The old brick corridors of Wammy’s House echoed with distant laughter and the shuffle of socked feet against polished floors. Somewhere down the west wing, the scent of burned toast lingered like an accusation, probably Matt's doing again—he always insisted he could make breakfast without triggering the fire alarm.

Near sat cross-legged on the common room floor, pale fingers flicking one of his stacked dice towers higher with surgical precision. Mello had taken over the window bench, leather-clad legs stretched across the cushions, a chocolate bar between his teeth and some British rock band playing low from his outdated MP3 player. Matt lounged nearby, half-watching the game console flicker through loading screens while the smell of nicotine clung stubbornly to his hoodie.

Mr. Ruvie was in the corner reading a book on insects, his attention fully on the book. And it almost seemed for a minuet that he wasn't actually a incredibly grouchy and crotchety old man. His reading only paused when he glanced toward the clock, murmuring that Watari had mentioned a visitor.

Then the door creaked open and in walked L.

He looked exactly the same: sleep-deprived eyes, slouched posture, thumb hooked on his lower lip like it had never left. His sudden reappearance didn’t cause an uproar, just a collective pause—like the house had been holding its breath for years, waiting for him to come home.

And quietly, in the far hallway, someone else watched the reunion from the shadows.

Beyond Birthday didn’t often leave the darker corners of the house. Not because he wasn’t welcome—no one had ever said that—but because his presence was... complicated. Still, he lingered today, one red eye glinting behind curtain-thin strands of black hair, watching L with an unreadable smile.

Outside, the sky hung heavy with clouds. Inside, it felt like the calm before something—not a storm exactly, but something strange, something significant. And yet, it was just another ordinary day at Wammy’s House. For now...