2. Leftovers (1/2)

chapter one

when i was enrolled in school, my parents' suspicion of me being smarter than the average child was confirmed. i had been fresh out of high-school when i had died, so everything was ridiculously easy in my eyes. hell, i even watched raito work on his homework just to make sure my mind properly retained all the information. soichiro and sachiko were ecstatic when they learned that both of their children greatly exceeded expectations, and despite myself i felt a childish joy in making my new parents proud. i still reveled in the kind smile my

other had looked down at me with when he had ruffled my hair.

as years went on, however, my parents didn't agree with many of my choices. they didn't care for my primarily monochrome wardrobe, nor did they particularly rejoice in my choice of friends. they accepted me though, and i loved them even more for it. they've been there for me more than my past life's parents, and i wouldn't trade the yagami family for the world. life was easy, and i basked in the happiness that comes from being in a loving family. however, this easygoing day to day bliss didn't last forever.

things got difficult when raito stopped eating and drinking.

a

ief glance at the small clock on my desk made me aware of the time being three in the morning when i had woken up, roused by the muffled sounds of crying. the soft sounds that my feet made as the pads of them hit the cold floor seemed almost deafening compared to the almost quietness of the night, and it felt grossly inappropriate for my existence to be so loud while i walked over to my

other's room.

when i lightly knocked at his door, it quickly went dead silent before the noise of him walking over rang out. he opened the door, and i took a few moments to assess him. his eyes had heavy dark bags hanging underneath them, and his skin was sickly pale sans the redness that betrayed his previous tears. his clothes draped off of his body in a way that they never used to, and he just looked so physically, emotionally, and mentally drained that it hurt to even look.

"you shouldn't be awake," he half-heartedly chided, "you have school later on."

"you're an idiot," i wearily glared, "follow me."

he allowed himself to be gently guided after i reached out to grasp his risk, and i ignored how wrong it was that a fifteen year old boy's wrist felt painfully fragile in the hold of a petite thirteen year old female's hand. i sat him down at the kitchen table, and