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Light wakes up with an arm flung over his neck and a leg wrapped around his stomach and a pounding headache, one that worsens as soon as he twists around and sees the offensively blonde head of hair buried against his shoulder.
"Misa," he hisses, "Misa, wake up, I'm going to be late to class."
He really is, too — he manages to angle his head to see his dad's gift watch on his wrist, the one that holds his last-resort murder weapon and is currently reading 8:48; he has his criminology class at nine in the morning and he knows it — but Misa's hold on him tightens and she mumbles "Don't go," burrowing even closer to him like she wants to get under his skin, live inside him like a tapeworm, and… and to be honest, Light doesn't really want to hear his professor talk about how Kira is the epitome of unchecked vigilantism today, so he untenses back into her sickening death grip and stares at the ceiling and resolves to silently blame her for driving him into juvenile truancy when they get up later.