listen to me, baby, I don't mind
I wanna be with you and waste my time

.

Beyond decides ten, no five, seconds in that entrance ceremonies are a farce.

Maybe not as much as orphanages hidden in the English countryside, meant to serve as a successor factory for the most infamous detective in the world – because Wammy's is a farce, there's no denying it – but entrance ceremonies come in close second.

Her eyes wander as a terribly old man, with an equally terrible voice, lectures them about the sense of pride they should be feeling, the accomplishments of past alumni and what they set out to do when they were set free in the world, what are expected of them as students of this prestigious –

She zones out at some point, imagines herself walking onto the stage, strangling the old man with his tie. She thinks about killing everyone here, hanging them up by their feet and bleeding them dry – the taste bland and lackluster.

(there is no shortages of taste from Wammy's inhabitants; rich chocolate, smoky tobacco, freeze-dried ice, salty like the ocean, hair made of sunflowers and eyes blue, blue, blue)

At some point, she does step on the stage and, for a second, she feels her body move, the voice in her head whispering about how comfortable her hands would be, around someone's neck –

"As all of us embark on this new chapter of our lives…"

BB stands next to him as he finishes the rest of the speech, can feels everyone's eyes on them, the highest scoring students of this year's examinations. He shines, bright, and people's attention shift to him easily.

He strings his words clearly and calmly, as if he isn't regurgitating someone else's words, as if these are his own. He doesn't miss a beat, confident and assured, has weaved his mask dutifully from social conventions and the expectations of others, made himself seemingly attainable, but untouchable, a contradiction, a snake coiling on itself as it bites his own tail, the cycle infinite.

B can recognize a psychopath when she sees one, it takes one to know one, after all, and people gaze up, entranced, ready to drink the lies he feeds them and everything else he has to offer, poisoned or not.

"Our student representatives…" He's back again, the terribly terrible old man, with his horridly boring tone and stern eyes. "Beatrice Beaulieu and Light Yagami."

People clap loudly and whisper even louder, gossiping, about him, about her, about their perfect scores and how her name clearly wasn't Japanese, about her clothes, black and expensive, about him and how beautiful people always seem to have everything handed to them easily.

As they move towards the stairs, he takes one step down and offers his hand to her, smiles, empty, but charming.

BB thinks of sinking her teeth in it, biting hard enough to draw blood, lets her mind wonder what he would taste like. Gold, probably, he would taste like fire and gold and her brain buzzes at the thought, thinks it's oddly fitting for someone like him, someone who wouldn't even know what silver means.

The fantasy is brushed aside, however, and she lets herself reach for his hand, but doesn't actually take it. Her fingers ghost over his palm and she can feel warmth. He blinks at her, unfazed, as she takes a step down and then another.

They hadn't been seated together before the speech, but now his arm, hovering on her back, guides her to two empty chairs. She sits first, amused, more whispers now, about their relationship. He flashes a smile, to no once in particular, but people take it regardless.

(he offers and people take, but he only offers very little and she, she takes, a lot)

"Why To-ho?" He leans into her side to ask, as the speeches continue, voices blending in, more people coming up to speak, offering banal words that no one will remember. "Isn't it far away?"

Beyond shifts, arms crossed, raises an eyebrow.

"Your name is not Japanese." His breath is warm on her ear. Her name is simply L being L, she doesn't say, because the one and only time she'd been to France, she'd hated it and L is childish and petty.

Not that B doesn't speak French fluently.

"There's someone I'm looking for, here." It's the truth. She looked for L and found him, and now here she is, in the same auditorium as his suspected killer, not that she had had to look particularly hard to find Kira.

"Oh?" To everyone else, it would seem he is curious, wants to get to know her better.

She's hardly everyone else and knows suspicion when it is thrown at her.

A new face appears out of nowhere when he's so clearly being investigated, someone who managed a perfect score on the same entrance exams he took, at the same time as him?

He's suspicious because he's smart enough to know that coincidences do not exists.

BB nods her head, but doesn't reply. Her body is still facing the front, but her eyes can trail the features on his face, sees the gears running in his brain and when he leans in, just a tad closer, she catches a whiff of cologne mixed with laundry detergent.

"Would it be considered impolite if I asked who you're looking for?" He's polite and proper and understands social etiquette. Questions are never meant to be uncomfortable, but the answers are.

B takes a moment to study him, amused.

She's the one who leans in this time, closer, so close she can feel the fire inside of him reach out and try to burn her.

"I came to find Kira." She tells him, soft and sweet, eyes glued to his face, doesn't miss the momentary flash of surprise that he quickly hides behind a smile and a flutter of his eyelashes.

"Kira?" He repeats and his tone is concerned, soft, manipulative, but does nothing to hide his curiosity. "Isn't that dangerous?"

"Maybe, maybe not." She's the one to flutter her eyelashes this time. "I don't think he'd harm me, at least not when he realizes what I have for him."

"You have something for him?" If she hadn't piqued his curiosity before, she'd certainly have it now.

"Yes." She nods, leans back, away from the small bubble they had created.

There is a beat, silence, a pause. He looks at her and searches, thinks, hard, harder than he probably has had too for the last ten years, maybe even farther back. He looks at her and wants to know, but can't figure it out.

Later, she'll tell L that their eyes do the same thing when they are confused and L, genius and detective extraordinaire, will roll his eyes and answer that nothing confuses him and they'll both know it's a lie.

"What is it?" There's the hint of a smile on his lips and she can hear it between the lines. He doesn't think she has anything that could be useful to Kira, to him.

She presses her finger to her lips, the texture of her gloss sticky. "It's a secret."

"I can keep a secret." He answers without missing a beat, charming, prideful and even snide. He must be used to people telling him their deepest, darkest secrets and not having to work for any of it.

She finds his arrogance sweet. It's the only reason she indulges him, leans forward, presses her lips against his ear.

"I know L's name." She breaths out the words, slow, careful. BB leans back into her chair, crosses her arms again and pretends that the boy next to her isn't staring holes in the side of her face.

His mouth opens, at some point, but unspoken words die out before they were even born when the crowd starts loudly applauding.

He pauses, just a second, but then he snaps out of it and starts clapping too, with a little less enthusiasm than others.

He still sends looks her way, not as intensely as before, but she can feel his eyes on her as she claps, slowly, and ignores him like they did not just have an intense conversation in hushed whispers about her wanting to find a serial killer to offer him up the name of his nemesis.

B enjoys that fact that he can't come out and say it. He can't ask for L's name, too suspicious, and why would an eighteen years old college student have the need for the Great Detective's name, unless he was Kira. She could also potentially be said detective, considering that no one besides the few people who've met him knows what he – or she – looks like.

She can feel those flames of his, that fire that burns red, growing and growing. She's spread gasoline over it and while Beyond has no plans to be burned, she certainly hopes he tries to.

As they make their way out, people exiting the auditorium, he touches her arm, softly.

"It was nice meeting you." He tells her and, well, lies and truths, they are the same. "I hope we run into each other sometime soon."

Oh, they absolutely will. She tilts her head to the side, a habit she stole from L or maybe one he stole from her, considers him carefully for a second, maybe two.

"See you around." Her shoes make her steps heavier than usual. There's no need to wait around and she lets herself be pulled in the sea of students, leaves him there, with whatever expression is on his pretty face.

It's been hours since she had red in her mouth and when Wammy hands her a jar, pushing her into the backseat of the Rolls Royce – L has gone soft in his old age, soft and human – probably to placate her or maybe reward her, it hardly matter, she cracks her knuckles, stretches and stabs her entire hand in the jam container.

And then, she throws her head back and laughs.