth, puffing out his cheeks. His lips make a horrible noise. He quickly inhales, but mucous moves faster than air, blocking his windpipe. Matsuda coughs hard. He clenches his jaw to suppress it, but that only makes it worse. He gags on his own sad snot. He smacks his hand over his mouth. Spit sprays into his fingers. Tears mix with it. He’s pathetic.
Someone’s leg bumps him on the back of the head. Matsuda lifts his shaking arm to feel the spot. He catches a flash of dark green out of the corner of his eye. I must’ve been Ide. Matsuda blinks hard. He tries to refocus his vision, but unshed salty droplets make it fruitless. His face is hot. He wonders how red it looks against his blue-toned suit.
The commotion next to him is increasing rapidly. Matsuda’s ears are ringing. He’s nauseous and dizzy. He stares at the intersection of four concrete panels. Grout lines separate them. They spin, round and round. It’s sickening, but Matsuda would rather focus on his wooziness than the even more vile display behind him.
What’s he even doing down here? He’s a former special assault officer who can’t even handle shooting a serial killer. What the fuck is he doing? Matsuda hangs his head, painfully stretching his neck muscles as his chin touches his chest. His mouth is overfull with saliva. His jaw is lax. His teeth ache.
Matsuda’s hair sticks to his face. It’s too thick and dark. It’s not helping stabilize his visual field. He’s sweaty, though it’s cold, even for January. That’s not helping the hair issue either. He wonders if he should get it cut, like Aizawa did. He’s always kept it pretty long, but people have been telling him he looks cute with his shorter do now. Although he only cut it in the first place because of… well… He pushes his bangs back so hard it yanks the skin of his forehead.
“Ryuk…” It’s a low growl. A feeling of dread spreads throughout Matsuda’s body. It starts in the depths of his guts and expands like tree roots through his chest and hips, then out to his limbs, ending at the crown of his head and the tips of his toes. He leans forward more so his face is closer to his knees. He might pass out. His hands fall to his lap. They’re pointless. He can’t do anything about this now. “Ryuk, you can write their names down…”
Matsuda feels the corners of his mouth ticking upwards. He’s immediately horrified. He bites the ends of his lips to stop himself. The urge to laugh arises aggressively in his chest. He exhales forcefully to combat against it. He furrows his brow in an attempt to appear solemn. He’s hyper aware of how his face looks to those around him, even though everyone is focused on something else. Logically, he knows it’s some weird stress response. To be fair, the prospect of coming this far only to be murdered by a death god is laughably inane. But if he started giggling now everyone would think he’s…
Matsuda pinches the bridge of his nose. He scrunches up his eyes. His temples ache. He concentrates on anything and everything besides what’s next to him. Misa has her TV comeback shoot in LA soon. Although this whole thing means she’s- No . Rather, there’s that new movie coming out this weekend. This morning, Matsuda was thinking about requesting a few hours off to go see it. His interest has completely vanished.
He tries to tune out everyone’s pleas to Ryuk. Why even bother? Gods are gods. Humans are humans. What good is it to mess with it? That’s what got them into this mess. Matsuda can’t bring himself to care if he dies now. He’d rather think about that manga he left on his nightstand earlier. He wishes he hadn’t left off on such a cliffhanger.
Near tells everyone not to worry. Matsuda finds that much more appealing, at least in this current context. He worries about his tax paperwork, if he’s going to file it correctly in a few months. He hopes his signature stays consistent enough. He never figured out a standard way to do it. He just improvises and wishes for something akin to the other scribbles each time.
Matsuda covers his ears when Ryuk says he’ll do it. It’s not for the statement itself, but the inevitable gunfire that follows it. That bothers him a lot more. The reverberations form a serpent in his abdomen, coiling itself around his stomach, then up to his heart, compressing it with all its might. He wonders if Ryuk already wrote his name. He sighs.
“No, Light…” Matsuda’s entire body tenses. He’s gone from liquified to frozen in an instant. “The one who’s going to die…” The warehouse is painfully silent. Matsuda’s tinnitus is the only sound for miles. “... Is you.”
He’s not in his body. He’s watching the scene unfold from above, as if he were a shinigami himself. Matsuda tries to gasp for air, but he doesn’t have lungs. He tries to spit out the horrific taste in his mouth, but he is simply a ghost viewing the terror unfolding below him. His body is left sadly slumped over on the ground.
“Ryuk, you…” Light’s eyes are wide, but his pupils go beady and constricted. His bewildered expression is haunting. He drags himself maybe a foot forward using his uninjured hand. He’s drenched in sweat and blood.
Ryuk’s pen is made of skulls. The very tip is a pointy crow’s beak. It glides cleanly over the paper. The scritching most pens generate is barely audible. It could even just be Matsuda’s imagination filling in what he expects to hear from the sight. It’s as if the ink is frictionless and unslowed by the rougher texture of the notebook. Ryuk’s eyes are red and blank, emotionless, as he writes.
“You…” Light staggers to his feet. It’s surprising he has the energy left. His right hand is still spraying blood. There’s at least a few pints all over the floor already. “STOP IT,” Light screams. He dives for Ryuk, but he falls right through him, slamming himself into the ground. His chin hits the concrete hard. There’s a quiet crack. He probably just chipped the bone.
“No matter how I look at it, you’ve lost, Light,” Ryuk chuckles. “I was kind of expecting to see you get out of this one, but if I’m your last resort…” Light whips his head around in a rage. “You really are done for,” Ryuk dots the final I. “You’ve eased my boredom for quite a long time, haven’t you?” He tosses the pen behind him. “It was a lot of fun.”
“A-Am I going to die?” Light asks breathlessly, as if he doesn’t know the answer. Ryuk flips the notebook around to show him. “I’M GOING TO DIE,” A line of blood slowly drains from one of Light’s nostrils. One of his perfectly white teeth is chipped. It must have been from his full-body dive. It’s strange to see an imperfect, jaw-dropped expression upon his face. His smile has always been so straight and manicured.
“That’s right, in forty seconds…” Ryuk taps the name on the page with his pointed, black nail. “You’ll have a heart attack. It’s already been decided upon.”
“I-I’m going to die,” Light hisses. The shininess of tears is forming above his lower eyelid. Droplets cling to the ends of his eyelashes. “N… N… No…” He stammers. “I don’t want to die,” Light claws at the ground, dragging himself forward. “I DON’T WANT TO DIE, DAMN IT,” It’s a primal shriek, like a lion injured by a zebra’s kick. The lion always believed he was the apex predator. “STOP IT, I DON’T WANT TO DIE.”
“You sound so undignified,” Ryuk laughs. Light barely manages to pull himself onto his knees. He clutches Ryuk’s belt, digging his fingertips into the leather. “It’s not like you, Light,” Ryuk flicks Light’s hand like he’s a bug. Light slides down his leg, wrapping his arms around Ryuk’s thigh like a demanding child. He pants pathetically.
Light screams. He bangs his head against the metal rings Ryuk wears around his legs. Aizawa and Ide flinch as if they’re going to stop him, but there’s no use to it now. He’s got maybe thirty seconds left to live.
“I told you in the very beginning that I would be the one writing your name down in the notebook when you die. That is the rule between the shinigami who brings the notebook into the human realm and the first human who picks up the notebook,” Ryuk explains plainly. “If they put you in prison, who knows when you’ll die? I don’t want to just lie around waiting for you to die, so it’s all over. You should die right here,” He shrugs.
“N… NO, I DON’T WANT TO DIE…” Light gasps. “I DON’T WANT TO GO TO PRISON EITHER…” He coughs and wheezes. The vein in his neck is throbbing vigorously. “DO SOMETHING,” He demands. “I KNOW THERE’S A WAY OUT OF IT, RYUK.”
“Once a name is written down in the death note, you can’t do anything about it,” Sucks to suck, then. “You, more than anybody else here, should know that.”
The room is deathly, agonizingly silent.
“Goodbye, Light Yagami.”
Matsuda’s back in his body. All he sees is the floor again. The ringing in his ears is back. Vertigo spins him in violent circles again. His stomach flips. He’s nauseous.
Matsuda lifts his head slowly. His vision isn’t so blurry anymore. He’s stopped crying, at least.
He places his trembling hand on the ground. He pushes himself up to stand. The world tilts menacingly, but suddenly, he’s upright, even if on legs as strong as noodles.
Matsuda blacks out for maybe five or six paces. He finds himself standing just feet from the horrible scene before him. Broken capillaries have stained Light’s face bright pink. His eyes are glazed over. He reaches aimlessly for something to save him, pawing weakly at Ryuk. His eyes are full of vile, horrific criminality, but his face is so very young, about as young as Matsuda was when this case first began.
“Light…” Matsuda whispers. It doesn’t even sound like his voice. His lips are numb.
“Matsuda,” Aizawa barks. Matsuda jolts slightly at the sound. Aizawa claps him on the shoulder. “Stop it. What is it this time? Sympathy?” No. Matsuda can’t feel bad for the pathetic man in front of him. He just… He’s glad The Chief isn’t here to see this. He doesn’t know what to feel.
Matsuda grits his teeth. It’s better to keep his mouth shut. He’s useless, anyway. He couldn’t notice what every sign and symptom was screaming. He’s just an idiot.
Light convulses like a fish out of water. He mumbles nonsense about heaven and hell under his breath. He clutches his throat, scratching at it. He’s hyperventilating. The whites of his eyes are turning red. Tears stream down his face. His shoulders jerk. Blood pools at the corners of his mouth. He hacks and spits, but can’t seem to get a real inhale in.
Light is dying .
He howls so loudly it hurts Matsuda’s ears. He’s the top of the food chain who believed he was invincible just because he could hunt others. He believed by causing suffering to those around him, he was immune to it. It’s all come back to bite him, and suddenly, he’s so, very, very, extremely afraid. Matsuda can feel it emanating off him in waves. It’s an unbearably, and embarrassingly empathetic sensation.
“I DON’T WANT TO DIE,” Light cries. His words are garbled with bloody sputum overflowing in his trachea. Though, that’s not from the heart attack. That’s not Ryuk’s doing. That’s because Matsuda shot him in the chest. “I DON’T WANT TO GO…”
Light slides down Ryuk’s leg, unable to hold on any longer. The back of his head hits the ground hard. His neck arches to an inhuman degree. The muscles in his legs quiver dramatically. He coughs. Blood sprays upward, then splashes back down, creating vermilion speckles all over his face. “D…” He gags on his own fluids. Dribbles run down the sides of his cheeks. The blood that had been flowing from his nose reverses direction with gravity and begins to refill his nostril. “Damn it…”
A chill passes throughout the warehouse.
Light’s eyes remain open.
Ryuk is gone before Light’s watch ticks again.
For several moments, the clicking of the hands is the only sound in the vicinity.
Until… There’s a deafening screech. It’s absolutely ear-shattering. Matsuda reaches for the sides of his head, blotting out the noise with his palms. It doesn’t help. The wail breaks the sound barrier. Powerful acoustic propagations rattle through Matsuda’s muscles. He doubles over at the waist, scrunching his eyes shut. Vibrations shake him up through his feet.
Sweet relief of silence reveals itself. Matsuda takes in a wheezing, gasping breath. His chest is tight. It’s like his ribs are wrapped in rubber bands.
The horrendous yowl returns. It’s even louder this time. It’s that kind of high pitched, ferocious din that makes your head ache and spin. Matsuda’s stomach churns. He’s not even sure if he’s standing or flat on his back anymore. The vertigo is aggressive and unrelenting. He swallows hard against nausea.
“...uda…atsuda… “ He vaguely hears someone calling out his name behind him. Strong arms grab him by the shoulder. “Matsuda, snap out of it,” Someone shouts gruffly. Matsuda doesn’t want to open his eyes. “Matsuda, stop it,” They yell.
It’s only then that he realizes: It’s his own shriek. He’s the one screaming bloody murder. He’s suddenly aware of how much his jaw hurts being hyper-extended so widely agape. His throat is scratchy and strained from the vocal force.
Matsuda tries to open his eyes, but everything is moving too fast. His knees give out under him. He collapses forward. Someone catches him by his underarms. He pants and gulps for air. At least the sonic weapon has been neutralized…
“It appears Mr. Matsuda has become overwhelmed with emotion,” Near comments blankly. “He cannot handle himself next to Kira’s deceased body,” He continues in the same monotone. “Please remove him from the premises.”
“No… I…” Matsuda scrambles to his feet, despite how woozy and unstable he feels. “I just…” He’s not emotional. He’s not. This is just a weird situation, so he feels weird, and he’s perfectly fine. He just didn’t eat this morning. He didn’t sleep well last night. He’s just tired from his workout. That’s all this is. It’s not the blood or the body or the death or the god. He’s not bothered. He’s just… He can barely lie to himself.
“Mr. Matsuda,” Near addresses him directly. “If you cannot contain yourself, and if you are going to scream, I would prefer you do it outside of my presence,” He flicks one of his finger puppets. Matsuda flinches at the tiny clink it makes against the floor. “I do not appreciate such loud sounds, and I’m sure no one else does either.”
“I…” Matsuda wants to cry. Ire and disgust bubble inside him. He’s torn between ‘why did he have to die?’ and ‘why wasn’t I the one to kill him?’ Matsuda inhales shakily. “I…” The visceral urge to scream arises again. He tenses his core to resist it. “I’m sorry…” He sniffles. Tears are welling up in his eyes again. His face isn’t completely dry from before either.
“Come on,” Aizawa grabs him by the bicep and begins to drag him to the door. As they turn, Matsuda catches another glimpse of Light’s corpse, bloody, lifeless, and far too still. He recoils at the sight. He claps his hand over his mouth. He feels like he’s about to vomit. Hot, salty droplets rain down, some hitting the side of his first knuckle, some settling on his upper lip, and some falling into his mouth. He wants to retch. “Stop crying, you’re already embarrassing us enough,” Aizawa grunts as he yanks the metal door open.
Matsuda’s spine hits the metal, external wall first. He barely has enough time to feel the wave of pain produced before his head hits second from the inertia. The wind is knocked out of him. He tries to breathe, but his diaphragm is paralyzed. He coughs weakly. He presses on his sternum, as if he’s checking his torso is still there.
“You fucking idiot,” Aizawa spits. “Get yourself together,” Matsuda tries to look up at him. The sun is too bright. He squints. “What the hell is wrong with you?” Aizawa yells. “We finally closed this case, and you’re sobbing about it like a child? Do you think we should’ve let him get away? Do you want to go back in there and kiss him like Snow White? Bring him back to life? You seemed to be getting really fucking comfortable with Kira’s ideals. Is that what this is about?”
“No… I…” Matsuda groans. Everything hurts. “Ow…” Deep down, he supposes, he still wanted Light to be his friend, but his friend is a murderer… The son of the father he always wanted is a murderer. The life he always wanted is the life of a serial killer. “I’m sorry…” Matsuda wipes away his tears. He looks down, ashamed.
“Damn right, you’re sorry,” Aizawa growls. “First, you shove yourself where you don’t belong, trying to kill in a fit of rage, and then you act like you’re the one with your name in the notebook when he actually kicks it,” His face is bright red. His hands are balled up in fists. Matsuda wonders if he’s going to punch him. “It’s like you can’t even pick a lane, you don’t know what you want, you’re acting on impulse, because you’re a useless idiot, who’s done nothing to help us, nothing at all.”
“Jeez, Aizawa,” Ide remarks quietly.
“Well, can you?” Matsuda snaps back. “You’re mad at me if I shoot him, you’re mad at me if I don’t, what do you want?” He forces himself to his knees. His joints ache. “I saved your lives back there, I shot that pen out of his hand, can you thank me for that at least?”
“I have nothing to thank you for,” Aizawa shouts through gritted teeth. “Don’t try to make me out to be the fool when you are the pathetic dead weight we’ve been dragging for years,” He scoffs. “You never should have been part of this investigation, all you did was put us in danger,” He hisses. “You have some real guts to ask me what I want. All I want is for you to act in the best interest in the current moment, like a real police officer, but I guess that’s too much to ask for. Sure, you’re a good shot, but you don’t know when to shoot, or how to control yourself. And you know what I really, really fucking want?” Aizawa pauses, raising his eyebrows, like he expects Matsuda to say ‘what?’ He turns around, angrily crossing his arms. “It’s for you to handle this like a man. Everyone else here could keep it together, and you, out of all of us, should’ve managed, but no.”
“F-Fine…” Matsuda’s voice breaks. He sobs softly. He tries to contain it, but that only makes it come out louder, more disgusting, more choked. Aizawa’s right. He’s a burden. His existence only works to harm others. He was always the one mentioning supposed moral grey areas of Kira. Even when everyone told him to shut up, he thought about it. He never agreed, but he could see the perspective. Plus, he always longed for Light’s perfect damn life, so maybe he truly is evil. He just didn’t notice it until Near spelled it out for him. “Then fucking shoot me too.”
“I- What?” Aizawa turns back to Matsuda, befuddled.
“Shoot me, kill me, get rid of me,” Matsuda stumbles a few steps forward. He sniffs against teary snot. “If you had me so much, just shoot me, you’re right, I’m dead weight,” He reaches for the gun still in Aizawa’s hand. He forces his arm upwards, ramming the barrel against his forehead and holding it there. “Do it, pull the trigger, I don’t care, I’m clearly just a burden to you, so put me out of my misery,” Matsuda closes his eyes. Why keep going? Everyone hates him. He can’t do anything right. His best friend turned out to be his worst enemy. Every shred of joy he had is gone, so why live?
“I- No- Matsuda- What the fuck are you doing?” Aizawa breaks the pistol from Matsuda’s grasp. “Are you fucking crazy?” He throws the gun off to the side. It lands next to the nearby chain link fence. “Are you trying to make me a fucking murderer?” Aizawa’s hands form fists again. “Is that what you’re trying to do?” He strikes Matsuda hard across the cheek, knocking him to the ground. He grabs Matsuda by the collar, raising his arm to go for a second hit.
“Aizawa, STOP,” Ide shouts. He tackles him from the side before he can land another punch. “You pushed him far enough,” Ide yells. “You’re taking out your anger on him, and it’s not fair, it’s not his fault, he’s not Kira.”
“Not his fault?” Aizawa guffaws. “Not his fucking fault?” He pushes Ide off him. “Half this mess is his god damn fault. He’s a useless idiot, nothing more.”
“Aizawa, you’re in shock as much as he is,” Ide grabs him by the shoulders. “You’re not thinking clearly, you’re going to regret this tomorrow, so give him a break,” He tells him sternly. It’s nice. Matsuda doesn’t particularly deserve the kindness. “Just stop it and calm down before you do anything else.”
“Oh, fuck you,” Aizawa brushes him off and gets to his feet. He starts to walk away, then turns back. “Matsuda, I hope you’re happy with yourself, because you are nothing ,” With that, he storms off.
Matsuda folds at the waist. Aizawa’s right. He just wishes he’d pulled the trigger. This feeling inside him is one of the worst he’s ever felt. It’s up there with getting beaten by his own dad. It’s up there with failing to defend his mom and her resentment towards him for it. It’s up there with finding out his friends only kept him around to mock him. And it’s up there with losing the man he considered to be his surrogate father. Although, that one’s just been compounded into this even worse, distorted, horrific mess of emotions this revelation has brought upon him. If he could go back in time to this morning and live in those few hours forever, he would. Dear fucking god, he would.
Matsuda’s suddenly enveloped in someone’s arms. They’re big, muscley, and warm. Matsuda flinches at the touch, but relaxes quickly. It’s Mogi. Out of everyone, he never expected Mogi to show him any affection. He’s always been so quiet and reserved. Matsuda wraps his arms around the larger man. He leans into the comfort, dropping his forehead on Mogi’s collarbone.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Matsuda whispers. Mogi doesn’t say anything. He cradles the back of Matsuda’s head in his palm. “Please don’t hate me, I’m so, so sorry,” Matsuda rambles. “I should’ve just killed him, but I can’t- I… I… He was my friend, my closest friend,” He doesn’t know what he’s saying. His voice squeaks like he’s twelve. “I can’t believe he’s… I’m so sorry… I’m such an idiot…” Tears and snot are spilling onto Mogi’s suit jacket. Matsuda feels weirdly just as guilty for that as he does for everything else.
He’s not sure how long it’s been when he’s finally reduced to hiccups and soft gasps. He stopped crying a while ago, not for lack of trying, but he’s simply dehydrated. Salt crystals from long dried tears line his eyelids, sticking to his lashes. There’s a few down his face as well. Matsuda finally lets one hand go from Mogi to wipe his eyes. Moving makes him realize how dizzy he still is. He wobbles in place slightly.
“Sorry,” Matsuda breathes as he pulls back from Mogi completely. His voice is nasally. His sinuses are still packed with the immense pressure to cry. The world spins around Matsuda. He plants his hands on his knees to stabilize himself. “I…” He tries to take in a deep breath, but he forgets how much impassioned mucus is in his throat. He gags hard. Acrid bile immediately spills out his mouth. The sheer smell is enough to make him retch again.
“Matsuda?” Ide has been standing next to him and Mogi’s crouched forms, but suddenly he’s kneeling as well. “Are you okay?” Matsuda shakes his head. He heaves again, choking up a bit more stomach acid. It’s so sour, he thinks his eyes might roll back. He hasn’t eaten since yesterday, or drank since this morning. There’s nothing to dilute the burning flavor.
“Sorry,” Matsuda wipes his mouth on the backs of his knuckles. Mogi pats him hard. It’s enough to make him cough. He spits out the remnants of tart vomit. The taste still lingers, though. “I’m fine… Just my gag reflex and…” He avoids both Mogi and Ide’s gaze.
“Yeah, no worries,” Ide nods. He squeezes Matsuda’s shoulder gently. “I didn’t think I saw you eat breakfast this morning, it’s almost two-thirty now, you’re probably just hungry,” He offers Matsuda his hand. “We should get going anyway, we can get you something to eat back at…” They’re so used to saying headquarters. But that was technically Light’s apartment, and the key is still in Light’s suit pocket. It would be weird to go back and fish it out of there. And it would probably be even weirder to be at HQ at all right now. “Well, we can get something on the way back.
“Mm,” Matsuda hums in response. He lets Ide pull him up. He stumbles slightly, but finds his footing as best he can. “I really am sorry,” He apologizes as they walk to the car.
“Again, don’t worry about it,” Ide shrugs. “It’s been a rough day,” It’s a blatant understatement to say the least. Matsuda trips over a pebble. Mogi’s quick to grab him. He would’ve face-planted otherwise. Ide looks him up and down, seeming to judge if he’s fit to keep walking, but he doesn’t say anything about the misstep. “Worst case scenario, Aizawa gave you a minor concussion,” He chuckles.
“Yeah,” Matsuda laughs awkwardly. It feels wrong. Someone, someone very close to them, just died and they’re laughing. Somehow, it feels equally as wrong and impolite to just nod plainly to Ide’s comment, though. They’ve laughed together after closing other cases, so Matsuda supposes it’s natural to feel some bonding and relief right now. It’s just… Light was… Matsuda sighs to himself. It’s probably easier for everyone else who caught on long before today.
Ide takes the driver’s seat. Mogi goes for the passenger side. Matsuda slides into the back. Light’s water bottle is still in the cup holder. He sniffles softly as he flops onto his side. He reaches out and feels the spot where Light sat just two hours ago. The urge to whisper his name is strong on his tongue, but he resists. “I thought this was Aizawa’s car,” He says instead.
“It is,” Ide replies as he starts the engine. “I was holding onto his keys when you inspected the building with him,” He looks behind him as he reverses. “Glad he forgot before he got pissed.”
“Yeah,” Matsuda agrees absent-mindedly. He’s numb. Every nerve on his body was lit on fire and now they’re all burned to the nubs.
“I guess I’ll take us back to my place,” Ide says as he pulls onto the road. “I think I have some of that strawberry pocky you like, Matsuda,” He flicks his turn signal. “And put your seatbelt on before I get on the main road.”
“Oh…” Matsuda didn’t realize he’d neglected to buckle up. The Chief wouldn’t even start the car if he wasn’t clipped in. He said he’d never forgive himself if anything happened while he was driving, even if it hasn’t been legally mandated yet for rear passengers. Well, at the time it wasn’t. He mentioned he was waiting for the day he’d see it written into law. He missed it by just a few years. Matsuda misses him so much. “Sorry,” He clicks the mechanism into place. The band is uncomfortably over his waist, but he can live with it. He doesn’t think he’s capable of sitting upright at the moment.
Matsuda has no idea what they’re going to do now. He supposes he’ll just wait for the next thing. He’ll sit here and wait to arrive at Ide’s apartment, and then he’ll sit and wait until it’s a reasonable hour to go to bed, and then he’ll sleep patiently until it’s time to wake up. More generally, he supposes he’ll wait for the next case to follow. And maybe the next life stage, and then probably death…
Matsuda exhales slowly. He can’t bring himself to feel much of anything. He closes his eyes. What is a person to do when their fundamental understanding of reality is radically reversed? Matsuda doesn’t know and he doesn’t particularly want to find out. That probably makes him an idiot, but he doesn’t care. He was happier being an idiot that didn’t understand what was going on right beneath his nose.