Chapter Text
Aoi suppressed a groan when his phone gave a short buzz in his hand. He swept aside the pages of legalese and research cluttering his desktop to pull up the application that synced with his messages, waiting for it to refresh.
The notification bubble appeared next to Light’s name—or rather, next to his nickname of the week, which was currently an affectionate “piece of shit trashbag”, though an ellipsis cut off his esteemed moniker after the “shi” inside the title of the conversation page. Aoi smiled at a photo of an opened dozen of eggs, the last pair half out of the frame.
Aoi: looks good
All of Light’s messages went through a text-to-voice translator, so it was more efficient to send him voice messages when possible. Unfortunately, Aoi was currently engrossed in a call with a repeat client trying to come up with an investment plan for the new gratuitous income she was now receiving from yet another successful business venture. He wanted to be mad at the moguls on the other side of his phone calls as they slipped brags into the conversation at every opportunity, but then he remembered the automated email he had received yesterday to calculate the current net worth of his investment profile. He was one of the moguls.
The phone vibrated again, shortly before another photo popped up in the computer-based inbox. It was the front face of a milk carton, blurred by an unsteady hand. Aoi expanded the photo take up his whole screen but still could not make out any numbers in the grey fuzz above the brand label.
Aoi: cant read the date. its probably fine just get it
A blinking ellipsis popped up from the other side, which was unusual for Light.
piece: It’s your cake.
The reply was complete with full stop, because Light would painstakingly dictate those details of punctuation for the sake of proper mechanics. Aoi smirked.
Aoi: its clovers cake lets be real
He read details of several tried-and-true investment plans to the woman on the other side of the phone. She turned up her long, sharp nose—he had only met her in person once, but he remembered her nose sticking far out from her face over her pursed, burgundy lips, making even deeper holes for her withered eyes lined in aubergine—at each of the proposals. Ordinarily he would be cracking his knuckles against the desk to keep and getting snappy, and the constant buzzing on his phone would just drive him closer to the edge, but every out-of-context snapshot of the convenience store brought a smile to his lips. It wasn’t just that he was fond of the photographer, or that the pictures were often out of focus or had only captured half of the intended subject. What was most charming was that Light did not have to send a single word alongside the photo for Aoi to know what was needed.
A picture of the snack aisle.
Aoi: pretzels 3 rows up 11 from left. chips 4x7
A picture of a box of cake mix sitting in Light’s shopping basket.
Aoi: chocolate wins the cake mix blind lottery
“You know, I just don’t think that’s a good idea,” said the woman on the other end of the line, her voice sliding from a pitch that screeched across the low-bit-rate call to a deep vocal fry. “I don’t want all that money going overseas, you know, I… I don’t think it’s safe.”
Aoi rolled his eyes as he settled his forehead into his empty hand and tried to slow his sigh enough so that it would not be audible when the air passed through his lips. For a man whose name was Aoi Kurashiki, he got a surprising number of xenophobic customers. Just when he was about to lose his patience, his phone buzzed, which had already begun to trigger a Pavlovian response in him where his lips tugged towards a smile and his mouse shifted to the conversation, awaiting the arriving photo. In the picture that popped up, Light had his brow knit in concentration, the edge of his fingertip creating pink fuzz in the corner of the image.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Jackson, could you hold for about ten seconds?” Aoi asked, his voice even more polite when it came through a smile. “I need to take care of a high-priority item.”
He muted her call. On his computer, he held down the microphone icon next to the textbox. It expanded, awaiting his vocal input.
“That’s a very cute selfie, babe.”
He picked up the phone and thanked his client for her patience before launching into the benefits and drawbacks of investing in U.S. bonds. She sounded less hesitant in her short replies.
piece: Is the camera reverse button in the top right corner of the screen?
Aoi: yes
“We can get you a higher return value the longer the bond takes to mature,” Aoi rattled on, clicking his mouse and tapping on a few more keys, “so what I usually do with my clients is stagger the bonds so you’ll see your returns over the course of many years. Now, in your profile…”
Aoi Kurashiki changed piece of shit trashbag’s conversation name to perfect disaster.
Light’s next photo was correctly oriented, but for once, Aoi did not know what guidance was needed. He dragged the window larger to see the mosaic of pastels that was the greeting card aisle. His phone buzzed again in his hand and he waited for the explanation to arrive onscreen, preceded by three blinking dots.
perfect: Pick one out for yourself.
Aoi disguised a laugh with a cough and an “excuse me” before resuming his explanation of the different plan lengths and their expected turnover.
Aoi: birthday cards on the left
Aoi: this is styupid dont
Ms. Jackson at last sounded satisfied, and she was already familiar with Aoi’s service charges. The discussion did not come to an end after their verbal agreement, or when Ms. Jackson confirmed she had received the appropriate contracts in her email inbox. She was one of those clients who thought she was familiar enough with “Mr. Curra-sheeky” that she could talk to him about her latest vacation to one of those tropical islands named after a saint.
perfect: I’m very certain I have selected a fantastic birthday card.
Aoi: purt it back I hate you
A picture popped up of the short line in front of the cash register.
Aoi: im gonna change your name to piece of shit trashbag again
There was a pause while Light paid and while Ms. Jackson complained about the high temperatures of a tropical island. Aoi had never heard his conversational interjections sound as engaged as when he had a stupid smile on his face while he traced his finger in a listless circle around the trackpad, waiting for the next message.
perfect: I must have missed the notification. What have you changed it to?
Aoi Kurashiki changed perfect disaster’s conversation name to piece of shit trashbag again.
piece of shit trashbag again changed Aoi Kurashiki’s conversation name to Incorrigible comedian.
Incorrigible comedian changed piece of shit trashbag again’s conversation name to how the fuck did you do that wis.
Incorrigible: with voice commands
Incorrigible: but you couldnt do the camera
how: You shouldn’t text so much while you’re on the phone with a customer, dear.
Aoi lost track of the words running through his ear when he read that text. Throughout the last few weeks, they had noticed that, although Aoi’s overall tendency was to receive, when paired with this other receiver, he was, by a narrow margin, the natural transmitter of the two. He gave another well-placed "mhm" to his rambling client as he pounded on the keys with his free hand.
Incorrigible comedian changed how the fuck did you do that wis’s conversation name to morphogenetic asshole.
Incorrigible: did you fucjin look at my screen to figure out where the button was
morphogenetic: That name has a ring to it like it’s going to stick for the next week or too.
Incorrigible: and you heard her shes just ranting about how goddamn rich she is
morphogenetic asshole changed Incorrigible comedian’s conversation name to Deer.
Deer: YOU PIECE OF SHIT IT DID THR ANIM,AL
Deer changed morphogenetic asshole’s conversation name to morphogenetic FUCLKWAD.
Deer restored their conversation name to default (Aoi Kurashiki).
The next message to pop up was a blurred, poorly-lit photo of the apartment stairwell. Within the minute, Aoi heard the key turn in the door down the hall just before it squeaked open. He waited on the edge of his seat for the gentle rap of Light’s knuckles against the bedroom door, but he sooner heard the refrigerator door falling shut.
“I’m not keeping you from anything, am I?” asked Ms. Jackson in an uncharacteristic moment of something close to self-awareness. “You mentioned something earlier, something high-priority…”
“Oh, no, don’t worry,” Aoi replied, twirling his chair away from the desk. “I’ve… mostly taken care of that, I can get to it after our call.”
“Oh, I don’t want to keep you! Is there anything more you need from me?”
The pleasantries of ending a conversation lasted through to when Aoi flipped on the light switches in the kitchen, where, oblivious to the dim of twilight, Light was running one hand along the cupboard shelves while holding the box of chocolate cake mix in the other. He smiled over his shoulder when he heard Aoi’s customer service voice approaching, but still jumped a little when Aoi slid a hand around his waist and pressed a kiss to his cheek.
“Thanks for shopping, morphogenetic fuckwad,” Aoi whispered in Light’s ear, the phone pulled away from his face.
“It was fuckle-quad, dear,” Light corrected in a soft voice. “Your one-handed typing is as entertaining to listen to as ever.”