Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You are Kira,” L had said that morning, his voice floating through the kitchen like a worn and weathered wind-chime. 

Light turned to face him. 

Perched on the coffee table, L licked his thumb. His fingers were coated with a layer of sticky red syrup from the candy-cane he had been nursing for breakfast.

His eyes didn’t meet Light’s. 

Caught off guard, Light hissed a tight, panicked "Excuse me?” It was only two days since they had concluded the Yotsuba investigation— two days since Light had regained his memories. Two days since L could say that… and be correct.  

And to Light’s knowledge, he hadn’t made a mistake in that time. “Ryuzaki, how could you even suggest that?” The tremor in his voice was real when he spoke. Something about the finality of L's tone had shaken him. “You saw the rules of the Death Note yourself— I clearly have an alibi. You know that, how could you…” 

L’s eyes, cloudy and dull, finally drifted over to meet Light's. He sighed. There was no satisfaction in his demeanor. If anything, he looked downright despondent. “The rules are fake.” 

Light didn’t speak. 

“There is simply no scenario in which you are innocent, I’m afraid.” L chewed peppermint glaze from his thumb and his shoulders slumped. 

Light absorbed him. Absorbed the way the circles under his eyes seemed to deepen when he stared down at the floor, at the way his shoulders appeared half their normal size when he cradled his knees like that. And for the life of him… he didn’t understand how L could say this while looking so… 

Depressed. 

Isn’t that what you wanted? For me to be Kira? Why do you sound so sure of yourself and so unhappy at the same time?

This conversation was routine for them. Light shouldn't have been surprised. And yet, the declaration had a different edge this time... it sounded... somehow absolute. Light glowered at L, unable to help the way his lips pinched into a tight little frown as he tried to decipher what exactly had changed.

L didn’t look up to read Light's expression. He seemed to know what he was thinking anyway. “If you’re wondering why I’m sharing this with you— and why I’m not particularly pleased… it’s because you’ve won. So, congratulations Light, Kira, I am admitting my defeat.” 

Light shook his head slowly. “Ryuzaki... You aren’t making any sense, what are you talking about—“

“—You’ve won, because you made me realize something.” His eyes traced Light then, following the contours of his pants, his long sleeved shirt, before finally resting on the crown of his head. “I know that you are Kira. And I know that I cannot prove it.” 

Breath escaped Light. His throat bobbed softly, and all he managed was a shallow, empty, “I’m not— What are you saying?”  Even in his own ears, the words sounded cliche.

L swiped something from the corner of his lip. “Well— I’m saying a couple of things, I suppose. For starters, it was painfully arrogant of me to even attempt to approach this case through the conventional route… After all, even if we were able to get a confession— to prove that you believed you were Kira— or otherwise prove that you had used the notebook… well.”

L took a slow, long sip of his tea.

“A supernatural threat… is simply not compatible with the judicial systems we have in place. Honestly, I hadn’t wanted to confront the issue until we discovered the method by which Kira kills…  But it's obvious now. Even if I were to arrest you and have you face trial— and even if I were able to get a guilty verdict… I can’t say I’m comfortable with the legal precedent that would set. After all, this case is one of a kind. It’s truly exceptional, and not something that a judiciary would ever be able to accommodate without leaving itself crippled. Can you imagine a future where virtually any prosecution could be built on the premise that the accused has supernatural powers? And that, as found in the Kira case, this possibility must be considered viable?” He shrugged, his tea threatening to spill as his hand dipped up with the gesture, before slipping back into the cup as a result of its criminally thick viscosity. “It just wouldn’t work. So, I give up.” 

Light evaluated L carefully, his face falling into the meticulously blank mask he had become so  accustomed to wearing.

“You will not stand before a court of law. You will not face a jury of your peers. And I will not have the satisfaction of beating you.” L stood slowly then, towering over Light as a result of his perch on the coffee table. “I will simply deal with you myself. Kira.” 

The threat had barely washed over Light when L lunged for him. 

There was an arm around his throat. Legs around his waist. 

And then he stopped breathing, and the world went black. 

That was all that Light could remember when he awoke. A hot flash of pain seared through his head as consciousness hit him, making him feel as if his brain had been littered with sewing needles. 

He blinked, bleary-eyed, as he slowly grew to recognize the thump-thump-thump of helicopter blades, further punishing his migraine. 

His mouth was dry. His arms were bound. And he had no idea how long he had been unconscious. 

Light’s head lolled back on his shoulders so he could look behind him, and his eyes landed on Ryuzaki— on L. 

His skin cooled and his blood burned with rage. 

Briefly, Light reflected on his relationship with Ryuzaki. He remembered how it had felt to be tethered to him for all those weeks. What it had been like to work with him, to eat with him, and to wait outside the shower, chain trailing under the curtain, after he had finally convinced him to bathe. 

He thought back to every time he had seen L vulnerable. All of the times he had envisioned slinking the chain around his neck and pulling and pulling and pulling until that pale face turned blue and those gray eyes went bloodshot. 

He looked at L. And he loathed every missed opportunity.

I should have just killed you with my own bare hands. 

Light didn’t speak, knowing that his parched voice wouldn’t reach above the battering noise of the helicopter. But L seemed to sense his gaze. 

He turned to face him, expression blank. 

And then he smiled. 

Light screamed. 

Ryuk had perched on the edge of the helicopter with his back to the open door for the rest of the flight. 

Light was turned away from him, simply curled in on himself like a wounded child. But, even though he wasn’t looking at Ryuk, he could still feel that stupid fucking smile when he laughed. 

They had been in the air for hours, and for what felt like the last two, the sky had been painted sunset yellow. Light suspected that wherever they were flying, they were chasing the sun westward. He didn’t have a good vantage point to examine the ground below them, but when he managed to catch a glimpse of the horizon, he saw trees rather than ocean, which meant they were likely headed across China or Eastern Europe. 

Distantly, he recalled that L was from England. 

Light’s clothes had been changed at some point during his sleep. 

His watch had been removed. 

His piece of the death note had been removed. 

He hadn’t been so helpless since he was an infant. 

“Hey, Light,” Ryuk laughed. 

Light was not in the mood. He shuffled a few inches away. 

“What do you think he’s gonna do with you when you reach your destination?” 

“I don’t know, Ryuk,” Light hissed, his voice swallowed by the helicopter’s relentless thump thump thump. 

Ryuk seemed to hear him regardless, because he chuckled. “This really is getting interesting...”

Light was sure he’d never been the recipient of such callousness.

By the time the helicopter finally began its descent, Light felt as if his head had been crushed five times over. 

He stared at the slate-black ceiling and considered rolling out the door and to his death. It would certainly be better to have his life claimed by a simple, painless drop than whatever L had planned for him. 

He rocked back and forth. 

And found he didn’t have the strength. 

I’m too helpless to even die. 

A laugh slipped from his lips slowly. And once it started, it did not stop. He laughed and laughed until his eyes went blurry from tears and his throat burned. 

The helicopter landed. 

L unfolded himself from the corner, and then approached Light for the first time since he’d woken up. 

Light glared at him, eyes furious. 

The second you free me, I am going to kill you. 

Because what else could he do? 

He was helpless. And the game was over. 

I will take you down with me. 

L paused to examine Light’s expression, and Light was sure he received the sentiment. Light had never before felt so… defeated. In that moment, he truly was no more than a cornered animal.

Though Light didn’t have a perfectly lucid view of L’s mind, he knew him well enough to know that he would never do something like this if he had any intention of relenting. 

Light was Kira. 

L knew. 

And L was no longer interested in entertaining Light’s chicanery. 

L was wary, almost timid as he lifted Light from the ground. The helicopter pilots soon accompanied him, and Light was promptly blindfolded and escorted onto the landing pad. They loaded him into the back of a vehicle— probably a van— and buckled him in snugly. 

Light could tell that L was in the spot next to him by the way the seat indented, pulling towards the balls of L’s feet, rather than being distributed evenly as it would have been by a person sitting on their thighs. 

Even in the car, L was squatting like a frog. 

Light couldn’t explain the emotion he experienced at the revelation. 

The image of an accident, L’s folded up body being launched through the windshield and mangled on the hood of the van clouded his mind for a long moment. 

And something about it bothered him. 

Before he could bite his tongue, he hissed a sigh. “Sit normally.” 

L was quiet for a beat, and Light could feel those dark, inky eyes on him. “Is Light Yagami concerned for my safety?” 

Light’s teeth grit and he refused to acknowledge the question. 

But then the seat bounced, and he heard those legs unfold. “I don’t understand how this feels natural to you,” L murmured as he settled. “Would you like me to wear a seatbelt too, Kira?” The mockery in his voice was barefaced. 

Light tried his best to turn away from him. But when he heard a seatbelt click into place, he was utterly baffled to find he was… relieved. 

“I must apologize for divesting your personal belongings,” L said, steering Light by the shoulders along some kind of dirt path. “I’m afraid you’re simply too clever to be allowed such things.” 

Light didn’t speak. He needed that watch back. He needed to kill L, and he needed that watch back. 

“Perhaps this was all rather sudden of me— no, it was cruel to do this to you so abruptly. I really had been driven to a panic, you see. The others intended to exculpate you, and I think we’re both well aware of why that wasn’t an acceptable outcome…” 

“Why are you talking to me?” Light spat. 

L paused. “… Would you prefer I didn’t?” 

Light doubled over as much as his restraints allowed, heaving out an empty, angry laugh. “Why are you talking like we’re friends?” 

L, yet again, was silent. 

Light got the feeling he was surprised by that. 

“I see.” L was quiet for the remainder of the walk, simply directing Light forward.

And then, eventually, they stopped in front of a building. Light could sense it from the way they were shielded from the wind. 

“Tell me, Light. Do you have ill intent towards me still?” L asked then. 

The question was ridiculous. 

“You just kidnapped me,” Light said as plainly as he could. I’d like to rip your eyes from your skull.

“Mm, I suppose that’s to be expected.” L responded, and Light heard the rustling of keys and a door being opened. “It isn’t mutual.” 

Light didn’t know what he meant by that. 

L took his hand and guided him into the building anyway.  

It was only after Light had been forced to shuffle up a flight of stairs, tugged into a room, then sat on a bed, that L removed his blindfold. 

He had to squint as his vision was flooded with lamp light. 

L stared at him expectantly, and appeared to have little intention of leaving him to his misery in private. 

“Where am I?” Light whispered, refusing to look L in the eye. 

“My home,” L answered, his voice soft. It had a wistful undertone to it. Light got the feeling L hadn’t actually been to this place in a very long time. 

Light's eyes flicked to the wooden floorboards. “Does my father know about this?” 

“No, he does not.” 

Light’s throat tightened, another surge of anger and betrayal coursing through him like fire. “You can’t do this to me.” 

“I can… I did. I will.” L’s expression gave little away. When did it ever, he was the most impassive person Light had ever met. But though his lips were relaxed and unreadable, his eyelashes dipped forward, casting a soft shadow over his face. 

He almost looked remorseful. 

Almost. 

“I understand why you’re angry with me,” L murmured. 

“Oh, really—” 

“—I broke the rules.” Now, he did look guilty. His thumb pressed to his lips, and his feet rubbed together anxiously. “I was supposed to catch you fair and square… If I were to take this approach, simply shipping you off by my own authority, I should have done it from the beginning. I lead you to believe that, so long as I could not prove your guilt, or earn the approval of the police, then you would win.” 

Light’s jaw set. 

“I broke the rules. And for that, I am sorry.” 

“I’m not angry over some game— I’m angry because I’m not Kira!” Light tried. 

L sighed, and Light was sure he’d never heard him so exhausted. “Please give it up. You have nothing to gain by prolonging this guileless farce. I have never believed it, and I won’t now.” 

Light couldn’t think of a worthwhile retort. So, he just muttered a quiet, bitter, “You’re no better.” 

“Hmm?” 

“Than Kira. You’re no better than he is— I thought the entire reason you were trying to catch him was because you thought it was immoral to act above the law! And now, here you are, thinking you know everything and that you don’t need oversight, like you aren’t just some lunatic!” 

Light expected the tirade to rattle L— or at least elicit a frown. 

It didn’t. 

Instead, L just smiled. It was the face of a person who had already had this conversation, most likely with himself. "I know,” he murmured, voice gentle. 

“And that doesn’t bother you? You hypocrite!” 

L’s shoulders relaxed, and he allowed his head to dip back as he stared at the ceiling. “It doesn’t. Because you’re right— I’m arrogant. I’m selfish. And as of late, I’ve elected to accept that.” He shrugged, his smile calm, almost blissful. “… Do you want to know why?” 

Light already knew.  

“Because you are Kira. And the truth is, my friend… a humble man could not have stopped you.” 

Light had to clutch his pants to keep his hands from trembling with frustration. “I’m not Kira.” 

“You are.” 

“I’m not.” 

L smiled. “Well, that is very unfortunate. Because you aren’t going anywhere. And I think  you will find that Kira would be quite at home here.” 

Light didn’t know what he meant by that. 

L removed Light’s ropes anyway. He chained his wrist to the bedpost. And, just before turning off the lights and closing the door, he had the impenitence to whisper “Good night. Kira.” 

Chapter Text

Light had not slept that night. 

He wished he could have spent that time well. But when he had tried to coerce Ryuk into finding him a book, a magazine, or anything to occupy himself with, the shinigami had only laughed in his face. 

“Last I checked, you didn’t have any apples on you.” 

As expected, Ryuk was a paragon of truculence. 

Light needed more information before he could start enacting a plan of escape. However, he had managed to begin building the foundation of his strategy. 

L admitted that he did this independently— ‘through his own authority,’ as he put it. From that, it’s unlikely that he has the support of the police. I’d guess that they’re willing to turn a blind eye, but when it comes down to it, they won’t actively enforce my imprisonment. Which means I won’t have to worry about getting arrested if I break out. If I kill him… I may be as good as free. 

But he couldn’t return to Japan after L was dead. At least, not openly.

It would be too risky to explain his disappearance and subsequent escape, as the whole ordeal would unquestionably place him as L’s murderer. 

And, if the police could corroborate that he had killed L… the suspicion that he truly was Kira after all would surely creep in on the entire task force. 

So, where would he go? He’d have little reason to stay in England. Maybe the USA? Or perhaps it would be best to head to Eastern Europe… Albania? Wherever he ran to, he would need to forge a new identity, so a nation with dubious security would be ideal. 

But that could all fall into place in time. 

First, he needed L dead. 

It was only after the sun had risen that Light’s solitude was interrupted by the sound of the rattling doorknob. “See? It’s locked. Just last week this door was open… Roger wouldn’t have closed it off for no reason...” 

Light’s eyebrows tipped up at the voice’s pitch. Unless he was somehow mistaken… it sounded like it belonged to a young boy. He sat up, handcuff chain clinking against the metal bedpost. 

“Did you hear that?” Another boy whispered, “I think someone’s in there!” This voice was rougher, slightly older. It had an almost clumsy quality to it, though, that could have been the result of a recent puberty. “Out of the way, twerp, let me see!”

Ryuk chuckled knowingly.  

“That noise sounded like a chain… whoever it is, it’s likely they’re being restrained,” the younger voice mused. 

And then, the sound of metal scratching on metal came as something was inserted into the doorknob. They were trying to pick the lock. 

Light remained silent. 

L brought me to a place… with children??

It was insane. To have him— the person that L believed to be history’s most prolific serial killer— in such close proximity to— 

The next voice Light heard was L’s. “What exactly do you think you’re doing?”

One of the children jumped, their body banging harshly against the wooden door. After a few moments of stunned silence, the clumsy-voiced teenager sputtered, “L? You’re here??” 

“Yes, it would appear I am.” L removed the pick from the doorknob. 

“B— but I thought you were working on the Kira case— if you’re back, does that mean you solved it?” 

“I know who it is, but no, I’m afraid I have abandoned the investigation. Don’t bring it up again please, the whole ordeal has put me in a terribly sour mood.” L slid a key into the lock and turned it. 

Light could only stare as the door opened. 

L stood between the two boys, one blonde, and one white-haired. The white-haired child sat curled on the floor, blankfaced, but with wide, observant eyes. 

The blonde boy, evidently the clumbsy-voiced teenager, immediately scowled at Light as he soaked in his appearance. 

“This is Light Yagami. He is going to remain at the house indefinitely, but for now, please regard him with caution.” 

The white-haired child’s gaze slowly drifted from Light, to the floor, and then finally, to L. “You brought Kira here?” 

The blonde boy prickled and his mouth opened, evidently about to protest the declaration.  But when L didn’t refute it, the teenager’s face settled as he realized it was true. He stared at Light with new eyes, expression cast with trepid interest. 

This is my chance— they’re just kids, I can use them. 

Light allowed his face to distort into an image of wanton despair. “Please— L, I’m not Kira-!” He turned his desperate eyes to the children. “You have to help me! I don’t know why he thinks I have anything to do with this, but he’s lost it! He took me here against my will, I need to talk to my family again, they don’t know where I am, I’m begging you, please, please help me!” His cry carried an air of true terror, voice trembling. He really did sound like a helpless victim. 

The children stared at him blankly. 

“Wow. He’s annoying,” the teenager remarked. 

The white-haired child hummed in agreement. 

… They can’t be serious. 

Ryuk cackled. 

“Rest assured, I wouldn’t have taken him to the house if I didn’t think he could be controlled,” L murmured, entering the room.

“He’s not to be trusted under any circumstances, but he’s less of a liability here than he was in Japan… I’m afraid ordinary people are too easily manipulated by his tactics, so it was necessary to bring him to an environment where his methods would prove ineffective. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you to refrain from empathizing with him...” 

Light swallowed, his head slumping on his shoulders. “L… you’re talking about me like I’m not even human…” 

“Are you?” L’s eyes were wide and cold. Light stared into them, catching his own reflection in those irises, deep and dark like a muddy pond. 

It should have been an easy ‘yes.’ Automatic, even. And yet… the words didn’t come. The question was simply swallowed by silence. 

“May I ask why you left him alive?” the white-haired child murmured from the doorway, rolling a lock of hair between his fingers. 

L pressed a thumb to his lip, taking an uncharacteristically long time to answer. 

The back of Light's neck felt clammy with sweat.

And then, L just sighed. “I could give you a few reasons, I suppose… Chiefly, I was unable to actually prove his guilt. Don’t be mistaken, Light Yagami is Kira. But bringing him here was already a tenuous stretch of my authority. Killing him extrajudicially would have left an irreparable mark on my character.” 

The blonde teen evaluated Light for a slow moment. “… Okay. That’s one of your reasons… What are the others?” 

L smiled. He did not answer. 

“I’ll ask that you stay out of this room going forward. Though I am sympathetic to your curiosity, I’d rather you use that energy elsewhere.” L turned his back to Light, herded the boys back into the hall, and shut the door behind him. The children did not protest. 

And Light was once again left to his isolation. 

Ryuk chuckled from the window, and Light decided that shinigami did not count as company. 

Chapter Text

The next time the door opened, it was accompanied by the shuffling feet of an old man. 

Light’s eyes peeled open. 

He smelled food. 

The man carried a tray, upon which was a glass of water and a ceramic bowl with a blue rim. From the bowl wafted little whips of steam, and the aroma they carried was enough to make Light swallow a mouthful of saliva. 

“Just stew for lunch,” the man said, back arching down at an odd angle as he placed the tray on the ground, his hips apparently too rigid to accompany the gesture. “If you have any dietary restrictions, please let me know. We will be more than happy to accommodate you.” 

Light’s body hadn’t actually moved since the old man entered the room, but at that, he lifted his head. “… How considerate of you.” 

The old man only nodded, slowly pulling himself upright once more. He turned, about to leave, when Light called, “Wait.” 

The old man paused. 

“It was kind of you to bring this to me. May I ask your name?” The sooner Light became acquainted with the members of this house, the better. None of them would be stupid enough to give him their real names, he was sure, but if he could build relationships with these people, they may become more inclined to see humanity in him. And, if he wanted any privileges down the road, that was where he had to start. 

He needed that watch back. 

The old man stared at Light, and though his expression was subdued, he appeared to find humor in the question. “You may refer to me as Roger, Mr. Yagami.” 

“Roger,” Light repeated. He remembered the white-haired child referencing the name earlier in the morning. “Well, thank you for the food, Roger.” 

Roger dipped his head once again and then shuffled out of the room. Before he shut the door, however, he glanced at Light over his shoulder. “I would encourage you to finish the meal in the next fifteen minutes. L plans to give you an assignment at noon.” He didn’t elaborate further, and then the door clicked shut and the lock twisted back into place. 

Light stared after him, puzzled. 

An assignment? 

Did L intend to have Light continue working as a detective? No, he couldn’t possibly, it was far too soon to allow him that kind of exposure to the outside world. Unless this was about catching Misa… 

Misa. 

God. Light had almost forgotten about her. 

He hadn’t gotten an opportunity to tell her where to find the buried Death Note. Would she be a liability to him even if she hadn’t had her memories returned? 

As if things haven’t gotten as bad as they can get. I can’t imagine how she could possibly make things worse at this stage. 

But… still. He was sure that if he was forced to aid in Misa’s arrest, Rem would be all too eager to scrawl Light’s name in her notebook. He could see it standing alone on a lined page like a talisman. 

How irritating.

He had never understood Rem’s devotion to Misa. Or the Shinigami that had died for her before, for that matter. 

The idea that an immortal being would give itself so completely to a human girl… especially to one like Misa … it was truly baffling to him. 

He hadn’t been theistic, or even spiritual, before the realm of the supernatural had so abruptly invaded his own. 

And yet, he was well practiced in attempting to place himself in the mind of a God. It felt soothing to imagine living as a being of omniscience, to envision shedding the flawed shell of the human mind, which so often threatened to fissure and warp. If there was such a thing as a soul, he was sure every last one was corrupted for being trapped within the human animal. The needs of the body, the shell, would poison the spirit every time. 

That was why there was evil in the world. The human animal was to blame— and the purpose of Kira was to incentivize the animal to behave as something better. Even under threat of death. 

Shinigami should have been different. 

Immortal beings should have had no need for purpose, for relationships, or for emotion. And yet, two gods of death had fallen in love with a human girl, and were willing to pour eternity into her fragile, mortal, vapid shell. 

It was backwards. 

It felt like an insult. 

Light liked Ryuk— he did. But he too was nothing like Light’s image of a God. There was a disturbing quality to him, something far more unnerving than his gargoyle nose or patchwork skin. 

Ryuk seemed human. 

He was human in his boredom, human in his hedonism, and human in his sense of humor, just as Rem was human in her incomprehensible affection for Misa Amane, who was perhaps the least worthy girl still among the living. 

Light almost hated Misa for her sheer dumb luck, and perhaps even more for her inability to use it. 

If Ryuk had a shred of that loyalty towards Light, the world would have been as good as his. 

Misa, however— well. The way the world treated her made him wonder if he really understood how loyalty worked at all. 

How anyone could find someone so useless so lovable was truly beyond him. 

Light’s eyebrows flattened then, and a sour, saturnine feeling made itself known inside his chest. Before he could catch it, the emotion bled through him, bled through his bones and across his skin. 

It settled, and Light examined his fingertips and chest, eyes glazing over the parts of him that the feeling had touched, as if expecting to find evidence of infection or gangrene in its wake. 

It hurt. 

But soon, just as gradually as the sentiment had possessed him, it was swallowed. 

Light rarely knew how to identify strong emotions when they came to him. More often than not, they seemed like forces of nature, as volatile and as inanimate as the wind or the rain. 

And, as usual when a vivid feeling coursed through him, Light was simply left to wonder what it had wanted from him. 

Light had finished the bowl of stew and emptied the glass of water minutes before he heard the sound of a key in the doorknob, and L entered the room. Under the detective’s arm was a laptop. 

“Hello again Light, I hope you’ve been comfortable.” 

“I’m going to get bed sores if you keep me chained here, you know.” 

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ll take you out for a walk eventually.” L slid onto the bed and folded himself against the wall, before opening the laptop. 

“… Roger mentioned you had an assignment for me?” Light asked. 

L’s eyes flicked to Light’s then, attentive to the fact that Light now knew the old man by name. “Yes, I do. You’ll have a week to work on it, but if you could finish your first draft in the next few days, it would be greatly appreciated. You’ll be writing it digitally, I’m afraid I can’t give Kira a pen in good conscience. However, you can have copies of your writing printed if that better suits you.” 

Light was beginning to suspect that this had little to do with the capture of Misa Amane. “… Alright.” 

“Here’s the rubric.” L passed Light a sheet of paper, upon which was a grid of grading criteria. 

Light stared at it, baffled. “… L, what is this?” 

“I told you, that’s the rubric—“ 

“That is not what I’m asking.” 

L smiled then, fiddling with the computer and opening a blank document on Light’s behalf. “Well… I don’t know what you’ve been able to surmise thus far, but the children in this establishment are currently being trained to become detectives similar to myself. The institution is by no means a traditional school, but we give the students assignments all the same.” 

Light’s expression fell blank as he skimmed over the grading scale. “So, am I a student then?” His voice betrayed how offended he was at the notion of being placed as L’s inferior. 

“No, I’d like you to act as a teaching assistant of sorts. Though, I suppose you are also going to be treated as a subject…” L turned to look at Light, his lips pressed in a coy simper. “The students will be evaluated against what you write in the coming days. I’ve instructed them to construct a criminal profile.” 

Light’s eyes drifted from the paper to L, and suddenly, his blood felt a little bit colder in his veins and his hands felt a little bit clammier against the page. 

“… Kira’s … criminal profile, to be exact.” 

Chapter Text

“… Kira’s … criminal profile, to be exact.” L’s expression was wide-eyed and brimming with revelry, which only twisted the knife further. “We will take the students’ assignments and compare them to your self-analysis.” 

Light was silent for a long moment. And then, abruptly, he balked. “I won’t do it.” His skin felt tight on his body from the way his muscles tensed. Damn L— damn him, he knew exactly what he was doing, crating Light into this position. 

L didn’t skip a beat. “Oh? And why do you suppose that is?” L’s words were quiet, but palpably smug. He was loving this.  

“I— I can’t write a self-assessment from the perspective of Kira, you’re trying to coerce a confession out of me, I won’t do it!” 

“Oh please,” L muttered, “You’re acting as if any of this would be permissible in court. Rest assured, your status as my prisoner would easily vindicate you of any ‘confession’ you release in my custody. The situation won’t change.”

Light stared at him with narrow eyes.

That’s not the point and you know it. 

He wouldn’t do it. He would never confess. After every twist, turn, and cheap trick that L had pulled, Light Yagami would not give him the satisfaction of having been correct. 

He’d see L in the grave before he’d admit it. 

So, with a scathing tone and a tight jaw, Light repeated himself. “I won’t do it.” 

L fidgeted. His thumb pressed to the corner of his lip, and his toes curled, uncurled, and then curled again. Some may have read the movements as anxious, but Light knew better. L wasn’t distressed. He was trying to hide a laugh. 

Light’s expression darkened as his blood coursed with familiar, angry fire. 

What do you find so funny, L? 

It was with curled lips that the detective spoke. “Well… I suppose I can’t force you to participate. But it is a shame. I would have liked to exchange notes.” His tone hung in the air, making it clear that he was bating a question. 

And, Light had no choice but to bite. “… ‘ Notes?’” 

“Yes… I actually went to the liberty of writing my own profile of Kira last night. I’d have thought you might like to read it, but if you aren’t interested in the assignment, then I suppose I’ll just have to keep it to myself.” 

Light tried, momentarily, to disguise his hatred with a lighthearted laugh. 

It came out rough around the edges, and probably betrayed more than he had hoped to cloak in the first place. 

So. L was offering a trade. Light’s ideas about Kira, in exchange for L’s. It was a cheap bartering token. After all, he already knew what L thought of him. 

‘Childish,’ ‘Hates to lose,’ ‘Self-righteous.’ 

It wasn’t all that complicated, really. 

And yet… something didn’t make sense. Light examined L then, trying to decipher his expression. Because… the way he was smiling… it made Light think that L knew something he did not. 

Was he bluffing? 

Or did this new profile really have something worthy of Light’s interest? 

Light was reticent as he considered how he should play this. 

L stared at him patiently, and somehow, Light got the impression that L knew what he was going to say before Light knew himself.  

He was hesitant around his next words. “… Does the content of my assignment matter in this? Or will you promise to show me what you wrote no matter what?” His eyebrows were knit tight as he asked the question. 

“So long as it is a profile of Kira, I will accept it. Regardless of your honesty.” 

So L expected him to lie. 

Fair enough. Their entire relationship up until that point had been utterly mendacious.

Though, no matter what Light produced, he was sure that L would be able to draw information from it like a weaver pulling thread from a tapestry. He was just that kind of person. 

Light promised himself that whatever he came up with, he would find a way to make L’s eyes glaze and his shoulders hunch in disappointment. It wasn’t in his nature to produce mediocre work, but if it would get under L’s skin, he would be the world’s most insufferable under-achiever. 

“… Alright,” Light said, trying to disguise his smirk at the fantasy. He took the laptop from L. 

L pointed at the screen, lips parting. “Ah- There will be a minimum word-count, however.” 

Light suspected that L had only just manufactured this rule. He must have envisioned Light handing in a single-sentence response out of spite. 

“Six-hundred words. That should be elementary for an honors student of your caliber, no?” 

Light resisted the urge to roll his eyes. 

The word count barely mattered. L could ask him to write a damn novel. That didn’t mean he’d give its contents any substance. Every damn word would be as uninspired and desultory as possible.

Light shrugged, expression placid. “Sounds reasonable to me.” 

L’s eyes were as dark and cloudy as ever, but his smirk was vivid. He nodded, uncurling from his spot against the wall. “Well, I suppose I’ll give you some privacy as you begin working… oh, but before I forget,” His hand dug into the back pocket of his oversized jeans, “Should you need anything, simply ring this.” He retrieved a small tea-bell. It jingled as he presented it. 

Light stared at it. It was an effort not to chuckle, but he wouldn’t give L that levity. It would be self-betrayal to treat his kidnapper so amicably. 

So, he took the bell with a blank face. “Ok.” 

L gathered Light’s dishes, carrying them with dangling arms in a way that was decidedly monkey-like, and promptly disappeared behind the door. 

The lock twisted back into place. 

Light spent the first few dozen words writing up a short disclaimer. 

This document has been produced under coercive circumstances. Anything within it to imply that I, the author, Light Yagami, am guilty of any crime, particularly related to the Kira killings, is fabricated and purely fictional. 

Light chuckled. He could already envision L’s charcoal eyes rolling over the paragraph. 

Wonderful. Now he only had another… 567 words to go. 

Kira is… 

His fingers hovered over the keyboard. They did not type. 

He stared at the empty abyss of the document, and, with a dawning feeling of dread, realized he was… at a loss. It wasn’t a hard assignment. Especially considering he intended to flub it. Kira is… 

Ryuk chuckled. 

Light nearly vaulted from the bed, whirling around to glare at the Shinigami, who was poking his head through the wall to pry over Light’s shoulder. “Ry—“ Light began to shout, before swallowing his cry as he remembered there was an exorbitant likelihood that this room was bugged. He pursed his lips together tight, merely glaring at Ryuk with sour eyes. 

“Don’t mind me, heheh, I just want to see what you come up with,” Ryuk laughed, skimming over the document with those beady red eyes. “Pretend I’m not even here.” 

Light really wished that was as easy as Ryuk made it sound. He turned back to his laptop screen, taking a slow breath. His fingers tapped out another few words. 

Kira is an inhuman killer. 

That seemed… adequate. 

Ryuk laughed. 

Light set his jaw. 

He sees himself as the arbiter of justice, and gleefully dolls out the death penalty to those he views as unworthy of participating in society. He goes above the law, often targeting criminals who have already been sent to prison. Kira believes that a harsh hand is necessary to discourage those who would otherwise turn to crime. He hopes to change the world to this end. 

The words were coming a little bit more naturally now. He barely had to think as he continued to type. 

Kira believes that some people are born into this world with evil innate to their very beings. These people are selfish, devoid of compassion, and utterly malignant. They are simply monsters. There is no reasoning with them. There is no redemption. They are parasites to society, and they must be purged from the host for the rest of us to thrive. 

Light skimmed over what he had written, realizing he had slipped a little too closely to Kira’s point of view. He would revise that later, but he didn’t dare abandon his current momentum. 

Kira believes he is justified in his actions for this reason. He will slaughter these ‘parasites’ remorselessly. He is motivated by his vision of a better world… while also being driven by a profound disdain for those who submit themselves to the evil within them. Kira believes that humanity as a whole is diseased. Human nature is the illness. And the only way to save society, the host, is to amputate the infected. Evil is not merely a condition of the individual. It is a contagion. Evil people bring out evil in those around them. They seek to corrupt. They must be purged. It is the only way. 

The sentences almost seemed to be writing themselves. 

Kira wants to save society. He wants to have hope for humanity. And the only way he can maintain this hope is by separating the salvageable from the rotten. And, to this end, Kira has placed himself above humanity. He sees himself as a figure not unlike a God, and has earned devoted followers in kind.  

Some think he wants this for the praise. For the worship. 

These people are wrong. 

Kira behaves as a God, because he is a deeply misanthropic person. To be above humanity… is the only way he can be something acceptable. 

Light finally stopped typing. He stared at the page, glazing through what he had just written. 

And then, with a few strokes of the keypad, he deleted it all.

The computer L had given to Light was rudimentary. This was likely an intentional decision on L’s part, lest Light use the machine to somehow aid in his escape. However, aside from the writing application, it did have one supremely useful feature: An accurate clock. 

It was 4:37 when someone knocked on the door. 

Light stared at it, waiting expectantly for the lock to turn. It did not. 

Instead, a note slid under the door. 

Light’s eyes flicked up in irritation.

How do they expect me to reach that while chained to the bed?

The sigh Light gave was deep and gutteral from the back of his throat. He glanced at Ryuk, teasing a silent request. 

The Shinigami only cackled. “I hope you’ve been doing your splits!” 

Of course. 

Light slid onto the floor, and with the yard of chain allowed to him by the handcuff, was able to just graze the paper with his toes. After a moment of struggle, he slid it toward himself. And then he flicked the paper open. 

My name is Mello. 

That’s not my real name, obviously, so don’t get any ideas. We were told to write a criminal profile on Kira, and I want your help. I’ll owe you a favor, and considering your position, I think you need this alliance more than I do. 

I’ll come back at 2AM when everyone else is asleep. I’ll pick the lock so we can talk in person. Give me the notes for the assignment then and tell me what you want in return. 

… Very interesting. 

Chapter Text

Light knew what he wanted from Mello the moment his eyes reached the bottom of the page. It was obvious, really. 

He needed that watch back. 

Ryuk cackled as he read over Light’s shoulder, apparently finding his serendipity to be just as humorous as his misfortune. “Well, what do you know, the brat’s a cheat.” 

Light couldn’t help the malevolent little laugh that slipped from his lips. 

Maybe his game with L wasn’t over after all. Light actually had a piece to play with again. 

But he couldn’t be rash. It was difficult to predict how useful Mello would actually prove. 

Manipulating him would be easy enough. After all, Light now understood what Mello wanted. And once you knew that about a person, influencing them was only a matter of tact. 

Mello simply wanted to out-compete his peers. And Light was, quite possibly, the best person who could aid him on that front… at least, if cheating was his only hope. 

This seemed likely. 

Light remembered how Mello had interacted with the white-haired child. In retrospect, it seemed probable that the two were rivals.

After all. The white-haired child was smarter than Mello. 

The small albino boy was sharp, he was calm, and everything about him, from his crumpled up posture to the bags under his eyes, was reminiscent of L. 

In an environment like this, where L’s name was likely murmured with the same reverence as that of Jesus Christ, anyone with even a whiff of resemblance to him would be seen as worthy of regard. 

Mello would have every reason in the world to envy the boy. And it must have made the sting all the more sour that the object of his jealousy was younger than him. 

How interesting…  

But Light’s ability to control Mello was only one factor. The other, far more consequential facet in this alliance would be Mello’s skill. 

And from the interactions they’d had thus far? Light wasn’t going to rest much optimism on that front. 

He needed to find a way to test him. 

Light startled as a knock rang from the door, and he folded Mello’s note into the cuff of his sleeve. 

The lock turned not a second after, and L’s head of tangled raven hair poked into the room. “Hello again, Light. Have you made progress on your profile?” 

Light’s lips pressed like he’d tasted something bitter. “I have not.” 

“Ahh, that is a shame. Well, I hate to steal you away from your alone time, but I do believe I promised you a walk. Would you care to accompany me to the courtyard?” 

“Yes.” 

Light’s handcuff was not removed from his wrist, but from the bed. And, with a few clicks that rang with soft familiarity, it was shackled to L.

Light looked up at him, and their eyes met, sharing a silent recognition. “… This again,” Light said, a simple yet awkward observation. 

“Yes. It would be rather bothersome if you attempted to flee.” 

Light had to wonder if that was L’s only reason. There were more functional ways of restraining a prisoner. 

This time, Light wasn’t blindfolded when L lead him around the orphanage. The building looked ancient, all stone walls and wooden banisters. 

Light nearly tripped as a pair of children ran by his feet, flailing around paper airplanes and whistling ‘zooms’ and ‘whooshes.’ He paused to watch them as they disappeared around a corner, and when his eyes turned to L, the detective smiled at him. 

Light shook his head in disapproval. “If you’re so sure I’m this… evil monster, shouldn’t you try to… I don’t know, shelter them from me?” The question bounced over a laugh, which did little to cushion its painful sincerity. Light truly did not understand. 

“Do I need to?” L was a few steps below Light on the stairwell. 

It would have been easy to push him. But then, of course, the chain would send Light tumbling right down along with him. 

He might just do it anyway. 

Light let the question wash over him. “… Well. I’m not Kira.” 

“Would Kira kill a child in cold blood? Out of spite?” L’s head tipped then, his gaze making Light feel like a moth pinned to poster-board. “You are writing a criminal profile on him, after all… this question should be within your imagination,” he added, tone sewn with mockery. 

Light’s eyes shut and the handcuff chain jingled as his fist clenched. A breath soothed past his lips. “No. He wouldn’t.” 

“Mm. I’m glad we’re in agreement.” L beckoned Light as he continued his descent, and Light missed the opportunity to throw him down the steps. 

The courtyard was like something from a postcard. 

Light had never been to Europe before, but this… it seemed more idealized than he’d imagined.  

He’d heard that Britain’s streets were always muddy with rain water, its air hung heavy with humidity, and its skies were cast a perpetual gray. 

But today was bright. Sunbeams fell down on green grass, yellow leaves, white pebbles and red brick. If he knew how to paint, he would have liked to capture the scene. 

L squatted at a wooden bench and Light sat across from him. “Watari baked a cake earlier today… Would you like me to ask him to bring us some?” 

“I don’t suppose I could ask for real food?” 

L’s expression soured, eyes glazing in offense. “I don’t know what you mean by that.” He called Watari on his flip phone, and soon, there were two slices of cake on the table. 

Light let L eat the piece meant for him. 

He suspected the detective had planned this. 

Light’s lips parted slowly around his next words. “… Do you have any intention of giving my belongings back?” 

L’s eyes rose in sharp, dangerous interest. “Oh? Light Yagami never struck me as the type to grow attached to trivial objects.” 

Damn. How could he ask this? “Believe it or not, I would prefer to be allowed personal property.” 

The air was heavy with a too long silence. 

“I… I feel out of place here. You’re right, I’m not a sentimental person, but I guess… I’d like to have something familiar.” 

L’s finger curled inward, and for a moment, it looked like he was pointing at himself. But then he twirled his fork and dipped it into the cake to scoop up a large, rich bite of frosting. “I’m afraid I’ll be holding onto your things until I have thoroughly examined them. So, I apologize, but please don’t hold your breath awaiting their return.” 

Light’s eyes pinched the tiniest bit as a wave of sheer exultation and smugness crashed through him. 

You just blundered, L. 

So the watch was at the orphanage. Unless L was traveling to a secondary location to work on examining Light’s things… 

But that would have been thoroughly out of character. If Light’s time spent chained to the detective had taught him anything, it was that L did not separate work from life. They were one in the same, and so, he did not split them into different environments. 

Light imagined that most of L’s cases were solved bundled up in hotel bedsheets. 

Still, this theory was built upon a fundamental assumption. He’d need to test L’s whereabout to be sure… perhaps by calling for him intermittently throughout the day. But if L was consistently present at the house? 

Then the piece of the Death Note was within reach. 

Light leaned back in the bench, covering his mouth with his hand to conceal his smirk. 

L watched him with lidded eyes, and Light realized he needed to change the subject. “So… is there anything you think I should know about the kids here? The two I saw in the morning seemed interesting.” 

L hummed. “Indeed they are. I’m afraid I haven’t spent much time with the children myself, but Watari and Roger have kept me well informed as to their development.” L smiled then, his expression softening with something akin to… pride. 

Light frowned at him. Somehow… he had never envisioned L to be capable of… affection. 

A shudder crashed through Light. He shifted in his seat, suddenly feeling like he'd swallowed ice water.

Perhaps a shift in the wind. 

“I hope you will become more familiar with them,” L said then, and Light stilled. “I believe Light Yagami could benefit from developing a few reciprocal relationships for a change.” 

“You know L, I was actually quite popular before you decided to rip my life up like a weed,” Light snapped. “Besides, it’s not like you’re one to lecture me, you’re a total recluse!” 

L’s shoulders rumbled as he gave a silent laugh. “Indeed I am. But you see, my friend, that’s how I understand what isolation has done to you.” 

Light stared at L for a long, long moment. “… I don’t know what you mean by that.” 

“Have you ever considered that I might actually understand you, Kira?” L asked quickly, so quickly that Light almost didn’t catch the name he had slipped in. 

“… I’m not Kira,” Light said, voice distant and mechanical. “And no. If you think I’m capable of mass-murder, I don’t think you understand me at all.” 

L smiled with chocolate frosting lips. “… I thought you might say that.” 

Light decided he’d spend the night fantasizing about increasingly creative ways to kill him. 

L had waited for the sun to set before bringing Light back to his room. They were alone as L fiddled with his handcuff, preparing to return it to the bedpost. 

Light stared at him with heavy eyes. He really could just attack him. 

L was good in a fight, but Light knew L had one glaring disadvantage-- He wasn’t prepared to kill him. If Light was fast, he could wrap his hands around L’s throat. L would twist and punch, and maybe even manage to slip from his fingers, but no, Light wouldn’t let him truly escape… He could claw and bite and rip until L was just a carcass under his fingers. 

He could. 

But not yet. After he killed L, he would need to flee immediately. And he wasn’t willing to abandon that scrap of the Death Note. If he could get it back, with fine enough handwriting, he would be able to possess the task force into returning the book, and the world would belong to him again. 

L finished releasing the handcuff from his own wrist. “Before I put this back, would you like to shower and change your clothes?” 

Light stared at him carefully. “How generous. And here I thought I wasn’t human to you,” he said, spitting back the sentiment L had shared that morning. 

L blinked. “Oh, it’s quite the contrary. Your humanity is strong enough to linger in the very air you touch. I can almost taste it in the back of my throat.” 

Light was quiet for a long, long moment.

"... Is that your way of telling me I smell bad?”

L only stared in confirmation.

Light tried not to laugh. He really did. 

But his lungs betrayed him, and he doubled over, choking out stifled giggles.

It was true, his body odor was hardly ideal in that moment. He could feel it from the layer of grease on his skin and in his hair. Not that he blamed himself. He was still wearing the same clothes he’d had on for that trans-continental helicopter flight from hell. 

L smiled softly as Light laughed. His face was warm, warmer than Light had seen it in a long time. He looked relieved. “It is.” 

Light failed to stifle yet another laugh. 

L wrapped the handcuff chain around his wrist like a leash and lead Light to a communal bathroom down the hall. “The children have an early curfew, so we should have the showers to ourselves,” he said, smiling. “There should be plenty of hot water.” 

Light stepped into the bathroom, and, when he looked at L then, bathed in the glow of the naked incandescent bulb, he realized something. “L…” Light lingered by the door, his fingers wrapping around the handcuff chain. “You… didn’t actually bring me here as a punishment, did you?” 

L looked at Light as if the notion hadn’t occurred to him. “No. I did not.” 

They were both quiet then. Light looked at L through the mirror, who in turn, looked at the floor. “So… what do you want then?” Light murmured, his voice quiet enough that he thought he might have to repeat himself. 

L fidgeted with the chain, his eyes lidding into the shapes of little crescent moons. “Well…” his voice lingered in the air. “I suppose…” 

Light waited for his response. For whatever reason, L seemed to have been robbed of his typical eloquence and serpent-sharp tongue. 

It was only after what L said next that Light understood why. 

“I suppose I wanted to save my friend.” 

Chapter Text

“I suppose I wanted to save my friend.” 

Light stared at L as if he were speaking a foreign language. And when L's words settled, they hit Light’s stomach before they reached his mind. 

Light’s hand fumbled for the ceramic lip of a sink for purchase, legs suddenly feeling far too weak under his body. 

L examined him, his eyes deep and shadowed by heavy lashes.  

Light could only shake his head in disbelief. “Your friend,” he repeated, the words feeling alien as they passed his lips. “You wanted to save your friend— the person you believe to be Kira.” 

L didn’t react. But his silence served as confirmation. 

He's lying.

Light blinked with wide, tense eyes, as if he’d been staring at the sun. “You think I’m Kira. And you think we’re friends.” 

“… You are Kira. And… you are my friend. Or, at least, I am yours.” 

Light’s hand swiped across the air, as if batting L’s statement to the ground like a fly. “You’re fucking crazy. If I were Kira, I would want you dead, do you understand that? I would want to kill you.” 

“I imagine you do.” 

Light heaved out a heavy, labored laugh. “And that’s a friend to you?” 

“… You are.” 

He was fucking with him, he was lying. L was lying, and Light didn’t know why his stomach seemed to be turning itself inside out. “You’re delusional,” he spat. 

“Perhaps,” L mused, scratching his knee with his foot. “Well. Either that, or you are in denial.” 

“What is there to deny?” Light retaliated, voice loud, and angry, and drowned in disbelief. “Your beliefs about me are an utter contradiction. I am not your friend if I want you dead.” 

“I know what Light Yagami thinks he wants,” L’s voice was calm but firm, and carried an effortlessly assertive undertone, “But, to be frank, my- friend-” he emphasized those two syllables in such a way that they felt like jabs to the ribs, “I don’t think you would fare very well without me.” 

Without you, I’d own the world. 

Light glared at L with such ferocity that he felt he could have heated the room with his anger alone. He was silent, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to speak calmly. So he simply took a slow, pointed breath through his nose. 

L was staring at Light with narrowed eyes, and his feet subtly twisted into a fighting stance. 

If Light lunged for him now, he was sure his teeth would be met with the shattering embrace of a roundhouse kick. 

If Light managed to grab L’s leg? 

He imagined L would simply shift his weight to strike the opposite knee into his face like a spring-loaded spider. 

He couldn’t attack L while he was on guard. He’d just have to remember this anger and bide his time. 

So, he clenched his fists, set his jaw, and simply imagined his hands spraying with L’s blood to soothe himself. “Okay,” he said. 

“Have you actually thought about what it would be like?” L asked, and Light wanted to laugh in his face. 

I think about it every day. 

“Not to kill me,” L clarified then, as if Light’s thoughts were written on his skin. “But for me to be gone.” 

For L to be gone. 

Light closed his eyes, letting the fantasy pour over him. 

For L to be gone… 

would be for Light to have everything he ever wanted. 

Nothing and no one would be able to stop him from achieving his dream. 

From becoming the savior of a nihilistic, empty, Godless world. 

L’s death would be the marker of a shimmering new era— the first era in human history where concepts of right and wrong mattered.

It was all Light could ever want. 

It was all that mattered. 

To live without that vision would be to live without anything at all. 

It was the only answer. 

Light sighed softly, the tension slipping from his shoulders like a heavy cloak. 

You have no idea what you’re getting in the way of, do you? 

He shook his head gently. “… Don’t say things like that, Ryuzaki,” he murmured, the old alias slipping from his lips out of habit. “I just thought I’d point out the inconsistency. I’d rather not think about you dead,” he said, the lie so slippery and snake-like it was almost a threat in itself. 

L looked at Light with large, blank eyes, and, perhaps it was just a shift in the lighting, but Light almost thought the detective’s skin fell a few shades paler. 

A question occurred to Light then. He huffed out a wry laugh. “You say I wouldn’t fare well without you. I don’t think that’s quite right. Tell me, L… is it actually that you’re dependent on me?” He glared at L, expression sharp and burning like a molten spike. “Is that why you’ve gone to such lengths to convince yourself that I’m a criminal? That I’m Kira? So you can justify caging me like a bird— keeping me leashed to you so you don’t have to be without me?” He hissed, slowly drawing closer. “You lunatic.” 

The speech did not have its intended effect. 

L’s posture did not shy, and his lips did not press in doubt or shame. Rather, his eyebrows raised in plain, unabased amusement. “And what exactly would I depend on Light Yagami for?” 

Light was quiet, the question hitting him somewhere he hadn’t expected it to. His lip twitched in a scowl. “Interesting you would ask that instead of answer me. That’s not a ‘no,’ L.” 

L’s smile was unflinching. Almost stone-like. “No. It isn’t.” L lifted up the handcuff chain still twisted around his hand, only to drop it on the tile floor with a loud metallic rattle. “You will also note that it was not a ‘yes.’ I’ll leave you to your shower.” His voice was as monotonous and unwavering as the drip-drip of the leaky faucet behind them. But Light knew he was irritated. 

The detective retreated to the doorway and turned his back, providing a mirage of privacy as Light undressed. This, at least, Light was used to. 

It felt worse than it had during the Yotsuba investigation. 

Back then, there had been something novel… almost interesting about being made to share such close proximity with another person. 

Though, that was when Light still believed he was innocent. 

It was easier to let his guard down around L when he hadn’t known what L was… What he was preventing. 

Without the truth, Light had almost been comfortable. 

Most would have probably been frustrated, livid even, at being accused of a crime they thought they didn’t commit. Light had feigned this. He had acted offended, because being offended would have been the sane reaction. 

But truthfully? 

He had been flattered. 

Something about being the subject of L’s attention… of being considered worthy of so much time, energy, and interest from one of the greatest men in the world was intoxicating. Being accused of being Kira was the most important he had felt in his entire life. 

Now that Light knew that he was Kira, of course, he found this memory humiliating. Even if he had kept up a facade of pride, it sent a shudder through him to know what a pathetic, groveling person he could have become had he never received the notebook. 

L used to be a person he admired.

The reminder of that emotion felt like a wound. 

Light folded his clothes neatly onto the damp tile, and the chain rattled. 

The air felt bitter as he stepped into the shower. 

L was right. 

There was hot water, and the shower-head poured steam as Light adjusted the temperature.  

He decided he’d prefer it cold. 

When Light left the shower, he found a fresh towel hanging on one of the wall hooks. 

L, however, was gone. 

In his place, with the handcuff chain slid firmly around a white cotton glove, was Watari. He presented a neat pile of beige pajamas to Light. 

Light snickered. 

His words must have put L in a bad mood if he had sent a proxy to deal with him now. 

Light was quiet as he dressed, his eyebrows slowly falling into a soft, pensive expression. 

If he had really upset L… did that mean what he said had carried a splinter of truth?

Did L depend on him in some way?

He stared at the dark-brown little water droplets that had fallen from his hair and decorated the sleeves of the pajamas. 

His accusation had been facetious— simply a petty reversal of L’s ridiculous assertions. Light hadn’t meant a word of it. 

But… had it really struck a nerve? Did his words actually… hurt him? 

Is L capable of emotions? 

Light shook his head, nose crinkling at the thought like he’d smelled something rancid. 

No. 

Even if in some bizarre, twisted revelation, L turned out to have the buried ability to form emotional attachments, he would never be stupid enough to get attached to Light. 

L was lying when he said he considered Light his friend. Light knew this, because L was also telling the truth when he said he understood him. 

Light would continue to parrot gestures of humanity for as long as it served him, of course. He would continue to do it out of spite, even if he knew that L saw him for what he really was. 

He had flesh on his bones and blood in his veins, but he was not human in the way that others were. 

Light would throw every last person who loved him into flames and embers, so long as it meant he could change the world. 

And no one in their right mind would love a person like that.

Light’s eyelids felt heavy as Watari lead him back to his bedroom. It was only natural for his body to feel exhaustion, he supposed. He had been awake for well over 48 hours. 

And now he would have to stay up longer yet in wait of a teenager who saw the God of the New World as a great candidate for a tutoring assistant. 

Perfect. 

Light slipped under the covers after Watari secured the handcuff to the bedpost. 

The old man bid him a good night. 

And Light pretended to sleep through a chorus of Ryuk’s breath-defying cackling.

His eyes only slid open when he heard the metallic scritch-scritch-scritch of pins in the doorknob. 

Chapter Text

Light winced as his ears were grazed by the grinding scratch scratch scratch of pins in the lock. He sighed. 

Mello had arrived. 

Light sat upright, gaze steady as he stared at the sliver of light slipping under the doorway, the beam interrupted by the shadow of Mello’s feet. 

The doorknob rattled on. 

It took minutes, and Light could hear Mello’s anxious breaths and hisses falling on the door all the while. But then the lock clicked, the knob turned, and the door creaked open. 

Light squinted as Mello flicked on a flashlight, shining it into the room. 

There was a glint in the boy's eye as he stared at Light, and his finger rose to his lips in a ‘shhh’ gesture.

Light raised an eyebrow. Mello must have considered the possibility that the room was bugged. 

Perhaps he was brighter than Light had thought. 

Mello reached into his back pocket and retrieved a small hand-held radio. He extended the antenna, fiddled with the buttons, and soon the room was filled with soft, buzzing static. 

Light examined him with blank-faced quiescence, silently baffled by the display.

Mello traced the radio antenna around the doorframe, the edges of the walls, the window-sill, and bed-side table, listening intently to the static all the while. 

And then, when he began to scope the ceiling, the antenna brushed against the darkened light fixture, and the radio prickled with interference. 

Mello glanced at Light with wide eyes, as if he were waiting for applause. He dragged the bedside table, stood on it, and slowly unscrewed the fixture. 

And then, with a soft metallic click, he plucked a listening device from the lamp. He presented it to Light, turning it in his fingers as if it were a gem, his face glowing with a palpable smugness. He reached into his pocket once again, this time pulling out a roll of gaffer-tape. With his teeth, he tore off a small square and used it to smother the dimpled microphone in the middle of the device. He then squatted on the table, looking at Light with gleaming eyes and a sharp smile. 

“It should be safe to talk now.” 

Light set his jaw, eyes flitting around the room for any places Mello might have missed. 

“Don’t worry, the radio is actually pretty sensitive. I was thorough.” 

Light glanced between Mello and the taped-up microphone. “… That’s a handy trick you have.” 

Mello beamed. “Yeah, it’s awesome! Any radio will work, but it has to be set to AM instead of FM to detect electromagnetic fields. The mafia has been using this technique to find bugs since the 60s.” 

“… Interesting,” Light said. Whatever he had been expecting from this boy… it was not a display of competence. 

Mello stared at Light, as if trying to memorize his every feature. “… So you’re Kira,” he breathed.

Light rolled his eyes. But he made no attempt to deny it. After all, if Mello didn't believe that Light was Kira, then he would have no reason to form an alliance at all. Light would be isolated with no way out.

Mello shifted his feet out and leaned closer. He looked… genuinely fascinated. “So, uh… I mentioned that I’d be willing to strike a deal with you in my note. Do you know what you want?” 

“… I do,” Light murmured. They were both silent for a steady beat. “… It isn’t going to be easy. Are you okay with that?” 

Mello nodded, giving a resolute grunt. “I have three conditions, though.” 

“… Alright.” 

“First— I’m not going to help you hurt L in any way. If you ask me for a weapon, the deal is off. Second, I am not going to help you escape. Third? You keep this alliance a secret. If anyone at the orphanage clues in on what we’re up to, I’m out.” His voice was steady and calm, which Light found peculiar. 

The boy clearly had a backbone if he could speak in such definite terms with Kira himself. Light presented a plastic smile. “… That’s okay. So long as you follow my instructions, I think this will all work out just fine.” 

“Sure,” Mello said, voice coming out more eager than he probably meant it to. “I can do that.” 

Light examined him again. He was starting to suspect this boy had dimensions he hadn’t picked up on in their earlier encounters. Light would need to learn more before they moved forward.

He made sure to sound relaxed and friendly around his next words. “I have to say… you’re certainly brave to approach me like this.” 

“Well… Kira only kills criminals. And I don’t have a real record.” Mello shrugged. His eyes turned to the floor then. He looked nervous, but… his expression wasn’t tainted with fear. It wasn’t the typical anxiety one would expect from a person faced with a murderer. 

It almost looked like… admiration. 

It was an effort for Light to keep a straight face, eyes narrowing just the slightest bit at the possibility. 

Could he be a Kira supporter? 

Light nodded. “That’s true. I would never harm a good person,” he assured, tone feather soft and gentle as a breeze. “I’m glad you understand this about me.” 

Mello breathed out slowly, the tension in his shoulders unwinding. “Yeah. I… Well. I guess… I think we might actually have some things in common.” 

Light wanted to laugh. If Mello were similar to him, he wouldn’t be so easy to manipulate. He hid these thoughts however, instead putting on a face of intrigue and compassion. “I see. In that case, I’m very glad to meet you. It’s… rare to encounter like-minded individuals, I must admit. You seem to be a very bright young man.” 

Mello’s eyes widened at the praise, face cast with thinly-veiled veneration. 

Too easy. 

Mello kept his gaze latched on Light. And then, after a moment, his hand dipped into his back pocket to retrieve a piece of paper. “Well…. This is the rough draft of my assignment.” 

Light raised an eyebrow, flipping open the page. It was pencil on paper, and the edge was torn where Mello had ripped the sheet from a notebook. Light glanced up to see that Mello was fixated on his expression with bated breath. He was anticipating his reaction like a child waiting for a present. 

Light wondered if Mello was truly a follower of Kira’s vision, or if he was only drunken from the presence of a person with such insurmountable infamy. 

If it was the former… well. 

Light might be able to eventually convince Mello to kill L himself. Mello was loyal to L now, but if he actually understood Kira’s ideals and their absolute importance, then surely he would be willing to take a single life to see them through.

As if I would get lucky enough to meet someone who understood. 

Light breathed out a feint sigh and began to read Mello’s essay. He was sure it would be telling of his true feelings. 

Kira is the first supernatural mass-murderer in human history. He needs a name and a face to eliminate his targets, but these are the only boundaries between him and anyone in the world. 

Kira has used this power to begin executing the world’s criminals. Some will say that he does this out of a sense of justice, but this cannot be his only motivation, as most of Kira's victims are already in prison. I argue that Kira does not kill for justice, but for revenge. 

… Interesting. 

It is likely that Kira has a past association with crime, and thus, an intense personal connection to the harshness of it. I posit that he targets criminals to avenge their victims because he was once a victim himself. 

Light’s eyes glazed up to look at Mello. He tried to disguise the scowl that tugged the corner of his lip, but it probably showed in his eyes. 

Mello hesitated. 

Kira is someone with profound personal trauma. 

The paper crumpled under Light’s fingers as his hand pressed into a fist. 

It is likely that his early victims were criminals who had personally inflicted harm upon him. However, once these people had been sent to their graves, Kira continued to kill after realizing that those who victimized him were not unique, but merely a microcosm of a broader type of person. For his revenge to be complete, he believes he must eliminate the entire criminal population. 

It is the only way he knows to heal his psyche, and reclaim the power that was once taken from him. 

In conclusion, Kira kills because he holds a deep psychological wound. He is a person who was traumatized by crime, and was likely the victim of some kind of assault or broader exploitation. He kills for vengeance, and because he is both hateful towards and fearful of criminals like the ones who once hurt him. This is Kira. 

Light’s eyes reached the bottom of the page. He breathed out slowly, trying to contain how hot his blood felt, even as it seemed to pool in his mind and push against the back of his throat. He tried to speak, but what came out was a dark, angry laugh. “So you think… Kira is the person he is… because he is broken?” he hissed. 

Mello shuffled on the table. “I… Well…” 

Light glared at him for another moment, before returning his gaze to the page. “This assessment is wrong. If you turned this in, you would fail.”

Perhaps Light should have worked harder to contain his reaction. But, truly, if Mello's plan was to do well on a profiling assignment? He needed a course correction. 

Mello stilled, his expression falling blank. He was quiet for a long second, but eventually, he shook his head. “Th— there’s no way, you have to have some reason! Why would you care about killing criminals so much if you’ve never…” 

Light’s expression must have been enough to silence him. Light tossed the paper aside, leaning forward on his knees. “Do you think someone needs a back-story to have ideals?” He could feel his own burning gaze reflected in Mello’s stunned expression. “Kira is not the person he is because he is damaged. Kira is the person he is… because he is correct.” 

Mello’s face transformed then, eyes narrowing with something akin to disdain. “Correct?” He spat out a laugh. “You can’t be serious.” 

Light smiled, unable to help the way his leg bounced under him in aggravation. “Well. I’m not traumatized.” He shook his head. “In fact, I had the perfect upbringing. I have always been praised by my teachers, respected by my parents, and envied by my peers. I have never been depressed and my health is ideal. My looks are coveted, and my family has never so much as brushed against financial issues. My parents never fought, and my younger sister and I have always gotten along. We vacationed on Hayama, I’ve always had nice clothes, flawless grades, and exceptional performance in sports.” Light grinned at the way Mello’s posture seemed to crumple and how his eyebrows furrowed in disbelief. 

“Truly. Before I met L? I had never suffered a day in my life.” He leaned closer to Mello, expression downright manic. “Kira was not birthed from trauma. He was born of perfection.” 

Mello didn’t speak, lips parted in shock. 

“I am God,” Light hissed. 

“Fuck. You.” Mello hopped off the table, snatching his rough draft from the bed. He stared down at it, eyebrows knit in frustration, before he ripped it down the middle. “Fine then, I think I know what to turn in! Kira is a stupid, pampered prick who doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about! Thanks for enlightening me.”  Mello snatched his flashlight and radio and started for the door. 

Shit— shit shit shit— 

Light was about to call out and try to stop him, when Ryuk laughed. 

“Y’know what’d be funny?” 

Before Light could react, the Shinigami bounded forward, and with his monstrously long limbs, swiped the door shut. 

Mello froze, lurching back. He whipped around, staring at Light with large, glossy, terrified eyes. 

Ryuk seemed to find this hilarious, and Light had to cover his face with his hands to shield himself from that ugly cackling. 

Light was irritated at Ryuk’s abrupt meddling… but for once, it seemed it would actually be quite fortuitous. 

Mello began furiously battling with the doorknob, which was evidently locked back into place. He muttered terrified curses under his breath, and his panic was palpable in the air. 

Light hummed a laugh. “I’m sorry, Mello,” he said soothingly, as if the door had actually closed by his own power. “I’m not going to hurt you. I promise.” 

Mello turned slowly, eyes wide and shiny like a prey animal cornered in the den of a hunter. 

Light beckoned him closer. 

Mello gave one more desperate glance at the door, but soon, he buried his hands in his pockets and shuffled back. “You have… Telekinesis?” His voice skipped over the syllables, completely threaded with terror. 

Light’s smile was placid. “I’m capable of many things.” 

Mello appeared to have run short on words. However, his eyebrows furrowed like he had a question. 

“… Yes?” Light murmured. 

Mello glanced up at him, before his gaze darted back to the floor. “If that’s true… why is L still alive?” 

Light’s smile tightened. He stared at Mello with dark, solid eyes. “… What’s your theory?”  

Mello’s fingers fidgeted with the flashlight, making the beam bounce up and down on the wall. “… You don’t actually want him dead?” 

What a concept. 

Light grinned, expression dark. 

But… If Mello believed that Light wanted L alive… that he was restraining himself of his own volition, and not because his abilities had been limited… then Mello wouldn’t think that Light would use him as a pawn to harm his idol. 

Mello’s first boundary would become obsolete. 

Light molded his expression into something akin to sadness. “… You’re perceptive,” he breathed. 

Ryuk hovered over Mello and Light from above, beady eyes glinting. 

Mello’s apprehension seemed to dampen at that. “Is it because you think he’s… well. A good person?” 

L is an obstacle.  

Light let his eyes dip to the bedsheets beneath him. “… He is.” 

Mello nodded. “So… Even Kira has limits.” 

“I wouldn’t tarnish my vision with innocent blood,” Light lied, and it felt as natural as breathing. “I want to make the world better, after all. L’s death would not serve this end. My paradise would feel the absence of a mind such as his.” 

Mello was silent for a few seconds, but his demeanor had calmed. “… I can respect that.” His eyes drifted to the torn pieces of his analysis. “… So what should I write about?” 

“… In my opinion?” Light shrugged. “You should stop trying to understand Kira like he’s a person.” A smile, cold and empty, pressed his lips. “Your attempt to analyze my psychology falls flat, because what I am doing is not about me. It is not about what I feel. It is not about what I’ve experienced. It is about what I know to be true.” 

Mello’s eyes were bright, catching against the halo of the flashlight beam. 

“And what I know… is that the world could be better than it is.” Light stood from the bed, the handcuff chain clinking on the bedpost in a way that sounded musical, like rain falling on a golden platter. “... Isn’t that reason enough?” 

Chapter Text

“Isn’t that reason enough?” 

Mello had not slept that night. When the sun peaked over the horizon, he was outside watching it with his arms folded over the metal banister of the balcony.

A piece of cinnamon gum burned pleasantly under his tongue, and the cold morning air bit at the tips of his ears. The aluminum door behind him creaked as someone stepped onto the balcony.

Mello knew it was Matt as soon as he heard his boots clip against the brick. “You’re up early," Matt commented. 

“I’ve been up,” Mello's frustration was palpable in his tone.

Matt joined him in leaning against the railing. “… So you actually spoke with him?” He offered Mello a square of chocolate, a silent condolence. 

Mello spat his gum out and watched it disappear into the bushes below. “Yeah.” 

Matt examined Mello’s frown with steady eyes, thoughtful around his next words. “You seem disappointed.” 

Mello popped the chocolate into his mouth, appreciating the way it blended with the lingering kick of cinnamon spice. ‘Disappointed’ didn’t seem like the right word. It didn’t come close to capturing the weight of the stone that had cemented itself in the back of his throat. “Well, I have to start my profile over from scratch. So yeah, not exactly pleased.” 

“… What was he like?” 

“He spoke about himself in the third person,” Mello spat. “Like, he did it a lot.” 

Matt laughed, high and loud enough to startle sparrows across the courtyard into flight. “God, of course he would.” 

Mello huffed. “He’s a total egomaniac. He called himself ‘God.’” 

Matt’s hand shifted on the balcony rail, and his thumb drummed on the metal. “Well… are we sure he’s actually human? Considering his abilities…” 

“He’s human,” Mello stated plainly. “He was too insecure to be anything more. He does have some kind of telekinesis though. He shut the door from across the room and locked me in with him.” 

Matt’s eyes widened and his lips fell apart. “… Are you serious?” 

Mello gave a curt nod. “I didn’t freak out or anything, but yeah.” He pressed his tongue against the chocolate and melted it on the roof of his mouth. “I don’t think Kira’s power is innate, though. Think about it. His killings didn’t begin with a trickle, but with an explosion. A person who was born with their abilities and could take them for granted wouldn’t have felt such urgency. Not to mention the 'second Kira' that popped up in the news...” 

Matt passed Mello another square of chocolate, his head bobbing softly as he considered the logic. “I suppose.”

“Which means… If we can figure out how it works… Maybe we could get the same power. Hypothetically.” A grin, wide and manic, split Mello’s face. 

Matt didn’t react right away. He held out his hand expectantly, and Mello handed him a stick of gum. “… Okay. And who would you kill if you had Kira’s abilities?” He asked the question with a somber note.

“… I’d probably kill my family.” 

Matt’s eyes dipped down to look past the edge of the balcony. “Yeah. I figured.” He handed Mello the rest of the chocolate. 

Mello craned over the railing, spotting some more sparrows below, pecking at bugs and twigs in the ground. “… You want to know something else about Kira? He said he… he’s never even… breathed the same air as actual criminals. He’s a fucking… preppy honors student.” Those words were surprisingly hard to get out. 

Matt didn't share Mello's discontent with the realization. “Honestly, I’m not surprised. I was looking over his victims again and… I mean, don’t get me wrong, I understand killing murderers and pedophiles and shit. But some of those guys? They were locked up for things like armed robbery.” 

Mello’s lip twisted into a tight frown. “… Yeah.” 

Matt sighed, and his hands adjusted their grip. “… I… I know you wanted to identify with him. But I think you… Man, you have more in common with…” 

“I have more in common with the people he kills.” 

“I think so.” 

Mello looked up at the sky, at the way the sun had brushed the clouds pink and yellow. He still thought sunrises in England weren’t as pretty as the ones in California. There was something in the air there that made the colors so bright you would think God had spilled the horizon with ink. 

Or maybe he was just younger then. 

Mello swallowed. “Hey… when you were looking at Kira’s victims… did you see…?” 

“No. He didn’t get anyone from the mob in Cali. I guess their names are pretty well-hidden.” 

Mello breathed a laugh. “Yeah. They did always cover their bases.” 

They were both silent for a few minutes, simply listening to the sounds of chirping birds and wind through the trees. 

“… How far would you go?” Matt breathed. 

Mello had thought about it before, of course. He had fantasized about massacring the syndicate long before Kira. The day he learned what death was had been the day he wished it on those people. "... I’d probably only need to pick off the people on the top.” Mello shrugged, acting as if the topic were impersonal. “Mafiosos think that they can secure themselves with money and power. I’d make those assets a liability, and soon, the whole pyramid would collapse, and the Soldatos would scatter like cards in the wind.” 

“But you’d start with your dad.” 

Matt knew him too well. “Yeah. I guess I’m petty like that.” Mello laughed. “But who knows. So long as he’s dead… If I can’t find a future for myself here, I’d probably go back.” 

“… You’ve mentioned.” Matt blew a bubble with his gum, and Mello could smell the cinnamon in the air when it burst. “I guess it’s hard to totally abandon what you were raised with.” 

“It’s not that. I was just good at it.” Mello grinned. “Do you remember me explaining the lottery scheme I came up with when I was six?” 

Matt’s shoulders bounced over a halfhearted laugh, and he rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you’ve told me enough times that I could recite it myself.” 

“I was the best,” Mello hissed. “God, before the feds took me away, I was on my way to becoming a made-man at ten. Most people don’t get there until they’re thirty.” 

“Just don’t talk like you actually miss it,” Matt murmured. His smile faded. “You didn’t deserve what happened to you there.” 

Mello felt his expression dampen. “… I’d still kill him. But my dad stopped hurting me after he realized I was a genius. It wouldn’t be the same if I went back now.” 

“… But your siblings…” 

“I’d still kill him.” 

Matt nodded. They sat in silence for a few seconds, and the conversation closed with the singing of birds. 

Matt coughed. “… So what did Kira want from you anyway? In return for his help on the profile.” 

“He hasn’t really told me yet,” Mello muttered. “He’s going to give me instructions step by step.” 

“… Odd.” 

“Yeah. He said that when I get number one on this assignment, I should ask L to bring everyone to London as a reward.” 

Matt’s eyebrows furrowed. “… I take it he’s going to ask you to pick something up for him?” 

“I’d assume.” 

Matt laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back against the brick wall. “I wonder what.” 

Mello took another bite of the chocolate bar. There wasn’t much use speculating. Kira’s powers were still mysterious to them, after all. But Mello imagined that Kira would want some kind of tool to help him escape. 

Matt popped another bubble in his gum, and Mello sniggered as the remainder stuck to his cheeks. 

And then, something dropped onto the balcony. 

Matt startled and shuffled away from the noise, peering down at the offending object over his shoulder. 

He glanced at Mello with puzzled eyes. “… An apple core?” 

__

Ryuk laughed as Light clipped the listening device back into the light fixture. Light shot him a glare over his shoulder, and then, with feather-soft fingers, peeled off the gaffer tape. His palms were clammy as he screwed the fixture’s cover back into place. 

“Heheh… So, Light… are you sure you can trust this Mello kid?” 

Light pointed at the microphone’s hiding place with knife-sharp eyes. 

Ryuk’s head dangled back on his shoulders at an odd angle as he grumbled, “you can at least give me a nod or a head-shake! Come on…” 

The mattress springs groaned as Light settled back onto the bed, resolute in ignoring Ryuk’s pestering. 

Ryuk clucked, crossing his gnarled arms. “Some thank you. I saved your sorry butt last night and you know it.” 

Light put his palms together in prayer hands, pressed his lips, and bowed with a gesture of mock-gratitude. 

“Bah!” Ryuk rolled his eyes and batted his arms, before waddling to the window to sulk.  

Light smirked and opened the drawer on the bedside table. He retrieved the little tea-bell that L had given to him the day before, catching his distorted reflection in the surface. He then held it to the light fixture, silently hoping that it would blow out whatever speakers L was listening to him on, and rang it as obnoxiously as he could. 

Not two minutes later, the lock twisted and the door swung open. 

“May I help you?” L asked, expression blank-faced. 

Light took L’s apperance in carefully. He didn’t look well-rested, but the bags under his eyes were no darker than the day before, and he actually had the softest tease of color in his sullen cheeks. 

He looked fine. Good, even. 

Light wasn’t sure what he had expected. 

Last night… he really had been convinced that he’d upset L in some way. But there was no evidence of that on him now, in body or in demeanor. 

It was almost like their conversation hadn’t happened. 

For some reason… that bothered Light. “… I was hoping you would let me out of my room for breakfast,” he said, unable to help the slight glower that had crept onto his face. 

“I see.” L’s thumb pressed to his lip, and he held the pose for long enough that Light knew he was concocting some scheme. L smiled. “… Help me prepare it?”

“… Excuse me?” 

“You didn’t think this was a hotel service, did you? If you want breakfast, you should come to the kitchen and help me cook.” 

Light’s head dipped forward and his eyebrows peaked in complete bemusement. 

… He couldn’t be serious. 

Light wasn’t above making his own meals, of course. He didn’t really know his way around a kitchen, as he had been rather preoccupied with his education and extracurriculars growing up, but he wouldn’t consider the task demeaning. 

But was L really so unconcerned with giving Light access to knives and open burners? Not to mention the opportunity to sprinkle poison in the food? 

If Light had a different agenda, he could have almost felt concerned. 

This invitation had to qualify as a suicidal gesture. 

Light let L unshackle him from the bedpost anyway. 

The kitchen was hot, windowless, and smelled vaguely of garlic. Light’s eyes immediately shot to the knife block, tucked neatly against the stove. 

“We’ll only be cooking for ourselves, so it would be best to make something approachable, as the kitchen will be needed at eleven for lunch preparations. The older children take shifts cooking for the rest of the house,” L explained, popping open the fridge. “… Any recommendations?” 

“…For what to make?” Light asked. L’s back was to him, and with how he was hunched over the door, it would be child’s play to sink a knife between his all too-prominent shoulder blades. L would collapse into the open fridge, and Light would cut his throat, splattering the shelves red. 

Light’s eyes drifted to the linoleum floor. “… Well, it would be more appropriate for you to pick the recipe, don’t you think?” 

L sighed and his fingers fidgeted along the edge of the fridge. His eyes flattened as he continued to stare blankly at a bottle of milk. “I’d have to disagree. You see… I’ve never actually cooked before.” 

Light stilled, expression falling.  

“I’ve historically relied on Watari to provide meals for me, so it’s never been a skill that I found necessary to exercise.” 

Light’s hands found the countertop, and his face distorted with a flood of confusion. “I— alright, so what in the world prompted you to suggest this?” 

“Well, it would be hardly responsible to leave you here unsupervised…” 

“B— God, you are such a hypocrite, you expect me to make my own meals in chains, while you’ve spent your whole life with a personal butler!” Light fumed. “Are Watari and Roger actually opposed to cooking for me? Or is this new demand just another cheap, intransigent power-ploy?” 

“And here I thought you’d appreciate being allowed out of your room for a fun activity,” L muttered, flapping his hand dismissively. “This is not a ploy, it is a favor.” He stood from the fridge with a carton of eggs cradled to his chest. “So, I will ask again. Do you have a recipe in mind?” 

Light’s arms crossed and his chest deflated. “… I don’t know any,” he muttered, the words hissing from his lips like a kettle. 

“Hmm?” 

“I don’t know how to cook either!” 

“… ah.” 

__

They had settled on sunny side up eggs. 

It seemed intuitive to assume that less ingredients would prove conducive to a simpler cooking process, so it seemed like a fair option. 

Light had let L do most of the work on the first attempt, simply watching him with glazed eyes and vision flashing with kitchen-utensil themed murder fantasies.  

He hadn’t been paying attention until L took a long metal spatula and tried to remove the first egg from the pan. “… Hmm.” 

Light’s head tipped, and he pushed off the counter top. “What’s the matter?” He joined L’s side as L offered him the spatula. 

Light took it and tried to slide it along the pan as smoothly as he could, however, the egg white… cracked. 

The bottom had been reduced to charcoal. 

“Your turn,” L said, hopping onto the kitchen island. 

Light stared back at him with narrow eyes, a scoff rising in his throat. “How did you even manage to mess eggs up this badly?” 

“I have learned that this burner is easily underestimated. You’re welcome for the advice.” 

Light scraped the attempt into the trashcan. 

He needed to be smart about this. His fingers were hesitant as he placed a new pan on the stovetop.

Now that he had criticized L’s skills, it was imperative that his own execution be flawless. He did a quick inventory of the supplies in the kitchen, stumbling upon some cooking oil in the cabinet above the stove. He imagined this was a commonly-used item, as his mother had always kept it on the countertop for easy access. 

He doused the pan with enough oil to coat the bottom, his teeth digging into his lower lip as he tried to visualize what would be too much or too little. 

What else would he need? Whenever his mother had served boiled eggs, the family would sprinkle salt to their taste, so it would be sensible to season them with that, at least… 

He flicked on the burner, making sure to take L’s mistake to heart and keep it on the lower settings. 

Cracking the eggs would be another issue. If shell got into the pan, this attempt was as good as over. 

He employed the precision of a surgeon as he tapped the first egg against the rim of the pan, gently testing the shell to predict how much pressure would be necessary. 

“You’re taking this awfully seriously,” L muttered from behind, and Light had half a mind to smack him with the frying pan. 

He successfully cracked the first egg, and a breath eased from his chest as he let it spill into the pan. The white began to bubble as it made contact with the oil, so Light adjusted the heat and repeated the process with the second egg. 

He only cooked them until the whites had turned solid and then quickly cut the heat, before sprinkling them with salt, careful to not overdo it. 

L peeked over Light’s shoulder to watch him slither the spatula under the eggs, prepared to transfer them to a plate, when—

He pulled too hard and the yolk split, spilling yellow down the plane of white. 

Light felt completely paralyzed as he watched a golden droplet splatter into the pan. And then, with the expression and efficiency of a machine, he marched the pan to the trashcan. 

“W— Light, I do believe that is perfectly edible-!” L protested, but the words fell on deaf ears. 

The failed attempt disappeared into the bin, and Light had to take a few slow, slow breaths as he returned the pan to the stove. 

L watched him with large, vacuous eyes. “… tell me, Light, does your perfectionism worsen when your sense of control has been compromised?” 

“No talking,” Light snapped, opening his hand in wait of a new egg. 

L passed it to him compliantly. 

They worked together on the third attempt, with L passing supplies and ingredients to Light when requested. However, when the eggs were ready to be removed from the pan, L insisted he be the one to do it. 

Light was tense as he watched L scrape half of their shared labor onto the spatula with all the care of a weed-whacker. 

The yolk tore again. 

L looked at Light with a pointed expression and slid it onto his plate anyway. “This one will be for me. I’ve never much cared for perfection.” He passed Light the spatula. 

Light rolled his eyes as he took it, lacking the words to respond to the sheer pretentiousness of that statement. 

When he slid his own egg onto a plate, it remained in tact. 

Somehow, it didn’t seem as important as it had felt a moment ago. 

Chapter Text

L had suggested that they eat their breakfast outside that morning. And, oh so ignorantly, Light had agreed. 

The ideal weather of the previous day had not carried over. 

L lead Light past the courtyard and into a field behind the orphanage. Children played in the grass with chirping voices and gleeful smiles despite the harshness of the wind whipping through the air. 

The cold seemed to bite into Light’s sides and he helplessly tried to shield his plate from it, though he was sure the egg had already been robbed of every last wisp of its warmth. 

Light followed L to a gazebo overlooking the field. A shudder ran through his body as he settled on the weathered wooden bench. He looked at the table and his eyes traced the initials and dates that had been carved into the wood.

A. 1996

B.B 1997

Light glanced up at L, who had his eyes on the orphans playing. His fork dipped into his egg. Then, with a tentative expression, he sampled it on the tip of his tongue. 

Light watched as that little bit of yolk disappeared into his mouth. 

Only for L to swallow it like it was a bitter pill, lips pulling into a grimace. “… Somehow I expected it would be sweeter,” he mumbled, eyes on the ground in disappointment.  

Light’s lips parted over his disbelief. “... It is an egg, what do you mean you thought… this cannot be the first time—“ 

“Come Light, don’t be silly, of course I’ve had an egg before... It’s just been a few years, so my memory of the taste has dulled.” 

“… Years?” 

“Is that strange?” 

Light could only conclude that L was provoking him intentionally, so he chose to drop the subject. He joined L in overlooking the field in silence. 

Then, a familiar head of blonde hair sauntered into view. Light was careful to ensure his expression did not betray the extent of his recognition. 

Mello had clearly not spotted them. 

Another boy trailed behind him, a teenager with brown hair and a striped shirt.  

The two approached the younger children, who seemed to straighten at the teenagers’ presence. The children buried their hands in their pockets and presented the contents to Mello. 

He scooped their offerings up with little regard. However, one appeared to have nothing to give. 

Mello shoved him. 

The boy stumbled back. 

Mello kicked him. 

The boy fell. 

Light’s eyebrows knit and he felt himself rise from the bench. 

But, before he could react further, L’s hand rested on his forearm, anchoring him in place. 

A scoff hissed from Light’s chest as the wind whipped strands of hair over his furious eyes. “You don’t think we should interfere?” 

“No. Though word of your presence will inevitably spread, I have no intention of displaying you to the children so soon. I suppose I could step in myself, but I’m afraid that my intervention would have too strong of an effect. Watari or Roger should come by soon enough. They’re more fit for the role of mediator.” 

Something in Light’s chest simmered. He sank back into his seat. 

L was correct in his bet. In mere minutes, Roger turned into the courtyard and immediately swooped in to tend to the assaulted child sulking on the field. Mello and his goon slinked away after the old man shot them an accusatory glare. 

Light’s eyes narrowed as they made their escape. 

“I’ll ensure there are appropriate consequences,” L promised, seeming to sense how Light had prickled at the short-term injustice. 

“It doesn’t seem this institution’s method of discipline has been very effective,” Light muttered. 

“Well, it’s true, the children’s behavior is far from perfect… However, I will remind you that they are orphans. Misbehavior is a common reaction to trauma in juveniles,” L said blandly. 

Light’s head shook. 

As if that matters. Past pain does not justify inflicting suffering on others. If a person is damaged to the point that they cannot control themselves, then they are nothing but a liability. 

L’s eyes were on Light. He could feel them boring into his expression, sharp and icy like the prickle of the wind. 

Light ran his cold, stiffened fingers through his hair. “L… Say that a dog is beaten by its owner…” 

Nothing in L’s expression visibly shifted, and yet, something in the air seemed to change.  

“The poor animal is a victim, right? It’s been broken, traumatized, and reduced to a terrified, violent shadow of a living thing. It isn’t the dog’s fault, of course. It did not choose these circumstances.”

L blinked, eyes glassy and doll-like. 

“But then… say the dog goes on to bite a child. What do you think should be done?” 

L pressed a thumb to his lip, leaning closer to Light on the balls of his feet. He let the question hang in silence for a few moments. “I don’t know, Light. Won’t you tell me?” 

Light’s eyes narrowed to slits. “It’s simple. You put it down.” He laughed, and it tasted bitter. “The animal’s past, its circumstances, its pain… simply aren’t relevant. If it’s dangerous, the world would be better without it. Complicating things beyond that fact only serves to obscure the path to an actionable solution.” 

L hummed, tone dipping to a somber note. But there was a sparkle in his eye. “Interesting… does this hypothetical leave no room for the possibility of reformation?”

Light scooped the rest of his egg into his mouth, and the fork clattered once he set it on the plate. “It’s possible. But could you honestly say it’s worth it? To take the time, the energy, the risk, of attempting to fix a broken animal? Dogs are hardly rare, and the life of a single one is not particularly valuable. For every violent hound, there are dozens of loving lapdogs, already living their lives happily. Why bother trying to turn one into the other?” 

L leaned in further still. He was far too close, but Light refused to shy away, and soon, the harshness of the wind was threaded with the soft warmth of L’s breath on his face. 

Light glared him down, body stiffening. 

Then L smiled, and he whispered in his ear, the words velvety, “I’m not sure, Light. Why do you think I’m bothering with you?” 

Light didn’t speak. His throat suddenly felt like it had been stuffed with cotton. 

“I’d be awfully bored by a world of lapdogs,” L murmured, and his hand rested on Light’s shoulder, the touch closer to a rock climber’s grip on a stone than anything reminiscent of rapport. And yet, with the contact, the air no longer felt so frigid. “Truthfully? I’m not convinced there is such a dichotomy between ‘lapdogs’ and ‘hounds.’ All animals are capable of violence, of hatred, of abuse. Just as all animals are capable of kindness.”  

Light’s head turned, finally daring to face L. He was so close that their noses nearly brushed. 

“Nothing that is alive is heartless.” 

Light was completely still, his stony expression obscuring a torrent of emotion he couldn’t identify or explain. He wanted to laugh in L’s face, to tell him he was wrong, to insist that if L’s words were true, then he, Light Yagami, was not alive. 

And yet, the heat of his anger and frustration was punctuated by a heartbeat. It came from his chest, and so, his indignation was seared with doubt. 

He wondered then, if L knew what it felt like. If he too stumbled over bouts of nauseating warmth in his chest, needling ice in his veins, and the churning of his stomach.

Emotions seemed nothing but alien to Light, strange, buried, and uncomfortable, like leeches and slugs lurking beneath the surface of a lake. 

Intellectually of course, Light knew that other people experienced emotions in the same way that he did. They had them painted on, after all, etched into every expression and minute gesture. 

And yet… it had not occurred to him to identify with other’s emotions, or with other people as a whole.  

But L… L was not like other people. 

Light broke his stillness with a soft breath, and then the closing of his eyes. “Do you have a heart, L?” 

L’s grip on Light’s shoulder softened. He mumbled something that was lost in the wind. 

“What?” Light asked, and now, he was the one shifting closer. 

L retreated abruptly, falling back on the bench. He looked flustered, and then he sighed, gray eyes squeezing shut. “… I think… it would be unwise of me to repeat myself.” 

Light stared at him. “What did you say?” 

L shook his head. 

Light crawled closer to him. “No, tell me now, you know it is going to drive me insane—“ he grabbed onto L’s ankle as the detective attempted to slink away further. 

Predictably, L’s other foot shot out to kick Light in the cheek. Light grunted, flinching back from the impact, before grabbing that leg as well. “Tell me what you said!” 

“I’d truly appreciate it if you released me,” L hissed, attempting to worm away with firey vigor. 

“Oh, that’s rich coming from my resident captor,” Light spat back, climbing over L’s legs and pinning them with his knees. “I will let you go if you just tell me—“ 

“—I decided not to repeat myself for good reason, I do not believe knowing will bring you the peace you so desire,” L insisted, his hand coming out to punch Light’s throat, but the blow was soft, and as soon as it connected, Light lunged to pin that arm as well. L gave an irritated sigh, before limpening beneath Light in defeat. 

Light chuckled at his victory. “You don’t fight like you used to. What happened to that spark?” 

L glared. 

Light’s expression fell blank. 

And, slowly, he fully registered the position they were in. L was beneath him, as vulnerable as he had ever seen him. The key to the handcuffs was in his back pocket.

This was it. This was what he had been waiting for. It was the most obvious opportunity he could have envisioned, presented to him on a platter. 

All he had to do was wrap his hands around that thin, thin throat. Once L started to choke, all of that wirey strength would melt away. Light could break one of the plates, and then, he would stab him with a sliver of ceramic. 

It was easy. 

It was too easy. 

His hand slithered up L’s chest, inching toward his neck. 

And then, L spoke. “Fine. Do you insist I tell you?” 

Light hesitated, the words feeling distant in his ears. 

“You asked me if I have a heart?” L let the question hang in silence for seconds on end. 

And, finally, Light murmured, “I did.” His hand hovered over L’s collarbone. 

“I had initially responded…” L trailed off, eyes glassy. “‘You have convinced me it is so.’” 

Light froze. 

And it was all the hesitation that L needed to buck his hips and twist his chest, sending Light flying from the bench. “AUGH, CHRIST!” Light shouted as his shoulder collided the wooden floor, making an ugly sound and flashing his vision with white-hot pain. 

L sprung to his feet. “Hmm. You earned that one.” 

The injury wasn’t serious. L had oh so kindly brought Light to the infirmary, which Watari had taken to manning. But, as soon as Light was seated on the medical bench, L disappeared down the hall. 

For some reason, that bothered Light. 

“I’m afraid you will likely be left with bruising,” Watari murmured, turning Light’s arm in its socket to ensure it was moving properly. “We could provide you with a topical numbing cream, should you so desire it.” 

“It’s fine,” Light muttered. “Thanks.” 

Watari hummed. 

And then from down the hall came a loud ‘thunk.’ 

Following the noise was a child’s wailing. 

Watari’s moustache twitched. “Excuse me for a moment,” he said, before promptly zipping out the door to investigate. 

Light folded his hands in his lap. 

They seemed awfully comfortable with leaving him alone. It was almost insulting. 

He stood from the bench, eyes scanning the infirmary. The room was long and segmented by cloth curtains, and at the far end was a massive medical cabinet. 

Perhaps he would be able to find a scalpel. A syringe. Poison.  

There was a strong chance he would be caught rifling through it. Watari would be back soon, Light was sure. 

But... he would manage to talk his way out of it. He always did. And, that aside... part of him wanted to see how L would react, were he to catch Light misbehaving.

Light gave a glance to the door before striding toward the cabinet. 

“What could you need from that, I wonder?” 

Light whirled around. 

Staring back at him was a pair of black eyes curtained by snow-white hair. The child shut the door to the infirmary behind him, evidently having just sneaked inside. “Did you change your mind about the numbing cream?” He locked the doorknob.

Light blinked, feeling momentarily frozen in place. “… And so what if I did?” 

The boy shuffled forward, the cuffs of his oversized pajama pants draping on the ground. “I was wondering when I would encounter you again, Kira..." His tone was dry and monotonous, and Light found he could not detect his mood. 

“… May I know who I am speaking to?” Light asked, trying his best to keep his expression neutral.

“You may call me Near.” 

Light examined him carefully. Near was small and his posture was slumped. But his eyes were alert. “... It’s a pleasure to meet you, Near."

“Please,” Near muttered, “do not waste your energy on pleasantries.”

The doorknob to the infirmary rattled. 

“Near?” Watari asked from the hallway, “Did you lock this?” 

Near only acknowledged the question by reaching up and closing the curtain to the door’s window. 

“Near!” 

“I have to confess something. I don’t understand L’s motivation in keeping you here,” Near said to Light then, ignoring Watari’s protests. 

“… We have that in common,” Light replied. 

Near’s eyes were boring into him. 

The reminiscence to L was undeniable. And yet, there was a twinge in his expression that made Light think this similarity didn’t reach far beyond the surface. 

Even early on in their relationship, whenever L had questioned Light, his voice had been underpinned by curiosity and intrigue. He had pursued Kira only because pursuing Kira was fun. 

But Near… Near didn’t look interested so much as he looked hostile.

“… You’ve met with Mello, yes?” Near asked. 

Light’s eyebrows knit. Had Mello told him? No, why on earth would he? But did he do something that betrayed evidence of their alliance? 

Light shook his head. “Mello…? I’m afraid I still don’t know many names. Is he one of the caretakers here?” 

Near hummed. “So… either you’re oblivious or you’re secretive… I wonder what kind of arrangement would motivate you to cover up your knowing him…” 

“What are you talking about?” Light hissed. “Cover up what?” 

Near’s eyes shot up, attentive. “Angry, angry…” 

“I’m not— I’m not in a position to take baseless accusations lightly. Just tell me what you want,” Light spat. 

“I do believe I told you. I don’t understand why L is keeping you here. He had sworn to execute you, after all. It would be one thing if he had settled for relegating you to a high-security prison, but this… this simply doesn’t make sense, does it?” 

Light shrugged, trying very hard to keep his posture relaxed. “Well, considering I’m not Kira, I’m not sure I would agree with your framing.” 

Near huffed, perking an eyebrow. “How convenient.” He fidgeted with his sleeves and his feathery hair bobbed as he shook his head. “It’s concerning. I’m fully convinced that Mello has made contact with you by now…” 

“Mhm, And why’s that?” Light snapped. 

“Because I know him. It simply seems like something he would do.” Near was staring at Light with unblinking eyes. “L is not behaving rationally. I do not understand why. But you and I both know that you should not be here.” 

Light’s lip twitched in a glower. “So you decided to lock yourself in a room with me … for what? To declare yourself my enemy? If I was Kira... that would be a rather foolish decision, Near,” He hissed, drawing closer. “It seems L is not unique in ‘irrationality.'"

“Attack me if you please,” Near said, shrugging. “I am confident that my life is valued enough that your taking it would be sufficient cause for L to send you to a more appropriate facility, his dubious priorities aside.” 

Light glared at the boy blankly. 

“I fully intend to make your life difficult. I will not allow you to get what you want,” Near stated, and a smirk pulled the corner of his lip. “So prove me correct. Attack.” 

 Light stared down at him. The child was… actually suicidal. Light slowly sank to Near’s level. “You are insane.” 

“I’m not interested in your opinion of me,” Near replied, deadpan. “What did Mello promise you, I wonder?” 

The door unlocked and Roger swooped in, scooping Near from the ground. “What in the world were you thinking?” the old man shouted, evacuating him from the room. Watari entered soon after, expression somber. “… I do believe it is time we return you to your room, Mr. Yagami."  

Light drifted into the hall just in time to see Near’s blank, wide eyes disappearing around a corner. 

And something in Light's nerves seemed to freeze.

Chapter Text

Watari returned the handcuff to the bedpost with cold efficiency.

It felt like a punishment. Light knew that wasn’t accurate, that he would find himself in this position again regardless of his behavior, but he still felt the need to mutter “That wasn’t my fault.” 

Watari didn’t respond. 

“He was the one who locked the door.” 

Watari turned away. 

Light’s frustration simmered and his scowl deepened. He squinted his eyes shut. “Where is L?” 

After a beat of hesitation, Watari replied, his tone bland and devoid of emotion, “I’m afraid he is currently occupied.”  

Light’s lip contorted into a bitter, angry grimace. “Fine. whatever,” he bit. “So what do you suggest I do in the meantime, then? Or does the rest of my itinerary consist of rotting in this bed?”

Watari’s mustache twitched. “… If you are bored, I recommend finishing the criminal profile you were assigned.” 

Light’s eyes flicked to the ground and a breath seethed past his lips. 

Watari bowed, and Light felt mocked. He looked away as the old man closed the door. When Light heard the lock flick back into place for the dozenth time, his chest dipped with a bitter pang of resentment. 

Time had always been one of Light’s most valued assets. Time was practice, time was wisdom, time was action. But here? He had nothing to do but waste it. 

He huffed, rolled over, and swiped the laptop out from under the bed. 

His gaze was solid as he opened the writing program. 

His fingers hovered over the keypad for a quiet moment. 

Kira is… 

He snapped the computer shut and slumped into the bed. 

Kira is the first supernatural mass-murderer in human history. He needs a name and a face to eliminate his targets, but these are the only boundaries between him and anyone in the world. 

Kira has used this power to begin executing the world’s criminals. Some will say that he does this out of a sense of justice, but this cannot be his only motivation, as the majority of the people Kira murders are already in prison. I argue that Kira does not kill for justice, but to validate his ego and exert domination as a substitute for intimacy. 

His foundation rests upon a self-concept rooted in an absence of humanity, a life of isolation, and a profound need to exert power over others. 

During Kira’s early years, he was ensconced in immense privilege, and historically, any judgment directed his way came only as praise and adulation. This upbringing left him bereft of the common human experiences that would facilitate empathy and understanding with others. And so, amidst this isolation, he resorted to judgment as a warped imitation of intimacy.

It is through these judgments that Kira dominates others. Through this domination, he attempts to find meaning and establish a semblance of a relationship with his fellow humans. Having lived his life as a person supposedly superior to others, once he gained the power to kill, he wielded it as an extension of his absolute supremacy. This further alienated him from the human experience, contributing to his belief that he is something akin to a God.

Empathy is a foreign concept to Kira. His moral code is rigid, absolutist, and nearly fascistic in nature. Living under Kira's rule would mean living under a sky cast gray by the hand of death, with every step shadowed by the threat of execution. Kira’s society would demand conforming to an unbending and suffocating ideal. There would be no room for a life outside of Kira’s arbitrary expectations. 

Kira has aimed to create this future as a bid for ultimate domination; He wants to rule the world that would otherwise seem distant and out of reach to him. His self-concept is carved with grandiosity, such that a humble existence would not only be tiresome to him, but unacceptable. 

Kira’s claim to ethical considerations are a farce. They are secondary. 

His executions are not justice; they are dominance.

Mello lifted his pencil from the new draft. His eyes skimmed down it, and he gave a nod of satisfaction. “Thoughts?” 

He passed the paper to Matt. 

Matt popped a piece of candy in his mouth and read over the page. “… Sounds good. Do you think L wants that bit of philosophy in the middle about what it would be like to live in Kira’s ‘world?’ I’m not sure it’s necessary for a criminal profile.” 

Mello shifted back and forth. “… Yeah, you’re probably right. I’ll see what Roger thinks.” 

The teenagers turned as the library door swung open and a pair of bare-footed steps padded into the room. “Fuck off, Near, this space is occupied,” Mello sneered. 

“I understand if vocabulary isn’t your strongest suit, Mello, but I really expected you to know the meaning of the term ‘communal space.’” Near folded himself into one of the computer chairs. 

Mello simmered. He and Matt exchanged a glance. 

Near had always been the greatest threat to Mello’s victory. That was as true now as ever. However, the stakes of this particular assignment were not to be compromised with. If Mello got second place with his Kira profile, he would have no grounds to ask L for any sort of reward. 

Without that, he’d be unable to make good on his end of the deal with Kira. 

And if he failed to reciprocate their agreement…  

God only knew what would happen. 

So, Mello and Matt nodded at one another, shuffled to their feet, and approached Near. “Hey, twerp.” 

Near glanced up at the two with dismissive eyes. “Yes?” 

“We were wondering if you’d want to exchange notes on this upcoming assignment,” Matt said, popping a lollipop into his mouth, one of the younger kids’ ‘offerings.’ 

Near glanced between them. “Interesting. You’ve never asked for my help before… I wonder what’s changed.” 

Mello bristled with a pang of irritation, but he was quick to bite it down. “Yeah, well, I— I don't want help, I just… wanted to know what you think.” 

“Hmm… You’re actually interested in hearing what I have to say… That would be another first.” Near twirled his hair in his fingers, pausing thoughtfully. “Fine. I suppose I want to hear your interpretation as well.”

Mello and Matt met eyes, relief visibly washing over them. 

Near examined them closely. 

“So… can we read what you came up with?” Matt asked, his voice betraying his eagerness despite his best efforts of nonchalance. 

Near blinked, his expression blank. “I’m afraid not. I have yet to write it out.” He fiddled with the scroll-wheel of the computer mouse. 

Mello’s eyes flattened. “That’s strange. You always finish homework the day it’s assigned.” 

“I’m not normally concerned about plagiarism.” 

The air seemed to tighten between the three teenagers. 

“… Are you seriously suggesting I’d try to steal your essay?” Mello asked, eyes narrowing. “Please. I understand Kira better than someone like you could even hope to.” 

Matt flinched at Mello’s declaration, recognizing it for the mis-step that it was. 

Near’s snowy hair bobbed with the tipping of his head and a smirk pulled his lips. “I see… I wonder why that could be.” 

Mello stared at Near, gaze downright venomous. “… Spit it out, then. What do you think of Kira?” 

Near’s eyes drifted back to the computer screen, an obvious bid to feign indifference. “… He’s evil. Kira is an exemplary case on how poisonous the ego of the individual can become, should they be granted undue power. The self-image will distort, as if their newfound power had been deserved, granted by divinity or merit, rather than resulting from privilege or arbitrary luck.” Near fidgeted with his sleeve and his posture slumped, deflated. “The only surprising thing about Kira, really, is that that such power exists. But he received the ability to kill, and then aimed to justify this coincidence.”

Mello glanced at Matt, who had his arms crossed over his chest and his gaze fallen to the ground, like he had just received a piece of bad news. Mello felt himself bristle at the reaction. 

… Does he think Near’s going to do better than me? 

Mello swallowed hard, eyes blazing. 

The lollipop clicked against Matt's teeth as he twirled it in his mouth. “So you think receiving the power to kill changed him?” 

Near nodded thoughtfully. “It would change anyone, don’t you agree?” His gaze fell to the floor. “… But… I do not imagine he was ordinary before. My optimism for humanity may be rooted in shallow ground, but I don’t believe that most people, if given Kira’s ability, would use it quite like this.” 

“So what made him different?” Mello snapped. 

Near met Mello’s gaze. “… I do believe I’ve shared enough of my perspective with you. Do you intend to reciprocate and show me what you’ve written?” 

Mello and Matt met eyes. Matt then reached into his back pocket, retrieving the profile he would be turning in. It was made to mirror Mello’s previous attempt: The “Kira as a Victim” narrative. 

Matt had agreed that competing with Mello for the top spot using the same ideas would prove to be a failing strategy. It could also rouse suspicion if the two boys appeared to know definitively which interpretation would prove accurate. 

Near took the paper, flipped it open, and read it with efficiency that should have been impossible. Just another grain of salt in the wound. “… Hmm,” he said. 

Mello huffed through his nostrils. “What do you mean, ‘hmm?’” 

“… Nothing. It’s just interesting.” There was nothing overtly insulting in Near’s tone. But to Mello, every word from Near’s lips seemed threaded with condescension. 

So Mello snatched it back from him with a glare and scowl. 

Near’s face flashed with an expression that Mello couldn’t quite glean. “… I didn’t intend to offend you,” he mumbled. “It’s interesting. I meant that.” 

Mello’s eyes flicked to the ceiling, but before he could come up with any insults to hurl at him, Matt’s hand was on his shoulder. “Nice that you think so. C’mon, Mello, you promised we could play cards, remember?” Matt herded Mello out of the library so quickly that he had no time to protest, and no time to catch whatever look Near had decided to wield against him now. 

Matt shut the door behind them, and his apologetic eyes settled on Mello’s. “We got what we needed out of him, right?” 

Mello nodded, swallowing over the ugly, swollen feeling in his throat. “… Matt?”

“Yeah?” 

“You think he’s gonna beat me?” 

Matt’s expression dropped in sympathy that Mello did not want, but which he found he did not have the strength to reject. 

Matt understood what Mello was truly asking. This was not about the assignment. 

And then those lips parted around that stolen lollipop, and Matt did not speak. 

Mello had to close his eyes and turn away, knowing that Matt’s answer would be written on his face. “I hate it,” he breathed. 

“I…” Matt began, his voice calm and careful. “Did you really… want to become L?” 

“Of course I did.” He wanted it for reasons that he knew weren’t good enough. He wanted it out of greed in place of passion, to flatter his vanity and secure his ego, which he knew was too fickle, too needy, too insatiable. 

He knew this intellectually. 

But knowing what was written in his chest did not change its contents. 

His greed was perhaps the only thing about him that had never changed. 

It was more consistent than his name, more consistent than anything else about him. 

Mello was not the same child that Mihael had been, no, that boy was buried in California under golden skies and bloody soil. Perhaps a part of him wanted a second headstone in England, and to claim a third as his final, a trinity of lives lived and left. 

All he knew was that he did not want to die as Mello.

Matt looked at him with heavy eyes. “Mello.” It didn’t sound quite so worthless when he said it. “What are you going to do?” He asked as a warning, as an accusation, because he already knew, and because he had concern for Mello that Mello did not have for himself. 

“… I’m going to become Kira.” 

Chapter Text

“You have convinced me it is so.” 

Light had one hand over his eyes and the other on his stomach. He wished it was night, or, better yet, that he were a person blessed with the ability to sleep during the day. 

This boredom felt poisonous. 

“I wanted to save my friend.” 

Maybe he would try to coerce L into giving him a chess board. He’d like to perfect his opening strategy. The game was always interesting, spare his inability to find a suitable opponent. He had beaten everyone he had ever played. 

Of course. 

However, he could no longer take that for granted. The downside of his natural talent was that he had never practiced. It had seemed… trivial. But here, now, with his ambitions tied like an animal, ‘triviality’ was all he could expect. 

Chess would be more entertaining than rotting, at least. Maybe even productive. 

If he ever played L, he had to make sure he could win. Because L was his only match.

Light’s arm dropped to his side, and he looked at the ceiling with vision that felt too glassy, too dull. 

The shade of paint was ugly.

Flat, off-white, like skin hidden from the sun. 

L might match the pantone. 

“Nothing that is alive is heartless.”  

Light lurched to his feet and flicked open the nightstand drawer. He couldn’t stand this silence. L had disappeared so abruptly, and though Light didn’t want to seem eager to see him, he was not going to twiddle his thumbs for hours until their conversation could resume. 

He picked up the tea bell and rang it. 

As he waited, simmering in quiet aggravation, he imagined what he would say when L opened the door. 

“Are you prepared to justify your apathy to evil,” “How could you be so comfortable treating me as a friend even knowing what I am,” “what the fuck did you mean ‘I have convinced you it is so?’” 

The questions repeated in his mind like a mantra. However, his efforts were wasted. 

Because when the doorknob turned, the one who stepped forward was Roger. 

Something in Light’s stomach dipped. “Where is L?” 

Roger blinked tiredly. “Is there something you needed, Mr. Yagami?” 

“I need L,” he replied sharply. “… I want to speak with him.” 

“… L is not available to entertain you right now,” Roger said. 

Light could almost feel his hair stand on end from the anger that burned through his body. “… When will he be back?” He asked, perfectly cool. 

“I am not at liberty to say.” 

Light stared at his feet. What was happening? Was L… punishing him? For what he had said at the gazebo- what he hadn’t said? For trying to choke him until those black eyes went dull and those bony wrists lost their pulse?

He can’t do this to me. 

But it was with a creeping dread that Light realized this scenario was… to be expected. Inevitable, even. Light no longer had a life to turn to outside of this room, outside of these ugly, ugly walls.  

L, however, was still himself; he was still the world’s greatest detective. Kira had been his match and his equal. But Light Yagami? 

Light Yagami was just a boy with a chain around his wrist and a God taunting his shoulder. There was no more greatness to his halo, and his shadow had shrunk with its dimming.  

Of course L’s time was wasted with him. 

Weariness painted his face as he looked around the room, too small, too plain. Perhaps, he thought, it suited him more than he had realized.  

“… I’ll get you something to eat,” Roger said then, and his tone was tinted with compassion. 

This only stirred the heavy, somber feeling in Light’s chest further. The idea that his thoughts had tainted his expression… That they were subject to witness… 

“Thank you,” he said, laughing softly. “I just need some more time to acclimate, I suppose. I apologize for snapping.” 

Roger nodded. 

And Light’s eyes closed with the shutting of the door.  

He tugged on the handcuff, felt the chain links press the pads of his fingers. He focused on every little indent, and with them, became shakily aware of his body. Of how he was trapped within it. 

Ryuk must have thought him pathetic. From the perspective of a Shinigami, to be human, to be physical, must have appeared the ultimate bondage. 

In that moment, Light, Kira, felt an emotion truly alien to him. 

He felt small. 

__

Matt and Mello wandered into the game-room. The floor was strewn with toys, cards, and building blocks. They shuffled past the smaller kids, who had retreated from their games at the teens’ presence. 

Mello sneered at them, something in him soothed by their intimidation. He plucked a deck of cards from the shelf and settled on the floor. “Blackjack or Rummy?” 

“Blackjack,” Matt said, beginning to divide a bag of M&Ms for them to gamble with. 

However, the candy clattered to the floor as an adult, monotone voice murmured, “I hear the game’s more fun with three players…” 

The two lurched at the voice, eyes landing on L, curled in the corner with his face in the instructions of board game. 

“L!” Mello sputtered, immediately shooting to his feet. What was he doing here? “I— I’m sorry if we disturbed you.” 

“Oh no, feel free to continue. Pretend I’m just one of the other children.” His eyes peeked over the frayed edge of the paper. Holding Mello’s gaze, his hand dipped into his pocket, the rest of his body rigid like a doll. From his pants, he retrieved a lollipop. “My tribute.” L flicked it across the room, and Mello caught it in bewilderment. 

“Tribute…?” 

“For the king of the playground. I’d hate to incite your wrath by neglecting my dues.” 

Ice shot through Mello’s blood. “W… what are you…?” No… Had one of the younger kids told L that Matt and Mello expected offerings from them? Oh… Oh God- 

“Hmm?” L asked, head tipping. “There’s no need to look so confused. Unless… are you… not king?” L blinked, the black of his eyes stretching like a void. “Please, do clarify.” 

Mello broke L’s gaze, looking shakily to Matt, who was in turn looking at his feet. 

“I just…” Mello rolled the lollipop in his fingers. 

L rose from the ground, the game manual discarded, and approached. “Well, in any case, your majesty… I have a proposition that may repair this situation.” 

__

L took Mello and Matt to the kitchen. 

Their faces were shadowed by guilt and fear, anticipation hanging heavy on their shoulders. They had no idea how L might punish them.

Roger had always been lenient on them, more lenient than he should have been. He was too wary of dampening Mello’s spark with humiliation. Or, perhaps, he was too fearful of what Mello might do in retaliation, should he mature to consider his childhood unhappy. 

Everyone knew Mello might return to the mafia. And, once there, he could happily execute a coup of Wammy’s. Now that his ambition had set itself on Kira’s throne, this possibility was all the more real.

The threat he posed would never be overt, of course, never damning. But When his eyes met Roger, he was sure the old man could feel the weight of his gaze.

Like a geriatric rabbit faced with a hunting dog, their caretaker had been fearful of Mello since the day he had arrived. However, L most certainly had no such reservations. 

Mello swallowed around the stone in his throat, and, voice shaky, managed, “M… Matt had nothing to do with it. It was all me.” 

L plucked a cook-book from the shelf, head turning curiously. 

“Mello!” Matt hissed. “That’s not true. I was the one who put him up to it.” 

“Hmm… Interesting… ” L murmured. “Tell me, what do you two know of the prisoners’ dilemma?” He flipped through the cook-book, eyes widening as the page opened to an illustration of a strawberry-shortcake. 

Matt and Mello shared a glance. 

“… It’s… a concept in game-theory,” Matt said softly. “There are two criminals who can either refuse to cooperate with police, or… agree to sell out their partner.” 

“If prisoner one snitches, he’ll be granted immunity if prisoner two stays quiet. Prisoner two, however, will get twenty years in prison,” Mello continued. “However, if neither of them cooperate, they’ll each only have to face a year.” 

“But— if they sell out eachother, then they’ll both get five years.” 

L nodded. “Very good. Now, according to the Nash equilibrium model… what is the most logical choice?” 

Matt shuffled a few centimeters closer to Mello, meeting his eye pointedly. “Well… He said that the correct choice was to betray their friend. No matter what.” 

L smiled. “Yes. Because your outcomes in that scenario are narrowed to going free or getting five years. Whereas staying loyal shifts that range from one year, if your co-conspirator stays quiet, to twenty, should they betray you. Quite a difference.” 

Mello stared at the ground, eyes solid. “So, what? Are you going to put us in a scenario like that? Is that the point of this?” 

“Hmm? Oh, no, not at all, I don’t need confessions to know you’re guilty. You simply reminded me of the game.” L licked his thumb and turned the page. “It’s interesting. I suspect that… if pressured in such a way… you would forgo logic and stay loyal to one another.” L stared at the book for a few seconds, expression shifting in a way that Mello witnessed, but could not place. 

 He looked almost… sad. 

But then, the emotion falling from his face like a sheet, L held up the page he had turned to. Tucked in the top corner was a drawing of macarons. “Have either of you baked before?” 

Matt glanced at Mello, and they shared a brief look of bemusement. “Uh… no?” 

“Ahh, excellent. Then I suspect that this will be a ripe punishment indeed.”

L analyzed the recipe with a ferocious rigor, and then scrawled it onto the kitchen’s tile floor in permanent marker. Mello thought better of criticizing him, so Matt was the one to mumble a quiet protest of, “How are you going to get that off?” 

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m not.” He smirked up at them with eyes that, from Mello’s view, were decidedly cat-like. “You are.” 

They groaned in unison. 

“It seems that the foundational ingredient in this recipe is almond flour,” L mused as he scrawled down another line of instructions. “This is, of course, problematic. Because we don’t have any. However…” 

“Oh God,” Matt started, but L spoke over him quickly, “ However, we do have almonds.” 

L crawled to the pantry and pulled out a few plastic bags of mixed nuts. Craning over L’s shoulder, Mello saw that there were dozens of them stacked on the bottom shelf. “We’ll just need to separate them, and then figure out how to convert them into flour.” 

“You have to be joking.”

L was not. 

Mello and Matt spent the next twenty minutes plucking almonds from cashews, pistachios, and peanuts, while L perused the recipe book, sampling a small bowl of powdered sugar he had poached from their ingredients. 

Once the nuts had been sorted, and the rest were stored into ziplock bags, Matt was tasked with boiling the almonds to remove the skins. In the meanwhile, Mello had begun separating egg whites from yolks. “We’re going to be here all damn day,” he muttered under his breath, and L’s eyes glinted with a bright spark of amusement. 

Mello tried not to meet his gaze. He cracked an egg too hard, and shell flaked into the bowl of whites. Cursing, he dove in with his fingers. However, the shell stuck to the side, and a full minute dragged by while L’s unblinking eyes dissected him. 

He could feel his own face heat with frustration, with humiliation. 

That was the point, he supposed. 

L must have seen him as simply… fucking useless. Just an angry, childish, stupid little asshole. 

What would Kira do in this situation, he wondered. If Mello had that kind of power, how would he get out of this? 

Hah. If he had Kira’s power, he wouldn’t be in this situation at all. 

His teeth sank into his bottom lip. 

L watched. 

And when Mello’s eyes grazed L’s for just a moment, he returned them immediately to the counter. “… ‘m sorry.”  

“Do you know why you behaved as you did?” 

Mello felt the warm threat of tears under his eyelids. He shut them with a bitter shrug. “No.” 

L’s lip twitched into a smile. “I hope that isn’t true. I would expect that introspection is within your grasp… You’re an intelligent boy, Mello.” 

A laugh burst from Mello’s chest and his head shook. As if. 

L knew nothing about him, spare his inadequacy. Near was going to be the heir. It was obvious. “You don’t believe that,” he mumbled, finally snagging the eggshell under his fingernail and flinging it to the countertop. 

L’s eyes pinched. “Do you think I am the kind of person to lie? Do you really believe I would be motivated to attempt sparing the feelings of a bully?” 

Mello’s hands stilled. He looked up at L, and, voice feeling suffocated, simply swallowed. 

“Why did you do it,” L demanded, tone shedding any humor. “I want you to tell me.” 

Mello saw Matt flinch from across the kitchen. 

“I…” 

L’s eyes pierced him. 

“I did it because it was fun, alright!” He shouted. “I don’t have a good reason, so stop asking me for one! I did it because I liked it!” 

“You liked what.” 

“… I liked being feared.” 

L nodded, cold eyes finally closing. “And why do you think that is?” 

Mello huffed, shrugging. “Seems pretty straightforward to me. Being the recipient of fear is an affirmation of status— it’s natural to enjoy it.” 

“Is that really the kind of status you want?” 

Mello quieted. “It’s the status I’ve got.” 

L nodded. “Evidently.” He looked down at the egg whites and picked up the piece of shell that Mello had flicked to the countertop. “I advise abandoning it.” 

“Easy for you to say,” Mello retorted, voice a wry, quiet rumble. “You’ve got the world in the palm of your hand. Your genius is worshiped, I doubt you know what it means to feel… unimportant.” Mello looked at him with eyes of stone. “If I had what you do? Sure. Maybe I’d be kinder.” 

L smiled, something in his expression going soft. “… If the whole world thought like you do, nearly the entire population would be chained by feelings of inadequacy. Relegated to a life of bitter, fruitless misery…” He chuckled, tone just a touch too familiar, as if L were speaking to an old friend rather than his estranged, rejected heir. “It’s evident you don’t appreciate how exceptional you already are. I wonder what you would do if your life and skills were reduced to those of an average person…” 

“I would kill myself,” Mello said abruptly, tone plain and sharp. 

Matt, again, flinched. 

L eyed him, lip still pulled in a half-smirk. “What about the average person is so loathsome that you would find it intolerable to live as one of them?” 

Mello’s gaze drifted down to the tile floor. “… The average person is weak… stupid.” His chest began to deflate. “… Worthless.” 

Suddenly, a pale, cold finger jabbed into Mello’s forehead, making him stumble back. “Come, come… I won’t accept such a delusional response from someone intelligent enough to become one of my prodègès. Do you actually believe that society was built on the backs of the exceptional few?” Furiously, L lifted the recipe book. “This macaron recipe was probably developed by a person with an IQ no higher than 110! The illustrations, the formatting, the materials sourced for the book itself— all provided by average people.” L’s eyes burned then, alight with a passion that Mello had not envisioned him capable of. “And you are going to tell me that they are worthless? Don’t make me laugh.” Disdain dripped from L’s grimace and all Mello could do was retreat until the far counter hit his back. 

“If you want to believe yourself to be so above the human species that we raised you to serve, then you really have earned your misery.” Turning away from Mello, L began to beat the egg whites. 

Silence permeated the kitchen air, only broken by the hum of the stovetop flame. 

Mello’s voice had been stolen from him and he simply simmered with his eyes on the ground. And then, breathed through tight lips, he managed, “I just wanted to be you.” 

He thought L wouldn’t hear him, but soon, those graphite eyes returned to him. 

Mello looked into them, and after a few seconds of passed silence, he found himself seeing things he simply… hadn’t before. He noticed the grease in L’s hair, the depth of the hollows under his eyes, the large tea stain decorating the chest of L’s sweater, faded, but prominent under the kitchen light. 

And then… L smiled. “But you are yourself.” 

Chapter Text

Near rolled a marble around his thumb, and then watched it fall to the floor with the sharp click-clack of glass on wood. He picked it up and attempted the trick again, hoping to eventually be able to slide it smoothly along his knuckles. 

As he fidgeted, his mind ran over the structure of his Kira analysis. The due-date was tomorrow morning, but he would resist typing it for now. He would wait a mere hour before the deadline, he had decided. 

Near was still wary of Mello’s potential for sabotage, and the ideas Mello had offered in their ‘trade’ seemed dubious at best. But, in fairness, Near had also omitted the bulk of his thesis. His true opinion of Kira was a little more specific. 

Kira was someone raised in privilege, not trauma, as Mello had proposed. He was accustomed to viewing others with disdain, so it was likely that he had few true friends. To Near, it was obvious from the beginning that Kira was a student, and meeting him in person had only confirmed this.

He considered how Kira had acted when he had confronted him in the infirmary. 

He was smug, conceited. Easily threatened. Combative. 

It was unlikely that Kira had any older siblings, or siblings similar in age. A person with an older sibling would likely have an ego that was tempered early on, as they would grow used to compromising with someone who served as both a competitor and an authority figure. And, likewise, a person with a sibling who was close in age would typically need to accept that their desires are not always king, and must sometimes be split with a peer.  

Though, of course, these speculations could only be applied generally. 

As for Kira’s parents… it was likely that they had a doctrinaire attitude to discipline, which Kira would have internalized and baked into his world-view. If Kira had committed wrongdoings as a child, he would have been made to feel immense shame. But, due to his sociopathic nature, this would have likely not breached into feelings of true remorse. Only humiliation. Over time, he would have learned to mask all imperfections for fear of reliving this intolerable embarrassment. And so, it would be essential that he appear infallible. Kira would be competitive, react terribly to losing or being proven wrong, and seek the admiration of others at all costs. 

Near couldn’t help but think of Mello when he considered this trait. 

He pinched the marble between his fingers until his nails went white. 

… He hadn’t seen Mello since his abrupt departure from the library. 

It was… unusual. Mello and Matt were such a stentorian presence within the orphanage that Near was almost always aware of their location, at least peripherally. And yet, today, he had managed to lose track of them. 

The marble clattered to the floor. Near picked it up. 

With the current situation, this lapse in awareness was unacceptable. If Near wasn’t privy to Mello’s movements, the thread of stability holding Wammy’s together may quickly deteriorate. 

Though, perhaps Near didn’t understand the ‘current situation’ as well as he liked. Because, right now, he had yet to solve one vital mystery. 

What was L thinking, bringing Kira here of all places?

Audibly, Near scoffed. Surely, L wasn’t delusional enough to believe that such a monster could be reformed, so why? Was he blind to the danger such a move might eschew? Perhaps… he was simply ignorant to the dynamics of the orphanage. He hadn’t been here since he was a child, after all. He had little to no relationship with the current generation of Wammy’s. 

Indeed… L could not have easily predicted what a volatile, capricious force Mello was. Or the risks L would provoke by allowing Mello to coalesce with a creature like Kira. 

And yet, the fact still remained that L had not taken precautions to prevent the present scenario. How could he have been so illogical, so negligent? 

The marble clattered to the floor. 

Near folded his arms over his knees and allowed his eyes to slip shut. 

Perhaps L was not the man Near had imagined him to be. 

He knew it was childish. But he had really wanted L to live up to the status of his idol. And he was… disappointed that his predecessor was acting in ways that didn’t appear quite so admirable. 

A feather-soft sigh left his nose, and he slumped into his pajama-clad knees. 

Either L was acting stupidly, or this was a puzzle that Near had failed to solve. 

Either way… 

How depressing. 

Near stewed in this sentiment for minutes, until, abruptly, the library door burst open. He swiftly hid his marble away in the pocket of his pajama-shirt. 

And then Mello walked through the door. In his hands was a platter. His gaze met Near’s, before he turned to glare at the floor with a sour expression. Sheepishly, he approached. Behind him trailed Matt and… L. 

Near’s eyebrow raised. 

Silently, Mello presented the platter to Near, refusing to make eye-contact. 

“What do we say, Mello?” L mused from behind him. 

With quickly flushing cheeks, Mello rattled the tray, upon which were a few dozen… cookies? “I— I’m… sorry,” his voice trembled, “Have a macaron. As an apology.” 

Near was not sure he wanted Mello’s apology, or his ‘macaron.’ 

But, lacking the words to reject him, he scanned the selection for whichever had the least obvious lumps. “… Thank you,” he mumbled, plucking his chosen cookie from the tray. 

He turned it over to reveal a charred underside. 

Perhaps this offering was a thinly-veiled attempt at poisoning. 

However, L was peering at Near expectantly, and so, after a few moments of deliberation, he took a bite. 

It tasted as good as it looked. 

L continued staring.  

And finally, with puckered lips and shadowed eyes, Near managed: “… Yummy.”

Orange sunlight cast tree-branch shadows on the curtain of Light’s bedroom— His cell, rather. It was nearly dark out, and, desperate to at least imitate productivity and paint over his boredom, Light was now staring at a text document. 

Things to talk about in new Kira profile: 

First paragraph: Summary of Kira’s modus-operandum.  

Second paragraph: Bland disavowal of Kira’s actions.

Third paragraph: Talk about how Kira is still on the loose and humanity must defeat him, despite the case having been so sadly abandoned by the world’s greatest detective. 

Conclusion: Reiterate. 

Light stared at the outline he had typed. The words seemed to blend together in his vision, a black and white mosaic of the most miserable emotion he had ever experienced.

It had still been early in the morning when Light was returned to this room, chained to the bedpost, left alone. And, now, the little clock in the corner of the screen displayed 8:56 pm. 

Nearly 12 hours. Approaching an entire day. 

Without a single word from L. 

“And what exactly would I depend on Light Yagami for?” 

Light’s eyelids drooped and his lips parted. 

The typing cursor blinked expectantly. 

Would this assignment— this trite, worthless little essay end up being… the end of it?

He lowered his gaze to stare at his hands, folded quietly in his lap. 

What am I thinking? 

L didn’t— L didn’t matter. So long as he didn’t kill Light, which, by this point, he seemed to have little intention of doing, then… Light would figure it out. 

He still had Ryuk. 

Even if it took a long, long time, if he was living, he would win. 

It was just his nature. 

A shiver ran through him, and so, he shifted on the bed.

He stared at the text document. And found he couldn’t return his hands to the keyboard.  

What am I going to do? 

He couldn’t delay the project forever, especially if his plans with Mello were to materialize. But if he finished it… and ‘Mission-Mello’ failed… 

L really might just move on. If Light was stuck here, paralyzed, like caged bird with clipped wings… then the world’s greatest detective would have absolutely no reason to stay.  

Once Light Yagami had confessed his sins, what more purpose could he possibly serve? If L had won, then the story was over.

If Light couldn’t get the upper hand, if he couldn’t get it soon…  

He’s going to leave me. 

Light swallowed around the painful feeling in his throat. 

It was a simple inevitability. By this point, Light could deny it all he wanted, but Kira was as good as comatose. And without Kira? L had absolutely no business with some middle-class, Japanese, megalomaniacal, teenage kid. 

He would probably forget Light’s name in a year, that mind rolling through new mysteries, new allies, new enemies, new purpose. 

And in the meanwhile… Light would… 

He stared at the handcuff around his wrist. 

He would…

Whither. 

His eyes squeezed shut, a feeling heavy and poisonous crashing through his chest, as if mercury had been dripped into his veins. Slowly, his eyelashes grew wet with water and salt. 

And then the door opened. 

Light attacked his eyes with his sleeve, rubbing his face as a few sets of footsteps entered the room. He recognized L, Mello, and that brunette boy with his first glance, and then registered the tray of macarons with the second. 

He stilled. 

“Hello, Light.” 

Light stared at L, silent. His gaze lowered to the cookies. “… You… made these?” 

Mello refused to look Light in the eye, while the brunette teenager studied him curiously. 

L smiled. “Matt, don’t be shy, offer our guest a macaron.” 

The boy, Matt, approached Light quietly. But Light’s attention was not on him. “This… This is what you’ve been doing all day?” He spat at L. 

L appeared confused at the bite in Light’s tone. “Is baking such a grand offense?” 

Bitterly, Light laughed. He placed a hand on his face and shook his head, before flopping back on the bed, his manic chuckling growing to a crescendo. 

Mello glanced at L for an explanation. However, the detective seemed to be at an equal loss. 

“… Do you want a macaron or not?” Matt muttered. 

Light’s hand batted at the tray, shaking the cookies and sending two to the floor. 

“F- Ugh, you dickhead!” Matt spat as he balanced the tray. 

Mello looked at his friend with wide eyes, head shaking in a silent warning.  

Matt quieted. 

“… Perhaps you two should find Watari and see what he thinks of our baking…” L mumbled, his fingers resting thoughtfully on his lips. 

The teenagers only shared a glance before leaving without a word. 

Light peeked at L through the fingers over his eyes. 

“… Do you… not like macarons?” L murmured. 

Light scoffed, flipping over on the bed. “I do not give a fuck.” 

“… About… the cookies?” L’s words dragged slowly, uncomfortably. “Light, why are you upset?” 

Light’s fingers dug into the blanket under him, pulling the fabric into tight, angry trails. 

L, in turn, lingered over the bed in silence, evidently content in waiting for an answer. 

“How dare you,” Light hissed. “How- how dare you ask me that.” 

The floorboards creaked under L’s feet when he shuffled closer. 

Slowly, Light sighed, the anger falling from his shoulders in defeat. “You took everything from me.” 

Light heard only the shifting fabric of L’s sweater, but he could tell that he was reaching out a hand. And yet, that hand did not touch Light, fingers hovering right above shoulder blades, indecisive and insecure. 

Light turned his head to peer at L, glaring through narrowed eyes. “Don’t pretend you regret it.” 

L’s face dipped to stare at the ground, and his hand drew back. He didn’t respond. 

“How does it feel to have killed God?” 

Suddenly, like a spark had been lit, L’s eyes bounced back up, and Light knew he had said too much. 

“… Are you God, Light Yagami?” 

 Light’s eyes were dark and his smile perfunctory. “No. Light Yagami is absolutely nothing.” 

L’s expression was cool, blank, and meticulously unreadable. “… You don’t believe that.” 

“What more could he possibly be?” Light laughed. “He isn’t Kira.” 

L was reticent, staring with eyes that were somewhere between puzzled and disturbed. Because this time, when Light said that, it didn’t sound like he was lying. 

“I would like you to leave,” Light said then, finding he didn’t like how that expression sat on L’s face. 

L put a thumb to his lip, eyes pinching in the slightest hint of a scowl. “I see.” He did not move, and he did not avert his gaze. “… Are you sure?” 

Light rolled his eyes, batting out his hand. He didn’t answer L, and instead buried his face in the pillow like a pouting child. 

“Light?” 

“Leave.” 

A soft sigh left L’s lips, followed by a whispered chuckle. "I’ll be there next time. I'm sorry.” And then, without another word, he left the room and locked the knob behind him. 

Kira is a name whispered with reverence and hissed with terror. It is a name which is otherworldly and inhuman— perhaps more than human, perhaps less. Kira’s justice, too, is inhuman in nature, as well as in scope. The purpose of Kira is to transform humankind and elevate the population to divinity as well. Kira targets the ugly evidence of humanity’s flaws, the criminals who sit in cells as if, despite their wickedness, they are still entitled to earth under their feet and the air in their lungs. As if they are still entitled to light in their eyes and warmth in their veins. As if there are no true standards for what a person can and cannot be. 

Kira is not a serial killer, nor a mass-murderer. Because those concepts are reserved for human beings. If Kira is a criminal, then so are the storms, fires and diseases which take life all the same. 

Writing a psychological profile about Kira is akin to writing down the psychology of the sea or the sky. To personify Kira in such a way would be to deny the truth of his nature, for he defies nature itself. 

Kira is God. 

And Light Yagami is not Kira.  

Chapter Text

The morning came with the shrieking laughs of children and the savory aroma of bacon and hashbrowns. Mello and Matt sat in the far corner of the cafeteria, staring at the other orphans with profound, bone-aching, stomach-turning trepidation. They had been forced to give a macaron to every single brat, and though the gesture was appreciated, their cookies were not. One of the ten-year-olds even had the audacity to spit it on the floor. 

In fairness, Mello had tactfully dodged having to sample the cookies himself, arguing that he didn’t deserve to indulge in what was meant to be the product of his own apology. L, though he saw right through him, had accepted this reasoning. 

The cafeteria tables were scattered with papers and pencils. A child moaned as he held up a page that had been soaked with orange juice, and Watari patted his shoulder in consolation. 

Mello didn't envy the poor kid. In just a few hours, they would be expected to finish their Kira profiles. He pushed his bacon around on is plate, and found that his nerves had ruined his appetite.

Matt glanced at him, swallowing a mouthful of oatmeal. “… You good?” 

“… Yeah.” Mello shrugged. “There’s nothing I can really do at this point, so…” 

Matt huffed air through his nose in a half-laugh, knowing that Mello had always found the status of limbo to be worse than hell itself. “Yeah, well, don’t drive yourself crazy. Your profile is good,” he said, tone sewn with reassurance. 

Mello nodded numbly. His eyes only left the table when, from his peripheral vision, he saw Near slip through the cafeteria doors. Cradled to his chest was a thick stack of papers. 

Mello’s eyes flattened and his lip furrowed. 

Then, with a hunched back and rabbit-like speed, Near snatched a muffin from the pastry tray and swept out of the room. 

Mello stared after him, before lowering his gaze back to his own assignment.

Near’s looked longer. 

More well-researched. 

Just yesterday, Mello had been… satisfied with this profile. But now, every line he read sounded like the work of a child. 

He shivered, shaking out his sleeves. The dread in his veins felt heavy, hot, and absolutely sickening. 

He tried his best to accept the feeling, knowing it would be with him until the next day. 

For the time being, he simply had to lay in the hands of fate. 

___

Light spent the morning curled up in bedsheets and with eyes drooped shut. He hoped, desperately, that he would soon fall back asleep. 

He did not want to be here. 

The pillow smelled like unwashed hair and the blanket was too thin, too stiff. However, despite his discontent, he refused to leave the covers. 

This claustrophobia wasn’t entirely new to him. Back… back then, when he had given up the death note, L had left him in that cell for far, far longer than this. 

It was different now. Here, he wasn’t bound with a straight-jacket, there was sunlight in his room, and the floor was built of warm wooden boards rather than rough cold concrete. 

And yet. 

He shuddered, curling his knees close to his chest. 

And yet, somehow, this felt worse. 

The thing that made the difference wasn’t L’s treatment of him, it wasn’t the food he was allowed or the dignity he was spared. 

It was Kira. It was his relationship with Kira. Back then, though his imprisonment was confusing and terrifying and a departure from all that made sense, it was not crushing in the same way. Because when he did not have Kira, he did not have nearly so much to lose. 

When he was Light Yagami and Light Yagami alone, he did not have godhood that could be ripped from him.

He’d have rather they taken his life. 

With eyes shut and his body limp, he lay there until his chest started to throb with a dull, cold, heavy ache. 

After a few hours, Ryuk dangled down from the ceiling and asked him if he was sick. Light managed to burrow deeper into the sheets. 

“I don’t understand what’s going on with you, Light,” Ryuk mumbled. “I always liked how… driven you were. Are you really just going to stay in bed all day?” 

“I am chained to the post, Ryuk,” Light croaked, wishing desperately that he could somehow turn off his ability to see shinigami. 

… Well. 

It was within his grasp. 

He could just give up the death note again. 

Ryuk grumbled, scratching at his own arms in aggravated boredom. 

… I could just give up the death note again. 

The thought echoed quietly in his mind. 

Would it be better that way? His situation wouldn’t improve, but at least he wouldn’t be aware of the sheer magnitude of what his imprisonment implied. If Light Yagami forgot about Kira, then perhaps Kira would be easier to grieve. 

When did I become so pathetic? 

Light simmered on the question. Because Ryuk was correct. These past few days, Light had not been himself. 

He was depressed. 

With trembling fingers and a quivering lip, his eyes slipped open. 

“What do I do, Ryuk?” he whispered quietly. “What do I do?” 

Ryuk stared down at him, eyes beady and inscrutable. 

Tree branches brushed against the window, and the wooden beams of the orphanage groaned with the passing wind.  

“You wait.” 

He looked up. 

“Have you ever heard the saying ‘this too shall pass?’” Ryuk chuckled. “There’s truth in it. For humans, at least, it seems like nothing stays the same for very long. I’ve outlived enough of your species’ history to know.” He drooped forward, back dipping down like a rotten tree limb. “I always knew you had an impatient streak, Light. But don’t give me this crap. If you’re really so desperate to change your situation… at least do something interesting.” 

Light looked down at the sheets. And, slowly, he sat up. “… I see.” 

Of course he wouldn’t give up the Death Note. It was the only hope he had left. Even if it was painful, he could not abandon that which he had chosen as his sole, immutable purpose. 

It was just the silence. The silence of the room was driving him mad. 

But he would ground himself, as he always had, with what was to come. 

With a calm, mechanical edge, he slid the laptop out from under the bed. He opened up his profile, quickly deleting the few paragraphs he had written the previous night. 

He just had to remind himself of his purpose. 

So, with swift fingers, he let it spill onto the screen. 

Amid the landscape of human discourse, justice has always stood as an enigma. For as long as the concept has existed, it has been subject to incessant debate. So too, then, are figures who act on behalf of justice. Those who take it upon themselves to uphold concepts of right and wrong without compromise or deferral are seen as either the savior of justice, or its destroyer. Indeed, vigilantism is often framed as the work of ego, rather than the work of morality. Those of this perspective may imagine that vigilantes only insert themselves into matters of justice so that they may selfishly revel in the glory that comes with declaring themselves the unrestrained judges of right and wrong. After all, humans have put tremendous effort into building systems of governance, systems which promise to democratize retribution so that it may be enacted impartially. To those of this worldview, amid systems of organized justice, vigilantism should have no place.

However, this belief neglects a crucial truth; Systematized justice does not elevate, purify, or sanctify justice. Rather, it defangs it.

As justice becomes subject to public scrutiny and compromise, it sacrifices its potency amidst conflicting moral frameworks and divergent perceptions of right and wrong. After all, individuals will inevitably hold competing, if not mutually exclusive concepts of what is ethical. This is particularly true when we consider that not all people are aligned with the good of society. By making justice the subject of the public discourse, we are guaranteeing evil a seat at the table. 

Of course, conversely, any advocate of vigilantism must consider how competing ideologies would behave under anarchism, wherein systematized justice is abolished completely. Absent an agreed upon bastion of bureaucracy to turn to, it is obvious that society would devolve into disparate cultural factions, as individuals group with those who share compatible values, and shun those who clash. Within this framework, it is simple to envision a return to primitivism, as tribes slaughter one another in a ceaseless battle for power. It is true that vigilantism alone would set a standard for chaos, rather than a standard for truth. For justice to rein in its purest form, it is necessary that there be no compromise, so that justice is not diluted, and no room for competition, so that justice does not devolve into chaos. 

This is only possible when absolute justice is paired with absolute power. 

For ethics to become a matter of truth, it must have an arbiter that is beyond question, beyond debate, and beyond rebellion.

Such an arbiter could only be divine. 

Such an arbiter could only be God. 

It is unfortunate, then, that humanity has inherited a Godless world. If it so happens that there is a system of divine judgment, enforcing ethics with benevolent authoritarianism, it has been relegated to the afterlife. Here on earth, we do not have the privilege of witnessing evil be unilaterally punished, nor goodness be unilaterally rewarded. Every day, wicked actions bear great rewards, while altruism is smeared as naivety.  

If there ever was a higher power watching over humanity, it abandoned them long ago. 

Until the genesis of Kira. 

Kira will not submit to the apathy that bureaucratic compromise demands. 

He will use the divine power bestowed upon him to obliterate the notion that right and wrong are subject to debate. 

And he will not abandon mankind. 

So, if you believe you are on the side of justice… why would you do this to me, L?

Chapter Text

Mello slid his assignment into the drop box with tingling fingers, as if the paper were made of nettles. Once it disappeared through that little dark slit, relief and regret seemed to dance together in his chest. He stepped away from the table, gaze locked numbly on the floor. Matt smirked at him, before grabbing his sleeve in two fingers and tugging him out of the classroom. “C’mon, let’s get dinner.” 

“I’m gonna fucking throw up,” Mello grumbled, rubbing his forehead to soothe the tension in his skull. “I’m gonna fucking. Throw. Up.” 

“Heheh, try not to think about it too much. Your profile was good, that’s all that matters.” 

Matt’s consolation was routine and cliche, but Mello found he was grateful that he had someone to offer it. He only wished he could agree. Yesterday… he didn’t get the impression that L hated him. At least, not entirely. Maybe if L liked his profile… 

Maybe he would see him as someone worthy.

Mello let his head roll back on his shoulders as he groaned, trying to banish the image of L skimming down his work with eyes drooped in boredom. 

Then, when he and Matt turned a corner, a head of cotton-white hair came into view. 

Near peered over his knees from where he sat on the hallway bench. His arms cradled his legs tightly to his chest, obscuring his mouth and nose. His eyes, however, were wide, and alert, and dull. It was like he had been waiting there for them. 

Matt and Mello tried to ignore him as they passed by, but the moment they were about to exit into the dining hall, he called, “I take it you turned in your profiles?” 

Mello spared him a glance. “Yeah? What of it?” 

A few seconds of pointed silence, and Near shrugged. “Good luck.” 

“… Okay.” 

The tone of the exchange felt off, Near’s voice sounding like a poorly-tuned instrument. 

But before he could ruminate on the tenor, Matt ushered Mello through the door, and Near’s empty expression disappeared from view. 

Light had nearly managed to fall asleep when he heard a set of knuckles ring limply against the door. His expression soured and his knees drew to his chest as L entered. 

L didn’t approach him. He simply lingered at the far end of the room, evidently content to wait in silence until Light acknowledged him. 

Minutes passed, before Light eventually gave in to his boredom, his exhaustion, and mumbled, “I finished it.” 

“… I see.” L rocked back and forth on his feet, his excitement palpable despite the blandness of his tone. “… May I?” 

Light shrugged, and L immediately surged forward to snatch the laptop from under Light’s bed. 

Light stared down at him through narrowed eyes, his body feeling pinned to the bed by exhaustion. Anger -- bitter, sour, and far too familiar thumped in his chest as L skimmed through the profile. The feeling only sharpened when L smiled, and his eyes began to glow with fascination. 

How dare you. 

How dare he still act like that. It felt like bait- like L was dangling the promise of how things used to be on a fishing line, only so he could scar Light and throw him back to rot in the sea. 

And then L’s eyes reached the bottom of the screen. 

Light had deleted the last line ‘why would you do this to me, L?’ before handing it over, of course. But… the way L was looking at him… it gave Light the eerie feeling that he could smell its absence. 

L turned the laptop around so Light could see the screen. “… Tell me, Light, do you frequently use computers to write your assignments for school?” 

The question left a terrible feeling in Light’s stomach. “… I usually use pen and paper.” 

“Mm.” The cursor drew to the tool-bar, and every hair on Light’s body prickled as he realized his mistake. 

L’s finger hovered over the “View Document History” option, and Light felt his blood heat and time slow. And then he lunged from the bed. 

L’s eyes widened as Light’s open palm collided with his face, and L’s thigh shot up instinctively to guard the laptop. 

I have to aim for the hard-drive. Just cracking the screen won’t be enough, it needs to be completely irrecoverable. 

Spitting with rage, Light wrestled L’s leg back and moved once again to grab the computer, but L was too fast, and he juggled it away with his other hand. “I must say, this is quite an-“ 

Light screamed, digging his teeth into L’s shoulder-

“Interesting response— oww oww oww, Light!“ 

L attempted to worm free, but Light only dug his teeth in harder, before rooting his fingers in L’s mop of hair with one hand and grabbing onto his arm with the other, trying to wrestle the laptop closer.

L groaned under him in pain. But then, he slid the computer across the floor, pushing it out of reach of Light’s fingers, even with the handcuff’s chain pulled to its limit. L smirked, apparently believing he had won. 

But Light knew his range intimately by now. If he had reached Mello’s note with his foot? He could reach this. 

And so, he flung himself forward, arced his leg in the air, and with fire racing through his cuffed wrist from metal biting through skin, he brought his heel down on the laptop. 

It folded under his kick like wood bursting under an axe. 

L stared with parted lips. 

And the battle was over.

“You are a lunatic!” L hissed through heavy breaths. 

Hot blood trickled from Light’s wrist, pooling under the handcuff like spilled victory. “I’d be no match for you otherwise,” He huffed, bleary eyes staring at the ceiling. Then, for the first time in days, he grinned, smile splitting his face from ear to ear. 

L rolled up to sit on his heels, rubbing his shoulder where Light had bit him. 

Light was sure it would bruise. He only wished he’d be able to see it under that sweater. Or, better yet, that he’d had bare skin to sink his teeth into instead. 

Another electric shot of adrenaline ran through him at that thought, and he could only laugh like a madman. 

L glowered down at him, clearly sour for having lost. His eyes narrowed and his lip drew into a flat, thin line. 

Light’s smile slowly faded as he read his expression. A prickle of fear rose in his gut. “… L, no…” 

L crawled forward. 

“Hey! No no no, don’t you dar-” 

L grabbed a thick fistful of Light’s hair, wrenched his head back on the ground, and then clamped his jaw around Light’s bicep. 

Light shrieked, L growled, and Light’s poor arm was quickly treated like a rabid dog’s chew-toy. 

Light, having spent his energy on their previous match, could only writhe limply in retaliation. But, slowly, he realized something. 

He was still laughing. 

But now, it wasn’t for glee of victory, it wasn’t out of power, or smugness, or pride. He was simply laughing- freely, childishly. And he couldn’t stop. 

“L- no more, I—“ he tried to choke out, “I’m done!” He attempted to wrestle L’s jaw off of him, and when his squirming proved insufficient, he instead wormed his fingers into L’s mouth. That seemed to give L pause, as he gave Light a questioning glance. 

Following through on his threat, Light plunged his fingers past L’s tongue, and, finally, forced those teeth off of his arm. 

L pulled back and sputtered, but he also… lingered. 

They stared at each other for a few moments, Light’s fingers still pressed against L’s tongue. 

And Light felt… heat. 

He wrenched his fingers back like they had been burned, eyes wide and face pale. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he sputtered. 

L wiped his mouth with his sleeve, eyes falling to the ground. “Is the pot calling the kettle black again?” 

“I—“ Light found himself at a loss for words, so he simply swallowed. 

Did he do that on purpose? 

“Anyways…” L murmured, rolling out his shoulder, “Despite your rather calamitous behavior, I suppose I did get to read your profile before you destroyed it. So, congratulations, Kira, consider your assignment complete.” 

“Don’t call me Kira,” Light snapped, “… But okay. So now what?” 

L shifted back and forth on his feet. “I… suppose I should complete my side of the offer.” 

Right. Light had almost forgotten the deal, and what L had supposedly written for him. “Okay. So give it, then.” 

L hummed, and Light’s eyes flattened. “… Not yet.” 

Scoffing, Light let his head hang back on his shoulders. “Of course. How naive of me to think you would follow through on a promise.” 

“Oh, don’t you worry, I will. But there’s a time and a place for everything, you know.” 

“Spare me,” Light muttered, “It’s not like I need to read it, anyway. Take your time, I don’t care.” 

L’s lips pressed into a coy smile, and as per usual, Light was left furious at the implication that he knew something.

“Of course. You’re so cool-headed and aloof after all, there’s no way a little waiting time could get to you.” 

L’s sarcasm washed over Light, and all he could do was sigh. 

“… I liked it, by the way.” 

“Hmm?” 

“The profile you wrote. I liked it.” 

It felt like something in Light’s chest tore open a little bit at that. He didn’t know why. 

“Tell me, Kira. Is there anything you wouldn’t sacrifice on behalf of your God's ideals?” 

This time, when L called him that, Light didn’t correct him.

Instead, he whispered, his voice barely catching air, “… They’re all I have.” 

L’s lips fell open. His hands pressed against Light’s chest, and the moment was sealed with silence. 

L’s fingers slid over the bloodsplatter that had stuck to Light’s shirt. His wrist was still bleeding from where the cuff had bit him. “… Let me get you a bandage.” 

A new pain began to root in Light’s chest. A soft, dull throb, like when his teeth would ache after chewing on candy. He nodded quietly, and L left the room. 

Near shut the door behind him quietly, eyes scanning Matt and Mello's bedroom. In his hands was a tape recorder. He had wiped it earlier that morning, and he knew that it could store 48 hours of continuous audio. The only question now was where to place it. 

The bunk beds would be a no-go. The recorder was too bulky to tuck away cleanly, and even if he did manage to secure it, it would be too conspicuous there. 

His eyes drifted to the corner of the room. Sat on the floor was a large TV screen, and attached to it, a gaming console. Near approached. Two neat piles of games and movies were lined up against the wall. Without giving himself time to hesitate, he took one of the VCR tapes out of its package and replaced it with the recorder. 

Chapter Text

L returned with a first aid kit soon after he left. 

Before tending to the wound, he met Light’s eyes once, and then unlocked the handcuff. The hinge was sticky with blood and red flakes fell onto the bed. He dabbed Light’s wrist with a damp cloth, wiping away the trails of red. 

Light watched him with half-lidded eyes. He could feel his pulse press against L’s fingers, and he wondered if L could feel it too. “… What time is it?” he asked softly. 

L adjusted his hold, and the heartbeat disappeared. “Just past eleven. I suppose we should both go to sleep soon.” 

The antiseptic stung terribly when L swiped the cut with it, but then it was wrapped in a bandage, and L’s hands pressed firmly against the wound. 

The detective's fingers were warmer than Light remembered them. Maybe a change in the weather… or maybe L was just healthier now. After all, he didn’t have to worry about hunting Kira anymore, having chained and caged him like an animal. 

Perhaps he could finally sleep at night. 

Light watched in quiet resignation as L’s eyes drifted back to the handcuff. He halfheartedly held out his non-injured wrist so that he could be manacled once more. 

But L seemed to hesitate. Quietly, he mumbled, “… I hadn’t realized how sharp these are.” 

Light took a moment to read his expression. “… Neither did I.” He hummed a laugh. If he had, he might have tried to bleed on them sooner. He liked how L’s face looked as he put away the first aid kit - the shadow of guilt that hung over his eyes. If Light didn’t know better, he’d think L actually regretted it. 

L stared at Light’s bandaged wrist thoughtfully. It seemed he may have been following the same path of thought — of Light injuring himself to prove a point. After a moment of stillness, he murmured, “… What do you think Kira would do if I were to leave him unchained?” 

Wind blew against the building and the ancient beams groaned monstrously. 

Light looked at his wrists. “… He’d try to kill you.” 

L nodded, his eyes dipping down to stare at his palms. “And what would Light Yagami do?” 

Light felt short of air. Raindrops splattered the window, and a chill seemed to race through the room. “He’d… probably try to sleep… probably fail to sleep, really. And just… wait for morning.” Fingers lacing and blood stilling, he shrugged. “Wait for you.” 

The words felt strange on his tongue, heavy with truth.

He had already wasted so much time like that. 

L’s eyes bounced up to Light’s, but Light did not return his gaze. “… Neither seem ideal.”

Light’s chest dipped. He shut his eyes and offered his wrist in anticipation of the handcuff’s return. 

But then L shuffled, and the chain fell on the wooden floor, accompanying the sound of rain falling on the rooftop. “… So… I suppose I’ll just have to stay here, won’t I?” 

Light’s eyes opened and his lips parted. “What?”

“If I can’t handcuff you, I’ll simply have to supervise you. Try to kill me if you’d like, for how easy you make it sound. But it won’t happen.” L’s feet shuffled together for a moment as he parsed through what he said next. “Besides, who knows. You might sleep better if I’m nearby.” 

Light scoffed, head shaking, incensed. “You can’t be serious-“ 

“If I remember correctly, you slept like a baby during the Yotsuba investigation, did you not?” Shoulders pulling into a halfhearted shrug, L smiled. “You know, It’s okay to admit that we got used to each other.” 

Light’s lip pulled into a tight frown. “I don't know what game you're playing, but -- no. You did not get used to me. I... I wasn't myself." 

Thumb sliding between his lips, L looked at Light with large, vacant eyes. It was an expression Light was familiar with, for how much he loathed it. L's irises were a void, and Light's every movement, thought, and breath were teetering on their horizon, about to be flattened into cold 'evidence' and subsequently devoured. And below those voids, L smiled. “Hmmm... even so, I would like to think I know you quite well.” A breath soothed past his lips. “I knew you were Kira, didn’t I? I knew it even when you didn’t.” 

Light glowered back at him, boiling. 

Why was he saying this? To taunt him?

It was… true that during the Yotsuba investigation, absent his memories, Light had displayed a remarkable lack of self-awareness. 

He still wanted to rip at his skin at the thought. Even though it would have hindered his plans, perhaps even ruined them, a quiet, egotistical shard of him had hoped that he would realize the truth despite the missing pieces. That he would know that Kira was correct, and know that only Light Yagami was capable of enacting such a vision. 

But, for whatever reason, he hadn’t. 

It stung. 

Especially considering L had figured it out so cleanly, as he claimed. 

Light huffed, eyes squinting shut and jaw setting firmly. 

It didn’t matter. It was in the past. 

It was in the past, and L did not know him, because if he did, he would not be treating him like this. Light shrugged dismissively. “And yet.” 

L raised an eyebrow. 

“And yet you are still sitting next to me. You brought me to a home with children, with your successors, as if you are completely blind to what I am capable of.” Light’s eyes fixed L in a black, burning stare. “What? Do I still have to prove it to you?” 

L met his gaze calmly. Breath whisped past his lips, a soft, observant noise. As if he were admiring a sunset. “… It’s interesting.” 

“Hmm?” Light snapped. 

“It seems to me…. Light Yagami… that you care about people just enough to wish they would protect themselves from you.”

Thunder rumbled in Light's chest.

Then, L's lips split into a soft smirk. “Or perhaps just me.” 

"You're wrong!” Light spat, the words tumbling and clumsy. 

Heat prickled his cheeks at how hollow they felt. But it was true, it was. Light did not care about other people. Not really. 

He cared about justice.

He cared about right and wrong.

Humans were only the occasional vessel for such ideals.

They were just animals. 

L laughed gently through his smile, staring at his own lap with lidded eyes. “… You love to tell me that.” And then in an instant, he trotted across the room, flicked off the lights, and slipped right under the covers. 

Light found he could only glare at L’s closed eyes with silent venom for so long. 

That night, he fell asleep to the sound of falling raindrops and shallow breaths. 

Mello hated waking up early. Whenever he was assigned to breakfast duty, and Roger would prod him and Matt out of bed, the rest of the day felt ruined. 

But today, as soon as his window shifted with the purple light of morning and birds began twittering in the nearby trees, he leaped out of bed and marched to the closet to get dressed. 

Matt groaned and pulled his blanket over his head, the top bunk creaking as he tried to bury back into his sheets. Mello didn’t apologize, but shut the door behind him quietly as he made his way to the bathroom. 

The grade would be released after breakfast. 

The grade would be released after breakfast. 

His hands felt like they were buzzing as he rinsed his face with water.

The rest of the morning was a blur, the same giddy nerves carrying him from moment to moment. 

When Watari finally stepped into the dining hall, his suit pristine and his posture straight, Mello knew it was time. 

The old man rang a small bell to get the children’s attention. “The grades on your Kira profiles have been posted. Please see the bulletin board in the hallway.” 

Mello’s breakfast churned in his stomach, his blood raced in his veins, and his vision seemed to sharpen as he lunged from his seat and sprinted past Watari. 

Matt followed him calmly, worrying his lip as he prepared to either celebrate Mello’s victory or console his defeat. 

And then, echoing down the hallway and piercing the walls came a shriek.   

Matt’s footsteps quickened to turn the corner, where he found Mello pounding on the wall. Matt’s face lifted in a smile. 

“YES, YES, YES, YES!!” Mello chanted, his voice booming like a war-cry. 

Matt turned to look at the board. Tucked in the top left corner was Mello’s name. 

He had gotten a 95%. The closest grade below him was Near’s, with a 94%.

“Congratulations,” came a voice from the end of the hall, and Mello could barely contain his glee as L approached. “You did well.” 

Mello only nodded, trying to appear professional despite his face-splitting grin. “Thank you.” 

He looked to the floor, reveling in his victory. But then, softly, his smile dampened. Kira’s words returned to him like an anchor sinking in his chest. “Once you ace the assignment, you need to ask L to take you and the other children to London. Accomplish this, and I’ll provide further instruction.” Mello swallowed, fingers knitting together in front of him. 

He wasn’t sure what Kira wanted from such an arrangement, and it made him nervous. He couldn’t outplay someone in a game he didn’t know the objective of. But… what else could he do? If he missed this opportunity, Kira would have no reason to trust him, and Mello would be cut off from the only avenue he had to understanding his power. 

Too much was at stake not to try. 

And so, sheepishly, he glanced up at L. “I… I have a request.” 

L blinked, expression unchanging. “Is that so?” 

“We… We never get to see beyond the orphanage, and… I was hoping if I did well on this… you would agree to take everyone on an outing.” 

“… That sounds reasonable enough,” L murmured, his neck tipping awkwardly as he considered the prospect. “Do you have a destination in mind?” 

“I… I want to see London.” Mello’s gaze rested on Matt’s grim expression. “I haven’t been before.” 

L seemed to consider Mello carefully. “… Alright. I suppose I can consider it... ” 

Fighting down the churning dread in his stomach, Mello smiled with all the brightness he could muster. “Okay! Thank you!” In his peripheral vision, a ball of white hair poked into view. Mello turned to see Near’s dead stare boring into him. 

Mello returned his gaze, and, for a moment, his expression faltered. He was sure he had never seen Near so accusatory. 

L glanced between them, eyebrow raising curiously. “… Well… if that’s all, I suppose I should get back to my duties.” 

“Okay, uh- thank you again,” Mello said, his voice bouncing over an anxious skip. 

When L walked past Mello to make his leave, his hand came to rest on Mello’s shoulder. Mello looked up to find L’s expression was surprisingly… soft. L didn’t say a word, but when he finally let go and drifted off, Mello stilled.

“Congratulations,” Near said once L was out of earshot, voice icy. “You must have turned in quite some profile.” 

Mello would have loved to gloat. To turn and rub that sweet sweet “Number One” in Near’s face, and promise that he wouldn’t surrender it any time soon. 

But, somehow, he felt deflated, like a sailboat robbed of wind or current. 

And so, he simply walked past Near without offering a word, and he and Matt returned to their bedroom. 

__

Light had awoken to the sound of silence and his arm draped around empty space. 

L had left at some point in the night. 

Sitting up and stretching, Light half expected to find the handcuff returned, but… no. 

He was still unchained. 

How stupid could he be? 

Light heard a chuckle, and his eyes turned to Ryuk, who was grinning from his perch on the window sill. “Well. You two had quite the conversation last night.” 

Light’s eyes drifted to the ceiling lamp where the microphone was nestled, and swallowed his response. 

Ryuk followed his eyes, smirking. “… Not that it matters if he hears anymore, right? He knows you’re Kira, now.” 

“… He always knew,” Light whispered, the words barely audible. 

Ryuk stared back at Light, a laugh pouring out past his twisted lips. “You know, despite it all, I have to say… I never thought he’d spare you.” 

A lead-heavy feeling pulled on Light’s shoulders and crushed against his stomach. This time, he didn’t respond. 

Was that what this was…? L… sparing him? 

It wasn’t a word that had come to mind before. Light had experienced a plethora of emotions regarding these new circumstances — hatred, frustration, depression, rage- 

But… 

He swallowed, fingers tracing over the bandage that L had wound around his wrist. 

If this was L’s mercy… 

His head shook softly. It didn’t make sense. 

It didn’t make any sense at all. 

Because how… how could a man like L… make a mistake like that. 

It couldn’t be true. 

Ryuk stared at Light with an unblinking smile. “So what are you gonna do about it?” 

Light rested his hands on his thighs, letting his eyes slide shut. They only opened when he heard the sound of paper sliding under the door. 

Another note from Mello. 

Without replying to Ryuk, Light stood from the bed and approached the letter with wooden posture. He unfolded it numbly. 

Ryuk settled in front of him, and, finally, Light met his eye. 

“… I have to kill him.” 

Chapter Text

Light needed L’s name. 

That old, achingly desperate need was as tired as it was familiar. He stared at the bedroom ceiling and felt oddly nostalgic as he churned through names that might suit him. 

Elliot, Lawrence, Landon, Luca… 

Of course, none of them felt like a fit. 

L was L, not Ryuzaki, not Hideki Ryuga, not Lind L. Taylor, not Eraldo Coil, and certainly not any random name that could be prattled off from the top of Light’s mind. 

Besides. It was ridiculous to imagine that L’s name actually started with the letter. What would be the point in adopting a pseudonym if it was stamped with his initials? 

Will I really have to kill him with my own bare hands?  

As much as he had fantasized about it, dreamed of that sanguine vision, the reality felt heavy in his stomach. 

But there was no other way Light could possibly escape… he had no choice. 

He recited his plan in his mind like a well practiced chess opening: Get the watch, kill L, use the Death Note scrap to possess the task force into to sending him the notebook, resume as Kira, save the world. 

Save the world. 

Save the world. 

Light’s eyes turned to the note that Mello had slid under the door, crumpled into a little pill of paper that Light would, realistically, need to swallow in order to thoroughly hide. It’s contents were too dire to take lightly, after all. 

“I got the best grade on the assignment. L agreed to take us to London. I’ll stop by so you can tell me what exactly your plan is, but don’t expect it to be free.”

Light sighed, terribly missing the laptop’s clock. But, perhaps watching the time pass would have only slowed it. 

All that he knew was that the moon had drifted across his window by the time heard Mello picking the lock. The door slid open, and the boy was mechanically efficient as he hopped up onto the bedside table and smothered the microphone nestled in the ceiling lamp. His eyes drifted down to Light, cautious and cool. And then, for a second, he stilled. “… You aren’t chained?” 

Light’s fingers found the bandage wrapped around his wrist, and his head dipped, for whatever reason finding himself embarrassed by the observation. “It appears I am not.” 

A burst of confusion flashed across Mello’s features, before settling into a disturbed grimace. It was an appropriate expression. L’s obvious negligence would have left anyone hollowed. 

Mello’s arms crossed over his chest as he settled on the bedside table. “… so, you said you want something from London, right?” 

Light hesitated, a sinking feeling resting in his throat. He was in deep, too deep to fully hesitate. But… even still, even now, he wasn’t certain that Mello was truly willing to act on his behalf. For all Light knew, L may have planted him as a spy from the beginning. And if Light shared this plan… his only plan, his only hope, he could really lose everything. So, rather than answer, he murmured, “Well… I think that for now, a better question is what do you want from me?” 

Mello stared at him with solid, murky eyes. 

“You said in your note that you wouldn’t act for free. So, how would you like to see this play out?” Light asked, voice soft. 

Mello’s hands laced together like he was playing cat’s cradle, and his eyes drifted to the window. He stared out at the night sky with a wistful shadow over his face as he contemplated his response. “… I guess…” His lips pressed in a pensive frown, and he squinted at his lap. “It probably won’t shock you to hear that the first profile I showed you… uh… had a bit of…” The words seemed to stick in his throat. “ Projection in it.”

Light hummed, the contents of the essay flashing through his mind. This admission… explained a fair deal. So… would that mean Mello was a ‘victim of crime,’ as his thesis had described? 

Pieces began to align in Light’s mind— Mello’s ability to pick locks, his trick to find L’s listening device with a makeshift EMF detector, ‘The mafia has been using this technique to find bugs since the 60s…’ 

Light stared back at the boy, waiting in silence for him to continue. 

With a look of resignation and a deflated chest, Mello shrugged. “I guess… I don’t want to be… Kira’s enemy.” 

The whisper was followed by the distant hum of crickets. “… Do you see yourself as a follower?” Light asked. 

Mello glanced up at him, the still-present fire of disdain glinting in his eyes. “Well, as I’m sure you’ve surmised, our ideals have a few key differences,” he spat the words like venom, “And I need insurance that I won’t be disposed of after I help you.” 

Light mulled over the implication with a thinly-veiled frown. 

Smirking grimly, Mello continued. “I know that there was a second Kira. I watched all of the tapes that were aired on Japanese TV. So, obviously, your power isn’t unique. And I have reason to believe it isn’t intrinsic from person to person.” 

Ryuk rose from his spot on the floor with the rustling of feathers, eyes glinting red as he listened in on the conversation. 

“So… if I help you… I want you to extend Kira’s power to me.” 

Light stared at the boy with a dead, still silence. “And why would I do that.” 

A half-laugh puffed from Mello’s lips. “Because I’m your only chance at escaping, aren’t I?” Resting his cheek on his palm, he smiled. “If I weren’t an asset to you, you wouldn’t have even entertained an alliance, I’m sure.”

Light needed to think. Fuck, fuck, if he didn’t agree to this, Mello could ruin him. Of course, Light would probably get a chance to double cross him— but he didn’t even have the boy’s real name, (or L’s ), so at what point in his plan could Light sever him cleanly? And he had no choice but to sever him, fleeing the country by himself would be enough of a task, but to take Mello with him? It was unconscionable. 

And yet, despite that, the fact remained that Light could not simply reject him. Mello was right — Light needed help. 

And so, as casually and as calmly as he could manage, he shrugged. “… Alright.” 

Mello’s eyes dissected him, Ryuk laughed, and floorboards creaked from somewhere distant in the house. 

“I’m impressed that you knew about the second Kira…” Light began carefully. “But… you see… as I’m sure my current circumstances would imply, I… had to part ways with my previous ally.” With a smile and a sigh, Light met Mello’s eye. “If you want to be her successor… I think the role would suit you.” The words tasted sour like rotten milk as they left Light’s lips, but his disgust didn’t breach his expression. 

And, when Mello heard them, he cradled his legs to his chest and looked to the floor, suddenly appearing much younger. “… You mean it?” 

Light was reminded, then, that he was facing a fourteen year old boy. Mello’s voice was fissured with emotion, with fragility, and Light needed to cling to that soft spot like a leech seeking blood. “I mean it.” 

Mello’s lip trembled for just a moment. And then it stopped. His face shifted, as if that child-self had suddenly hidden behind the legs of a much harsher, much colder person. “So tell me what your plan is.” 

Light’s eyes drifted from Mello’s face and his vision lost its focus. What would he tell him? 

That he had a piece of the death note— his power— hidden inside of a watch, which he needed retrieved? That, as it stood, he was completely and utterly impotent? And, if Mello managed to retrieve that watch, Light would be at his total mercy? 

No. 

So, he began with careful words. “… Well… to be honest with you… I have a device hidden in this room. It may be difficult to believe, but…” He trailed off, biting his lip in a pensive display. “No. Forget it, it sounds outlandish.” 

Mello perked up. “What…? No, tell me, what is it?” 

Light’s breath eased from his lips, heavy with satisfaction. “Listen, I appreciate you meeting with me, but there are some things that ordinary people just… well. It’s okay. You don’t have to worry about it.” 

Incensed, Mello stood on the bedside table, towering over Light with fury shaking from his fists. “Ordinary?” he spat, “I am not ordinary.” 

Feigning innocence, Light raised his hands to his chest. “Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you. English isn’t my first language, I must have misunderstood the connotation of that term.” 

Mello glared at him with hawkish eyes. But, slowly, the violence slipped from his shoulders. “Tell me about the device.” 

“It…” Light paused, drawing on the silence. “It connects me to the otherworldy.” 

The room was quiet for a few beats as Mello chewed on the statement. 

Ryuk clucked in amusement. 

“However, in order to activate it, I need a particular watch, which can be used as a ‘key.’ And… well, unfortunately… L took it from me when he brought me here.” Light sighed, looking to the bedsheets with a face carved in resignation. “He’s hidden it somewhere in the orphanage, I’m sure.” 

Mello seemed skeptical, but he didn’t question Light’s story. “Okay… So you need me to find it.” 

“I need you to replace it.” Light’s posture straightened. “Now, you have a good memory, yes? The watch is a Seiko SUR557. It’s a common model, and plenty of watch and jewelery retailers will carry it. I need you to get one from London.” 

Mello’s face drained of color. “What- How much would one even cost, I don’t have any money—“ 

“Are you dense?” Light hissed. “If you bought it, there would be a record of the transaction, and L would easily clue in on the purchase. I need you to steal it.” 

Silence framed Mello’s expression, cast in an empty, bitter shadow. “I thought you hated crime.” 

Light’s chest flared with a lick of burning anger, but he didn’t let it reach his eyes. “And I thought you wanted to help me save the world.” He smirked, head shaking dismissively, as if the gesture would let him shed the heat in his blood at Mello’s words. “Honestly, what is the theft of a measly watch when weighed against humanity’s future? It’s nothing.” 

Mello sank back and stared at the floor, brooding with narrowed, unconvinced eyes. 

“If you’re left paralyzed by every little particular, how do you expect to achieve anything great?” Light murmured, softening his voice. “I don’t like it. But it has to be done.” 

Mello’s eyes flicked to the side, and he sighed. “Fine, whatever. I’ll do it.” And then, in a strange moment, Mello’s face split with a smile, dull and sardonic. “But… be honest with me…” His head turned. “If I’d stolen that watch by myself… and my name was on the news… would you have killed me for it?” 

The air in the room felt dry and heavy, and Ryuk laughed in a twisted, wicked chirping. 

Of course I would. 

Light had killed dozens - maybe even hundreds for crimes of that scale. But it was different, wasn’t it? 

“You’re doing it for a good reason, Mello,” Light chided gently. “It isn’t the same. Other criminals are terrible people, they’re morally bankrupt— greedy. Selfish. You aren’t like them.” 

Mello laughed. At first, his chuckling came out as bitter, perfunctory, but then it cascaded into something more genuine. As if what Light had said were utterly absurd. 

He didn’t explain himself when his laughter finally subsided, only shaking his head with a numbing sense of apathy. “Sure. I guess I’m as different as I need to be, huh.” 

Light didn’t reply.

“I’ll get you your watch. But you’d better be ready to keep your promise, or I swear that I will find a way to destroy you,” Mello’s voice dipped into a shallow hiss, and Light smiled to repress his scowl. 

“Do you take me as a liar?” Light murmured, feigning hurt in his voice. 

But Mello’s eyes were a steady blue, and he didn’t even falter. “I do.” He slipped from the bedside table, and with those final words, disappeared down the hall, locking the door behind him. 

Chapter Text

The morning of the field trip came with the ear-shattering screeches of giddy, hyperactive children. Near considered the pitch of the little ones’ yelling to be very annoying indeed. Though, maybe he was just on edge. 

His face was buried in the pages of a Dostoevsky novel as he sat under the hallway window, curled up like a ball of yarn. The pages felt clammy under his fingers while he waited for Matt and Mello to leave their room. 

His eyes skimmed over the page numbly, and he hoped terribly that he would not be noticed.

However, when the door to Matt and Mello’s room swung open, they paused, and Near felt his heart sink to his stomach when their eyes fell on him instantly. 

Some day, once he graduated to the role of a true detective, he’d have to figure out what exactly made him so horribly conspicuous. 

Near didn’t look up, not even when the teens stuck out their tongues, made fart sounds, and presented ‘number two’ gestures as they passed. But, they did pass, leaving him be under the window. 

So childish. 

Once Matt and Mello disappeared around the corner, Near didn’t waste even a moment before swooping into their room and plucking his tape recorder out of the VCR case he had hidden it in. He absconded with the device and felt his lip twitch in a little smirk once he confirmed that it had gone undiscovered for the past 32 hours. 

Now all he had to do was skim through the audio for evidence. 

If Mello were to tell anyone about his plans, it would be Matt— so long as it had been recorded, he could intervene. Or, at the very least, he could try.  

If he could incriminate Mello… if he could incriminate Mello, and prove to L that he was helping Kira… 

Near had to restrain himself from skipping the rest of the way down the hall. He pressed a few buttons, and soon, the speakers of his recorder were whispering his own rustling and shuffling back to him. He grabbed his backpack from the hallway floor and trotted down the stairs towards the front courtyard.

He plugged the recorder into a pair of headphones and prepared to process the many hours of audio. He would be able to speed up the tape and skip through extended periods of silence, but it would still take him the entire 4-hour bus ride to properly analyze the recording. 

That was just as well. 

He huddled in a seat towards the back, keeping his gaze lowered and his knees to his chest as the bus departed. 

Light awoke late in the afternoon. He rang the teabell, and then paced back and forth around the room as he waited for L. Minutes slipped by into an entire half hour. But then, just as he was considering breaking down the door in protest of being ignored, he noticed the corner of an envelope poking out from under it. He pulled it through, flipped it open, and folded out a handwritten note: 

Dearest Light, 

I am afraid that you may find yourself terribly bored today. One of my very talented prodiges requested that the students be taken to London, and Watari, Roger and myself will function as chaperonages for the trip. I deeply regret that I cannot invite you, but I will bring back a novelty item so that you can feel as if you were included. For the time being, you will have the house to yourself. I trust that you will behave responsibly.

If you try to run, I will catch you. If you set a fire, I will put it out. Though, I’m sure that by now, you know this well. I have left the door to your bedroom unlocked, so you may wander as you please. I am curious to see how you will behave. 

Signed, your ‘resident captor,’ 

L.

Light’s lips parted, and he could only blink in absolute bewilderment. He reached for the doorknob, staring blankly as it turned under his fingers. 

It felt like a trap. Like he would be caught in a net upon leaving the room. 

But, when he padded out into the hall with cautious footsteps, nothing happened. The only things greeting him were the silence of the house and sunlight peeking through the windows. “What the fuck,” he said aloud, to no one in particular. 

He jerked to look at Ryuk over his shoulder, expression accusatory. 

“Hmm? Don’t look at me, I don’t know what he’s thinking,” the shinigami responded blandly. 

Light’s eyes were wide as he sneaked to the stairwell. “L?” he called, unwilling to believe the detective had truly left him here alone. But the only response was wind against the walls and the rustling of trees outside. Light stalked back to his room, expression contorting into the image of abject fury. “What is wrong with him?” he spat, dragging his blanket up the bed and arranging his pillow. “He must think I’m stupid!” 

Ryuk shrugged as Light made his bed. “Hehe, this is really getting under your skin, isn't it? So… What are you going to do?” 

“I don’t know!” Light’s words came out harsh and desperate, suffocated by confusion. He hadn’t even considered this scenario— why would he? 

What game was L playing?? Was this a game? It had to be, but what… why? 

“Why.” 

Light slumped back onto the bed, the sheets now put together like he’d always done at home, and cradled his head to his knees. He laughed. “He’s mocking me, isn’t he?” 

Ryuk didn’t reply. 

After a few minutes of heavy silence, Light rose to his feet once more. He covered his mouth with his hand as he hissed, “Ryuk, are there cameras?” 

Ryuk cocked his head to the side. “No idea, I haven’t checked.” 

Light rolled his eyes. “What have you even been doing this whole time?” 

“… Watching.” Ryuk smiled then, eyes glinting. “The children here are very interesting.” He laughed, voice bright with excitement.

Light grimaced at the thought of Ryuk following some poor 7-year old without their knowing. “You shouldn't just stalk...“ Ryuk looked at him cluelessly, and with a roll of his eyes, Light muttered, “Ghh, you know what, whatever.” 

He poked his head back into the hallway, and then made his way down to the first floor. For the time being, he would assume the orphanage was under constant surveillance. With this in mind, he couldn’t look for L’s office, much less the watch… there wasn’t an opportunity for him to replace it yet, anyhow, and getting caught would be disastrous. 

So, rather than snoop around the unfamiliar rooms and hallways, he made his way to the kitchen. He approached the stove, where the knife block had been tucked. However, it was now… missing. Light laughed. He ran his hand over his face, shaking his head. What an interesting choice— leaving Kira, Kira, the most prolific mass murderer in history to his own devices… while denying him weapons as petty as a knife. 

As Light continued exploring the house, he tried to enter the infirmary, only to find that the door had been locked. 

“Guess he doesn’t want you to get your hands on any poison,” Ryuk observed with a deep chorus of chuckling.

Light stared at the doorknob, quiet. 

L had no reservations about allowing Light access to knives and medicine before. Not when L was within reach — when Light could have taken a knife, a syringe, a scalpel, and butchered him with it. 

So why now? Why be so cautious when Light was isolated? If there were cameras, (and Light was sure there were cameras,) then L would be able to track his attempts at arming himself and then overpower him upon his return to the orphanage. 

It was inconsistent. 

It didn’t make sense. 

But, then Light raised his bandaged wrist, expression settling as he stared at it. Eyes sliding closed, he sighed. “He’s worried I’ll hurt myself.” 

“Oh?” Ryuk hummed curiously. 

Light released the infirmary’s doorknob and continued down the hallway with long strides. He approached the front door, tried the knob, and parted his lips when it opened. He felt as if he could have choked on his own silence as he stared out at the front courtyard. At the outside world. 

Ryuk looked out past Light’s head. “… Aren’t you going to run away?” 

“And go where?” Light looked to the closet, eyes landing on a large shoe-rack, piled mostly with childrens’ sneakers. However, a pair of large slippers were poking out from the bottom cubby. He slid them on, and then, with a deep breath and squinted eyes, stepped out into the mid-day sunlight. He stared out over the vast fields on either side of the mansion, speckled with long grass and bright wildflowers. Aimlessly, he wandered away from the house, the sheer brightness of the scenery seeming to blur his vision. A violet curled from the ground before his path. Its stem was thin, fragile, and he found that he could not recall how flowers felt in his fingers. So, he plucked it, brought it to his nose, and shut his eyes softly. He plucked another. And another. Soon, his hands had formed a fist around a small bouquet of yellow, white, and purple blossoms. He stared out over the horizon, and for that moment, no thoughts burdened his mind. 

Then and there, standing on the hilltop and overlooking the natural world, Light Yagami was content to simply observe it. To simply feel warm stems in his palms and the beginnings of sweat in his hair. 

Soon, however, he was startled by the sensation of insect legs on his ankle. He flinched and batted at his foot, sending a small beetle spinning to the ground. 

He tisked, and immediately brought his foot down on it, cruelly grinding the creature under his heel. After a moment, he lifted his slipper, and saw green and red smearing the ground. His eyes didn’t leave the spot for a long moment. Long enough that Ryuk peaked over his shoulder questioningly. 

Why did I do that?  

He swiped his slipper on the ground a few times, shuddering, and then marched his way back to the house. 

By the time the bus had stopped for the mid-ride gas station break, Near had already sped through half of the recording. Most of it was either empty silence or the rustling of clothes and the shuffling of feet. He had caught a few conversations between Mello and Matt on tape, though. They talked about the assignment, about video games, about L. Near was surprised at how… softened Mello’s voice sounded. Perhaps it was a distortion of the microphone, muffled by the cardboard disguise of the vcr case. 

Or, perhaps, this was how Matt always heard Mello. Maybe this was just how Mello sounded away from the peering eyes of other children or the watchful stares of adults. 

When the door was closed, it seemed that Mello would shed his harshness like armor. 

Near's snowy eyelashes dipped as he looked at his thumbs, wrapped tightly around the tape recorder. 

The bus bounced over a pot hole, making the windows rattle and the children laugh. 

Mello and Matt spoke quietly in Near’s headphones. 

“… You okay?” 

Mello’s sigh, and the bed springs groaning under his weight as he sat on the mattress. “Yeah.” 

“… Are you sure?” Matt’s voice, calm and casual. 

Silence. 

“… You know I’m not.” 

Near looked across the bus at Matt and Mello chewing fat wads of red-pink gum, competing to see who could blow the biggest bubble. 

“What did he say to you?” 

  ‘he?’   Near’s eyes widened, and he noted the timestamp, 27:42. Was Matt talking about L? Or, perhaps…

Mello’s fidgeting on the bed, the frame creaking with his shifting. “… He said I need to get him some watch. If I do that, then…” 

“Then what?” 

Silence. Whispers. Too quiet to be caught on Near’s recording. His eyes flitted to L, perched on the back seat of the bus alongside snacks and the students’ bags. Near’s first impulse was to stand up, hold out his headphones, and wait for L to either confirm or deny that this meant Mello had made contact with Kira. 

His better instinct, however, had him shrink into his over-sized cotton shirt in silence. If he approached L with this recording now, despite having no substantive evidence that Matt or Mello had actually performed wrongdoing, he would surely be reprimanded for planting a recording device in their bedroom. That aside, if Mello was able to conjure up some reasonable explanation, Near would be left with tarnished credibility. But this… this was not coincidence. This entire trip was not a coincidence, surely Mello had bigger plans in London than tourism. 

Near would have to stalk him. He had a camera stowed away in his backpack, so he would be able to document anything suspicious... But how could he go unnoticed? 

He’d have to purchase a disguise once they got to the city. He had a fair amount of money saved up, and if he was going to spend it, there would be no expense more worthy. 

Near looked up at the sky through the bus window, which was cast a scalding blue amid the approaching summer. His reflection stuck to the glass, the white of his hair appearing cloud-like. His clothes, too, bounced back at him in flashes as the sun hit them. 

He’d always preferred to wear white. Perhaps it was strange, but colors and patterns were viscerally repulsive to Near. His earliest memories were of his own bawling, infant hands pulling in writhing, burning, disgust at the giraffe-print onesie his parents had trapped him in. It was like he feared the dye was contagious, that rot and disease and bacteria was festering in the splotches of brown and yellow. 

He shuddered at the memory, then quickly checked his sleeves and elbows to ensure they were clean. 

Freshly bleached and carefully guarded, not even a speck of dirt stuck to them. His shoulders relaxed.

The bus hopped over another bump in the road as it merged off of the highway, and Near looked behind him. 

L stared back. 

Their eyes stayed locked as the bus descended into an underground garage, and Near smiled awkwardly. 

This entire time, Near had been acting on the assumption that L had functionally lost his mind. That his predecessor’s judgment had been eroded by some unknown, unseen, terrifying force, like he had been cursed or possessed. 

But L’s expression soothed Near, somehow. His eyes were cool and solid like a river stone, and, perhaps it was his imagination, but it was is if L recognized Near’s uncertainty. 

L smiled, and then blinked as he stood to speak to the rest of the children, announcing that they had arrived in London. 

The detective then glanced at Near one more time, as if to say, ‘it will be alright.’ 

If Near didn’t know better, he might have actually believed it. 

Chapter Text

Once Light returned to the mansion, he was rudely made aware of how long it had been since he’d eaten. 

His stomach began to throb dully as he wandered the kitchen in search of food. However, when he opened the fridge, it became increasingly apparent that he would have to use the stove if he wanted to put together a decent meal. There was a carton of eggs tucked on the top shelf, but, perhaps out of boredom, he decided he’d aim for something more ambitious than the simple sunny-side-up eggs from his and L’s previous cooking attempt. And, so, he rested the bundle of flowers he had reaped next to the sink, plucked a cookbook from the kitchen counter, and cracked it to a random page. 

His body stilled as his eyes landed on an illustration of strawberry shortcake. 

A white thumb-print stuck to the corner of the recipe, painted with sticky powdered sugar. 

Deep in his gut, Light knew it was L’s. 

Swallowing, he swiped the page away and turned through the book until he arrived at the ‘main course’ section. 

Hmm… Rosemary chicken with mixed vegetables… 

That sounded healthy, if nothing else. 

Light felt as if years had been widdled off of his lifespan throughout the course of this imprisonment, so he’d take any opportunity to restore some semblance of vitality. 

He did a quick catalog of the ingredients in the fridge and found everything he would need, including a small chicken wrapped in plastic. 

However, once he took a vine of heirloom tomatoes from the fridge, he uncovered a box of… strawberries. 

Their color was brilliant, skin palpably red and moist. They were tiny, and delicate, not bulging or clumsy like the ones in big-name super markets. 

Perhaps they were sourced from a local farmer. 

The image of L’s lips and fingers stained strawberry-pink flashed through Light’s mind. 

He shut the fridge. 

Cradling the tomatoes to his stomach, he realized with a dull, heavy sigh that he had no apparent means of actually cutting up his ingredients.

Damn L, damn him for hiding the knives. Damn that mocking, patronizing, insulting gesture. 

Light tore through the cabinets and drawers until he found a steel mandoline, smirking proudly at L’s oversight. He steadied it on the counter and sliced the zucchini with satisfying efficiency. The tomato, however, splattered when Light tried to crush it against the blade. He grit his teeth, cursed the ceiling, and chose to simply tear them with his fingers. He felt more optimistic about using the mandoline on the onion, based on how firm the vegetable felt in his hand. But, as soon as the outer skin collided with it, a terrible acrid scent filled the air, and Light had to pinch his eyes to stop them from running with tears. 

Resigned, Light simply stuffed the onion into the chicken carcass and laid the bird on a bed of the zucchini and tomatoes. He skimmed through the recipe over his shoulder and started up the stove top, heating two crushed garlic cloves with olive oil and rosemary until the leaves wilted and the garlic’s scent misted the air. With a silicone brush, he brazed the chicken with the fragrant oil. The remaining herbs were stuffed inside the bird. Now all Light had to do was pre-heat the oven, and the chicken would be done in an hour and a half. 

An hour and a half. 

He stared down at the raw bird with a resentful, ruminating scowl. His stomach grumbled. 

And, so, as he waited for the oven to preheat, he peeled open the cookbook once more. 

As he browsed, the page opened, once again, to that strawberry cake. L’s fingerprint must have served as a raised, sticky bookmark. 

… The recipe called for an oven temperature of 230 degrees Celsius. 

The same as the chicken. 

It would… also only take thirty minutes to bake.

He imagined how L would react if Light actually did it. If he made this silly dessert, utterly devoid of nutrition. He could envision L staring at it blankly, dull eyes wide with confusion. Would he believe that Light intended make peace with him, and that this was a sugar-coated olive branch? Perhaps he would even catalog the cake as evidence that he was successfully taming him. 

Or, perhaps he would meet Light’s eyes with an empty expression, veiling a storm of suspicion. A selfless gesture was out of character for Kira, after all. Light would only perform such an act if he had an ulterior motive in mind. L would think that Light was trying to lower his guard. He would probably assume that the cake was poisoned.  

That would be reasonable. 

Though, the more Light thought about it, the more he realized that… he had no idea what L would do. How he’d look at him, what he would say, if he’d say anything at all. 

A little seed of mystery was planted in Light’s mind. 

As the minutes slipped by, a sense of curiosity began to bud, invading his imagination. 

So, he opened the fridge, slid out the box of strawberries, popped one in his mouth and sliced the rest on the mandoline, spilling red juice upon the counter top. 

__

“Alright children, the rules for today will be very straightforward.” L fiddled with his sneakers as he steadied himself on a parking block as a makeshift podium. “Hopefully this won’t take long. Watari and Roger will lead most of you on a guided tour through the city. You will stay in sight and behave yourselves.”

The children hummed meekly in affirmation. Then, for a brief moment, L’s eyes drifted to Mello. “However, for this trip, we have decided that it would be worthwhile to offer those aged 12 and up the illusion of independence.”

Mello straightened, eyebrows knitting together. 

“You will need to live on your own eventually, after all, and it would be preferable that you are taught to function in society without requiring any… assistance.” L glanced at Watari when he said that. The old man didn’t react, but something about the interaction felt pointed. Quickly, L’s eyes returned to the children. “… Having said that, you are to follow a buddy system. Do not separate from your partner, for your own safety, and for theirs. Watari has placed a tracking device and a cell phone in each of your backpacks, so do not take it off, and do not lose it. If there is in an emergency, my number is programmed in your contacts. Near, you will be paired with Linda, and Matt, you will be with Mello. Don’t do anything stupid, avoid strangers, and the rest will be fine. You are to meet us at Big Ben at 3 pm. If you do not arrive on time, we will track you down, and you will be forced so sit in the bus for the remainder of the trip. Are we understood?” 

A few children nodded and hummed. 

L sighed. “Are we understood?” he tried again, louder. 

“Yes sir!” the group shouted. 

“Good. Find your buddy, and let’s make the most of this, shall we?” 

Mello watched as Linda pushed through the smaller children to Near, waving at him cheerily. Near only returned her greeting with a strained, pursed smile. His expression, for whatever reason, reeked of trepidation. 

Matt ducked into Mello’s field of view, smiling softly. “Well… I guess this works out, then.” 

Mello nodded, adjusting his backpack on his shoulders and wandering away from L and the other children. “Yeah… almost suspiciously well.” Really, it felt eerie. He had assumed he’d need to find an elaborate means of sneaking off from the rest of the group in order to steal the watch. To be given an opportunity so directly… 

Did L suspect him? Was this a test? 

He opened his backpack and folded out the map that had been given to the students. “Okay… so, it looks like there’s a big mall here… they might have it, right?” 

Matt nodded, swallowing. “Yeah… but how are we going to… you know, actually take it?” 

“Get it,” Mello hissed, correcting Matt’s language for fear of eavesdroppers. “It depends on the store…” He chewed on his fingernails as he considered his strategy. 

Near watched from across the lot with wide, cool eyes. 

“Uh… Near?” Linda asked. “So… do you want to go check out the British Museum?” 

“No,” Near mumbled, trailing after Matt and Mello as they started down the street. 

Linda lingered behind him awkwardly. “Umm… are you following them?” 

Near grit his teeth. He did not know how to explain himself to her. It would take far, far too long to articulate the situation, and perhaps even longer to justify his intuition about Mello’s plans. By the time he had convinced her, Mello and Matt would be lost in the crowds. 

So, with his other options exhausted, he settled on deception. 

A false smile pressed his lips. “Yep! It’ll be a fun game, don’t you think? We can pretend to be detectives. Besides, I bet they’re going somewhere exciting...” 

Linda’s expression instantly brightened. “Oh! That does sound fun…” 

“Alright, so don’t let me down, ok? I’ll need you to tail behind me by about half a block so we’re less noticeable.” 

Linda nodded resolutely, and without another word, Near shot after Matt and Mello like an arrow. 

 _

“It’s huge,” Matt said, grinning wildly as they broke through the mall’s enormous double-doors. Shoppers and workers rushed around the boys as the they took in the scene, mystified by the architecture. Sunlight rained down from a glass ceiling knit with a criss-cross pattern of steel beams. It shimmered on the marble floor, where enormous tiles were married with gold-painted fissures. Mello and Matt approached a balcony rail overlooking the lower floors. The sheer volume of people seemed to swim in their vision, blurring together like racing schools of fish. 

Then, from the corner of his eye, Mello’s attention was grabbed by the glinting of a silver police baton. A security guard marched behind them, eyes glazing over the teens.  

Sweat rose on Mello’s palms, and he turned away from the man quickly. In a hushed voice, he whispered to Matt, “Let’s take a look around, okay?” 

Matt nodded, and they began their adventure down one of the enormous corridors. 

Near’s eyes shot through the crowd wildly as he wove into the mall. The red and black stripes of Matt’s sweater caught in his vision, and he stalked after him in a flurry. 

“Near! Slow down!” Linda cried behind him. 

He ignored her, hissing quietly under his breath in frustration. She was far, far too conspicuous. He considered deliberately leaving her behind, but then, suddenly, he heard the panting of breath and felt her fingers on his sleeve. 

“I’m not sure I like this game very much…” She mumbled between gasps. “What if we get separated? If it wasn’t for your hair color, I would have lost you in the crowd for sure…” 

Near craned his neck and saw Matt and Mello talking to a cashier at a pretzel stand in the middle of the gallery. Trying very hard to mask his frustration, he turned back to Linda. “Sorry about that, but I promise it will be worth it. Please don’t ruin this for me, okay? I really want us to do our best.” 

Linda pouted. 

Near stole another glance at Matt and Mello, swallowing. It seemed like they were getting food. After that, they would probably sit down at one of the nearby benches. In all likelihood, they would remain in the area for the next ten, maybe fifteen minutes. His lips parted and he looked into Linda’s dampened eyes. He still needed to get his hands on a disguise… Perhaps this could be an opportunity to appease her. “Though… while we’re here, maybe we should take a break and go clothes shopping? I’ll buy you a hat if you want.” 

Linda’s resistance evaporated instantly. “Really? Oh my gosh, thank you, Near! That’s so nice of you!” 

Near herded Linda into the closest department store. 

——

“You kids are looking for a watch seller?” The cashier asked dully, the light in her eyes long-since extinguished by her shift at the pretzel stand. 

“Yeah, I uh… I kinda broke my dad’s, so my mom sent me here to replace it. My buddy’s just here for moral support,” Mello said, pointing at Matt, who nodded along with the story. 

The woman hummed, her pink-painted fingernail poking out to gesture at the escalators. “Most of the high-end stores are on the second story. They should have something there.” 

The boys thanked her, dipped out of line, and raced for the upper floor. 

“I’m nervous,” Matt said softly. 

“Don’t be. Normal people pull this kind of thing off all the time, so you and me? We won’t have a problem. Just do what I told you.” He smacked Matt on the shoulder, gave him a wink, and stepped off the escalator, before disappearing into the crowd. 

Calmly, Mello sauntered through the hall, eyes landing on a store branded ‘Watches International.’ He was sure that Matt would see him slip inside.

As soon as Mello entered, a clerk swooped around the counter to greet him. To supervise him, most likely. “Hello there young man, how may I help you today?” 

Mello smirked, eyes glazing over the cabinets, all decorated with vases of dried roses and lilies. “I’m looking to get a Japenese watch for my father. A… Seiko SUR 557?” 

The man’s eyes steadied on Mello and a clinical smile stretched his face. “Well you are in luck, we just expanded our selection of Japenese watches last month. Let’s go see if we have what you’re looking for.” 

Mello followed after him, his blood beginning to run hot with adrenaline as he counted four, then five workers in the store. From his peripheral vision, he could see Matt lingering outside, waiting for Mello’s signal. 

The clerk stopped behind a display case where dozens of watches laid proudly in rows. “Seiko, Seiko… ahh, I do believe this is the model here, yes?” The man reached under the glass, plucking a watch from its holster and wrapping it around his silken glove. “These retail for £730. We take both cash and credit card.” 

What student wore a watch that expensive? Damn that pampered asshole.

Mello hummed, putting his finger to his lips. “Okay… hmm… well, my father has rather large wrists, so do you have one with a bigger strap?” 

The clerk’s eyes glinted. “Certainly.” He returned the watch to its spot in the display case, glanced at a number next to it, and then turned to the matrix of cabinets behind him on the wall. He pulled open the drawer labeled k27. Just as the man unlocked the drawer, Mello reached into his backpack, pulled out his water bottle, opened it, and then shrieked. The metal bottle clanged loudly on the marble floor and the clerk jumped from his spot at the cabinet, eyes suddenly narrow with suspicion. He re-locked the drawer and returned the key to his back pocket. 

“Shit, shit, I’m so sorry, I was just trying to find my wallet,” Mello babbled, making a show of keeping the water contained in his hands. 

The man hummed. “Excuse me, Stephanie?” he called to one of his colleagues. “Please get the young man some paper towels.” 

The woman nodded and darted into the back of the store. 

“It’s no concern, sir, mistakes happen all the time,” the man reassured Mello, just as Matt strolled into the store. 

Mello pretended not to notice him, screwing the lid back onto his water bottle.

However, the clerk’s eyes landed on Matt immediately. “So many youngsters coming in today,” he observed, tone cool. Matt approached just as 'Stephanie' returned and handed Mello a wad of paper towels.

Matt rocked back and forth on his feet as his eyes wandered the shelves. "Hey, so, I’m interested in buying a fancy ring, and I was wondering what you have.” Poking out of his back pocket, Mello caught a glimpse of a little plastic lighter. Matt must have taken it from one of the outside stands. 

“A ‘fancy ring,’ hmm.” The clerk glanced down at Mello on the ground, who was still mopping up his spill. “Alright, I can show you our collection. Right this way.” The man then snapped his fingers at Stephanie and pointed to Mello, clearly instructing her to watch him. She nodded and weaved around the counters in his direction. 

Matt followed behind the clerk, who lead him to a display. His eyes steadied on one of the vases of dried roses atop the cabinet. 

Mello finished sopping up the water and handed the paper towels to Stephanie in a thick wad. “Thanks for that.” 

She grimaced her way through a customer service smile as the paper towels leaked between her fingers. 

And then a burst of yellow light flashed behind her. She turned in horror as her eyes landed on a bouquet of roses atop the middle cabinet, now a golden globe of fire and smoke. “OH MY GOD!” 

She ran to the cash register, no doubt in search of a fire extinguisher, just as Mello slipped out the front door. 

“What in God’s name—“ The clerk eyed Matt furiously as he approached the scene to see what had happened. Patrons shrieked as the fire alarms wailed above. Matt ducked under one of the front counters, snatched a pair of red-tinted sunglasses from a display, and stumbled out of the doors as the over-head sprinklers exploded to life from above. He was disguised by the wave of customers swarming out of the store as he made his way down the escalator. 

At the bottom, Mello offered his hand, and Matt slapped it with a growing smirk. 

“Nice shades,” Mello remarked.

“Thanks. I like ‘em.”

With pounding hearts and a slow, casual pace, they sauntered for the mall’s exit. 

The sun scorched down on them once they pushed through the towering glass doors, and relief washed through their veins. 

Only for their blood to go heavy with dread once their eyes had adjusted to the light. 

Waiting for them was Near, his hair poking out at odd angles from a navy tourism cap. 

And behind him was L. 

Chapter Text

Near and Linda were only in the department store for eight minutes. Five of those were spent standing in line after Near had torn two baseball caps from a rack and shoved his arms into a denim jacket with the UK flag painted over the back. 

When they arrived at the checkout counter, he found that he was ten pounds short. Sheepishly, Linda had passed a bill to the cashier on his behalf. 

They hurried back to the food court and Near’s eyes swarmed around the mall wildly as he searched for Mello and Matt. 

They had to be nearby, they had just gotten something to eat after the tiring walk from the bus stop, so surely, surely it made the most sense that they would wait nearby, right? 

But they weren’t there. 

He had lost them. 

Trembling like a dead tree in wind, Near chewed on his fingertips, mind racing for a solution. 

Mello said on the tape that Kira asked him to get a watch… but the mall is enormous. Even if I assume that Kira meant that literally, and search out watch retailers, there is a great likelihood I will end up going in the wrong direction… What do I do?

Linda stared at him with obvious concern painting her features. “Near, I… Why are you upset?” 

He almost wanted to laugh. But then he looked back at her, and, quickly, the bubbling fear in his stomach settled. An idea clicked into place. 

“Sorry.” 

Without giving her a moment to respond, he sprinted into the crowd. She cried his name, but he was deaf to her panic. He flew down a set of stairs and disappeared into a clothing store, tucking himself behind a corner-shelf. 

His heart pounded in his chest like a rabbit’s. Tugging his backpack open, he shuffled through it until he found the small flip-phone they had been provided. As promised, L’s number was programmed as the only contact. Near dialed it, his hands cold and buzzing. 

“Hello?” L answered immediately, voice nonchalant. 

“It’s Near,” he whispered, “I’m afraid Linda and I got separated.” He hoped that L would forgive him for the deceit. But if he could get L here, surely he would be able to do something. And, if not? Near could steal a glance at whatever tracking setup L was using and find Mello and Matt himself. Hopefully he wasn’t too late. 

L hummed quietly on the other line. “I see… how unfortunate.” 

Near swallowed around his tongue, dry and cottony in his mouth. “Would you please come to the Silvercrest Mall and help me find her?” 

“Naturally… I see you on the map. I’ll meet you at the northern-most entrance.” 

“Okay!” Near replied, just as L hung up. He folded the phone into his backpack, adjusted his tourist cap, and started for the entrance. 

He was waiting by the doors for what seemed like an hour. The sun glared down against the pale concrete and Near felt blinded by its strength. Just as he was certain he would develop a sunburn, L turned the corner of the opposite block. 

He sauntered across the road casually, earning a blaring honk from a disgruntled driver, which he readily ignored. His head shielded Near from the sun as he stepped in front of him. “So, you need help?” 

Near nodded to the affirmative, hopeful that L would let him hold the tracking device. 

But L seemed distracted. He peeked into the mall through the glass doors, as if he were expecting someone. 

Just as Near was about to ask, he turned and saw yellow hair and red stripes. 

The doors to the mall opened. Through them walked Mello and Matt. Their expressions immediately fell into the image of haunted shock, wide eyes pinned on L.  

Near blinked a few times, his heartbeat thumping quickly in his chest. L… he must have seen them on the tracking console— Had he planned to intercept them, or was this a coincidence? 

And the looks on their faces— they did something, Near was certain.  

L looked over the two cooly, seeming to dissect their expressions. “Oh, hello boys… It appears that Near and Linda got separated while they were out shopping. How lucky that you’re already here, perhaps the five of us should grab something to eat once we locate her.” 

Mello and Matt glanced at one another as if they were facing the barrel of a gun. “Umm… Well… ” 

“Are you alright?” L asked, his voice a deep rumble.

Matt shrugged, pushing a red pair of sunglasses up the bridge of his nose. “Yep, we’re cool. We just—“ 

“— Excellent , let’s explore together, then,” L interrupted Matt before he could finish his sentence. “I’ll even buy everyone ice-cream…” He herded Mello and Matt back into the mall, much to their obvious displeasure. 

Near trailed behind them, his arms crossed tightly around his midsection to tame the hot adrenaline in his gut. 

L examined Matt’s sunglasses curiously. Mello, in the meanwhile, seemed to have lost his voice. 

“So, unfortunately, the tracking setup displays location in a way that is strictly two dimensional… I can see where Linda is from a bird’s eye perspective, but I cannot distinguish which floor she is on,” L explained, fiddling with the surprisingly compact console. “I propose we search the second story, and if she isn’t there, circle back down to the basement.” 

Mello and Matt exchanged a glance, conspicuously ripe with dread. 

Near’s eyes narrowed while L’s expression shifted with something playful. 

“W- why don’t we do it the other way around?” Mello asked, but L was already ushering them towards the stairs. 

 “Oh, sorry, what was that?” L asked, guiding the boys onto the upward-bound escalator like a shepherd. 

Mello stared blankly towards the ground, his face drained of color. “I… I just need to find a bathroom. We passed one downstairs earlier.” 

L only smiled. “Oh, I’m sure there are multiple.” 

They stepped off the escalator and L paused to take in the way Matt and Mello stared back at him like ghosts. 

With a barely-there smile and pinched eyes, he finally asked, “Is something the matter?” 

Matt nodded softly. “Yeah, uh… we got some pretzels earlier from the stand on the ground floor and they haven’t been agreeing with our stomachs.” Mello made a show of clutching his midsection, nodding along with the story. 

L tipped his head slowly, gaze steady. “I see. Perhaps you should both be tested for Celiac.”

They stared back at him. 

And, suddenly, Near felt like a firework had been lit in his chest. He looked up at L, a feeling of hope suddenly revitalized in him. 

I see… The odds of a single person having Celiac when drawn from a random sample are roughly 1 in 100. So, for them to both have the disease? It would be a mere likelihood of .01%. L… He’s mocking them! 

L knew. He knew something was wrong, and he wasn’t letting them wrangle their way out!

L held out the tracking console and began to guide the group down the gallery. 

Then Matt stopped dead in his tracks. Near bumped into him, and when he looked up, he found Matt's eyes locked on a security guard who was speaking to a worker in a polished uniform. The guard nodded at the worker and marched towards them. 

Near turned around quickly, wanting to catch Mello’s reaction, only to find that he had… disappeared.

Oh, that rat… where is he? 

“I wonder what this gentleman could want,” L said blandly as the guard stood before them. Near stood on his tiptoes, trying to catch sight of Mello’s icon on the tracking console over L’s shoulder. 

“Excuse me, son,” the guard said to Matt, who was grimacing like he had ice in his throat. “You’re going to have to come with me.” 

“Oh?” L asked, stepping between them. “I’m his guardian. Might I ask what is this about?” 

 The guard sighed, reaching out and plucking the red sunglasses from Matt’s hair. He turned around and waved them at the clerk, who nodded grimly. “Follow me, please.” 

L turned around, quickly noting Mello’s absence. “Hmm… It is great luck that we ran into you, actually,” L tapped his lip with his finger. “One of the other children I’m responsible for seems to have disappeared…” 

The guard looked L up and down, frowning behind his mustache. “And who are you exactly?” 

“Lucian Burningham,” L said automatically, his eyes tracing along the gold fissures joining the floor’s tiles. “I’m an assistant teacher for a private school in Portsmouth.” He flicked a fake faculty ID out of his pocket. 

The guard took it, his nose twitching. “Well, you’d ought to pay better attention to your students, Mr. Burningham. We have reason to believe that this young gentleman has committed a shoplifting offense!” 

Matt shook his head, facing the floor. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, those glasses are mine!” 

“They still have the tag on them,” Near commented, earning a fiery glare. 

L hummed, eyes drifting up and down the gallery. “I see. You’re absolutely right, I should have had my students under tighter supervision. Please allow me to amend this situation,” he said, glancing at the clerk and reaching for his wallet. “What did they cost? Will 20 pounds do it?” 

“250.” 

L stilled, turning slowly to Matt, expression incredulous. “Ah.” He ran his hand over his face, sighing. “May I know exactly what happened?” 

The shop clerk nodded, his face reddening with anger. “Well, right after your ‘student’ entered our store, a display item spontaneously burst into flame, and this little delinquent  escaped with our merchandise while we were dealing with the fire! By the time we realized the shoplifting alarm had been tripped, he had already made a run for it.” 

L nodded, his body language meticulously neutral. “… I see. And where did the fire start?” 

Begrudgingly, the clerk ushered them into the store. He pointed to a cabinet which had been smothered with fire retardant. L drifted towards the scene. But he wasn’t looking at the vase of singed flowers. Rather, he stared down at the displays of watches. One of the models seemed to have caught his attention. “… Hmm.” 

Near pursed his lips, his finger curling around his hair as he peered up at the clerk. “Was everything else in your store accounted for? Or… is it possible that one of the watches was stolen?” 

Matt turned away from them, his posture hunched and tight. 

But the clerk shook his head. “The glasses were the only display item that was taken, thankfully, and all of our back-stock is secured.” 

Near hummed, eyes pinching. “And who else was in the store— ?” 

L put a hand on Near’s shoulder, silencing him. “I would be more than happy to pay for the value of the glasses and the damaged display case. As his guardian, I take full responsibility for the incident… though my student denies wrongdoing.”  

The clerk scowled. “Oh, I think it’s a little late for ‘responsibility,’ Mr. Burningham! Please explain to me why I shouldn’t hold him accountable for grand arson!” 

L’s eyes glazed up to the ceiling and casually dragged over the three security cameras, two of which were pointed at the doors, and one of which loomed over the far cash register. The display case was not in their line of sight. “Well… That’s a rather serious accusation… It seems far more probable that my student, in a dramatic lapse in judgment, took opportunism in the fire, no?” L closed the distance between himself and the clerk. “Unless you have evidence to the contrary.” 

The clerk frowned down at him, eyes narrowing. “Fires don’t just light themselves.” 

“And business owners of sound mind don’t carry bundles of combustible material on every shelf.” L twisted to peer at the security guard. “Excuse me, sir, this mall does maintain private fire-safety regulations, no?” 

“Er… yes, I think so.” 

“I see.” L turned back to the clerk. “I’m certain that your establishment is covered under business insurance. When was the last time you submitted a report regarding the safety standards of your practice?” 

“That is irrelevant—“ 

“Oh, no, it is completely relevant. A fire broke out under your watch as a consequence of what I will generously call poor interior design choices. Though, I’m sure you intend to downplay the risk factors when you file your claim for damages…” L’s eyes narrowed to tight, needle-like slits. “… But, luckily, that’s none of my business. Is it?” He shrugged pointedly, plucking his wallet from his back pocket. “Now, may I please purchase these exorbitantly overpriced sunglasses?” 

The clerk stared back at him with pursed, pale lips and nodded very slowly. With a strained voice, he hissed, “Fine.” 

“Excellent, thank you for the customer service.” 

The clerk rang them up bitterly and wrapped the glasses in packing paper. L snatched them from his hand and promptly marched out of the store. 

Matt’s eyes were glued to his feet as they descended the escalator. 

L’s gaze bore down on him from above, sharp and burning. He said nothing. 

When they stepped onto the ground floor, Mello waved at them from across the gallery. Beside him was Linda. 

They rejoined them and Matt and Mello met eyes, seeming to exchange an understanding. 

Oblivious, Linda swayed from side to side. “Sooo… Mello said you offered to buy us ice cream?” She asked L, giggling. 

“Indeed,” L said dryly. “Matt doesn’t get any.” 

Chapter Text

Light hadn’t realized how the kitchen would smell. The stove was absolutely radiating the scent of vanilla, saturating the air with sweetness and warmth. Light stared impatiently into the oven’s window, shifting back and forth on his heels like a child. 

“Hey, Light, I thought you were trying to make roast chicken? What happened to that?” 

The raw chicken sat untouched on the stove-top. Light didn’t want to risk contaminating the cake with hot, oily, meat-scented air, so the bird would have to wait. 

His hunger had subsided with time and focus, despite how the cake’s aroma was now steadily prodding his appetite. “I’ll bake the chicken next,” he told Ryuk, who inspected the bird curiously. 

“It’s weird looking,” the shinigami replied, dragging his finger along the chest. “Can I try some?” 

Before Light could answer, Ryuk’s claw severed a leg from the body. He bounced it like a drumstick, and the way the skin and meat jiggled made Light grimace.

 “… Help yourself,” he murmured, and Ryuk wasted no time before tossing it into his mouth, bone and all. 

It cracked horribly when his jaws came down upon it. 

… I wonder if it’s a bad idea to give him a taste for flesh… 

But then Ryuk swallowed, an enormous lump migrating down his throat, and he began to cough like he was drowning. “ CRK, CLKEGH— ugh, well that wasn’t sweet at all!” 

“What, did you expect it to taste like fruit?” 

“Well I don’t see why you’d bother eating it otherwise!” 

Light laughed softly. “To think Gods of Death would be such picky eaters.” His eyes returned to the cake and he stared at it contemplatively. The warmth rolling off the oven felt soft on his cheeks. And, quietly, he asked, “… Ryuk, where do shinigami come from?” 

Ryuk chuckled. “What a silly question— I could ask you the same thing! ‘Where do the ‘living’ come from?’” He cackled, as if it were ridiculous to ponder such a thing. “Gods of death aren’t special, or particularly interesting. We’re merely a shadow of humanity’s existence.” 

Light shifted on the floor, incredulous. To think that walking evidence of the supernatural would believe itself to be so mundane. He laughed, head shaking. “Well… I guess you take your position for granted, but there’s a lot about shinigami that I find… surprising, to say the least .” 

“Oh yeah?” Ryuk asked, voice gravely. “Like what?” 

“… Why do you eat when you cannot die?” 

The kitchen fell silent, spare the hum of the oven and the pipe feeding it natural gas. 

Light shrugged. He watched absently as a bubble broke on the surface of the cake batter. “I mean…. Human psychology is built around survival. We eat as a means of self-preservation. I’d think that immortal shinigami would be a bit too high-minded to bother. Or to develop a sweet tooth, for that matter.” 

Ryuk’s head tipped and he scratched at his chin. “… You know, Light, I never really thought about it that way.” He paced around the kitchen island and plucked a discarded shred of strawberry from the counter-top. “… Now that you say it… Survival really isn’t the point. Shinigami don’t worry much about death, but why should that mean we have no desires? What good would existence be if I couldn’t have a little fun now and again?” He laughed, head tilting to peer down at Light. “Humans survive to exist, shinigami exist to consume. I just consume the good stuff ‘cause ’m greedy.” He slipped the piece of berry into his mouth. “Humans are made to grow. Life— not just of a single person, but as a force, is an exercise in change. Shinigami… we just devour the scraps that are shed in the process. Like when worms will eventually claim the discarded bones and sinew of that chicken you’re making.” 

Light stared up at Ryuk, towering above him and covering the kitchen light. He loomed over the ceiling like a dark cloud blotting out the sun. Though Light had long since grown used to his presence, when he looked at him then, he suddenly felt… colder.

Ryuk’s chest bounced as he rumbled out another laugh. “Scared you’re gonna end up a scrap one day?”

Light’s expression didn’t change. He shuffled, turning back to the oven. “… Not at all.” He laughed, eyes rolling. “What a strange thing to ask me. It hasn’t even crossed my mind.” 

Ryuk hummed banefully but didn’t press the question. 

Light collected himself from the floor, not saying another word to Ryuk as he spent the next twenty minutes cleaning the kitchen and preparing a bowl of strawberry frosting. When the cake came out of the oven, Light left it to cool, and then smothered it in pink butter cream. 

‘I just consume the good stuff because ‘m greedy.’ 

He pressed a crown of strawberries into the cake. 

Honestly, why was it that Light seemed to be surrounded by those who treated anything non-sweet as sub-edible.  

He loaded the chicken into the oven and set it to bake. 

Though, perhaps L and Ryuk were just greedy in the same way. Only eating fruit, sugar, and cream. Light returned to the cake, mounted proudly on a white ceramic platter. His fingers swiped around the base to clean drips of melted butter-cream.  

Thumb coming to his lips, he sampled the frosting. 

And, quietly, his eyes lidded as it melted on his tongue. 

It wasn’t until late in the day that L returned. By that time, Light had already eaten the chicken's breast and stowed the rest of the bird in the fridge. Once he finished his lunch, he found the orphanage’s library and plucked a book from the matrix of shelves. It was the first one he had noticed, selected by the deep maroon color of the binding. So, he was laying in bed reading Milton’s ‘Lycidas’ when the doors of the orphanage opened and the voices of children sang from the stairwell. Light folded the book shut and stood once the noise settled. He considered waiting for L come up the stairs, but, after a moment of deliberation, decided to go seek him out.  

He walked into the kitchen to find L hovering over the counter top. He was staring down at the cake, dark eyes wide and shiny. Beside it laid the bundle of wildflowers.

Light didn’t break the silence at first. He simply approached, gesturing to where the knife block once sat. “… I wanted to bisect it to make it two-layered, but you took the knives.” 

L’s eyes drifted up to Light. “You made this?” His voice was filed down to a soft whisper. 

Light looked away as he felt something warm, almost nauseating bubble in the back of his throat. “… Yeah.” 

“… Why?” 

Light slowed. The question seemed to hold him in place. “… I…” 

L’s eyes were glass-like, reflecting the kitchen windows and the bulb above. 

Why did I make it? 

His mind carded through the reasoning that had carried him to the decision in the first place. 

And yet, it didn’t seem to make much sense anymore. 

Sure, he had been intrigued to see how L would respond. But… why test him like this? It wasn’t like Light to spend so much time and energy on something so useless, and a cake encapsulated uselessness. He looked down on L’s penchant for sweets, after all— he had always scorned his gluttony as simple, foolish vice.

Maybe it was. 

But the cake looked beautiful, and L’s expression was so… astounded. 

Light looked to the floor, shame webbing across his shoulders. Because, though he had been driven in part by curiosity… when he fully, truly thought about it, there was a reaction from L he had… wanted. 

Light’s hands were buried in the pockets of his pants. He fidgeted with the seam as the stove’s range hood hissed behind him. A neutral, mask-like expression plastered his face. There was no need to justify himself to L. He would be the perfect image of indifference. 

Yet, a yawning pit sunk in his stomach. Because a part of him knew the true answer to that question.  

You wanted that cake to be worthy of L’s greed. 

“Throw it out if you want,” Light said, his voice quiet. “God knows you don’t need it.”

I’m going to kill you anyway. It doesn’t matter. 

L returned his gaze to the cake, and Light couldn’t look at him. He turned away, holding his hand over his face, as if that would better keep his expression in tact.

But then L spoke. “… Share it with me?” 

Light choked up a half-laugh. The range hood, the engine of the fridge, and the wind outside hummed in his ears as the seconds melted by. Finally, he mumbled, “… It’ll be pretty hard to divide without anything to cut it with, you know.” 

“Hardly.” 

Light turned to see L rifling through the cutlery drawer. He plucked out a fork and buried it into the center of the cake. Then, right as he brought it to his lips, he paused. “Baker’s privilege.” He offered the forkful to Light. 

With heavy eyes, Light stared at the fluff of the frosting and soft yellow of the pastry. “… Ah.” 

L was making sure it wasn’t poisoned. 

Of course. 

Light lacked the energy to acknowledge the realization, so he accepted the bite and let L push it into his open mouth. 

Tangy sweetness and moist, creamy confection softened on his tongue. L carefully watched him chew, before scooping up a strawberry. 

Fool. 

As if I wouldn’t poison myself to bring you down with me. 

It would be poetic, in a sense. What had L said to him, all those months ago? ‘We share the same fate, you and I?’ 

But the cake wasn’t poisoned, so for the time being, that ‘fate’ was just elevated blood-sugar. Light swallowed his mouthful. 

“Here, let’s go to my room,” L said, licking frosting from his finger and cradling the cake in his arms. 

“… your room?” Light asked, but L didn’t stop to question the wisdom of this offer. The detective lead Light up the stairs and down the hallway, opposite the direction of Light’s quarters. When they came to a door at the end of the hall, he handed Light the cake and flicked out his key ring, unlocked the knob, and stepped inside. 

The room was dark. The only light sources were a cold colored strip-lamp illuminating the desk and windows which were curtained with navy-blue fabric. Shelves upon shelves upon shelves lined the walls, reaching all the way to the ceiling. Papers stuck out of them at odd, haphazard angles, and Light was sure that L had them meticulously organized in his own cryptic way. 

“Come, sit,” L said, inviting Light to join him on the floor, which was cushioned by a round gray rug. “I apologize for the mess. Watari has been helping Roger with the children, so he hasn’t been picking up after me as much,” he looked over his shoulder at a pile of dirty laundry that had been stuffed under the bed. 

Light shrugged, sitting with his legs crossed. As his gaze drifted, it came to rest on a stack of plexiglass boxes atop L’s desk. They were all labeled with little white ‘evidence’ stickers. 

The top one revealed a glimpse of folded red fabric. 

Light’s chest tightened when recognized his own tie from when L had taken him. 

He ripped his attention from the spot, making his eyes wander the room like he hadn’t noticed. “… Well, it’s not clean, but I’d expect worse from you, honestly. I can only see three- four- candy wrappers from this vantage point?” 

He didn’t look at the boxes again, even as his heartbeat quickened with excitement. Because perhaps one of them contained certain silver watch. 

L shrugged, eyes on the floor, appearing utterly oblivious to Light’s revelation. “Who knows. They may someday migrate to the trash can.” 

Softly, Light chuckled. His gaze fell to his chest. Nauseating warmth was tickling his ribcage, and he felt intoxicated. 

You absolute fool. 

It was almost as if L wanted Light to kill him. Images of a mahogany casket and funeral flowers flashed through his mind, and for a moment, a stone of bitterness pulsed through his chest. Once he ran… he wouldn’t be able to attend L’s memorial service. 

How cruel that L wouldn’t be properly mourned by the only person who could once look him in the eye on even ground. 

L’s collar bone peeked out over his shirt as he settled on the rug, and it was as if Light were seeing through his skin and flesh to glimpse the bones that death would leave behind. But L was preoccupied with the cake, and he did not share in Light’s strange cloud of melancholy. “Come, let’s get to business,” he said, pressing Light’s fork into his hand. 

If there was an afterlife, L would surely go to hell. Light scraped some frosting from the top and let it sit on his tongue. He found himself hoping that whatever circle of torment L found himself in, there would be strawberries and powdered sugar. 

He watched L cut small triangles into the surface of the cake and eat them one by one, leaving behind an octagonal crater. 

“… Can I ask you something?” Light whispered. 

“Mhm,” L responded, his mouth preoccupied with a layered bite of frosting and pastry. 

“… Why didn’t you execute me?” 

L paused. He tipped his fork side to side in his lips as he sucked on it. 

“You swore you would.” Light laughed. “Knowing everything that you believe about me, about Kira, about your sense of justice… you should have seen it as the righteous choice.” 

“Is ‘righteousness’ the only dimension you can imagine me operating on?” L mumbled back. 

The fork clinked as L laid it on the plate. 

Light stared at it. Its steel prongs reflected strips of L’s distorted face, glowingly pale in the dimness. “… Maybe I’m narrow minded.” 

Then, the fork was back in L’s hand, and he chirped a hum and stuffed his face with another bite. “Now your analysis is getting somewhere.” 

Light looked at L’s eyes, catching a glimpse of his own shadow in them. He realized then that his eyebrows were knit tight and his lips were screwed into a narrow frown. 

He forced the expression from his face, leaning back against the bedpost. “I wish you’d answer me.” 

A whispered sigh left L’s lips. He seemed very small then, sinking in on his own crumpled posture. “Please have some more cake.” 

Eyes feeling heavy in their sockets, Light turned his gaze to the far side of the room. He noticed a speckling of glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to the wall above L’s dresser: little blobs of greenish off-white. Their luminance must have been dulled from the room’s perpetual lack of sunshine. 

Then, from his peripheral vision, he saw a forkful of cake. L held it to Light’s face with a childish pout. 

Wordlessly, Light let his mouth open. 

L slid the cake past his lips delicately, and the fork was cold on his lips. 

As he chewed he laid back, staring at the ceiling and simply observing the way its sweetness tingled pleasantly on the back of his tongue. If he ate much more, he was sure his throat and tonsils would complain about the sugar overload the next day, but for the time being, he was content to enjoy the taste. “… It turned out pretty well, huh.” 

“Yes,” L confirmed, the words muffled through his stuffed mouth. “If you hadn’t committed yourself to the mass-murder career path, I would recommend opening a bakery.” 

Light laughed faintly. 

“I’d hire you, certainly, and I’m sure I’d exhaust your inventory one way or another. Think of it. I could be your only customer.” 

Light’s eyelashes were heavy over his vision, and L lingered in its periphery like a ghost. He didn’t look at him in that moment, having no desire to read his expression. Perhaps he was afraid that he would find a callous little thread of insincerity in it. And that , Light was not in the mood for. 

But, quietly, he replied, “I don’t think I’d be any good at that.” 

“I thought Light Yagami is good at everything?” 

Wryly, he shook his head, and a brittle smile quirked the corners of his mouth. “I’d get bored.” And boredom was absolute poison.

L continued eating thoughtfully. He swallowed, sucking on his cheeks to clear down more frosting, and then asked, genuinely and cruelly, “Have you ever found anything fulfilling?” 

Light only glowered in his direction, body going static. 

Only once. And you took that from me. 

It wasn’t a question worth dignifying, so he acted as if it hadn’t been asked. 

The cake had been reduced to a messy hill of its former self, and L leaned back on his hips as he stared at its remains, appearing sluggishly full. “Well… if you’re satisfied, I’ll ask Watari to put the rest in the fridge for tomorrow…. Thank you, Light.” 

“It was just an experiment,” he replied, half honest, “it… probably won’t happen again.” 

“’Probably’ is a dangerous word,” replied L, tone lilting like he were telling a joke or a riddle. “… Maybe it suits us.” 

Light just stared at the floor, allowing silence to swallow the air. It felt peaceful, somehow, and if Light listened closely enough, he imagined he’d be able to hear L’s heartbeat echoing his own. 

Though the room was cool, Light was warmed by that image: L’s heart in his chest, pumping hot, heavy, metallic blood. Perhaps, once he murdered him, he’d slither his hands into his ribcage and hold it. That hematic fantasy tingled on his palms as he stared at them. Something stormy and… unhappy twisted in his gut. 

Fool. 

From the edge of his vision, Light watched L’s thumb slid over his lips, shiny, pink, and alive. He was thinking about something, veiled lightly behind dark wisps of hair. “… Light?” 

He said his name like it were being mumbled in sleep. “… Yes?” 

“Would you like to read my profile of you?”

Chapter Text

The other children didn’t know about the swing in the forest. 

Matt had found it when he was seven years old. It was a day in June that he wandered away from the house to look for bugs and rocks in the woods. He still remembered the summer’s green, muggy heat when he had climbed up the hill behind a barrier of fallen trees. The swing was just beyond its peak, disguised by foliage and tangled branches. It had creaked like an old ship when he first sat on it, and from that day, it became his secret. In retrospect, he probably shouldn’t have used the thing, as rusted as it was. But any day he crept into the forest, he was always back before sunset, so Roger had turned a blind eye to his misadventures. 

Then, he was ten, and everything changed. That was the year that Mello arrived. The forest floor was blanketed with fresh snow when Mello had followed Matt into the woods, stalking behind him like a dog after a rabbit. Matt had realized quickly that he wasn’t alone amid the trees, but for whatever reason, he played oblivious, letting Mello trace his footsteps to the swing. Matt was waiting for him with a soft smile when Mello finally broke through the bramble. “Push me?” He had asked. 

And Mello did. 

It had been their secret after that, a little badge of rebellion against the world of Wammy’s. 

Then Mello turned twelve and everything changed again. When Matt asked if they should go to the woods, Mello stated with plain harshness that they were too old for the swing. By that time, Roger agreed to let them be roommates anyhow, so there was no need to leave the orphanage’s walls if they wanted to find private moments. 

Matt hadn’t argued. Maybe Mello had just grown bored of the thing. 

But perhaps… deep down, he had missed it. 

This was the first time they had returned to the spot in years. The creaking song of cicadas cut through the trees, pulsing alongside a speckling of fireflies illuminating the grass. 

Watari had taken away Matt’s Playstation when the class returned to the orphanage. He had admonished him privately for having the ‘audacity’ to shoplift during a field trip. It was made clear that he would be banned from subsequent outings. 

Lichen had grown across the wooden seat of the swing, and it scratched Matt’s thighs as he sat on it. 

Mello had his arms crossed and his gaze turned to the depths of the forest. The darkness speckled Matt’s vision as he stared at Mello, his blonde hair a muted gray in the dusk. Somewhere distant, and owl cooed. 

“… I’m sorry,” Mello said eventually, though Matt got the feeling he didn’t really want to. 

Matt already understood how Mello viewed the situation. ‘We both went through with a risky plan, and Mello had no choice but to save himself, or it would have all been for nothing.’

Matt could follow his logic, but that didn’t paper over the painful pit in his chest. “… This sucks, Mello.” 

Mello huffed, eyes turning to the ground. “Yeah. I know.” 

The rusty chain groaned against Matt’s weight as he leaned back on the swing. He felt tremendously screwed over, yes… but, he wasn’t angry at Mello. Not really. Even when he had all the reason in the world to be, it was simply not an emotion applicable to him. 

No, the subject of Matt’s frustration was L. 

Because to think that someone as ‘ brilliant’ as him wouldn’t even investigate the possibility that Mello had been behind this? It should have been unconscionable. But Mello had stolen a watch worth 750 pounds on behalf of a murderer, and he had gotten away with it, even though he shouldn’t have. 

“… Kira’s using you, you know.” He pulled out a cinnamon toothpick and began to chew on it. 

“Well… He’s trying to,” Mello retorted. His arms were crossed over his chest like he was about to fall into a casket.

Matt looked him up and down, sighing as he recognized the guilt that seemed to be physically binding Mello’s body. That, if anything, soothed him softly. “… It kinda blows that he’s using me by extension…” 

Mello’s frown deepened. “He’s not using me, I’m using him.” He sighed and winced, tossing his head back to smack it against the tree behind him. “I really am sorry. I’ll make it up to you someday, I swear.”  

Matt nodded. “I know.” 

“I swear to God.” 

“I know.” 

Mello swallowed, eyebrows tipping up. “I… I can’t do this by myself. I wish I could, but—” 

“—You don’t have to.” Matt was leaning forward on his knees, smiling gently. Despite all of the trouble, he was still glad that Mello had involved him. Because if Matt wasn’t there, a quiet voice in the back of his mind whispered that Kira would have left Mello lethally outwitted. 

After all, he appeared to be thoroughly playing L. How could they have possibly gotten this far otherwise? Such a reality should have been…  impossible. But, as confounding as it was, a pull in Matt’s gut still told him it was impossible. 

L knew. 

L had to know. 

So why hadn’t he stopped them? Why was he allowing Mello to go through with this? 

Could it just be a test? Was he really willing to watch idly as Mello played in the hands of a monster just to see what would happen — and if so, what exactly was he testing? Mello’s cunning, his treachery, his ambition? Or was this about Kira? 

Matt’s expression fell with a dim shadow as he considered the possibility. 

Mello sighed, zipping up his jacket and burying his fists in his pockets as the chill of nightfall crept over the woods. “… We should probably head back soon.” 

“Yeah,” Matt replied, slipping off the swing. He whispered a sigh through his nose as Mello descended the hilltop, shimmying down a fallen log. He wanted to warn him. To dissuade him. To tell him that this wasn’t a game that he could win. 

But he wouldn’t. 

Because he knew Mello enough to know that even if he tried to, no word, reason, or plead in the world could stop him. He’d just cut Matt out of the operation — and that, if anything, would be the worst case scenario. So he swallowed his words as he followed Mello through the tall grass. Right as they were about to cross the creek, he sighed. “… I take it you’re going to contact him again?” 

“Yeah. I’ll have to make sure L didn’t place new surveillance in the hallways before we go to bed though.” Mello hopped over the stream and held out a hand to Matt. “Do you…  think you could help me?” 

A little laugh puffed from Matt’s nose. “Yeah, of course.” He took his hand and hopped to the other side.

L has to know.  

The yellow incandescent bulbs of the porch light glowed down upon the clover lawn as they finally climbed towards the back door. The hinges whispered little groans when they crept inside. Once they made it upstairs, Matt plugged a pair of headphones into his radio, set it to AM, and paced down the hallway a few times, playing the role of a sulking teen retreating into music as he scanned for electromagnetic fields. 

He found no new cameras. 

And then he and Mello got ready for bed, Matt slipping into the top bunk.  

He tried to still his thoughts to sleep past the sound of Mello fiddling with the watch. 

___

“Do you want to read the profile I wrote of you?” When L had asked that, it was with a blithe smile painting his lips. 

“… I do,” Light had said, barely getting the words out before L rushed him back to his room and sat him on the bed. He had run out the door with that crooked posture of his, yelling that he just needed a few minutes to print it. The whole thing seemed rather ridiculous. 

So, as Light sat on his mattress, awaiting L’s return… he wasn’t sure why he felt so nervous. 

In what seemed like too short a time, the door groaned open once more. L peered through the crack, a single cloudy eye staring in. His hand poked out to offer a page folded in half. L’s body language was as bizarre and disjointed as Light had ever seen it, like the moving equivalent of a guitar played with missing strings. 

Light frowned faintly as he approached him, deciphering the strange look on L’s face, which he was still hiding behind the door like a child. 

Then he looked down at the letter and realized, with a dawning disbelief, that L’s hand was shaking. 

He took the paper from him, and those pale fingers slithered back through the gap.

Neither of them spoke a word to each other. The door shut. 

And Light could only swallow, his arms feeling uncomfortable on his body. 

The edge of the page was sharp against his fingers as he slid it open, and a nauseating bubble in his stomach almost made him want to close it right back up and fling it across the room. But he was paralyzed to his spot on the floor. 

Who am I to him, really? 

The question felt…

heavy. 

Eventually, his eyes found the paper. 

__ 

It is an immutable fact that Light Yagami is Kira. 

While he would like to believe himself to be the arbiter of ethical Truth, in reality, he is a person who is motivated by blind ideology: an ideology that separates the worthy from the unworthy on a line of execution. All of this, because Light Yagami has a profound desperation to leave a mark on the world. 

Notwithstanding this very personal motivation, he is convinced that he is driven by a cold and impartial moral compass. The idea that every action, every lie from his lips and every stroke of his pen, is justified by the worth of his ultimate goal is what orients him. To be Kira is to submit to a belief system that is worth sacrificing anything, anyone, everything, everyone, on behalf of. 

However, this is an illusion. Entrenched in Light Yagami’s mind is the idea that he himself is his justice, and yet, Kira’s justice did not come from Light Yagami. 

He adopted it, yes, but it is more akin to an infection than an original framework. Eventually, it will prove to be destructive to its host. Ascribing Kira’s ideology to Light alone would obscure the true nature of this ‘justice.’ Really, it crept over him, possessing him like a parasite that serves as a justification, and as a purpose, for power. 

Thus, it is power which Light Yagami attaches himself to as a worshiper to an altar, as an addict to a pipe. Without power, Light Yagami does not see himself as a person with purpose. He needs it in order to see himself as anything at all. It is because of this that he lacks the humility to live for anything that is not grandiose in nature. Centered at the core of his identity is ‘Godhood’, and anything less, anything human, is fatuous. 

He sees relationships as fleeting, emotions as irrelevant, and the needs of the very human mind and body he occupies as utterly inane. Yet, his need to be seen, to mark the world as he so wishes, is too so very human in nature, despite how inhuman he believes himself to be.  

Ostensibly, this is the reality which he is avoiding, and it is the very inhumanity of power that makes it Light Yagami’s true vice. Underneath his facade of perfection lies a dependency. By acting as a vessel of power and ideology, rather than a mortal of flesh and blood, he is able to construct a sense of security that he could not procure otherwise, as to be human is to be dreadfully vulnerable. Even as power traps him, it supports him. Light cannot envision what it would mean to live without it. 

It is unfortunate, then, that he encountered power as the power to kill with a penstroke. 

Everything about him necessitated that he become Kira under this circumstance. Violence, cruelty, and murder became Light’s tools, and he misguidedly believed that he could wield them for good. Ethics aside, his optimism is admirable. 

Detached from the suffering he would inflict, he persisted, as he would rather become Atlas, tortured with the sky upon his shoulders than live fleetingly as a mortal creature born only for its own sake: born only to eat, to dance, and to love. Only pursuing the image of an unfeeling deity could soothe him, and it is certain that if given the choice between freedom paired with peace or meaning chained to power, Light Yagami would wear his shackles as if they were a crown. 

Even when Light Yagami reads this very page, his chest will swell with pride, and his eyes will crinkle with a buried smile, proud to be seen as a man willing to martyr himself. 

Somehow, he will smile, because he does not see the sadness of his dilemma. Never would he understand the tragedy of the purpose he has crucified himself upon. 

Overlooking the reality that Light Yagami does not need a justification. 

That Light Yagami deserves to live, simply for his own sake, and for nothing else. 

Because he deserves to have peace. 

Even deserves to love. 

And though Light Yagami is broken and twisted, unempathetic and antisocial, murderous, monstrous, and unrepentant… he is also one of the most remarkable people I have ever met. 

This is his nature. 

Chapter Text

The doorknob was cool when Mello rested his ear against it and the lockpicks clinked when he slithered them inside. It only took a minute to arrange the pins and twist.

The door popped open and a sigh rolled from his lips when he crept into the room. As was routine, he climbed atop the bedside table and smothered the microphone in the ceiling lamp with tape. If L hadn’t placed new surveillance in the hallways, it was unlikely that he had in Kira’s room… besides, when could he have found an opportunity to do so behind Kira’s back? 

The young Japanese man lay upon neatly folded bedsheets. His posture was so wooden that he almost looked inanimate as he stared at the ceiling, unresponsive to Mello’s presence. Slowly, Mello slipped from the bedside table, his hands buried in his pockets. “… Kira?” 

Kira’s eyes dragged in their sockets to rest on Mello’s face. 

“… I did it.” From his jacket, he presented the stolen watch. Its silver wristband gleamed against the cool moonlight slipping through the window. 

But Kira only blinked at it, his throat bobbing around a swallow. 

Mello frowned faintly at his expression. He looked… ill. As if every last spark of energy had been drained from his body, painting him with pale skin and sullen cheeks. Ghost- like. 

Could he have been poisoned? Drugged? 

“… You alright?” Mello asked cautiously. 

Kira’s eyes returned to the ceiling. “Why wouldn’t I be?” Finally, he lifted himself from the bed, leaning forward on his knees. “Well done.” He produced a smile that didn’t reach the eyes. “I’m glad to see that you’re reliable.” 

 Mello hesitated, trying to pick apart his expression. Because, though Mello had done exactly as asked… Kira didn’t seem particularly pleased. 

“Now you just have to swap it out with the real one, I suppose,” Kira mumbled, obscuring his mouth with his hand. “It’s on the desk in L’s bedroom. You won’t be able to sneak in without being detected, so I suggest plotting a cover story. Figure out where the cameras are, cover them, and then just take a candy bar or something and pretend that’s why you broke in.” 

Mello hesitated, eyes on the floor. “… Matt… did just have his Playstation confiscated…” 

“Perfect.” Kira shrugged, slumping back onto the bed. He was silent for seconds on end,  as if he wanted to close the meeting as abruptly as possible. 

But Mello had the strange feeling that something important had changed, so he lingered there at the foot of the bed. Eventually, if only to fill the silence, he murmured “… How are we going to get away?” 

Kira’s rigidity broke for only a split second as his eyes filled with a palpable rage. However, his voice was eerily calm as he replied, softly, “With the power of a God. How else?” He rolled onto his side, burying his face into the crook of his arm. 

Mello shifted on his heels awkwardly. But, despite the terrible feeling in the air, he wouldn’t allow their interaction to end on such a non-answer. Something was… wrong. 

Before Mello could articulate a question, however, Kira peeked down at him. “… May I ask you something?” 

Mello nodded, humming a quiet: “Mhm?” 

“… Is it worth staining your hands for a cause that matters?” 

What a strange thing to ask him now. Mello allowed his eyes to drift to the floor, shrugging. The prompt felt ill-fitting. After all, it wasn’t as if Mello had ever been clean. From the day he was born he had carried the sins of his family name. He was all but a child when he had punctuated that malfeasance with his own. 

His hands were already sullied for something far cheaper than any ‘ cause.’ 

So, with a slow nod, he replied, “… How could it not be?” 

Kira’s eyes darted away from him. A branch scratched against the wall, and the room was strangely silent. Then, Kira’s voice creaked as he hissed, “Should it matter where the blood is spilled from?” 

Mello felt a nervous unease rocking in his stomach. Was Kira testing him? What was he talking about? This… This must have been to gage Mello’s resolve, to test his like-mindedness. So, Mello tried to sound calm as he murmured back, “I mean, if it’s for… you know, the good of the world… it doesn’t seem like there should be… a difference.” He swallowed, fearing then that he sounded terribly immature.  

Kira didn’t move. He stared off distantly, eyes half-lidded and dull. A whisper spilled from his mouth, almost inaudible, “for the good of the world.” 

Matt awoke to an empty bottom bunk and a slip of paper beside his pillow. With a shallow grimace, he flicked it open, though he already suspected what its contents might be. 

Hey. I met with him again. If I’m not back by the time you read this, it’s because I managed to distract L. I’ll try to keep him busy until 9. The watch is under my pillow. I need you to sneak into L’s room and replace it with the real one, Kira said it should be on his desk. There are probably surveillance cameras, so tape up them before you do anything. Then look around for your Playstation as a cover story, odds are it’s in there. 

Thank you. 

— M

Matt rested the page on his face and let it sit there for a soft, peaceful minute. Then, after taking a deep, deep breath, he groaned. 

Mello felt as if he had a bird stuck in his throat when he knocked on L’s door. His palms were clammy with sweat and his eyes heavy with sleeplessness when the lock popped open. 

L peaked his head through the crack. “… It’s awfully early,” he said, though it didn’t appear that Mello had woken him. 

“Yeah, I… I wanted to talk.” 

L raised an eyebrow, face placid. “Oh? About what?” 

“C… Can we go outside?” 

The detective blinked, a smile tweaking his lips. “Of course.” 

The morning was cool, its air woven with moisture and the bright twittering of songbirds. The lawn was wet with dew, and it tickled on Mello’s ankles as he wandered aimlessly down the front hill. L trailed after him. 

“Was there… something you wanted to ask me?” L asked eventually, right as they came to the metal gate marking the perimeter. 

Mello turned, his hands buried deep in his pockets. “Yeah… I guess… I was wondering…” His mind churned, trying to conjure a prompt that would keep L occupied. Eventually, he murmured a quiet, muted, “… Are you happy?”

L gave a little laugh. “… I think that’s the first time I’ve been asked such a thing.” But he didn’t answer right away, instead beginning to tread along the fence-line. He dragged his fingers against the metal bars like he was playing a harp, and they sounded out little - tink -tink -tinks with every step.  

Mello followed after him in silence. 

And then, L paused, looking back towards the house. “… You would expect that I would be, wouldn’t you?” 

Something in Mello’s chest sank. “… I mean…” He hesitated. “Yeah.” L’s eyes rested on him expectantly, and so, Mello continued. “Y’know, you… You’ve got it all. You’re powerful, you’re brilliant, you’re wealthy and successful and respected… why— why wouldn’t you be happy?” He laughed. “How could you not be?” 

L hummed a little chuckle. “… It is… true, that my position may seem enviable.” He trailed off, as if lingering on a thought. “And yet you still asked. Why is that?” His eyes had an uncharacteristic shine to them when the question left his lips. 

Mello averted his gaze, resting it firmly on a dandelion poking through the lawn. “I’m not… I’m not sure.” His eyelashes blurred in his vision as the clouds shifted and sunlight hit them. “Sometimes you seem… distant.” 

“Distant,” L repeated, expression blank. “… Yes… Yes, I do suppose I am.” His eyes drifted to the sky. After a few moments, he dropped down to squat on the still-damp ground. 

Mello watched him, time seeming oddly still. 

And then, L breathed, “Mello… What do you believe it means to be human?” The look on his face had a haunted quality to it. 

The question had caught him off guard, but, wanting to appear sincere, Mello could only respond with the first thing that came to his mind. “To be human is to… pursue something. It’s… It’s to chase a cause, isn’t it? That’s what carries us from day to day, hell, from moment to moment. Every person… believes something, wants something. And their lives are about achieving it. That’s what makes humans greater than animals. We dream.”  

L didn’t react, almost as if the words had brushed right over him. But then in the next beat, he mumbled, “Then what meaning does life have for the man who is content?” 

“… I doubt that content people care much about meaning.” 

“Hmm.” L stared off at the house. “Maybe so.” He lifted himself from his spot, a clover bloom now tangled between his fingers. “… Recently… I believe that I would have agreed with you. Human psychology is indeed a tangling of conscious and unconscious 'wants.' And, of my own experience… for as long as I could remember… life seemed to be about… proving my legend true. To myself, to the world. It was an ambition, in a way, though I inherited it through no will of my own.” 

Mello’s breath caught in his throat. 

“But now… it all seems rather pointless.” Wind blew L’s hair over his face, obscuring his eyes with wisps of black. 

“… What?” Mello asked, incredulous to what he was hearing. “No— Why would it be pointless? You’ve built so much, how could you…” He stared at the ground, a strange weight like betrayal sitting in his chest. “How could you say that?” 

“The truth is… recently, the world has seemed… smaller.” A smile brushed the corners of his lips. “… Closer. Like ‘meaning’ might be something you can hold, rather than something that crushes with the weight of the earth.”

A stunned expression stuck to Mello’s face, and L only chuckled. Minutes drifted by in silence, L seemingly content to stare at the clouds above them while Mello stared down at his shadow. 

And then L turned, lips still resting in a smile. “… Matt is a good friend to you, Mello. You’re lucky to have him.” 

Matt had done as Mello asked. He wore a bandanna and hood over his face, as if that would actually obscure his identity, despite Mello being the only other kid with a remotely similar build. 

He taped over the obvious cameras and then skimmed the room with his radio to confirm there were no others. Then, with gloved hands and a feather-light touch, he swapped the watches, ensuring the new one was aligned exactly as the original had been. Then Matt peeked under the bed, finding his Playstation tucked against the wall. 

He sighed. 

Removed it. 

And resigned himself to the reality that once it was inevitably re-confiscated, Roger would likely send it to the bottom of a well before returning it to Matt’s possession. 

Why do I do these things for you? 

Quietly, Matt crept back into the hall, locking the door behind him. With the contraband hidden under his jacket, he returned to their room. Placing his console aside, he uncovered the watch. 

It felt heavier than it was when it sat in his hand like that. 

But, by all accounts, it looked… perfectly ordinary. 

Unless Kira had an appetite for uniquely cruel practical jokes, there had to be something special to it. Eyes turning to the door to ensure it was shut, he sat at his desk. From the top drawer, he retrieved the small toolkit he kept for toying with electronics and deconstructing the occasional appliance. 

Eyes tracing the seam along the underside of the watch where the case band met the back, Matt found that there was a tiny… gap. 

So, with a small screwdriver, he pried it open. 

A piece of paper fell onto the table. 

Chapter Text

Matt looked to the folded piece of paper, head tipping. A note?

Intrigued, he reached for it. His fingers brushed it. And then the lights dimmed. 

When Matt turned, a gnarled creature built of feather, skin, and bone stared back at him. 

A sharp breath whistled through Matt’s teeth.

Ryuk laughed from his perch on the ceiling, his misshapen body blocking out the lamp. 

Adrenaline rocketed through his veins as Matt jumped from his chair, making the desk slam against the wall. Then, he just stood there, body completely paralyzed.  

“What, no scream?” The monster chuckled, his joints popping horribly as he dropped onto the floor. “The name’s Ryuk, kid. But I already know allll about you~” 

The devil. 

Matt was staring into the eyes of the devil, as red and bloody as hell itself, framed with skin of ash and teeth of needles. 

Ryuk shuffled a bit at Matt’s silence, his mouth twisting into a half-frown. “What, are you mute all of a sudden?” 

“Are you going to kill me?” Matt hissed, his head pounding with the drum of his heartbeat. 

Ryuk rolled his eyes. “And here we go… No, I’m not going to kill you. Though I could, I don’t have any reason to… All I want is to see what you do next. I’m a Shinigami. That piece of paper you just touched? It belongs to my realm. And now, so do you.” He gave a rumbling laugh at Matt’s horrified expression. “Don’t worry, though. You have nothing to fear… From me, at least.” 

Shinigami. 

Matt had heard the term from his inquiry into the Kira case. Messages from the first and second Kira: ‘Gods of death love apples,’ and ‘We can show each other our Shinigami’ had been initially thought by netizens to be some kind of code or metaphor. Of course, a few forum users had argued that the terms were literal. Matt had initially dismissed the idea, but now, it seemed that they were entirely correct. 

He looked back at the folded paper, expression frozen in a mask of shock. 

“I suppose I should go over the rules with you, considering you don’t have the book itself… What a pain… ” Ryuk mumbled, one of his pointed claws scratching at his charcoal-colored gums. “I’m doing you a real favor here, j’so you know. You could stand to be a little more polite.” 

Matt’s body felt alight with pins-and-needles terror. Knees buckling, he collapsed back into his chair. He nodded.    

“Alright, let’s see… If you write a person’s name in the Death Note— of which that scrap of paper was torn from— while picturing their face, they’ll die in forty seconds. You can control their actions for twenty-three days before their passing by writing the cause of death. Otherwise, they’ll just die of a heart attack. Oh, and someone complained that I didn’t mention this sooner… I have a deal if you ever need to get someone’s name in a pinch.” 

The information flooded over Matt, and he felt that he might be trapped in some lurid nightmare. But his dreams were never so vivid, Kira’s very existence was just as ghastly as the being before him, and this creature’s gaze, voice, and appearance were all so horrifically real. Matt knew he would not be spared by the ring of the breakfast bell or Mello’s rolling out of bed, and so, with his head dipped forward into a dragging sway, he whispered, “… Alright…” His eyes wide and his lips stiff, he hesitated. “I have to ask… do you have any loyalty to Kira?” 

Laughter, ripe with malice, dripped from the monster’s lips. “None at all. I like the kid, don’t get me wrong, but I am entirely impartial as to his fate.” 

Somehow, Matt wasn’t greatly reassured by Ryuk’s indifference. 

“I’ve been watching you and your friend for a while now, Matt,” the Shinigami then murmured. “Touching that piece of paper didn’t make me pop into existence. I’ve been here the whole time.” 

A feverish chill set across Matt’s skin, his gaze locked firmly on his knees. “… How pleasant.” 

At this, Ryuk snickered. “Don’t take it as a bad thing. I actually find you and Mihael— Mello— to be quite interesting. Right now the rest of the Death Note is locked away in a safe belonging to the Japanese Police. As a rule, I try not to meddle in human affairs, but as a Shinigami, I retain the right to reclaim the notebook at any time… I wouldn’t mind putting it back in circulation, so to speak.” 

“… You’re offering Kira’s power,” Matt said, his voice chalky. “A— a book that can kill people.” 

Those bulging eyes rolled in their sockets. “Well, don’t let anyone say you aren’t a genius.” 

“And what about the current Kira?” Matt asked, voice rushed. “His name— his name is Light Yagami, isn’t it?” Mello had relayed this information to Matt early on, after L had formally introduced Kira to him and Near. 

“Hey, I’m not in the business of giving hints. Though good luck writing it! Even if you’re right, he’s Japanese, so his name isn’t phonetic,” Ryuk said, smiling like he found this terribly amusing. “Though… if you want… I could help you out.” 

A horrible feeling sank in Matt’s gut. “… Help how?” 

Ryuk was about to answer, but then, the doorknob turned. “Ohooh…”

Matt felt as if the world might have shattered under his feet when Mello poked his head inside. He shot to his feet, wild eyes locked on Ryuk, a primal part of his body ready to throw fists into the mouth of the devil to defend Mello.

The Shinigami, however, just chuckled. “Calm down. He can’t see me if he hasn’t touched the page.” 

Mello examined Matt’s fraught state. “Matt? What’s the matter with you?” 

Tight breaths easing in and out of his chest, Matt leaned back against the desk. “Nothing. Sorry, I— I guess I’m on edge. I thought you might be L.”  

Mello nodded, shutting the door. “Did you get the watch?” 

Please no. 

“Yeah, without a hitch. I’m just taking a look to see if I can figure out what’s so special about it.” 

Ryuk began cackling. “Wow! You sound pretty convincing!” 

Mello was about to pluck the watch from the table when Matt smacked his hand away. “Careful! I just opened it, if you touch it, loose parts might fall out. It could break.” 

“Oh— sorry, my bad.” 

Please go away. 

Matt ran his shaking fingers through his hair. And, with narrowing eyes, Mello leaned against the post of the bunk bed.  

Ryuk hovered over Matt. “Now, if you don’t mind… let me finish telling you about the deal.” Matt wanted to scream at the monster to shut his mouth, but he dared not acknowledge him, so Ryuk continued. “Shinigami… we have special eyes. In exchange for half of your life span, I could give them to you. You would be able to see the name of any human you lay eyes on, written right above their head.” 

Matt’s vision lost focus, gaze traveling to the floor. 

“Something’s off with you,” Mello finally snapped, his voice threaded with suspicion. 

“What?” Matt asked, stomach dropping. “No— I mean… I’m just a bit nervous about the whole… situation, I guess. When are you going to try to get this to him?” He gestured to the watch. 

“… Probably tonight.” 

Matt nodded. “Okay.” He swallowed, realizing how short on air he sounded. 

“What, do you have a problem with that?” Mello asked, his voice blunt and harsh. 

Matt’s fingers clutched around the folded paper. 

“If you do, tell me.” 

“I…” Matt looked at the far corner of the room. “I just want you to… think about this.” 

Mello frowned, his throat bobbing over a swallow. “Do you think I haven’t?”  

His neck feeling frail, Matt shook his head. “I didn’t mean… You know I… I’ll follow you anywhere. I promised you that.” Finally, he glanced up. “Just so long as you’re sure.” 

Mello’s eyes were a soft shiny blue. Then, they shut, and he turned away. “I… I am.”

You liar. 

Matt sighed, summoning a smile. “… Okay. Do you think you could… make sure L and Near don’t walk in on me working on the watch?” 

Mello glanced to the door, swaying back and forth, body still tense with unease. Soon, however, he gave into his trust. “… Yeah. Makes sense. Let me know if you find anything, alright?” 

Matt nodded gently. “Of course.” 

Ryuk made a strange whistling sound as Mello dragged the door shut behind him. “Wow. Smooth talker.” 

Relief plunged through Matt’s body, and he felt as if he might collapse. He sucked in a gasp of air, covering his face with his hands. 

“So… about the eyes.” 

“No.” He would never take that deal. He wasn’t interested in killing Kira, as much as he may have personally despised him. 

But Mello… 

Mello would accept in a heartbeat, wouldn’t he?

For all of Mello’s pride, for his occasional brazen selfishness, he had never truly valued his own life, nor his own future. If it would grant him the advantage he so craved, Mello would eagerly accept the promise of a too-soon death. 

Ryuk hummed, head peeking back and forth to examine Matt’s expression. 

Mello can’t know. 

So, for the first time, Matt’s eyes met Ryuk’s with firm, steady confidence. “I— we— want nothing to do with this.” 

“Oh?” Ryuk clucked. “Fine by me.” His bland tone bared a hint of disappointment. “So what are you going to do with the page, then? Throw it away? Burn it?” 

Slowly, Matt’s mind wandered, a cold pit opening in his belly. His gaze returned to Ryuk’s. “Well… What would Kira do if I got rid of it?” 

This re-lit the spark of excitement in the monster’s eyes. “Ooooh… now that’s an interesting question.” He tapped on his chin, carved out grin stretching. “Well… He would be angry, I can tell you that.” 

“Would he blame Mello?” Matt asked, another icy surge of fear washing over him. 

“… He might.” 

Matt looked at the watch, panic starting to clutch his lungs. But, with a steady breath, he soothed it. 

He was already determined to hide the paper from Mello, nothing would budge his decision on that. But… what if he just put it back? Pretended he never found it?

“… I take it that Kira doesn’t have the ‘eyes’ you mentioned,” Matt stated numbly. “If he did, L would be dead, I’m sure.” 

“Hehhe, perhaps.” 

“So he doesn’t know L’s name— or anyone’s in the house, for that matter…” He sat there for minutes, his mind ticking through his situation like a damaged clock. “If Mello… If Mello gives this back… will Kira… run away?” The absence of security precautions had been glaringly obvious since Kira’s arrival. Matt had wondered why he hadn’t attempted to flee earlier, but having found this, it began to make sense. He had been waiting for a chance to reclaim his power. 

Ryuk just shrugged, starting to tire of Matt’s hypotheticals. “I’m a Shinigami, not an oracle, y’know.”

If Kira escapes with this paper… L will catch him again, there’s no way he wouldn’t. But maybe it will prove to L that he’s too dangerous to be kept here— Then… after that, L might put him away for real this time. 

The blow-back would inevitably reach Mello, Matt was sure. He would be punished drastically for aiding in Kira’s plot. But that was the kind of consequence he had signed onto when he decided to contact Kira. 

At least it would be… safer than whatever Kira’s revenge might entail, should Matt step in and sabotage him on Mello’s behalf. 

He remembered the venom in that man’s mahogany eyes. If deprived of his supernatural weapon, it was easy to envision him reverting to traditional tools. 

The image of bloodied blond hair darted through Matt’s mind, and it was enough to make his eyes shut with resolve. 

He turned back to the watch. With deft fingers, he discovered the mechanism of the hidden compartment. Then, he returned the paper to its hiding spot. It was difficult to fit, the folded page nearly too thick. But then it closed, and he tucked the watch into the back of his drawer. 

I’m sorry, Mello. 

I’m sorry.   

Chapter Text

L hadn’t visited Light. Not since he had given him the profile. 

This time, that absence came with a heavy relief.

Light should have never read it. He shouldn’t have entertained the thing. It was nonsense imbued with words of a fool and a nonbeliever, nothing but nihilistic stupidity.

L had turned his back on the promise of a better world, and that alone was reason enough to discount his opinion. Yet, somehow, like Light had been locked in a tomb with toxic air, his mind seemed to cough those words back up whenever it had a chance to breathe. 

Atlas with the sky upon his shoulders. 

The next time L walked through that door, Light wouldn’t look him in the eye. He was a fool, a childish hedonist desperate to tar the very concept of meaning. To think that Light once believed him to be brilliant. But a brilliant man wouldn’t earnestly argue that purpose was mere vice. 

It was an insult to Light’s intelligence. 

It was an insult to life itself. 

Even Mello knew better. Mello, despite his impulsivity, his deftness, and overall lack of tact, seemed to understand that purpose was… necessary. 

How could someone possibly choose to continue living if not on behalf of something? 

L was a fool, but also a hypocrite. The notion that he, an absolute bastion of power and wealth, would declare ambition a prison and mundanity a paradise? It was ridiculous. 

He should have known better. 

Why didn’t he know better? 

It seemed the more that Light thought about L, the less he understood him. Like an optical illusion progressively distorting the longer it is stared at, Light’s image of L appeared to be disintegrating before his very eyes.  

L was meant to be rational. L was meant to be his own ‘savior’ of mankind, Kira’s foil, a defender of the damned. L was meant to… mean something. 

But it seemed that he was determined to mean nothing at all. 

It was disturbing.  

And now, even the knowledge that L occupied the same building as Light twisted nauseatingly in his stomach like a tapeworm. 

The profile was hidden under the bed. Light had banished it out of sight, but its presence was also… haunting. Every dark corner of the room seemed like a fissure for those foolish, eristic words to seep back to him.  

Never would he understand the tragedy of the purpose he has crucified himself upon. 

A strange fear like that of death clutched Light by his joints now. Because, though he knew his cause was righteous, true, non-negotiable, a cold voice still whispered to him ‘you will die exactly how he saw you.’

Because Light was… correct. Correct in his beliefs, in his mission, in his purpose. Wasn’t he? 

“It’s all I know,” he whispered to the dark.

It’s all I ever will be. 

He had tried to blot the writing from his mind, but it hung over him like a phantom, whispering, taunting, threatening, to reduce him to the mortal being that L seemed so very determined to paint him as. 

… Even deserves to love. 

“You’re wrong.” 

His body trembled under the tangle of bedsheets and the weight of his bones. 

L was wrong, because Light Yagami was going to murder him on Kira’s behalf. And if L knew that truly, he would have never dared to spill the page with such humanity. 

It should have been hatred. 

A vile decree, carved with righteous, twisted venom, stating coldly and truthfully that Kira was the enemy. 

Because Light had always been L’s enemy, destined to render his beating heart ash in an urn or rot in a coffin. That was how it was meant to be. That was how it had to be. 

“You fool.” 

Perhaps he would see him again some day, beyond the veil. Once Light had met his own fate as a bloodied martyr with a pyrite crown. 

Finally, L would look at him with eyes of knowing, with eyes of the dead, with eyes of anger and loathing and everything he ought to feel. 

Light choked. 

His fingers would not stop trembling as they clutched around his throat. It should have been an execution. 

If Light had died… then L might have lived. 

Somehow, such a world felt enviable. 

Once I have the watch, I’ll claim a weapon, maybe from the kitchen, from the toolshed, from a desk. He will be carved and mangled. With his bleeding body on my back, I will leave this wretched house. He will be my shield. They won’t dare shoot me, not with their most valuable creature sprawled against my spine, his blood painting my clothes and staining my skin. I will demand a helicopter, or a plane, and it will take us far away while he turns to dust in my palms. And then I will leave him behind. 

After my escape, I will write the names of the task force, God-forsaken fools, and they will send the notebook to a place where I can claim it intractably. They will die peacefully, and his blood will always dirty my nailbeds. 

But I will have saved everyone at the cost of… the only person who ever mattered.

Light huffed up a little laugh. 

How selfish he was to hesitate. 

And then there was a knock on the door. 

Light blinked, hot salt dripping from his eyes. He wiped it away, rising from the bed. 

Mello didn’t wait for an invitation to slip inside, the lockpick clutched firmly in his palm. As always, he smothered the microphone in the lamp. His eyes were clear and alert like a looking-glass, and Light felt unreal before his gaze. 

“… I have it.” 

Light smiled, a burning coal bursting in his stomach. “Excellent.” 

But Mello didn’t offer the watch. Instead, he hesitated. “… Before we go further, I need to know how we’re going to escape the house.” 

Light sighed, looking down to his unchained wrist. The premise of bringing Mello with him was still an untenable web of contingencies. However, he had come up with a story that may sound believable. “... I’ll leave tomorrow night, and you will stay behind. For three days, I will take shelter in the wooded area surrounding the house, giving the impression that I have escaped. Once L spreads his resources thin trying to find my trail, I will return, and take you ‘hostage.’ Any objections?” 

Mello paused, before firmly shaking his head. 

“I will demand we be flown to Japan in an aircraft manned by a single pilot who has no eyes on the cabin. However, we will dispatch the flight early using parachutes. Upon landing, we will integrate into the given nation and continue Kira’s mission while establishing new identities.” Of course, Light was lying with the tongue of a serpent.  

But the boy nodded along, his gaze traveling across the room. “… Okay. And what about L?” 

A needle-stab to the chest. “… I’m not sure, Mello,” Light said smoothly, tone dripping with painful condescension. “What do you think?” 

Mello looked to his feet, fingers pinching the sleeves of his shirt. “Are you going to kill him?” 

“Do you think I should?” 

The question seemed to make Mello profoundly uncomfortable. He clutched his stomach, eyebrows pinching. “I— I think… If I’m… your hostage… maybe… maybe you won’t have to.”

Light let the room be consumed with an eerie, pointed silence. “Alright.” 

A shaky breath left Mello’s lips. He reached into his back pocket. Then, finally… there it was.

Light’s eyes glinted and his heartbeat rose in his ears like a war chant. 

Mello cradled the watch in his hands, a reluctant frown pulling his lips. “Do you… do you think Matt will be able to join us? Eventually?” 

Light stared. “Of course. With Kira’s abilities, anything is possible.” 

Mello nodded, though something in his eyes looked distant with doubt. 

Light held out his hand. And the cool metal burned when laid against his skin. 

Mello took a step back, a shadow of fear falling over his face. 

Eyebrows raising, Light gestured to the door, flatly ordering Mello to leave.  

With the reluctant steps of a scolded child, he obeyed. 

___

Light held the watch to his chest that night, the metal capturing a sickly kind of warmth from his skin. At some point, he must have fallen asleep, for he was awoken by the sensation of drowning in red water. 

It was just a dream. Yet somehow, the taste of blood still lingered in his throat. The brightness of dawn filtered through the window, tinting the wall with brilliant yellow rays. Light’s fist closed around the watch. And with a few deafening little clicks, he pulled on the crown. 

The hidden compartment popped open. Like he was laying eyes on a craven poison, Light stared at the piece of the Death Note. His pupils swelled. 

He took it from its place. 

And then, his lips fell open. 

Because it wasn’t just the page of the Death Note. 

Folded inside of it was a scrap of paper. 

His fingers unfeeling, he pulled it open. 

Written in tiny, meticulous letters was… a message.

 

KMTRPPUZUZTJPMUKBUVQCNZYKZGZSQZRRQPNZTP  

YYTMYKZP

Chapter Text

He knew it was a cipher as soon as his eyes rested on the letters. The first line was the key and the second was the answer. 

L had done this.

L had found the paper hidden in the watch— he had found it ages ago. 

And he… put it back? 

No… No, the paper must have been fake, it wasn’t actually from the Death Note. But… inside of the sheet, scrawled in blood, the name Kyosuke Higuchi stared back. Light never had the chance to replace the page with how tightly guarded the notebook had been after being taken into police custody. 

That— That name alone should have been more than enough evidence to justify smearing Light’s identity and guilt across every T.V. station and magazine cover. But L had… kept it to himself? He hadn’t even confronted him? 

Light’s eyes traced Higuchi’s name over and over, trying to detect flaws in the replica, surely an imitation designed to mock him. But he couldn’t find any. 

But L would never… he wouldn’t. He would never willfully give this to Light— he wouldn’t. It was a fake. 

Yet, even as ten, fifteen minutes melted by, Light could find no errors with the forgery. Eventually, his attention returned to the cipher. 

He removed the needle from its hiding place inside the watch and traced it over the code. Letters repeated themselves, and considering the length, it was most certainly a full phrase. Light might have been able to guess the solution with brute force were there spaces between the words. But, as it stood, he was unsure of where to begin. 

Until he turned to stare under his bed. 

He swallowed. Time felt muggy around him as he lowered himself to his knees and slid L’s profile out of its hiding spot. 

It couldn’t be so obvious. 

It wouldn’t be. 

With the needle, he traced along the first letter of each sentence. 

I t is an immutable fact that Light Yagami is Kira. 

W hile he would like to believe himself to be the arbiter of ethical Truth, in reality, he is a person who is motivated by blind ideology: an ideology that separates the worthy from the unworthy on a line of execution. A ll of this, because Light Yagami has a profound desperation to leave a mark on the world. 

N otwithstanding this very personal motivation, he is convinced that he is driven by a cold and impartial moral compass. T he idea that every action, every lie from his lips and every stroke of his pen, is justified by the worth of his ultimate goal is what orients him. T o be Kira is to submit to an ideology that is worth sacrificing anything, anyone, everything, everyone, on behalf of. 

H owever, this is an illusion. E ntrenched in Light Yagami’s mind is the idea that he himself is his justice, and yet, Kira’s justice did not come from Light Yagami. 

H e adopted it, yes, but it is more akin to an infection than an original framework. E ventually, it will prove to be destructive to its host. A scribing Kira’s ideology to Light alone would obscure the true nature of this ‘justice.’ R eally, it crept over him, possessing him like a parasite that serves as a justification, and as a purpose, for power. 

T hus, it is power which Light Yagami attaches himself to as a worshiper to an altar, as an addict to a pipe. W ithout power, Light Yagami does not see himself as a person with purpose. H e needs it in order to see himself as anything at all. I t is because of this that he lacks the humility to live for anything that is not grandiose in nature. C entered at the core of his identity is ‘Godhood’, and anything less, anything human, is fatuous. 

H e sees relationships as fleeting, emotions as irrelevant, and the needs of the very human mind and body he occupies as utterly inane. Y et, his need to be seen, to mark the world as he so wishes, is too so very human in nature, despite how inhuman he believes himself to be.  

O stensibly, this is the reality which he is avoiding, and it is the very inhumanity of power that makes it Light Yagami’s true vice. U nderneath his facade of perfection lies a dependency. B y acting as a vessel of power and ideology, rather than a mortal of flesh and blood, he is able to construct a sense of security that he could not procure otherwise, as to be human is to be dreadfully vulnerable. E ven as power traps him, it supports him. L ight cannot envision what it would mean to live without it. 

I t is unfortunate, then, that he encountered power as the power to kill with a penstroke. 

E verything about him necessitated that he become Kira under this circumstance. V iolence, cruelty, and murder became Light’s tools, and he misguidedly believed that he could wield them for good. E thics aside, his optimism is admirable. 

D etached from the suffering he would inflict, he persisted, as he would rather become Atlas, tortured with the sky on his shoulders than live fleetingly as a mortal creature born only for its own sake, born only to eat, to dance and to love. O nly pursuing the image of an unfeeling deity could soothe him, and it is certain that if given the choice between freedom paired with peace or meaning chained to power, Light Yagami would wear his shackles as if they were a crown. 

E ven when Light Yagami reads this very page, his chest will swell with pride, and his eyes will crinkle with a buried smile, proud to be seen as a man willing to martyr himself. 

S omehow, he will smile, because he does not see the sadness of his dilemma. N ever would he understand the tragedy of the purpose he has crucified himself upon. 

O verlooking the reality that Light Yagami does not need a justification. 

T hat Light Yagami deserves to live, simply for his own sake, and for nothing else. 

B ecause he deserves to have peace. 

E ven deserves to love. 

A nd though Light Yagami is broken and twisted, unempathetic and antisocial, murderous, monsterous, and unrepentant… he is also one of the most remarkable people I have ever met. 

T his is his nature. 

I want the heart which you believe does not beat. 

The page fell from his fingers. He was being swallowed by the sunlight through the window. It was drowning him, burning his skin, searing his flesh. 

There was molten lead in his stomach. But, his body moved mechanically when he returned to the cipher. His fingers trembled as he scraped the sentence below the code. 

        K  M T R P  P U Z  U Z T  J P M U K B U V Q C  N Z Y K Z G Z  S Q Z H W Q P  N Z T P 

        I  W A N T T H E  H E A R T W H I C H  Y O U B E L I  E V E  D O E S  N O T  B E  A T

Then, finally, he plugged it in.

Y Y T M Y K Z P

L L A W L I E T

A cry wretched from his lips, though his voice did not sound his own. 

It was the voice of an animal. 

Breath escaped him, and though he gasped, his chest would not rise. He was being strangled from the inside out. 

It wasn’t real, it wasn’t , the name was fake, the page was fake, his words were fake. 

It was all a lie! It had to be a lie! 

He buried the needle into his fingertip, and the pain felt like a hot flash of life as blood pooled over his skin. 

He took the needle to the page, ready to prove it, he would prove what a filthy fucking liar he was. 

His handwriting was slow, agonizing, meticulous as he dragged out the name. 

L… L… a w l i… 

His fingers began to shake, heat rolling across his rage-flushed face. 

e… 

Light wretched. 

Spit and bile spilled from his lips, and he trembled there on the floor, his own panicked gasps for air choking out a chorus in his ears. But as he clutched at his chest, he felt the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart. It was fast, loud. Deafening. 

He just had to write the name. 

It was the easiest thing in the world. 

Just write it. 

He rolled onto his side, curling his knees to his chest. He laid there, and as he did, he felt tears roll across his cheeks. 

Light Yagami… Kira… was crying. 

He laughed, holding his face in his palms. His head shook, and a terrible, clarifying realization radiated down on him like the burning glare of the too-bright sunlight. 

It was all true. 

It always had been… true. 

The needle fell from his fingers. 

And he wept. 

__

Eventually, Light’s tears slowed, leaving him with puffy eyes and salt-stained cheeks. He sat in silence on the floor, back to the bedpost. His fingers stroked against the edges of the watch, gaze distant and blank. 

To think… he would be given everything he had ever wanted. Only for his dream to be toppled by a thing so trivial as some… ache in his chest. 

His heart pulsed gently in his ribcage, and he found himself smothered by its rhythm. 

The glow of morning had by then given way to the sweltering heat of mid-day. Children played in the yard and chirped about in the hallways. 

Light rose to his feet. And he left the room. 

A cluster of young children giggled amongst themselves at the top of the stairs. A soft smile pushing his lips, Light approached them. “Hello,” he said, and they faced him curiously. “Do you know where I might find L?” 

They glanced at one another and shook their heads. 

Light nodded and descended the stairwell. 

And there, curled up on a bench beneath a window, was Near. His posture immediately tensed with surprise when he glanced up from his novel and saw Light looming over him. 

However, Light simply sat beside the boy. He stared ahead wordlessly, something about the warm brown of the orphanage’s banisters soothing. 

Eventually, Near returned his eyes to his page. 

A feather-light sigh left Light’s nose and his eyes slipped shut. They weren’t far from the kitchen, and if Light focused… he could detect the scent of vanilla. 

Watari was probably baking another cake. 

A hidden tension in Light’s body began to unwind. And, with the distant sound of a child’s laugh, he stood. “… Enjoy your novel, Near.” After that, he continued to drift down the hall. Through one of the windows, he glimpsed Mello and Matt sitting on the outside porch. He pushed the screen door open. 

The boys looked up, and both instantly seized with shock. 

Light glanced down at Mello, a strange fondness sitting in his chest. Without saying a word, he smiled, and then trotted down the steps to the lawn. 

The green of the clover field was brilliant in his vision, almost blinding with its sheer saturation. He wandered around the house, until, eventually, the gazebo came into view. 

A certain shadow sat amid its shade. 

The wooden floorboards creaked under Light’s feet as he entered. L didn’t look up when Light sat beside him, his gaze captivated by a pair of beetles crawling along the railing. 

The air was fresh and earthy as Light breathed it in, the scent of the surrounding trees tickling his throat. Then he asked, voice cutting, “Why did you do it, Lawliet?” 

L shifted, his cheek resting on his folded hands. He seemed perfectly happy to force Light to wait and simmer in silence. Light almost thought he wouldn’t answer him at all, when L whispered, “I wanted you to have a choice.” 

“Over whether you live or die?” A gravely anger bit through his tone. 

But L just shuffled, closing his eyes. “… Yes.” 

“Why?” It bubbled like a sob. 

“… You know why.” 

A wave of emotion, sweeping and devastating, fell upon Light then. Tears rolled down his cheeks, leaving little droplets on the sleeves of his shirt. 

“Your name suits you, you know,” L said, voice barely a whisper. “… For as long as I can remember… I have felt as if I was… wandering alone in the dark. The games, the criminals, the cases… they were the only things that glowed. But then I solved them… and they went black.” A smile tweaked his lips. “But you… you were always… radiant.”  

“… And you—“ A choke.  “—You would have let me kill you over it?” 

L sighed, the sound gentle. “… I don’t… believe I was ever the type to grow old. And dying… by your hand…” He trailed off, eyes following after a sparrow darting from the lawn. “… Would be preferable to returning to the darkness.” 

An indescribable, agonizing rage cut across Light’s vision at those words. 

Selfish. 

Then, striking like a spear of lightning, came the need to prove him wrong. 

Light grabbed onto L’s shoulder, and, finally, those dark eyes fell on him. Light shoved L to the bench, his hand clawing around that too-thin throat and pinning it violently. “Oh yeah? You mean that?” The words burned with venom. 

L’s lips parted, eyes large and shiny.

But he didn’t fight. 

Light huffed with rage, his face warm and his blood burning. He sat on L’s chest, hips crushing against his ribs, squeezing his lungs. 

It was indefensible. The idea that L would see himself gone from this world— and for what? For Light— for… emotions? 

How dare you force me to make that choice. 

L Lawliet was not meant to be mortal. He was simply too important, too brilliant, to valuable to die. 

And he had the audacity… to give Light permission to rob the world of him anyway. 

In that moment, Light was consumed with the need to show him exactly how wrong he was. L did not want to die, not really. He couldn’t. 

Certain that his legs would instantly shoot like pistons into Light’s chest, that his fists would crack against Light’s cheeks and throat, proving that he wanted to live… 

Light choked him. 

Gags and sputters spilled from L’s mouth. And yet, he simply laid there. There was no resistance in his body, nor in his placid expression. 

 When his face finally darkened with pooled blood, he spasmed. 

“Fight me,” Light whispered.

Shaky, L’s hands touched the ones wrapped around his throat. And he held them.

Light seized. His hands lurching away as if burned, he stumbled back. 

Tears seeped down L’s temples. He coughed, gasping for air. 

Light stared at him until his gaze slowly traveled to the ground. Replacing the fire in his veins came ice. His blood was cold, biting, and he began to shiver. 

And then L sat up. His fingers traced over the petal-like bruises marring his throat. Eyes red and puffy, he stared. 

And then he crawled closer. 

Light allowed it, feeling completely frozen. He was sure that L was going to retaliate. 

He was sure that he deserved it. 

Light closed his eyes, preparing for the worst. 

But when those pale, bony fingers touched his neck, they only… rested. Breath tickled Light’s neck as L leaned in to his ear. 

“Do you have a heart, Light?” 

Chapter Text

“Do you have a heart, Light?” 

He flinched. L’s lips were so close to his neck that he could feel their warmth radiating against his skin. And L’s eyes, wide, blank, unblinking, hit him like a spotlight. Light was stunned underneath his gaze and consumed by thick adrenaline raging through him. 

 Then L’s hand drifted downward, trailing against the hem of Light’s shirt, his collarbone, before finally resting on his chest. 

Tha-thump— tha-thump— tha-thump— 

Light’s heartbeat rose against the spot of contact. Light glanced down at it, and then back to L’s void-like expression.  

You have convinced me it is so. 

“What if I don’t?” Light’s hands closed around L’s shoulders, as if he were the only thing anchoring him. His dazed eyes fell back to stare at the wooden panels of the Gazebo’s ceiling. He felt unreal beneath it. An insect. A God. A spirit. A corpse. The heartbeat in his ears and the blood that carried it did not belong to him, but to the strange biological carcass that trapped him like a beetle in amber. 

L hummed, hand drifting to Light’s neck and effortlessly finding a pulse-point. 

Tha-thump— tha-thump— tha-thump— 

“Then I do believe I would be dead.” 

Light hissed painfully as the words tugged him back to earth, every sense so vivid it stung. 

You should be. 

The sun was too bright. Light squeezed his eyes shut to shield them from its assault. 

Then, tender like a needle-point, L murmured, “So… why do you suppose I am alive?” The words tickled Light’s ear, sending his skin alight with shudders and goosebumps. 

A laugh— ugly, cracking, human. “Because I was too weak, I—“ the admission burned as it left him, shame scorching his chest. His body was punishing him, crushing him for his abject and repugnant failure. The words grated through his teeth and it felt like biting lead, “I’m too weak.” 

L stroked a thumb under Light’s eyelid, brushing away phantom tears and tiny saline crystals. After a moment, it seemed like the rigid supports holding L’s posture melted away. He slumped forward, his cheek resting against the crook of Light’s neck. “… We have that in common.”  

Self-hatred webbed through every vein, vessel, and vacuole of Light’s body. It clawed his chest, mangled his nerves, and he could only tremble out ragged sobs under the weight of the pain. 

Light was certain that whatever the human animal was built to endure, the misery that carved him then was not meant for a creature so fragile. 

L swiped away the evidence from Light’s lashes. And yet, despite the way L was molded to his body, the other man felt as distant as the sun itself. 

Light was alone in his agony, just as he had been alone in every victory. 

Time lost meaning while he suffered there. 

Hours poured over him like molten glass. 

And when the pain finally reached its zenith, it took something with it. As the sensation broke, Light was stripped to the bone. A desolate field with nothing to salvage but the ash and dirt of what once was. 

L sighed, the sound gentle. 

It felt as if the entire day had drifted away, whittled to dust amid the summer’s breeze. The air was hot, and L’s cheek against Light’s skin scorching. Light was dehydrated and his lips chapped around every breath. 

But he allowed it. 

He could not find the energy to rise. 

Like a teratoma, Kira decayed beneath his ribcage.  

However, his stiffened fingers were tangled in a web of raven hair. L was alive, his chest rising with breath and beating with the musical rhythm of a pulse. 

L was alive. 

And the chasm in Light’s stomach ebbed. 

His arms came to clutch around L’s back, and a quiet, sullen breath left him. 

Nothing made sense anymore. He felt as if he were locked in a dream in which he had never cared about anything beyond the man on his chest and the ache in his gut. 

Just as L’s warmth bled through the fabric of their shirts and cradled Light’s ribcage, L’s being had infiltrated Light’s own. 

It felt as if he was no longer alone in his body. Like his blood, his heartbeat, the warmth on his cheeks and the choking in his throat were no longer his. No, they were shared. Part of Light now belonged to the man laying atop him. 

L lifted his head, expression drowsy with sleep. His half-lidded eyes rested on Light’s lips. 

Light stared. 

Then L met his gaze and it seemed as if speech was… utterly obsolete. Perhaps this was what it was to be a simpler animal, thinking of nothing but the heat in his belly and the black of those eyes. Then L crawled forward, lifting himself to crane over Light’s face, mere centimeters away. 

That little bit of distance seemed… nonsensical. So, as if being pulled to the sky, Light met his lips. 

And everything else washed away. 

__ 

They stayed like that for the rest of the day, bound by their hips, their chests. L’s fingers twined in Light’s, and Light kissed the bruises blossoming L’s neck. 

Dusk broke, and the gazebo chattered with the creaks of cricket songs. 

Light glided his fingers over L’s head, his hair now de-tangled into wisps of silk. Against Light’s wrist, L whispered, “I truly thought you might kill me.” 

Light could not find a word for the feeling that bit him then. “Yeah..? And then what?” 

L lifted. He swiped hair from Light’s eyes so he could peer into them like they were angry little ponds. “Watari would have executed you.” A laugh. “I had thought… we might be buried beside one another.” 

Light laid his head back and looked to the indigo heavens, now sprinkled with barely-there stars. The plans of escape he had spent so much time ruminating on felt so distant, warped and muddled like the plot of a strange dream. 

And every one of them— contingent on L’s refusal to truly leash him. If L died, that lenience would have evaporated. And regardless of L’s dying requests, Light was sure that Watari would feel no obligation to provide Kira a proper burial. 

But L was alive, and his lips were soft on Light’s collarbone. They hummed like an instrument when he whispered, “Light… I am starting to get rather hungry… ” 

“Not yet,” Light insisted, his arms clutching firmly around L’s back. 

L grumbled a sound of discontent, so Light kissed him to silence. 

What would my father think? 

L’s tongue swiped against Light’s lips, and the thought was erased. 

Besides… if Soichiro Yagami were granted divine insight into every corner of his son’s mind, Light imagined that his sexuality would be the least of his concerns. 

Light rumbled out a laugh. “There’s something wrong with me, Lawliet.” 

Those pale lips pulled into a smirk. “You say it like it’s a revelation.” 

A swallow. “I…” His fingers tensed against cotton. His lips parted, but they only trembled. 

I killed thousands of people. 

“L… if I am human…” 

L listened.  

“I think that might make me… a bad person.” Light could not fight the trembling in his arms. 

And L did not argue. 

Light’s eyes screwed shut. Like a child, he cloaked his face beneath his too-hot hands. “Thousands.” 

L made no attempts to comfort him. Perhaps he had predicted such a gesture’s futility. 

Light laughed, and it sounded wretched. 

“And for what?” 

Everything… it had always been in the name of a better world. Every drop of blood spilt, every carcass buried… they were meant to have paved the way to… to… 

An excuse. 

Stillness, dead and cold, crept across Light’s body. 

How easy it had been to justify his means with the promise of such beautiful, grandiose ends. He had sacrificed thousands it in the name of a cause. 

And he had sacrificed that cause in the name of a man. 

Cold knuckles brushed down the side of his neck. 

“It was all for… for a better world…” 

“I understand.” 

“Then—“ A gasp, “Then why did you stop me? Why did you make me choose between you and— and a paradise?” 

L sighed weakly. He tilted Light’s face, holding him like he were made of thin ceramic.  “Because…” He whispered, “There is no such thing. You built a campaign for the unattainable… and you would have piled the world with corpses in its pursuit. It is unfortunate… but your dream… had always been just that.”

The words slipped through Light’s ear, gentle, violent, devastating.

“… A figment.” 

And he broke. 

Chapter Text

The sky was an inky black when Light and L returned to the house. The children were asleep in their quarters, so there was no one to interrupt when they crept into the kitchen. L clattered through the fridge like a rodent in a dumpster, his limbs deft as he navigated its contents. Light watched him, the incandescent bulb of the pantry lamp hazy in his vision. His stomach winced as L steadied his prize, a three-tiered, white frosted, rectangular cake onto the counter-top. 

Some day, Light would get L to extend his dietary preferences. But for now, he was content to roll his eyes playfully at his indulgence. 

In another world, L might not have lived to enjoy it. 

An ache rose in Light. His expression dimmed. 

L methodically cut the cake into sugar-cube sized bites, then inhaled them one after another. Light, in the meanwhile, drifted to the pantry shelves. He uncovered several zip-lock bags of mixed nuts. He took one from the pile, tugged it open, and dropped a fistful into his too-dry mouth. 

They tasted like dust on his tongue. 

Light’s senses felt dulled, ground to a blunt edge. He brought his fingers to his own throat, if only to remind himself of the throb of his pulse. 

Soon, his nails bit into skin. They dragged, carving hot trails down his neck. The pain, too, was distant. 

But, before he could fade further from the room, there were lips ghosting against his shoulder and dark hair tickling his ear. 

“You really should try this,” L murmured, his mouth still stuffed with cake. “Watari did an excellent job… and it’s still a bit warm, surprisingly.” 

Light turned, glassy eyes resting on the cake-cube pinched between L’s fingertips. 

Still feeling as if a thin sheet were cloaking him, he just hummed, opening his mouth for L to slip it inside. 

It met Light’s tongue, and a spark lit in his stomach.

Perhaps it was the sweetness, the texture. 

Or perhaps it was L’s fingers on his lips, brushing ever so slightly on the edges of his teeth.

Light hissed out a soft breath. And before L could withdraw, he bit down. 

L’s expression shifted, eyes lidding.

Light held his gaze, trapping his fingers with his teeth. 

Then, L pushed his thumb further into Light’s mouth, dragging it along the edges of his molars, the insides of his cheeks. Next, it was rolling along his tongue. 

Feeling like an animal under examination, Light shivered. 

When L finally withdrew his fingers, slick with saliva, he replaced them with his lips. He kissed him, and he tasted sweet. 

As if struck with a surge of energy, Light jolted forward, pushing L into the opposite counter. He pinned his wrists to the wood, kissing and biting and devouring L for all that he was. L laid there and accepted it, mouth ajar and eyes hazy. Then, from those pale lips spilled a whisper. “I love you.” 

Light stilled. 

Playfully, L’s finger tugged at Light’s shirt collar. And then he was pressing two fingers to Light’s neck, right against his pulse-point. 

A smirk. 

So, Light moved his thumb along L’s wrist, pressing it right to the hill of his tendons, until he could feel his heartbeat in turn. 

They synced with a thrumming rhythm. 

“L…” Light said, voice quiet. He knew what he was meant to say… what he had to say. What was the burning and cogent truth. 

But the words would not come, for how alien they would feel on his lips. And so, he said instead, “You are the only one to… make me…” His eyes closed. Something fell from his chest. “Human.” 

L’s thumbs stroked across Light’s throat. “It is a privilege.” 

Their lips met again, and Light thought he understood what L meant. 

__

After L had sufficiently gorged himself in his endless war against his pancreas, he and Light fumbled up to Light’s bedroom.  

They were inseparable all the way up the stairs, both hands locked together, Light’s chest scarcely leaving L’s back. And then they were in bed, and L fell asleep with his lips on Light’s neck. 

Light cradled his head like a sacred object. 

However, Light’s eyes remained open. His breath was steady, alert, and edged with the anxiety of a child afraid of the dark. 

And then he heard the rustling of feathers. 

His body went stiff like frozen cloth. 

Ryuk’s shadow hung over the bed, cloaking it with the warped, unnatural darkness that could only follow such a being. That angler-fish mouth opened, teeth grating on teeth, and he spoke. “Hello, Light.” 

Light’s fingers trembled in L’s hair. “Ryuk,” he whispered. His body seemed to fight him as he turned to face the Shinigami. The terms of the Death Note, of Light’s ownership of it, hung over Light’s mind like a flashing storm. 

“Shh. Wouldn’t want to wake your little prince there, hmm?” Ryuk said, tone rumbling. “I’ll talk for us both.” 

Light blinked, head tipping. 

The Shinigami turned to look somewhere distant in the house, and a sigh rattled through his throat. “It’s been fun tagging along with you here. I hope you don’t think I was surprised by the turn of events. I was watching when L wrote that little puzzle for you, though he pretended he couldn't see me. Hah! A love note in a Death Note scrap. Some irony in there, heheh.” When Ryuk ran out of laughter, he quieted, as if having to re-rail his train of thought. “I liked you as Kira. The games you played really were something. You gave me centuries worth of entertainment in just over a year. And I owe you for that.” Ryuk’s eyes rolled in their too-large sockets, and Light followed them to the bedside table, where the watch now laid. Ryuk stretched out a claw and tapped on the glass face. “However…” tap- tap- tap “… If you aren’t interested in continuing as Kira, I’d suggest giving up the notebook. I would feel like a third wheel following you two through all of this romantic crap.” 

Ryuk’s use of the term romantic made Light’s face distort with squeamish shock, eliciting another laugh from the shinigami.  

“Hehehh… Besides. You seem pretty torn up about this whole thing. I figure losing your memories would save you time at the shrink’s office. You and L really got to know each other when you weren’t aware of the Death Note, anyhow. It’d certainly clean up some of the baggage.”

Light’s eyes lidded. And, his arms seeming to act on their own, his grip around L tightened. In response, L just sighed, the sound muffled through sleep.

Would it be better that way? 

If Light simply… forgot? 

As if to remind him of its presence, the cutting throb of failure, of guilt, struck through his body. He had gone numb to the pain, but it still corroded his bones when he gave it time to breathe. Yet again, he began to shake. 

Ryuk shook his head like an adult forced to endure a child’s meltdown. “Look, this is what I’m talking about. Seeing you like this is just uncomfortable to watch.” 

And Light could only agree. Something that Light’s father had said a long time ago returned to him then and the voice seemed to boom in the back of his mind.

“The person who was given Kira’s power… is truly cursed.”

If only Light had the strength back then to see how right he was. Perhaps part of him had always known how devastating the truth would prove. How it would destroy him if he looked it in the eye. 

How could he possibly stop in Kira’s ambitions when the only thing shielding him was raw conviction?  

And now, without it… 

“It’s killing me, Ryuk.” His voice was too exhausted to bear the weight of the words, so they came out dry. 

“I can tell,” Ryuk replied, his voice hitting a sardonic edge. “… So what are you going to do about it?” 

Light’s eyes closed. He wondered if losing his past would allow him to sleep.

He imagined his childhood bed, the way the curtains would glow with the outside street lamp and float with the gentle push of the late-summer breeze. He remembered how he would feel when he stared at his ceiling, how his body would grow heavy with serenity. That was before any of this happened, before he was anything more than a boy. 

And he had never felt such regret. 

“I’ll let you sleep on it,” Ryuk said eventually, backing into the far-wall. 

And, once Ryuk was gone, Light said with no voice, “I won’t.” 

And he didn’t. 

Light felt numbed to his core as the night dragged by, and when sunrise broke, he found no relief. 

Until, eventually, L stretched his back out like a cat. Just when Light began to wonder if he was actually awake, L rolled atop him, those ribs squishing his mid-section like a particularly bony steam roller. 

“ Good morning,” Light said, teeth gritted, and rocked L’s shoulders side to side until he was roused from his slumber. 

L mumbled something, finally shuffling off of Light’s stomach and migrating atop his chest. 

This, Light supposed, was permissible. 

Slowly, L’s eyes opened. He yawned, body shuddering in a way that made his spine release a chorus of pops and cracks. “Mmm… Sleep well?” 

Light didn’t respond. His eyes moved to the window, staring out at the pale expanse of the morning sky. 

L followed his gaze. “… I think it is time to introduce you to everyone. Wouldn’t you agree?” 

No words formed in Light’s mind. He felt completely blank, so he gave an indifferent nod. “I suppose.” 

How much would he remember? 

After Kira had left him, truly dead and buried, what would Light’s fissured mind fabricate to explain his presence at the house? Would he convince himself that L had indeed been wrong, that he kidnapped him under false pretenses? 

Or would he believe that Kira had been controlling him? That he was a mere puppet, now left to flail with severed strings? 

L de-tangled himself from Light’s arms and pulled them both from the sheets. “Would you like to shower?” he asked over a yawn.

“I… think that would be best,” Light said. He followed L to the bathroom. They encountered no one on the way, but Light could hear the laughs and footsteps of children through the walls. 

L held Light’s hand, and Light pitied him for seeking his closeness. 

Like a planet orbiting a star that would soon go dim. 

Light stepped into a shower and L entered the one beside it. He undressed, lathered himself with gel from the dispenser on the wall, and tried to clean the terrible feeling from his body. Yet, as the water rolled over his skin, it seemed to make the sense of sickness all the more vivid. His forehead rested against the tile wall. Lost in the sound of water, he sobbed.  

___ 

Once they had finished bathing, Light wandered after L to the back porch. Watari was waiting for them with a pot of tea and a tray of pastries. 

L devoured them thoughtlessly as he looked over the horizon. Light’s appetite had not returned to him, so the almond croissant beside him remained untouched. 

“… You should really eat,” L said after a few minutes. “You look pale.” 

Light raised his eyebrows, glancing L up and down to confirm that he still had the pallor of a frost-bitten corpse. “… Mhm. I’m sure.” 

L pushed Light’s plate a little closer to him, but said nothing more. 

If only to appease him, Light signed, and nibbled on the corner of the croissant. Once he returned it to the plate, he realized that his nailbeds had taken on a drained blue tint. 

He pursed his lips, making a note to search the library for a medical encyclopedia. 

But then, L spoke. “So… What do you want to do?” 

Light’s hands curled around his sides. “I…” He trailed off, and found he had no response. 

“… You could return to Japan. If you so wished it—” 

“—I am not going to leave you.” 

L glanced at Light, an amused smile teasing his lips. “… very well.” 

The warmth in his eyes felt like a stab. 

Light shuddered. “Well… what do you want?” 

L hummed a laugh. “I’ll spare you the depths of my… active imagination. But… I think… we should stay here for a little while. Though, of course, it would be best to visit Japan and update the task force. I don’t intend to make you confess the situation to them. Perhaps… ‘We discovered that the true Kira had migrated to Europe… we suspected he had a means of infiltrating our security, so in order to trace him in secrecy, it was necessary to leave without alerting the task force… However, we have resolved the situation?’” 

“That… Makes sense,” Light replied. His attention was still steadied on his nails, which he bit into the palms of his hands. 

When he lost his memories, would he still… want this? He truly could not fathom… separating from L. Not now, not ever.  It felt as if they had been welded together. 

To sever that would be akin to losing a limb. 

But without Kira… would their bond still have a basis?  

But this… this bond… Light found he could not name. And so, he asked. “So… are we…?” the words ran still. 

“… Partners?” L supplied. 

“… Yeah.” 

L took a sip from his teacup, and Light could see his smile around the rim. “Yes. I do believe that’s the right word.” 

Light sighed, his neck going slack on his shoulders. However, his relief was undercut by a shadow. 

Will I still want this? 

But then, L’s fingers were brushing Light’s hair from his eyes. That tiny point of skin contact felt electric. So, Light pressed his cheek into L’s palm.  

“I think we have quite a bit of excitement ahead of us, no?” L murmured gently. He stood, extending his hand to Light. 

And Light took it. 

____ 

L brought Light to the dining hall where the students had gathered for lunch. Watari rang a bell to gather the childrens’ attention, though most had already been exchanging glances and mutters, eyes pointed at L and Light at the front of the room. 

Mello and Matt had been among the first to notice them. They did not make a scene, but they stared at Light as if he had a bomb strapped to his chest. Near, who was nestled in the far corner, shared their sentiment.

“Hello, everyone,” L said. 

“Hello, sir!” the children chimed in turn.  

“I would like to introduce someone to you.” 

Light swallowed, producing a polite smile. He hoped they couldn’t see his skin crawling under his clothes. 

“This is Light. He is… a friend of mine. He will be working alongside me at the house for the foreseeable future. He may also be aiding me in cases if he so chooses. Please regard him with the same respect you extend to myself.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Excellent. Now enjoy your meals.” 

A chair slammed. The room looked up as Mello stormed out. Matt, sparing L and Light only a hollowed glance, chased after him.

“He does have a dramatic streak, doesn’t he…” L mused quietly. 

Light hesitated. And then he took one step, then another. 

He followed the pair into the hallway, and L let him leave. 

For a moment, Light wasn’t sure which way to turn, until he heard a raw, muffled bellow, “—What the fuck is going on here?” 

He trailed after the voice until he came to a supply closet. 

“Well… it seems like Kira backed down—?“ 

“—Oh, really?” 

Mello gave a strangled scream into, presumably, the sleeve of his shirt. It was followed by quick breaths of abject panic. 

“Hey, shh, shh— It’s all going to be fine—“ 

“No, no, no, no—“ 

Light sighed and rang his knuckles against the wooden door. 

Matt and Mello went silent. 

And then, after a minute, the doorknob turned. 

Mello stared up at Light. His face was shadowed, spare a narrow strip and a single pale blue eye. 

Matt had his hands wrapped firmly around Mello’s shoulders, like he was a broken statue that would tumble apart in pieces if released. 

“You… you set me up…” Mello seethed, expression twisted in molten rage. 

Light looked down the hall apathetically. He puffed out a tiny laugh. “And you trusted a monster.” He returned his gaze to Mello, lip curled. “If you had it your way, thousands of lives would have been taken as collateral. Don’t act like a victim.” 

Mello’s jaw fell open. “You filthy fucking…” He jerked Matt’s hands off of him. Then he lunged forward. 

And Light did not defend himself. 

Though Mello was younger, smaller, and a full head shorter, his fist cracked against Light’s face with the force of a weighted bull whip. 

Light stumbled, his back hitting the wall, bruising his spine. Before he could steady himself, Mello kicked his legs out from under him, and then he was facing the floor with a ringing in his ear and burning in his cheek. 

He stared up to see Mello’s shoe rising in his peripheral vision. 

Distantly, Light realized, he’s going to stomp my face in. 

His eyes screwed shut as Mello's boot made contact.

Then Matt plowed into Mello from behind, sending them both crashing into the wall. 

Light swallowed, recognizing the tang of blood leaking into his mouth. His mind, however, was empty. 

“What the hell are you thinking?” Matt shouted. 

 Body a soft buzz of adrenaline, Light rose to his feet. He brushed off his shirt as blood splattered his chest. He touched his hand to his nose. It came back cloaked in red. 

Matt had Mello pinned to the floor, his knee pressed into the back of his armpit. Mello wailed under him, fully hyperventilating now. 

Fearfully, Matt stared up at Light. “He— he didn’t mean to—“ 

“Yes, he did,” Light replied blandly. He coughed, and another rush of blood spilled down his face. 

Then he turned. 

Staring at the scene from down the hall, L stood with wide eyes and parted lips. 

“Towel?” Light asked, and it was an effort not to gurgle around the blood spilling down his throat. 

___ 

L wiped the blood from Light’s cheek with a damp washcloth. They sat on the infirmary bench beside one another, next to an ancient tin sink. “Your nose doesn’t appear to be broken…” L mumbled, pressing his fingers against the sides. “Though it is awfully swollen…” 

Light shrugged. “It makes sense.” 

“Hmm?” 

“I’m not surprised he attacked me.” 

L squeezed blood and soapy water from the cloth. “I’m going to punish him for this.” 

With a sigh and a roll of his eyes, Light replied, “I doubt you’ll bring him to remorse.” 

“Maybe, maybe not. But I’ve been told I have a talent for such things.” 

Light laughed. “I would know, wouldn’t I.” 

L didn’t reply, but his lips pinched in a smile. 

Light flexed his nostrils experimentally, and another burst of blood rolled down his lips. “Fuck—“ 

L pressed the cloth to his nose in an instant. His other hand held Light’s shoulder, thumb stroking against his neck. 

“… Don’t bother, honestly,” Light mumbled, his voice sounding awkward against his pinched nose. “… I think… I deserved it.” 

“We don’t settle retribution with violence.” 

Light swallowed. “I… I used him. To get to you.” 

“I know.” 

Light’s eyes winced shut. Of course L would have known. L had traced Light’s plot from the very beginning, invariably he would have detected Mello’s involvement. But it felt… wrong. “… So why did you let him help me?” 

L’s face looked strangely soft. “It was my duty as a teacher. Mello… I’m afraid… has learned to take evil for granted. He believes if he adapts to it— if he works alongside it— eventually, he will tame it. Perhaps even harness it to his own ends.” L released the towel from Light’s nose. The gush of blood did not return. “He needed to see that deals with the devil do not pay dues. Were I to interfere, he would have learned nothing.” L dropped the cloth into the sink, lathered his hands with soap, and turned on the faucet. “And neither would you.” 

Light steadied his eyes on his knees. 

And what will I have learned when Kira’s shadow leaves me? 

He sniffled. His throat still tasted heavy with blood, and his head felt muggy and anemic. 

Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of white hair. 

Near peered into the infirmary. His eyes were on L, but when he recognized Light beside him, he flinched and dipped out of the doorway. 

L looked after him. “A moment, please,” L said to Light. He followed Near out of the room. 

And Light was left staring at the sticky blotch of blood on his chest. He could feel it stiffening on his body. Slowly, he unbuttoned his shirt. He folded it beside him, then took the cloth from the sink and wiped his skin clean. 

His hearing felt sharper than usual. 

So, it was all too vivid when he heard the sound of feathers and claws brushing against the medical cabinet. 

Chapter Text

Near had tucked himself at the base of a bookshelf in the corner of the library. Dust bunnies had collected against the wood trim and under the shelves. Though Near would have typically lurched at their presence and sought a cleaner spot to brood, this time, he found the avoidance pointless. 

He imagined them as little ecosystems, tiny worlds of dead skin and crumbled plaster, populated by the generations of mites that lived within them. 

Revolting creatures, truly. Though at that moment, they seemed enviable. They weren’t subject to the politics of the human world, the treachery, irrationality, and abject stupidity. 

They ate, they shed their waste, and they bred. They were predictable. 

They would never be the source of such violent disappointment. 

The door of the library creaked open, and Near did not look up when L approached him. He preferred to keep his attention on the dust, for he found it less revolting. 

“Near,” L said. 

And Near did not reply. He could not imagine the use. 

L was a liar and a traitor. He had convinced the world that he was a man of justice, that he would put an end to the reign of Kira’s terror. But instead, he had taken the hand of evil and raised it to the sky as if it were a sacred bond. 

But perhaps Near was also at fault for ever believing that L was real. He should have known that such a figure could only be a myth, for human beings made terrible heroes. 

L did not exist, and the man in front of Near was a stranger. 

The stranger sat beside Near. He did not disrupt his silence, staring ahead at the wall. Near disliked how they shared the same posture, how they shared their distant gazes and fidgety hands. 

But to Near, L looked like a dirty rag, where he was so carefully pristine. 

Near shrank further against the shelf, as if the man beside him was contagious. There was always a unique discomfort to be felt when occupying space with the contaminated, for the knowledge that they were once clean. To Near, that was the most nauseating tragedy. Because if L was his mirror? He was proof that Near might some day end up just as corrupted. 

But L sat close to him, and Near could not make a move to escape. After a few minutes had slipped by, the man asked, “May I know what you are thinking?” 

“You traitor.” The words spat themselves up like sickness. 

L glanced at him, before slipping his gaze away. “… I suppose you disapprove?” 

The statement could have winded Near by the force of its strangeness alone. “He is a murderer.” 

L’s head dipped forward, long streaks of damp-looking hair falling across his face, masking him, hiding him away. 

“How could you let him get away with it. How could you be so irrational.” The words hummed through his teeth like the engine of a saw. 

And in response, L laughed. The sound barely left his lips, but his chest rose and fell with humor that should have been unthinkable. “I suppose I am not… a rational man.” 

The admission reached Near, and it punctured him. He did not have a reply. 

“Perhaps I ought to have maintained my form. But I have found that… one cannot rationalize their way into a meaningful life.” 

A leeching chill ran through Near’s body when he heard that. 

“And he… Light…” L said his name as if it were holy, “… is the only one… to have given me that.” L’s words were soft, breathed like he were repenting at the foot of an altar. “You have a long life ahead of you, Near… and I am sure I will grow to see you surpass me. But as you climb, do not forget to find… reasons to continue.” L laughed. “No, I am sure that you will. And you may find yourself surprised by the irrationality such people can inspire.”  

Near wanted to stomp his feet, to yell, to curl up into a ball and shut out the world like a clam in a shell. The coldness coiling in Near's chest seemed to bite away at him. He could not blot out the words, and he could not muster a response. 

L stood, his feet shuffling together awkwardly. He left the library, and Near could only stare at the space he left behind. He huffed. 

Ryuk stared at Light, his face poking through the wall above the medical cabinet like a mounted gargoyle. He chuckled in a way that sounded like cracking stones, and Light tried his best to banish him from sight. 

“Have you made up your mind yet?”

Light felt lost in the sound of Ryuk’s claws, scraping against the cabinet doors. He wanted to be free of them, free of this. Though Ryuk was never his enemy, Light yearned to escape him, to escape those red eyes which had born witness to his every sin. 

He could taste the relief that would flood him when Ryuk vanished, could glimpse the peace he would be cleansed with when his memories were shed, like being freed from the weight of wet and freezing clothes.

But his answer would not rise to his tongue. 

He loathed his own hesitation, and he loathed the suffering it brought him. Indecision was perhaps the root of all misery, for the tension of inaction, his mind rendered a battlefield on which his competing desires warred. 

He wanted to be free of his regret. 

But he couldn’t imagine his mind without his past.

The version of Light that would be left behind… was someone he could not recognize. “Just… leave me be.” 

Ryuk purred a curious noise, and with every moment that passed, his presence seemed more like that of an animal investigating a corpse than a God watching over a fallen prophet. 

But then, with a soft pitter-patter, the sound of bare footsteps approached the infirmary. 

Ryuk smirked at Light and slipped away between the floorboards like oil down a drain.  

The door squeaked when it opened and L looked at Light with unblinking eyes as he entered. “I am… sorry for my departure.” He was gentle as he shut the door behind himself. 

Light stared at him, and the ache that had rooted itself in his body surged all the stronger.  

“Were you… speaking to someone?” 

Light turned to the floor, eyes tracing the places of the room that Ryuk had moved through, that Ryuk had tainted with a shadow that never should have touched this earth. “… L…” Light croaked. 

L shuffled closer. And then, those long, spindly arms wound around Light’s bare shoulders. He held him. “What is it?” 

Light pulled L into himself, like he could absorb his very state and claim it as his own. He clung to him, chasing the pressure on his skin, and L did not force an answer. 

They drifted through the day like that, L tethered to Light’s side like an IV drip or oxygen tank.

They ate outside on the lawn that afternoon, and L asked Watari to book two flights to Japan. Light had been a non-participant, simply being carried through the events of the day. 

It was already evening when L asked to show Light to the tea room. 

They passed Mello in the hallway, and Light’s face soured upon seeing him. The boy shot Light a spined glare, and then returned his attention to a thick stack of papers upon which he was writing. The corner of his lip tweaked with a smirk, no doubt from the bruise on Light’s face. 

Light ignored him, and L closed the door to the tea lounge behind Light with a quiet click.

Light hadn’t seen this room before. Large wooden cabinets with glass doors lined the walls, all of which were filled with boxed tea and jarred honey. Warm light poured from sconces on the wall, reflecting against the window and the twilight sky behind it. 

“I asked Mello to write out three scenarios in which he hadn’t resorted to physical aggression,” L said, beginning to boil water and setting aside a red toned loose-leaf tea. “A creative writing assignment, but mostly an introspective exercise… Hopefully, he will grow to prefer a version of himself he is crafting… a version of himself that is not violent.” 

Light puffed out a laugh. “What a pleasant thought.” 

In just a minute, the kettle hissed a train-whistle scream, and L removed it from the hotplate. He poured the tea delicately, his arms bent awkwardly. “Would you like milk or sugar in it?” 

“… I’ll dose it myself, thanks,” Light replied, fearing the depths of L’s palette. 

L passed Light his mug, inside of which the loose-leaf tea was floating freely. 

He took it, his smile wilting like the dry flowers floating in the cup. “Do you think Mello will…” he hesitated, staring down at the bend of the mug’s handle. “He’ll never be free of his… present self, will he?” 

“Hmm?” L asked, sitting on the counter-top and folding in two like a wallet. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean… Please, explain.” 

Light’s words were hesitant. “Well… I’m not convinced it’s so easy to… change. I’ve heard it said that human beings are the sum of our actions. We are… a record of habits. Mello can… ‘prefer’ a better version of himself, but that will not clean his slate. He can write fiction all he likes, but the history of him remains, and it will dictate his selfhood for the rest of his life.” 

Unlike Light, Mello did not have his sins scrawled into pages he could condense and discard into a past that was no longer his own. 

L poured sugar into his tea until it threatened to spill. “You’re too concerned with purity.” 

His bluntness thrummed against Light’s chest.

“But while we are on the topic of philosophy… I have a classic question for you, Light. Say you have two people moving through the world who behave in exactly the same way— and they are both morally decent. However, one of them is plagued by depraved, violent thoughts, while the other has a peaceful inner world. Which do you believe is more righteous?” 

Light stared at the surface of his tea, absorbing the fragrance of chestnut and red roobios slipping off of it. “… The one with the peaceful inner world. Effortless morality is more honest, I think.”

A small silence carried the air, punctuated by the ticking of a wall clock. “… And I find that I completely disagree,” L breathed, expression placid. He sipped his tea, and the sugar seemed to soothe him. “I do not believe that righteousness is a state of being— it is a choice. And the person who knows evil but rejects it is making a decision… while the person who is ignorant to evil just so happened to inherit a positive framework. But a person must recognize their own capacity for evil before they can behave as a moral actor. Until then, they’re a mere subject of their circumstance.” 

The mug was too warm in Light’s hands, but he did not set it down. He did not move at all. “… I suppose.” 

L gulped down the rest of his cup’s contents like it was medicine. “Indeed. And that is why Mello is going to become a good person.” 

Light wasn’t sure how to respond to that. After a sip that painted his senses with nutty, floral sweetness, he said, “Your optimism is… heartening.” 

L shrugged, as if indifferent to the sentiment. However, his eyes were warm. “It has served me thus far.” He looked to the window and peered out at the darkness on the other side. 

“... Shall we join the others for dinner?”

Light finished off his tea, enjoying how the warmth rested on the roof of his mouth. “Yeah… okay.” 

The return to the dining hall felt like a strange reflection of the morning. The children still stared, and whispered, but they left L and Light be as the two took seats beside Watari at a corner-table. L brought Light to a long buffet in the front of the room, where ceramic plates were laid out in the front, each with a lamb chop, collard greens, and a side of mashed potatoes. 

Light noticed a young girl with reddish-brown pigtails craning her neck to get a better view of him. She almost looked like…

Sayu. 

He closed his eyes to banish the thought, then readily returned to his seat. 

The food tasted good, but it had lost much of its warmth by the time Light had his first bite. Still, the lamb was roasted to a pleasant char, and the collard greens were rich with spices. 

The children buzzed about, far more energetic and loud than Light was eager to endure. 

However, finally, his stomach seemed ready to accept food. As he ate, the white-noise hissing in the back of his mind grew more distant. He devoured the lamb, and his hands were shaky with urgency, as if the slab of meat might grow legs and escape him. L, however, poked at his dinner with his fork outstretched, like it were something to be examined in a lab rather than digested. 

Light stared at him solemnly. “… It’s good. I think you’ll like it.” 

L glanced at Light with a tight-lipped smile. “… You know how I am.” 

“You’re a human. You need more than sugar and starch.” 

 L’s eyes returned to the plate. With delicate hands, he sliced off a few fibers of meat. He brought them to his lips, and made an effort to cloak his reaction, as if his very body were rejecting it. But, then he tried again, and again. Soon, he had consumed a full quarter of his lamb and an entire collard leaf. He rested his utensils on his plate and held his head in his hands. “That is… my best for tonight. I’ll… try again tomorrow.” 

“I understand. Thank you.” 

Watari took a sip of tea, his eyebrow raised in surprise. 

Then, a small shadow fell on the table. Light turned to see the young girl with pigtails rocking back and forth on her heels. 

“May I… Help you?” Light asked. 

She laughed shyly. “Hello, mister, I’m Linda. I was on cooking duty tonight and I wanted to ask if everything turned out okay?” 

Ahh. “It did. You are all very talented young cooks.” He smiled, and it nearly felt authentic. 

She peeked over at L’s plate. “Oh— you didn’t like it?” 

“Don’t mind him,” Light said. “He’s just a slow eater.” 

“Yes,” L agreed, “But I have enjoyed it thoroughly, rest assured.” 

“Oh- thank you!” She giggled and dipped her head, apparently having gotten the praise she desired. She returned to her table, and her friends patted her on the back for her bravery. 

Light stared after her for just a moment, and something in his chest seemed to twist. 

He would return to Japan soon enough. 

And he would do it… cleansed. He wanted to become the person he used to be, the son, the brother, the human being he once was. 

He wanted to be pure again. 

L’s dark eyes fell on his expression, and Light tried to force it to rest. 

Once dinner was finished and Light had helped L work through his portion, they wandered up the stairs to prepare for sleep. They brushed their teeth together, rinsed their faces together, and Light combed his hair while L used his rake-like fingers to detangle his own. They changed their clothes with turned backs, moving in tandem like paired gears of the same machine. 

They laid in bed together. 

And Light knew that for yet another night, he would not sleep. Anxiety, heavy like tar, etched his lips and the hollows under his eyes. 

L curled the sheets around himself, gaze resting on Light’s face. He stared, and then after a few minutes passed, murmured “What has you troubled?” 

And it all came out at once. “I want to give up ownership of the Death Note.” 

L was silent for a few moments. He exhaled. Then, after a little while, he said, “… Am I to imagine this is what happened during the Yotsuba investigation?” 

Light nodded, his head rolling back on the pillow. He blinked, and his eyes felt like stones in his skull. He didn’t want to look at L, at his reaction, his disappointment or his relief, whichever would prove more painful. “… It would be better if I didn’t remember, I think.” 

Yet again, L fell quiet. His fingers fidgeted with a loose thread on the collar of Light’s shirt. 

After a few more minutes of silence washed by, Light breathed out a shudder. “It hurts.” His voice did not bend. No sob found his throat. But tears pooled in his eyes, and then spilled down the sides of his temples, wetting his hair. 

“… I imagine it must.” 

L’s fingertips found the tear-trails on the sides of Light’s face. With his thumbs, he soothed them away. 

“I wish none of this ever happened,” Light choked. “I don’t know how to live— how to live in a world where it did. And for… nothing.” Chills arced across his skin, as if the words alone had brought him to fever. 

“I want… to help you, truly, I do,” L whispered, his voice small against the distant singing of the crickets outside. And then he smiled, head shaking gently. “But no. I do not wish to see you suffer, but…” A soft sigh. “Would you prefer knowing no remorse?” 

Light’s throat bobbed around a dry swallow. “It’s too much.” 

“I know.” 

“I can’t handle it.” 

“… But you must.” 

Light’s head slumped, his neck having lost its anchor. Like a child, he croaked out a strained and painful, “Why?” 

L’s fingers braced around Light’s shoulders, and a warm intensity lit in his eyes. “Because it is right.” 

Light sobbed, head shaking desperately. “I want to forget.” 

L pet Light’s hair gently, soothing him through his quaking gasps and hollow breaths. “You know better.” 

Light’s cries quieted in his chest, his grief holding him by the heart. He wanted to imagine he didn’t know L’s meaning. To ask him to explain, to prove it to him. 

But L’s words framed a simple truth, and one that only a fool could be blind to: This was Light’s penance.

I deserve it. 

A grimace twisted Light’s lips as he tried to collect himself. “I’m… I’m sorry.” 

“I know.” 

“I’m sorry.” He chased the warmth spilling from the crook of L’s neck. “I’m sorry.”  

L’s hands stroking up and down his back were the only sensation outside of the ache, the twisting knife of agony. “… and you are better for it.” 

Light swallowed his next gasp. The tears in his lashes fell like rain when he looked at L again. 

“Light… The version of you I love… is the version of you which knows.” L stroked his fingers through Light’s hair. “The version of you… which knows evil.” 

Light whimpered up a laugh, and it sounded like the cry of a wounded dog. “… How cruel.” 

L kissed his head. Light held his shoulders. And, eventually, he felt himself collapse, like a ship crumbling from the inside out. Air puffed from his nose, and he clutched onto L’s shirt like a rope under water. “I…” A short breath. “I won’t forget.” 

L nodded, the tips of his fingernails soothing over Light’s neck. “I know.” 

I love you. 

He mouthed the words against L’s chest. They brought him to clarity, and that clarity felt like a purity of its own. 

With his eyes closed, he finally felt the dizzying kiss of sleep. 

Chapter Text

Light slept with his head on L's arm that night, copper strands of hair streaking L’s skin like tiny threads of jewelry. 

L’s eyes stayed on Light for minutes on end, absorbing him like a long-exposure photograph. For a man who had just fallen to earth from a pillar of false-godhood… Light looked awfully angelic in the moonlight. 

His lips were parted, just barely.

L's lungs deflated, warm breath falling on Light’s face. L had seen him like this once before- during the Yotsuba investigation, Light had appeared so peaceful when he slept. Yet, in those days… he was incomplete. 

L had felt the absence of those missing pieces of him, tucked away in the rafters of his mind like a mad-man’s manifesto or a stash of bloodied weapons. 

L had loathed how terribly disproportionate the situation became when Light reduced himself to a civilian— a victim in his own right, just another puppet of the monstrous ambitions which had outgrown his human shell. 

But more than that, L had felt… strangely alone in Kira’s absence. 

That was his own madness, he supposed. Chasing monsters was the only way he knew how to stay human himself. 

And now, he had one more to confront. 

L rose from the layered bedsheets, consulting his internal clock and estimating it was just past three in the morning. 

He slipped onto the floor, and with near-silent footsteps, disappeared into the hallway. He lingered by the stairs as his eyes adjusted to the static-like darkness, only softened by the cool moonlight from the window at the end of the corridor. The house was quiet in the way that made him want to count the beats of his heart and pop every one of his vertebrae, if only to fill the empty space. 

Instead, he broke the silence with a single word: “Shinigami.”

And not a sound followed it. 

It was only when the block of moonlight from the window was interrupted by a jagged shadow that L knew he had been heard. With a stiffened throat and steady breath, he turned.   

The creature looked down upon him, red eyes cutting through the gray of the dark air. “... Yes?” It purred. 

L examined it carefully, eyes carving every contour of its feathers and every crease in its leathery skin. Its earrings were of particular interest-- how compelling that such a thing would adopt the cultural habits of the living. But L would have time to chart out its habits in due time, so he turned to the topic at hand with blunt efficiency. “What are your intentions?”

What L really cared to determine was if this being intended to harm Light.

His mind folded through the conversation Light had shared with this creature, Ryuk, when L was ‘asleep’ in his arms the previous night. L did not sleep in the way others did— some part of his mind was always conscious even as his body rested. He had maintained an image of ignorance despite his knowing, because Light was the only one who could make that choice. No act of force or overt coercion would have made him keep himself in tact. 

Now… the only issue was how to keep the shinigami entertained. L had a few proposals he could offer, and yet, he knew better than to lay his cards on the table without understanding the nature of the deck. So, he let the creature talk. 

Ryuk chuckled. “… Hard to say. I don’t have any plans, if that's what you’re asking. I'm just here because I have nothing better to do… it's as simple as that.”

L considered this, thumbing at his lip. “I see...” He hummed under his breath, thinking of the conversation he had recorded from Matt and Mello’s room when Matt had encountered the thing. He had barely wanted to believe it, but after he had touched that scrap of paper in the watch, he could hear the creature’s voice with the clarity of a razor when it offered to give Matt it’s ‘eyes.’ So, wasting no time, he asked, “Tell me, Shinigami… Can you read my name?”

“Of course, L Lawliet~” he sang it like a child on a playground. “I've known it since I followed Light into that exam room all those months ago.”

And yet Ryuk never disclosed it. How interesting. 

The creature leaned a little closer, and L could smell dust on its breath. “By the way… you don’t have to act so guarded. If I wanted you dead… you’d have been rotting in a box six months ago.” 

L dipped forward, spotting the black notebook sitting on Ryuk’s hip, holstered like a gun. Eventually, he blinked. “Alright… So I assume based on the very fact I am alive … You weren’t particularly helpful to Light. Did you… not want him to win?” 

Ryuk’s shoulders rose and his throat rumbled in a parched laugh. “Like I said. I never had any plans, one way, or the other. I just wanted to see what he would do.” 

“Light is fascinating to watch, isn’t he…” L mused. If he were ever to find himself as a non-corporal being, he might have haunted him the same. 

A little bubble of jealousy burst near the back of his skull, and he tucked it away to deal with at a later time.  

Ryuk shrugged. “Yeah… though you’re not all that boring yourself.”

“… I suppose I was cursed to lead an interesting life.” 

Ryuk laughed at that. “HAHA— Don’t sound so dismal… It seems you’re the type to get what you want.” 

L shrugged. “For now, I suppose…” His eyes shot up. “And you? What do you want?” 

Ryuk straightened, his smile going loose at the edges. “… I want…” He turned his head on his bird-like neck, looking towards the room where Light slept soundly. L swiveled quickly to recapture the thing’s attention, like a sparrow dancing to draw a predator from its nest. 

Then, with blank eyes, Ryuk explained, “… I want to see something fun happen.” 

“Would it be rude of me to imagine you have a morbid taste in entertainment?” L made himself look deliberately unsettling as he asked the question, bating a taste of mystery.  

Ryuk’s claws clicked on his fangs as he thought about it. “Well… I do have a tolerance for that kind of thing.” He cackled, then. “Hundreds of years ago, I got experimental with how I took human lives… I liked causing war the most, I’d say. The politics were the best part…” 

L tried not dislike the creature at that admission. Feelings of antagonism would not help his cause. Besides… as Ryuk was a creature of death, it would be foolish to hold him to human standards of ethics. He was more of a disease than anything… If L could eradicate him from this earth, he would brand himself a hero for the task. But like an illness, Ryuk was not at fault for his caustic nature. So, L let the information roll off his shoulders. “I see… But you... lost your taste for it?” 

“Yeah… got bored. It’s not as interesting when you’re the one starting everything. I don’t like knowing what’s going to happen, it spoils all of the fun.” 

L kept his face blank and his eyes stony. “… But you like it when humans take lives.” 

Ryuk’s smirk returned, twisted like a keris knife. “Well… I suppose you have me read.” 

A quick breath pulled through L’s throat, but he kept himself calm and still. “Well then…” His fingers twisted in the ends of his hair, seeking comfort in the tension of the threads on his skin. “… Would you like to know more about murderers?” 

Ryuk’s head tipped with interest. 

“I’m sure you’ve witnessed quite a bit, Shinigami… but I can only imagine how much you’ve missed.”

Those fish-like eyes narrowed, if only for a second. 

And, breathing softly, L let his attention drift to the moon outside. He approached it, and feathers rustled behind him as Ryuk followed. “… I think… I might understand you,” L murmured. 

“Oh?” 

“… I’ve always chased the worst creatures our species has to offer. I stop them… but even if I weren’t an agent of justice… if I were something like you… I believe I would follow them all the same. They simply fascinate me.” Once again, he faced Ryuk. “And I am very attentive to their whereabouts. If you follow me, I can ensure you see it all.” 

Ryuk seemed to consider this. After a good few minutes had passed, he lifted his head. “And… Will you let me eat apples?” he asked, voice losing all of its gravely bite. 

And L just smiled. 

__

Early the next morning, Watari entered L and Light’s bedroom, only announcing himself with a quick knock on the door that Light barely heard through his sleep-induced delirium. 

Watari informed them that a private jet would be ready in the evening, departing out of London. 

L was pleased at the expedited schedule, but Light could not stop his thoughts from racing at the reality he was so rapidly approaching. 

He was going to see his father again. 

He would have to look him in the eye, somehow holding himself in tact knowing all he had done, all that he now was, and all that he never would be again. 

His every nerve was alight with anticipation, and yet… he felt…

Relief.  

He had lost more than his just his soul when he had picked up the Death Note. He had sacrificed the ability to see anyone else as… kin. Soichiro Yagami was always a tender presence in Kira’s ambitions, and Light had been grieving him since he took his first life. The man would have sooner disowned him than sympathized with his cause. 

Light would never be forgiven.

But he… wanted to have a father again.

As if I have the right. 

L insisted on packing his own suitcase, even after Watari offered to prepare it on his behalf. “I may be entering a new stage of my life in the near future… I would like to embrace it autonomously,” he had said, making Light’s chest puff with a laugh. 

Watari just shrugged, leaving them alone with empty baggage and fresh laundry. 

Light joined L in his childhood bedroom as he sorted through his things. Even with the lights on and the curtains drawn it seemed strangely dark with the walls having been painted a deep navy blue. 

As L packed, Light found himself poking around the shelves. He found rubik’s cubes, wooden puzzle toys, and a small magnetic chess set. This, he placed in his own carry-on bag. 

Light glanced at L preparing his clothes, and it was immediately apparent that the world’s greatest detective had never learned to sort laundry. He had folded a shirt in two lengthwise, giving it a strange mouth-like shape as it split between the chest and the sleeve. L tossed it in the suitcase regardless, so Light snatched it out, flattening it on the bed. “Here… It’s neater if you tuck the sleeves in.” 

L watched with wide eyes as Light demonstrated the process his mother had taught him, first arranging the sleeves down the chest and then collapsing the shirt into a square. “There. Nice and even.” He flattened it against the wall of the suitcase. 

“Truly amazing…” L murmured, tone pinched with gentle sarcasm. 

Light smirked, moving through the pile of linen clothes the orphanage would lend him for the duration of the trip. “Yep. Generational talent, hmm?”

L’s lip tweaked with a smile. 

Once the suitcases were packed, Light made L’s bed for him. 

“Old habit?” L asked, hunched awkwardly by his desk. When Light and L were still chained together, he had done this every morning as a ritual. It had been horribly annoying back then, with L tethered to Light’s side like a bony ball of iron. However, eventually, L learned to be less burdensome, mirroring Light across the bed and dragging the sheets to the pillow. 

As if guilty for allowing Light to arrange the blanket by himself, L crept over to tuck the pillows into place. 

And Light found himself smiling. 

They rode to the airport in the back of a van with black seats and tinted windows. A computer was mounted where the glove box would be, the screen a deep green with the bullseye layout of a radar grid. 

 Light wondered if Wammy’s kept this vehicle on hand, or if they had borrowed it from some government agency for this trip in particular. It looked like the kind of security typically reserved for state leaders. 

But the precaution made sense. Countless inimical actors would surely have L’s death slotted as a top priority. He was the living, beating heart of Interpol’s intelligence, and thoroughly corrosive to the interests of the world’s worst agents. 

The tires tumbled over a speedbump, and the monitor shook on its holster. 

But… then again… maybe not. 

L had been an enemy to evil for the bulk of his well-decorated career… But when Kira entered the picture, that changed. 

Suddenly, terrorists, dictators, and mafiosos wouldn’t have reason to curse L’s name like it were poisoned. No… they would have celebrated it. 

Finally— someone was there to stand up to Kira’s reign. To promise the vermin their safety. 

So many of the world’s  most vile… now free to thrive in the light of day, unwary of the watchful eye of an unkind God. 

Perhaps L was correct that Kira’s paradise was… a fiction. But even if his goal could not be completed, was Kira’s world not better than the one he had inherited? 

Light slumped against the car seat, a lick of resentment striping up his insides. He glanced at L, and then away. 

But, like water pooling in footsteps, guilt seeped in the tracks of those thoughts. 

Perhaps he would never truly… change. 

L, attuned to Light’s mood like a heart monitor, turned to stare at his emptied eyes and pinched lips. “… Light?” 

Light looked back at him, though he couldn’t keep his gaze. 

“… Are you thinking about something?” 

Light puffed a laugh through his nose. “… In a sense.” The thick of the trees finally broke, revealing mist-laden skyscrapers striping the horizon. “… It’s difficult to accept a world so… flawed.” Light’s fingernails bit into the heels of his palms. “Knowing I… I could have done something.” His face contorted then, the kernel of his grief laid bare. Tears slipped down his face, bitter and quiet. 

L sighed, his knees bouncing together. “… You can still do something.” 

Finally, Light’s eyes left the floor of the van. He kept them on L’s expression for a few seconds, picking it apart. “How?” 

“Help me make justice.” L smiled, the cool light from the tinted windows sparkling in his irises. “… The slow way. The hard way…” His hand reached out, fingertips pressing against Light’s clenched fist. “The right way.” 

Light swallowed the thick saline gathered in his throat. He laughed, then frowned, then smiled. “I wish— I wish you had found me before the notebook did.” His voice came out sliced raw. 

L nodded, his head slumping against Light’s shoulder. “… As do I.” 

“I’m always going to want that power back,” he murmured, chest rising like the tide of an angry ocean. “I feel— I feel like I’ve lost part of my body.” 

L listened, his face placid. “… I understand.” 

“Do you?” Light looked down at L, his vision feeling tight and his skin feeling feverish. 

And he only smiled, slumping further into Light’s body, melting into him. “Well, intellectually, yes. The notebook altered your relationship with everything you touch— it made you the most powerful man in the world, and now you have crashed back down to earth, robbed of your wax wings.” L stared up from Light’s lap. “Painful indeed… And no matter what I do… I cannot let you fly again.” 

Light pushed threads of dark hair from L’s forehead. “… Yeah.” He huffed. “That’s about right.” 

L smiled. “Perhaps… you will be able to remember the pleasure of walking with your feet on the ground.” 

And Light allowed his eyes to slip shut. The only thing to be appreciated about the ground-level was that he could walk with L at his side. In the sky, he had been completely alone. 

It was a terrible thing to admit… but that had robbed something from him. 

His smile tweaked in a smirk, and he leaned forward, until his hair swept a curtain over L’s cheeks. “… If only I could have made you fly with me instead.” 

L’s lips were cool, and Light could feel the curls of his stilled breath as his body went rigid. 

“I would have shared it with you.” Light was merely toying with L, this was a game meant to challenge his composure. 

But he wasn’t lying. 

His hand dipped under the collar of L’s shirt. “You would die for me, L…” 

L’s fingers wound around Light’s sleeves. 

“But would you kill for me?” 

L’s expression was empty. “… I suspected you would ask me that someday…” 

And Light only smirked, his fingernails tracing the sides of L’s neck. 

“But I think I would rather drag you from the tar-pit than join you for a swim.” 

Light paused for a moment. Then, he slumped forward, laughing. “So which is it? Am I flying in the sky or drowning in a tar pit?”

And L smiled with him. “… Perhaps suffocating in tar-like toxic air?” 

Light chuckled and leaned back, still carrying a smirk. Then, he caught Watari shoot him a glare through the rear-view mirror. But the old man’s opinion was worth about as much as gravel to him, so he just sneered. 

His eyes still on Watari’s back, he leaned forward once again, this time sliding a kiss on L’s lips. “… I still might drag you up with me some day.” 

“You won’t.” 

“… But I’ll try.” He slid his hands over L’s cheeks. He swallowed, suddenly thrown off beat at the look in L’s eyes. “… Please don’t feel betrayed when I try.” 

And L sighed a relenting, defeated sound. “It is your nature, isn’t it?” 

“I don’t know how… to be at rest. I wish… I wish I knew how, but I don’t, and I am going to try. If you don’t want that— then don’t try to keep me with you.” 

“… Light…” L shot up like a piston, his hand pressing Light’s face into the back of the seat. “Do I strike you as the restful type?” 

Light smiled against the fingers on his mouth. “Hahh… If you were, I think I’d still have my wings.” 

L unclipped his seatbelt so he could slide onto Light’s lap. “Perhaps.” He planted a kiss on Light’s neck, and Light wrapped his arms around his back to tether him there. 

Then Watari lurched on the breaks, and Light nearly let L tumble to the plastic-paneled floor, panic flashing in his eyes. L stared, as it was clear that Light had barely managed to keep him upright. 

Both L and Light turned to look at Watari, bewildered. 

“… My apologies. There was a stop sign.” He said, then continued gracefully down the road. 

L made a little sound in his throat, shuffling back into his seat and buckling in place. 

And soon, his and Light’s hands had intertwined. 

Chapter Text

The flight departed thirty minutes late as the pilots waited for the overcast sky to clear. The plane itself was small, designed for no more than 16 people. The seats were large and arranged for passengers to face each other across hardwood tables. Screens could drop down from the ceiling, though Light and L didn’t touch them. They were far too engrossed with one another to seek outside entertainment. 

Once they were in Japan, they would drive to headquarters. Waiting for them would be the task force. That inevitable fate was a mere 14 hours of travel-time away. So, in his best hope of keeping his composure stitched together, Light proposed a distraction. He removed the small chess-set from his carry-on bag, setting it on the table. “Do you play?” 

L smirked. “It’s been a while, so I may be rusty…” 

Somehow, his humility seemed foreboding. Under the table, Light took a white pawn in his right fist and a black pawn in his left. He presented them to L, who tapped his left hand with a touch that lingered. Black. “Ahh. Fitting, I suppose.” He gathered the black pieces to his side. 

“Hmm?” Light hummed as he began setting up white, though he was playing coy— the symbolism was obvious.

L sat his final pawn in its place. “Well… You always were the first mover.” 

Light played e4, and L smiled, the checkered squares of the board reflecting in his eyes in a way that sparkled. He responded with e6, and Light paused. 

“What…?” L teased, “Were you hoping for the Italian game?”  

Light huffed a laugh. “… I haven’t memorized many openings. Only principles.” 

“Ahh… the purer way to play, I suppose.” 

Light pushed d4, and L responded with d5, immediately offering an exchange. 

“The French Defense,” L stated, and Light would have rolled his eyes were they not welded to the board. Cautiously, he pushed his pawn to e5, and L’s lips curled in a smile. Without taking a moment, L pushed c5, bating yet another trade. “… How many openings have you memorized?” Light asked, calculating what may come next. 

“… 150… no, 159?” L said, his thumb on his lip as he glanced at the ceiling. 

Light stared at him with storms in his eyes. “… Ah.” 

“I had a phase as a child,” L explained with dry simplicity. “It started when I first arrived at Wammy’s… I would have been no older than five. I memorized a new opening every week for three years… A child’s way of proving he had an aptitude worth fostering, I suppose.” 

“… And you remember them all?” 

L smiled, and Light could almost see the neurons pulsing behind his eyes as he retrieved his training. “… Perhaps.” 

Light pushed c3 to defend his pawn. 

“A terrible use of time though, truly… Please don’t imagine I am bragging.” L played his knight to c6, contributing to the pressure on the d4-pawn. 

“Well, most children of that age are eating mud and collecting infections like it’s a hobby, so, by way of comparison…” 

L’s face seemed to melt into his knees, heavy with regret. “I suppose… but I learned physics far too late. I wish I hadn’t waited so long...”

“… And how late was that, might I ask?” 

“… 11.” 

“You’re insufferable.” 

L laughed, his head bobbing to the side. “Yes, I suppose it would take a true saint to tolerate me, hmm?” He sighed, glancing out the window as the plane broke through a blanket of cloud cover, making the floor rumble and the chess pieces rattle. “But I don’t know if my precocious tendency was… particularly helpful. My studies came at the expense of my social development… and I do fear I am somewhat strange.” 

“Oh, don’t worry, you’d be ‘strange’ no matter how you spent your time.” 

L peered at Light, curious of the sudden harshness in his tone. “… Do the circumstances of my upbringing bother you?” 

It was only then that Light recognized the competitive flush that had risen to his cheeks. His head dipped forward and he laughed. “Well, that would be silly, wouldn’t it?” 

L smirked. “Yes, you can be quite ridiculous at times.” 

Light wanted to glare back, but his gaze was soft with a smile. He looked out the window, appreciating the white glimmer of the sun on the threads of vapor beneath them. “I suppose… It must have been… nice to be recognized for what you were at such a young age.” 

L’s eyebrows dipped up. “… And what exactly am I?” 

“… A genius.” The words came effortlessly and without thought. Light didn’t expect the way L’s posture seemed to go limp in response. 

“… Ah,” he said. 

Light frowned, not understanding why L had withdrawn into his seat, suddenly looking like a wilted plant. So, he chose his next words carefully. “… Is that wrong?”

L’s attention was fixed on his feet, and his head did not rise. “It is… interesting…” he said, voice muted, “To be seen… fundamentally…. as your effectiveness.” 

And Light wasn’t sure how to reply. 

After a few moments of silence, Light played his knight to f3. 

L advanced his queen to b6, continuing to pressure the diagonal with Light’s center pawns.

“You’re… more than that to me,” Light said, gently. “I didn’t mean to sound reductive.” 

And the corner of L’s lip pinched with a smile of forgiveness. Once he had taken a few more moments to examine the board, he said simply, “I think the same of you.” 

“That I’m a genius?” 

“That you’re more than that.” 

While pushing his a-pawn one square forward, Light chuckled. “That’s one difference between us. I’m not tired of being praised for my intelligence yet.” 

L dipped back and forth in his seat, some of the life returning to his body. “Good… May you never live to feel how tiresome it becomes to be seen as a computer in a skull.” He pushed his pawn to c4. 

Light stared down at the board, realizing how tied the position had become, and how little his pieces had developed. He sighed into his palm, considering if he should make a bid to re-enforce his control of the center or advance a line elsewhere. Then, after a few seconds, he looked up. “… You want me to humanize you, don’t you, L?” 

And L looked back. 

Light’s lips parted. “… That’s what this was all about, wasn’t it? If you could make me human again… maybe I could do the same for you.” 

L was rolling a spare queen between his fingers, and his mouth was hidden behind his knees. He shrugged. “That is… a rather blunt way of stating it. But… after all I’ve put you through, I suppose it’s only fair the psycho-analysis be mutual.” His dark eyes connected with Light’s. “I fear… you may understand me quite well.” 

Something warm like honey ran through Light’s chest. He turned his attention back to the board and moved his white-squared bishop to e2. 

L then pushed his f-pawn one forward, which Light captured with the pawn on e5, prompting a take-back from the black knight. 

Light could castle… however, he wanted to develop more, and as it stood, any attempt to free his black-squared bishop would leave the b-pawn vulnerable. So, he pushed said pawn to b4, before going stiff as he remembered that L could capture it with en-passant. Perhaps out of mercy, or perhaps some alternative strategy, L instead hopped his knight to e4. 

With a sigh, Light re-enforced his pawn on c3 with a fianchetto, only for L to abruptly push his pawn to e5. With his eyes locked on the coming captures, Light took it. Then, instantly, L’s queen shot to f2, and he declared “Checkmate.” He reached across the table to offer a handshake. 

Light stared, his jaw going tight as his teeth bit into teeth. Slowly, with eyes lidded in annoyance, he captured those spindly fingers and kissed them along the knuckles. Then he dropped them, letting L’s hand hit the table like a rock, and said, “Again.” 

They reset the board. L smiled as he played the Sicilian, and Light resolved to make his moves more defensive than they had been in the previous match. Soon, the position was completely locked with pawns tied to pawns and two bishops dancing across the board. L took longer to analyze this scenario, bouncing back and forth on his heels with a kind of giddy intrigue. “Hmm… this is rather annoying,” he mused.  

Light reached across the table with an open hand, and L accepted the draw offer. 

They played game after game, and Light experimented with pushing his F pawn to open up the file for the rook once he castled. The first time he made this attempt, L punished him terribly with a queen to H4 that he barely escaped, but in the next game, he used his knight to defend the square. 

“You seem to have recreated the stonewall opening…” L murmured with amusement. 

“A favorite of yours?” Light asked, piercing L’s castle-structure with his bishop. 

“No. I hate this one.” 

Light resolved to learn it in great depth. 

They only stopped playing once the sun had set and Watari laid ceramic plates with seared salmon, mushroom risotto, and asparagus on the table. “Enjoy.”

L looked as if he were on the verge of a fit as he forced himself to chew through the meal, his pale fingers clutching at his silverware like a patient undergoing live surgery. Light watched him with a placid expression, humored that he continued to labor through it anyway.  

When he sampled his own salmon, he found it buttery on the tongue. 

Finally, after L had barely scraped through half of every portion, he dropped his fork and knife to the plate with a clatter. “There,” he said, voice rich with victory. 

Light purred a chuckle. “Well done. And here I thought you might not manage.” 

L curled thick tufts of hair around his fingers, eyes etched with exhaustion. “The body is a horribly inefficient vessel, isn’t it? You would think carbohydrates and raw vitamin supplements would be enough to meet its needs just fine… Single-celled organisms thrive on such diets. But no, us higher beings must be concerned with such ailments as diabetes and gout.” The terms hissed from his lips like they were the names of demons. 

Light, though he did not try terribly hard, found that he could not take him seriously. “… Do you have gout, L?” 

L massaged his toes and rubbed his cheek over his knees. “No. But I would prefer to keep it that way.” Pushing his plate out of his line of vision, he shuffled over to the window to stare out at the earth beneath them. “… Things were much simpler when I planned on dying young.” 

The words pricked Light. He was struck with the echo of how it felt to grieve this man. When Light was still certain that his own hands would wring the life from his body. He glowered down at his plate as that familiar weight hung in his throat. “… Why would you ever think that way?” 

“Because I hadn’t yet met you.” 

Light could only sigh, his lashes heavy over his vision. Quietly, he set up the chess board once more. 

__

Though the flight would land at a ripe five in the morning, neither of them slept. Chess, Light thought, was easily the superior pass-time. 

Even if he tried to rest, he was certain his mind would only torture him under the cloak of silence. 

So, it was 10 hours and 57 games later that the plane began its descent, Light barely winning checkmate before the wheels hit the tarmac and the pieces rattled out of place. Light and L both trapped loose pawns under their palms until the shaking of the plane stopped, at which point they poured them back into the collapsible board. “Good game,” Light said with a grin, though their total score was still 29.5-27.5 in L’s favor. 

“Indeed,” L stated, looking vaguely satisfied. 

A taxi was waiting for them as they descended the outdoor staircase, and Watari was already packing their luggage into the trunk. Light stared out at the Tokyo skyline crowning the horizon. His hands were clutched in tight fists as he imagined his father hidden somewhere in that maze of streets. 

The wind bit through his clothes as he approached the open door of the cab, and he felt no warmth when he slid inside. He just stared ahead with empty eyes as the engine started. 

____

After being relegated to the country side for so long, the streetlamps above looked like fireflies marching in rows, the tires on the road and the car-horns in the distance formed a rumble like thunder, and distant buildings crawled into the sky like pillars of smoke. 

Light’s blood felt thin as it carried terror to every part of him it touched. 

All he could do was clutch his thighs while his eyes traced the sidewalks, whispering how very close they were. 

They passed the fountain near the NPA offices. 

He saw the shadow of a woman in a dark jacket, and her wide, hollow eyes following the car. 

Her name written on paper scathed his vision, and Light wondered how rope must burn against the human neck as it tightens. 

He felt fingers on the sleeve of his shirt, but his body could not be shaken from its paralyzed state as the minutes crept past. Eventually, L’s hand dropped back to the seat. 

And when the car rolled to a stop, Light had to swallow to remember how to breathe. His hands fumbled to un-clip his seat belt, and they were utterly numb on the handle of the door as it opened.  

They walked up the steps, through the lobby, past metal detectors, and into the elevator. If L weren’t beside him, Light would wish for Ryuk to write something about the cable breaking. 

But it stayed in tact. And then, after that dizzying ascent slowed to a stop… the doors opened with a ding.

At first, the room appeared empty. The security monitors were dark, and the chairs were scattered. 

But then… one of them turned. 

Soichiro Yagami lifted his head from the desk. 

His glasses were crooked on his nose and his hair was ruffled over his face. He looked as if he’d aged decades in a matter of months. “… Light.” 

L stayed by the elevator as Light stepped forward, his body moving without his willing it. He did not speak, and his expression was vacant. 

Soichiro stumbled forward.  

And then there were leather-clad arms around his shoulders and a grown man’s tears wetting the collar of his shirt. “Thank God.” 

Light blinked, and soon, he was clutching the man’s back and trying to see past the tears in his eyes. “… Dad…” 

His father hugged him, hushing him in a way that made him feel as if he were still just a child in his arms. 

Soichiro asked no questions. He begged no explanation. 

And Light’s voice was heavy as he whispered, “Dad… I… I…” 

The man’s grip tightened. 

“—I did something… bad.” The words were tight, close to breaking as they left his lips. 

Hesitantly, Soichiro pulled back, and Light wanted terribly to hide his face in his shoulder once more. Instead, he just stared at the ground, fat teardrops hitting the polished concrete. 

“L was right.” 

And his father’s hands fell away. 

Light didn’t know where to look, so he shut his eyes. “I’m sorry.” 

“… Tell me it’s not true,” Soichiro whispered with a voice that knew it was begging for a lie. 

And Light could not manage one.