Chapter Text
Light flipped through his interviewee’s book, checking the several Sailor Jerry style pieces before moving toward the more impressive watercolor pieces toward the back. He glanced up, seeing the nervous sweat on the kid’s upper lip. This was Light’s fourth interview of the day. His posting of an open tattoo apprenticeship at all the local record shops, cafes, and in the city’s alt-weekly had garnered a handsome number of applications, as Light’s name inspired awe in most aspiring artists. Three days of in-person interviews and shoot, Light didn’t want to do them anymore. Ten prospectives were knocked off the list for portfolios comprised of only explicit pinups, and he ended several interviews early with snobs who acted like they were offering him the apprenticeship rather than the other way around. And no one yet who he found worthy of learning from him.
“What’d you say your name was?” Light asked.
“Mihael.” The kid – a gangly blond who couldn’t have been more than nineteen, maybe twenty if the sunlight hit him right – tucked a loose strand back into his top knot, dark brown roots showing as he did. Blue eyes strayed to Light’s left tattoo sleeve – a hulking inked shinigami twisting around his bicep down to his forearm. “Mihael Kheel, but most people call me Mello.”
“They do?”
“Yeah. On account of, well, okay this is going to be oversharing.” Miheal’s shoulders loosened as he talked, and Light leaned back as well, ready for a little story. “Okay, so, I got bounced around a lot after my dad died and it wasn’t until I was like fifteen that my grandpa got a hold of me and I started living with him and my uncle. And while I was in the system, I had what social workers called ‘emotional issues.’ Kept getting in trouble because I’d start fights with anyone who looked at me wrong and the people at the social work office, uh, they started to call me Mello because that’s what all the other kids looked like, you know, compared to me.”
Biting his lip, Light rubbed the plastic slip of Mihael’s last page – a blue and purple watercolor of a wolf with bright red eyes. Talent lurked under the inexperienced copycat nature of his portfolio: enough foundation to build a strong artistic house on. Light imagined an older, more renown Mihael declaring his entire empire was thanks to Light’s tutelage, and his heart shifted toward a final decision.
“My dad died too.” Light stretched out his arm and stroke the line of his tattoo sleeve. “I saw you eyeing this before. The Shinigami – a death god. After he passed away, I wanted a reminder of my own mortality.”
“It’s really good.” Miheal leaned in closer. “Like, super good line work. Did you do the design?”
“Ha. No.” Light shook his head. “You’ll meet the guy who did.”
“I will?”
“Yeah.” Shaking his head, Light handed Miheal his book back. “I decided a few minutes ago. Your first day’s next Monday, 10 a.m., and I want you to come in ready to learn, okay?”
“Oh.” The breathless gasp morphed into a brilliant smile across Mihael’s face. “Okay! All right! Thank you!”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Light said. “Just show up and work hard.”
Monday morning rolled around and Light’s satisfaction with his choice waned. Mihael was over an hour late. Light slid down his elbows until both arms were flat to the reception table, chin cradled on his crossed wrists. Behind him, Ryuk filled the shop with cloying laughter.
“I keep telling you,” Ryuk said. “People who take tattoo apprenticeships are never going to be on time. You got to let them flow in and then put the fear of me in them if they’re ever late again.”
“Stop it,” Light hissed. “You’re awful.”
“You were late when I took you on as an apprentice.” Smugness coated Ryuk’s response. “And look at you now. A punctual little pill.”
“I had a good excuse to be late.” A small pit hollowed the base of Light’s guts, sucking him into a shadowed memory. On instinct, he stuffed happier thoughts – fresh ink, good tips, his favorite rice ball shop at lunch time – into the pit until he stanched its ooze. Not today, this important day for his own artistic mentoring career, was he going to revisit why he’d run away to Ryuk’s shop in the first place.
“I know he’ll show up,” Light said, more a mantra to himself than a rebuke to Ryuk. “He’ll show up.”
The front entrance bell’s jingled and Light shot his attention to the door, groaning as Misa bustled in for her shift.
“Who’ll show up?” Misa shrugged off her black hoodie, hanging it on their painted skeleton coat rack. Thick eyeliner smeared around her artificial red eyes – contact lenses she wore once for Halloween, and then never took off. As she walked by Light, her warm vanilla body spray wafted through the entire shop. Rather than look at her, Light kept his eyes forward. To look at the beast was to get inappropriately flirted with by the beast.
“My new apprentice.” Light tapped his fingers on the reception counter. “And he will show up. Even if Ryuk is being a naysayer.”
“I’m not being a naysayer,” Ryuk said. “I’m just being realistic. Your new kid’s is late. They are always late.”
“Excuse me,” a soft voice piped up from Ryuk’s chair. His client, an extremely tan bald man, had his shirt rucked up where Ryuk worked on a dragon snaking over his ribs. “I don’t want to be rude, but maybe don’t distract the guy with a needle on my skin.”
“Don’t worry about it, dude.” Ryuk’s tone went syrupy. “You’ve got the best tattoo professional in the whole business putting this serpent on you. My employees’ being restless won’t interfere. Promise.”
“He’s lying,” Light said, not looking away from the door.
“What?” The bald man squeaked.
“I’m the best tattooist in the whole business.” Light rolled the reception desk chair around and winked. “But Ryuk’s been keeping second place warm.”
As Ryuk geared up a protest, the door jingled and Light whipped back around. Mihael shuffled in. His expression was sullen, arms crossed over his hole-ridden shirt and hoodie. Carting him inside was a sinewy figure, their clothes and most of their body covered by a pink apron embroidered with the name of the florist four doors down from Ryuk’s place: The Secret Garden. Both Mihael and the other person sported a similiar top knot, although the taller, older one had black curls springing out from the loose elastic tie. Their gray eyes roved over the shop’s black and red interior, unimpressed. Light squeezed his fingers into a fist. In amongst the frustration and surprise his apprentice’s appearance played through him was a single sharp, hot note plucked by this other figure’s piercing gaze and romantic features.
“Well?” With a bony hand, the aproned person pushed Mihael forward. “Tell them what you need to and we’ll go.”
Mihael rolled his eyes, shoving both hands in his hoodie.
“I can’t take the tattoo apprenticeship,” he spat. “I can’t do it because my stupid uncle Ryuzaki wants me to work at his flower store.”
“Okay.” Ryuzaki pinched the bridge of his aquiline nose and let out a bedraggled sigh. “That is not what we agreed you’d say at all, Mello. Try again.”
“No way. You’re being totally unfair,” Mihael shouted. “I’m nineteen and I can make my own choices.”
Light stepped back from the desk, his skin crawling as waves of aggression rolled off Mihael. Springing from beside him, Misa clomped her way to the now arguing uncle and nephew. Her chunky black boots squealed on the tile as she rounded on the two, the smell of warm vanilla sugar now venomous with her anger.
“Listen up,” she barked. “You’ve got two minutes to control this little domestic dispute or you can both shove off. You’re embarrassing my favorite co-worker by rejecting his very generous offer and now you’re disturbing the peace around here. Scram if you can’t be civilized, got it?”
Mihael opened his mouth, clearly ready to disturb more peace, but Ryuzaki dropped a firm hand on his shoulder.
“C’mon, Mello.” His low tone – authoritative and lean – sent a treacherous shiver down Light’s back. “You’re on thin ice already. Let’s go.”
“At least let me apologize.” Mihael frowned with all the fight had gone from his voice. “It’d be an asshole move to just leave.”
His blue eyes shown with the same inhibited reluctance Light remembered from their interview. While the firm line of Ryuzaki’s lips spelled another denial, Mihael didn’t look at him – he looked at Light. Crossing his arms, Light shook his head and sighed. Someone had to be in the kid’s corner, and here he was: the only one volunteering.
“All right. I’ll accept an apology.” Light ignored Misa’s annoyed look back at him as he spoke. Less aggressive but still unconvinced, Ryuzaki pointed a similar glare at Light without removing his hand from Mihael’s shoulder.
“I think we should go,” he said. “We’ve already taken up too much of your time.”
“Nah, it’s cool.” Ryuk cut in, looking up from a half finished dragon’s claw. “Light and his kid can use the break room to talk it over. You on the other hand” – Ryuk swiveled his head to bore his yellow eyes right into Ryuzaki, towering mohawk vibing serious supernatural menace – “You can wait outside, bud. Nothing personal, but you’re making at least two people in here pretty uncomfortable.”
Mihael jammed his shoulder out from under Ryuzaki’s hold and followed Light to the back. The last Light heard of Ryuzaki was an angry jingle from the door bells. He showed Mihael into the claustrophobic break room, directing him to a folding chair while Light stayed upright. Leaning back on the door frame, he rolled his hand in a leading gesture: The apology now, please.
“Look,” Mihael said. “I’m really sorry about my uncle. I thought he’d be cool with this but he’s wigged out about the whole tattoo thing.”
“Any reason why?” Light raised an eyebrow. “He have a lot of bad experiences with tattoos? Got a tramp stamp he’d rather forget or something?”
“No.” Mihael shook his head. “Man, I don’t know what his deal is. He just got real mad and told me I had to work at the Garden.”
Although his voice was calmer than before, tears threatened in Mihael’s eyes. Light frowned, almost frustrated by the concern he felt for the kid. But the concern wasn’t the only part of the frustration brewed in his gut – that Ryuzaki jerk was nabbing Light’s opportunity to pass on his great skills. Already, Light tasted the ashes of stolen glory. He tapped a finger to his chin and considered their options.
“What days do you work at the florist?”
“Monday, Wednesday.” Mihael sniffled, unhappiness replaced by confusion. “Plus a half shift on Friday and Saturday. Why?”
Light held up a finger and grabbed a blank shift schedule from Ryuk’s nest of administrative detritus. The tattoo shop’s owner was no better at office management now than he’d been when Light bustled through four years previous. From a skull-shaped pencil holder Light grabbed a ballpoint and took the seat across from Mihael, spreading the supplies out.
“Write down the days and times your uncle has you working,” Light said. “And we’ll figure out when you can come in around them.”
“You still want to teach me?” Mihael said softly.
“I’m the best tattoo artist in the whole damn hemisphere,” Light replied. “And I’ll be fucked if some flower shop dictator is going to stop me from taking the apprentice I want. Now, are you willing to take on the responsibility?”
A slow, manic grin took over Mihael’s face, his eyes gone wild. Light understood the joke of his nickname – when he was on, there was nothing mellow about this kid.
“Hell yeah,” Mihael nodded. “I was born ready.”