Chief Investigator Yagami Soichirou glanced upwards as a manila envelope was tossed onto his desk, his tired brown eyes landing on the forms of two of his fellow workers.

“What’s this?” he asked, voice tired from pulling yet another all-nighter, as he reached for the envelope and extracted the stack of papers from inside of it. He had an idea of what the documents might proclaim, and so was not entirely surprised to find a report detailing the deaths of three more victims of accidental house fire.

“That makes six in the last eight months, and that’s not counting those that sustained critical injuries and died in the hospital,” detective Aizawa Shuichi said, scanning the report copy that he held in his own hands. “We’re clearly dealing with a highly skilled arson.”

They’d suspected it from the beginning; however, none of the task force members had succeeded in drawing up enough information on the victims to link them together. The fires occurred randomly, it seemed, without premeditation.

But Soichirou knew better than to believe that, even if it was what the Deputy Chief told the press. Soichirou had been in the business for too long, he knew better than to think that the cause of these fires was anything but an accomplished arsonist, and he also knew that there had to be motivation. A criminal with motivation almost always evaded capture longer than a criminal without.

Looking again to the papers in his hand, Soichirou began to read aloud, “Nathaniel River, forty-one, Bethany River, thirty-five, and five-year-old son Nate... vacationing in Japan. Native country, England.”

“Is it just me, or do the majority of these victims seem to be foreigners,” piped up Matsuda Touta, the investigation team’s youngest member.

A small mumble of agreement followed the statement, along with the rustling of papers as the proclamation was checked for legitimacy.

“That does seem to be the case. The River family from England, the Penber family from the U.S., and the Jeevas family, also from the U.S… With this alone, anyone would assume that these are hate crimes against foreigners, but...”

Aizawa directed his attention to the Chief at the heavy sigh that followed his words. “What is it, Chief?”

“It doesn’t make sense,” Soichirou said, shaking his head negatively and returning the documents to the manila envelope. “If the culprit’s motivation is related to a racial issue, why would he also go after Japanese citizens? This isn’t a hate crime. It’s something else; it has to be...”

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Initially, he struck me as unreachable...
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After breakfast, Lawliet cleared his plate from the table and monotonously thanked Sachiko for the food before wordlessly excusing himself with a slight bow and disappearing up the stairwell.

Sachiko was shocked and worried upon discovering the bowl of miso soup completely untouched, and only several bites’ worth missing from the rice. All she’d seen him eat was a handful of sugar cubes. Even his teacup remained half full. It couldn’t be healthy for him, to eat so very little. He was a growing boy, after all; he needed more than sugar and a few sips of green tea in his system.

She washed the dishes left behind by Light, Sayu, and Lawliet, setting them in the strainer to dry once she was finished. After wiping her hands on the front of her apron, she exited the kitchen, making her way to the base of the stairwell. She ascended the steps, immediately noticing the open door to her son’s bedroom at the end of the hallway.

“Lawliet-kun?” she called, smiling as she reached the doorway.

He was lying on the bed, legs curled up to his chest, and staring blankly at the space right in front of him. He didn’t even blink as Sachiko entered the room and addressed him.

“Is there anything you wanted to do today?” she asked, figuring she could take him to the park or the store if he desired to go out. It had to be boring for him, to be stuck alone in the house with no one his own age to keep him company. Sachiko wished Light didn’t have to go to school that day.

Lawliet didn’t answer her right away. His eyes flickered upwards for a split second, locking with hers for the briefest of moments before dropping again as he shook his head.

Pursing her lips, Sachiko tried to think of something they could do to pass the time until her children returned home. There was not much that could be done, really, but Sachiko was determined to get him up and out of bed.

She’d known when she agreed to adopt Lawliet for the holidays that it would be a difficult task to get him to communicate – Roger assured her that she would find herself feeling frustrated and helpless thanks to Lawliet’s stubborn unwillingness to socialize with others. But she refused to give up. Lawliet was a little boy, and even though he had experienced trauma the likes of with no child should ever have to, there still had to be things that made him happy – things that made him smile, and even laugh; Sachiko was determined to find out what those were, and if she couldn’t succeed she knew her children most likely could.

“Would you like to help me decorate the house?” she asked him.

It probably wasn’t a good idea. Decorating for Christmas was probably something Lawliet was accustomed to doing with his family. The last thing Sachiko wanted at the moment was to stir up unwanted memories in Lawliet’s mind, but... she couldn’t really think of anything else to suggest.

“I still need to finish the tree,” she explained, meeting his blank stare.

Lawliet still refused to speak. Sachiko quickly became uncomfortable under his penetrating gaze and so was forced to look away; however, she refused to leave the room without him. It was not healthy for him to stay locked in the room by himself, even if it seemed as if he wanted to be alone.

“... Yes.”

The word was spoken so softly that Sachiko almost missed it, especially due to the fact that the ever-present scarf around Lawliet’s neck tended to muffle his already quiet voice.

Lawliet nodded his head and brought himself to his feet. His hands found their way into the pockets of his overalls and he once more locked his gaze on hers, waiting expectantly for her to lead the way to the tree that needed decorating. She began to walk, and he followed, his bare feet shuffling against the floorboards as he moved.

They descended the stairs together and turned right, entering the living room.

It was a nicely sized room, furnished with a cream-colored sofa, a brown leather recliner, one low glass coffee table, and a decent television set; nothing spectacular, just comfortable. In the upper right-hand corner of the room was an Evergreen tree that stood roughly five and a half feet tall, decorated only by a few strings of multicolored lights and a strand of white garland.

Sachiko disappeared from the living room with promises to return momentarily. When she returned she carried two green boxes in her hands, which she set before the tree. “The ornaments are in here,” she explained, getting down on her knees to open the box nearest to her. “You can begin unloading ornaments from that box,” she instructed, pointing to the second box she’d brought in.

Lawliet nodded his head and did as told. He squatted down in front of the box and removed the lid, peering inside with what appeared to be interest in his dark gray eyes. Sachiko watched him as he removed the ornaments individually from their unique cases, holding them up between his thumb and index finger and inspecting them curiously.

“Be careful with those,” Sachiko said, out of fear that Lawliet might suddenly turn clumsy and break one. Lawliet removed another from its case. “They’re very special.”

Lawliet tilted his head to the side, bringing the ornament closer so that it touched his nose and he was forced to stare cross-eyed at it. “Light’s first Christmas,” he translated the text written at the base of the cute, teddy bear-shaped ornament. He handed it to Sachiko, unsure of what to do with it next, now that he’d opened it.

Sachiko smiled; her brown eyes focused more on her son’s first ornament than on Lawliet. “You can find a nice place for it,” she said as she removed a maroon bulb from the box of six that lay beside her. “I’ll start working on these.”

The ornament continued to dangle helplessly from Lawliet’s fingers, and he stared up at Sachiko, his eyes growing wide before quickly darting to the tree.

Sachiko carried the box of bulbs with her to the tree, placing one after another on the full green branches, wherever she deemed appropriate.

“Is something wrong, Lawliet-kun?” she inquired upon turning around and seeing that he hadn’t even moved during the time she’d had her back turned. Light’s ornament was still clutched firmly between his fingers, the knuckles of which had become white.

“...I...” Lawliet paused, charcoal eyes averting to the floor, “I have never decorated a tree,” he admitted, and then thrust his hand out towards her, offering Light’s ornament.

Sachiko blinked, not having expected to hear that. She presumed, since Lawliet was from the United States, that he celebrated Christmas. “Oh,” she said, looking at the tree and then back at the young boy. “I just assumed...”

Lawliet shook his head. “We never had time,” he interrupted her. “Only once... when I was five, Mama didn’t have her job back. The tree was pretty; I wasn’t allowed to touch it.”

He didn’t start crying after mentioning his parents this time around, something Sachiko was grateful for. The sight broke her heart, filled her with as much grief as hearing or seeing one of her own children cry. However, she could detect the slight mist in his eyes, but he wiped the moisture away quickly before once again offering her the ornament in his hands.

Sachiko gestured to the tree. “I want you to find a place for it,” she insisted. “In this family, everyone is allowed to help.”

Lawliet took two steps towards the tree before stopping and turning his head to the side to face her. “Why does Yagami-san not do this with her own family?” he wanted to know.

The multicolored tree lights reflected in Lawliet’s mirror-like eyes, playing tricks by seemingly turning them different colors. Sachiko sighed, thinking of her husband who has always too preoccupied with work (not that she could ever blame him), and of her own children and their unwillingness to participate in decorating, which seemed to intensify with each passing year.

“...Because they are too busy.”

Lawliet hesitated briefly, and then hung the ornament on one of the tree’s center branches. She could tell by the glimmer in his eyes that, underneath the heavy scarf, he was smiling.

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And then he surprised me.
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When Light returned home from school that evening, the fist sound that greeted him was laughter. It was an unfamiliar sound. Light was accustomed to hearing people laugh, of course – his mother and father laughed (mostly his mother; his father’s job turned him into the more somber parent over the years), Sayu was always giggling, and even Light (serious as he was for a twelve-year-old) laughed quite a bit – so the sound itself was very familiar. The person it was coming from, on the other hand, was an entirely different story.

Lawliet.

The boy had only been living with them for a single day, but after the time that Light spent in his presence, he’d automatically pinned him as a social misfit who didn’t possess the capability to laugh. Lawliet was too reserved, too disturbed, and too weird to be able to do something so... normal. Light hadn’t even believed it was possible for Lawliet to feel happiness (to feel anything at all, really; his eyes were always so frighteningly blank).

Yet there he sat, crouched before the now fully decorated Christmas tree in the living room, sniggering away as he stared at an object that Light could not distinguish from his vantage point. Beside him stood Light’s mother, smiling in that affectionate manner that she normally reserved for her children alone, holding a plate of the cookies she’d baked the previous afternoon. Lawliet munched on one of them, and the low, stupid sound of his laughter continued as his amusement refused to die.

“I’m home,” Light announced.

The laughter stopped. Lawliet craned his neck to look at him, the same emotionless expression Light remembered tattooed on his half-concealed face.

“Light, welcome home,” Sachiko greeted, setting the plate down and moving over to her son to embrace him. “How was your day? Where is your sister?”

“She’s in the bathroom,” Light answered once his mother released her hold on him.

Lawliet took another cookie from the plate, continuing to watch Light without speaking to him.

Sachiko questioned Light once more about his day, and Light sighed begrudgingly and explained that his classes were boring, as usual, but that he enjoyed playing tennis in Physical Education. She looked as if she were about to ask more questions, but at that moment, Sayu hobbled into the room, stating that she was hungry.

“I’ll make you a snack,” Sachiko said before leading her daughter into the kitchen.

A thick silence settled between the remaining occupants of the room, neither Lawliet nor Light willing to be the first to break it. A staring contest of sorts began, and the two boys gazed intently at one another for an unknown amount of time, both unwilling to surrender.

Eventually, the corner of Light’s eyes began to sting and he was forced to blink in order to hydrate them. He looked to the ground, embarrassed by his own defeat – and even for taking part in the childish act to begin with.

Lawliet reached for another cookie. The plate was now empty.

“... The tree looks nice,” Light finally said, knowing that he would eventually have to start a conversation since it would apparently take Lawliet eons to do so himself.

Half of the Santa-shaped cookie disappeared with a single crunch. Lawliet chewed noisily, nodding his head in agreement. “Yes.”

One-word answers... they seemed to be the only type of responses Light could get out of the other boy. And that just wouldn’t do – not if he wanted to achieve his goal. No, he needed Lawliet to like him – to trust him, even. But he wouldn’t get anywhere if Lawliet brushed him off with simple ‘yes’ and ‘no’ responses.

He needed to switch tactics. Acting competitively with Lawliet was obviously out of the question. It would take far too long if things continued in this manner, and Light just didn’t have the patience to deal with that; if he wanted Lawliet out of the picture, he needed to do something about it quickly.

Light raised a hand up and scratched the back of his neck in a way that appeared shy before taking several steps towards the other boy. “Um... Listen, I think we got off on the wrong foot,” he admitted in a sheepish voice.

Lawliet’s charcoal eyes swiveled upwards, catching his own. Light felt his heart flutter nervously in his chest and he licked his lips, willing himself not to break character.

“The wrong foot,” Lawliet repeated, puzzled to hear this. “I do not understand.”

“I’ve been...rude,” Light said.

Lawliet shook his head as a means of negating the claim. “Light-kun has been very polite,” he assured.

Light grit his teeth at the usage of his first name, but he did not snap at him this time around. “Yes, well... I guess so, but I haven’t been very... nice... to you. As nice as I should have been, at least,” he explained, withholding the urge to make a face. “I just didn’t know what to think about you staying with us. I was confused, and a little bit angry... I wish my mom told me about it beforehand.”

“Yes,” Lawliet agreed, averting his gaze to the floor. His wiggled his bare toes. “I would most likely react in the same way, if I was in Light-kun’s position.”

“So... can we start over?” Light asked. He hoped Lawliet didn’t see right through him

Lawliet finished off the last of the cookie he held, holding his hand in front of his face and staring at it forlornly as he chewed, disappointed that the last of his treat was now gone. After swallowing, he said, “I guess.”

Light forced a bright smile onto his face. “Great!”

Lawliet nodded at the exclamation, though he did not appear to share Light’s enthusiasm. He shifted his scarf up just enough to fit his fingers underneath so he could suck the crumbs off of them. “Does this mean Light-kun and I are friends?” he wondered aloud, voice toneless and muffled.

Light was taken aback by the question, but his expression remained neutral as he caught Lawliet’s gaze once more. He offered one of his kindest smiles – the ones he reserved for those he disliked most, so that they wouldn’t even dream that he felt anything ill towards them. “Yeah, of course.”

A humming noise resounded from the back of Lawliet’s throat. “How exciting,” he said, scratching his left foot against the right. “I’ve never had a friend before.”

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He was easier to reach than anyone else I’d ever known.
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