Work Header

it's a cold night without you

Work Text:

The line between day and night is stark, and yet, the pair blur into each other beautifully in a multitude of colors. Misa used to spend days and nights awake juxtaposing her and Light, to day and night. Unlike day and night, though, she and Light do not blend into each other. There is an obvious line between the two. Their colors do not mesh.

During the nights when he is absent from their bed she cries. Killing used to be nothing but a tedious task, but it seems now with every stroke of her pen, every life destroyed by her dainty hands, those small porcelain hands of hers itch to gouge out her eyes. They used to be something she valued: her powerful, all-knowing eyes.

Misa wants the dirt off her soul.


Light fell asleep after midnight and rose before the sunrise. He wanted to distance himself from the blonde, never wanting to have to touch her more than necessary. The first time they slept together had been uncomfortable, quick, and loud. Light could not help but compare Misa's loud moans and screams to L's soft, even breaths.

Through their whole time spent together, Light only witnessed the detective sleeping maybe six times. Each time, he stared. The cute little breaths that L took along with his slightly parted pink lips erupted monsters in Light's chest. He would mumble in his sleep. Light learned things about him that he would never have expected. Names from the past were mentioned--Beyond, A, Quilish. Names he would never know and places he would never see and memories he would never experience, but he craved the information.

He used to dream nightly of waking up to L hovering over him, the same vacant look he always sported on his dumb face. Light always imagined and yearned for roughness; he wondered how L imagined it or if he even imagined it at all.


Aibar and Wedy used to travel together all the time. They were each other's partner. If one was hired, the other went. They were two sides of the same criminal coin. After L died, Aiber took time to himself. It was three months when he finally managed to forget the blank, dead eyes of the man he once considered a friend. He forgot the moment they met and the first case they worked together. L had tricked him into working for free. It was Paris, seven years ago.

Wedy powered on into her work, never having been particularly close to L. She was close with Aiber. And how she longed for his calloused hands sliding up and down her body. Rainy nights were the worse, when the sound of the rain on the window echoed into her empty brain and reminded her of just how lonely it was without her partner. Her best friend.

Aiber misses Wedy, but she's alive and well. He misses L more.

Wedy misses Aiber. She resents L for dying and making him leave her.


When the news of his death came, Near was shellshocked. The man he had admired since the young age of nine was dead by a murderer's hand. The world around him seemed to dull and his senses intensified as Mello screamed. The room was too sharp, the colors too faded. Everything was bleak. It was something he did not enjoy.

It was too loud, and L was dead, and Mello was screaming, and Near wanted to yell. But now was not the time to be loud. L was dead. He thought he was going to faint. L was dead. His mentor was dead. Mello was still screaming. The world was screaming, Near reasoned, not just Mello. Because L was dead. Near closed his eyes and let out a deep breath.


The sun had risen, but Light couldn't bare to pull himself up from his mattress. It was empty, somehow, and the room seemed too big. How many nights had he spent awake in this room? How many thoughts and schemes had passed through his mind as a distraction to the restless insomnia he had developed. Another night without sleep was not anything to be alarmed of, not anymore anyway.

He wondered idly, blankets still pulled around his head, if he would ever be able to shut his eyes again without seeing the faces of the innocent. This weight and guilt on his shoulders, he knew, belonged only to that of a god.


Misa's father always used to tell her how much she resembled her mother. She took pride in that. When she dyed her hair and started dressing differently it was a week after their death, when she could no longer stand to look into the mirror and see her mother.

When she was younger she pictured a white wedding. She would have a beautiful white dress with a full skirt and just a small train. The veil would be long but light, sprouting from the tiara she would perch into her naturally brown locks. But that picture was shattered when her father was not there to walk her down the aisle; when her mother wasn't there to shop for dresses with her. When she was alone.


Near never believed in ghosts or anything supernatural. If science could not prove it, it simply did not exist in his world. Of course, he knew he would be ignorant to assume that it was impossible for there to be a higher power, but he chose to ignore the truth.


Light barely remembers his life before the Death Note, and he does not see that as a bad thing. Everything had been so bleak before, so boring. He resents his father and mother for leading him to believe that happiness was going to be his if he did as they wanted. Getting the grades, having a girlfriend, joining the police--it had all been their plan. He would have never imagined that his happiness was really going to be found in a game of cat and mouse with a man he loathed and revered at the same time.