Work Text:
"Someone's caught an obsession," L remarks.
And Light shouldn’t deny it.
At the end of the day and at the end of the story, all he had to do to survive was be cruel to L.
Cruel with L.
Cruel for L.
Light should have killed him. Light shouldn’t have spared him.
Light should have broken him.
Light should have…
Ground him into dust.
Light didn’t.
It was all his fault.
It was a product of his decisions.
And it was all orchestrated by L.
Or Light wanted to believe in that.
"It was not… an obsession," Light grits out. His eyes burn.
Fuck.
He cannot afford another mistake if he wants to live.
But even if he does not make a mistake, the probability of him living is lower than the depths of Hell where, L’s eyes promise, Light will end up.
"What was it then?" L asks. His voice is disgustingly calm, disgustingly even.
And Light holds back - because there is nothing else for him to do anymore.
Not here, not now. Not back then.
He tells himself not to cry. Stops himself a second from biting his lips in frustration and hatred so painfully wild that they grate at his throat and tear at his chest.
He tells himself not to cry.
Not now.
No tears now.
No despair now.
Don't feed the monster.
He is already overfed with Light’s mercy, Light’s idiotic care.
And Light’s revolting weakness.
How far he has fallen.
That is disgusting.
It is disgusting.
"I'm all ears, Light," a fake soft voice taunts, and Light’s shaky attempts to pull the jagged shards of his armour - and bleeding mess of a heart - together break apart.
It falls apart. His throat is tight.
He is falling.
But L watches him. Light cannot afford his skin to rupture, his insides - to unspool.
He can’t let L shatter his mind.
Perhaps, in another life.
In another life, Light might've told him. Even on the death row, looking into the merciless eyes, Light probably would've.
Now, the "I don't think so; I'd throw up" loops through his brain. The monotone voice filled with contempt. Every instance L didn't return his hug, and every instance L didn't talk to him when he was sad. Every time L didn't answer his call.
Leaving their bed in the middle of the night to curl up somewhere else. Hiding in his family's house so he wouldn't face L's disdainful glare. Crying in the fucking shower alone, again and again.
Light presses his lips together. Slowly, he shakes his head, looking at the ceiling, holding back tears as much as he can, no matter how much his face distorts in pain. L's expression doesn't change.
"A self-sacrifice then?"
"I won't tell you shit," Light finds strength for a poisonous retort.
"Not even to plead your case?"
"No."
"Glad to hear."
Light forces another exhale. Nothing new.
It feels like his chest is a mess of torn flesh, with pain both sharp and dull flaring up at each slow, helplessly measured breath that he takes.
Damn it.
Damn him.
He wants to cry, and scream, and rage.
This is so, so, so unfair.
He can't hide his eyes being wet.
L watches him. The looping phrase sounds louder, louder, louder.
Until it blasts in his ears, and tears spill.
His head spins. He can barely breathe.
"Will you be crying for much longer? I'd like to sleep," not a trace of regard in this voice. As if Light can stop.
"Get the earplugs," Light forces out. "You're good at ignoring it."
"Is that so? Have I ignored it before?"
And Light should smirk, with his signature sweet poison he has always saved for L - and ignore the question.
Or Light should lie.
Or tell L to go fuck himself - since Light won’t be here for much longer to do it for L.
Instead, his tortured, overstrained body chooses to cry.
Fuck it.
“Does this make you feel strong?” Light whispers.
L watches.
Just watches.
Light can barely talk, and his vocal cords are so tight that they refuse to make normal, clean sounds that do not resemble sobs.
He’d be damned if he won’t mentally punch L in the face, at last.
“Do you like this power?” Light asks. The voice belongs to someone else - someone deeply hurt, someone so sad they cannot summon a single other feeling. It doesn’t matter that they won’t be able to recover. “What, do you think it makes you better than me because…”
“Because?” L interrupts.
Light wishes L’s face were a mask - but L just doesn’t care. It’s just fine, really.
It’s not like it can ever strangle Light.
“Because you think you are good,” Light whispers, and it is meant to be a hiss - and, to the best of his ability, it is.
“Should I not be?” L asks.
Calmly.
And Light’s blood, already boiling, pounds in his head, ready to overflow.
“Good?” Light asks. Hopefully, it is angry - since he feels absolutely enraged. It is not a state he wishes to be in for this conversation - fury is too dangerous in war - but then, the position he is in is worse than ever, as well. “You think you can be good - or what, that you’re meant to be good? Oh no, L. You are a fucking monster.”
It is a miracle that his lungs still help him make sounds.
“You’re cruel,” Light says, trying, trying desperately to smile.
One last “fuck you”.
Since he can’t give anything worthwhile.
Anything better.
He can play the villain. He is the villain for L, after all.
He always is.
And L is worse.
L’s eyes are deep and dark - drowning and suffocating Light. Light wants to pretend his breathing is not hitching, his face is not wet. His lashes are not stuck together, and he is fine, and calm, and he is a fucking god - he does not make mistakes.
He is not crying - he can’t be.
He can’t be anything more for L.
Or anything less than he is.
So, what does it all matter?
Slowly, with no inflection, L asks, “Should I not be?”.
“Do you like being a monster?” Light questions uselessly, angrily.
His anger is all he has left.
“Do you?” L questions.
Like anyone cares.
Light should say, “Go to hell.”
Should spit it out in L’s face.
L might be hurting - but L doesn’t ache for him. L will never let himself ache for anyone.
And the truth is as follows.
L despises him.
L will kill him.
L won’t ever care about him and will never love him.
So, Light has never wanted it and will never have it.
That’s fine.
“That’s fine,” he tells himself. Even in his own head, it sounds heartwrenchingly pathetic.
That’s fine.
He’s going to die.
No need to panic.
He is going to die.
God.
He wishes he had had a chance.
The knowledge tastes of bile.
Soon, L will plunge into his gut the gradual death of the life sentence of the solitary confinement - and the taste will turn to blood.
Light will be waiting for it.
Perhaps, he will start feeling a little less deplorable, then.
It is wrong - it is not him, and it is wretched. It is losing, loneliness, revulsion and heartbreak.
For whom?
He has never felt this way before.
It hits him belatedly.
He might have only one chance to say it.
One last chance to say it.
L won’t care, of course...
Light will care.
That will be enough.
So, Light does.
“I have spared you,” a confession he did not want to make.
It is not that he didn’t kill L.
He spared him.
Light talks before the words can kill him, “Because I cared about you.”
Light himself does not hear it.
He feels he might throw up.
The world is blurring and swimming a little, and his lips and tongue move on their own.
His throat makes sounds.
His lungs don’t move.
His heart doesn’t beat anymore.
“Have you gone mad?” L asks.
And here it is.
Here it finally is.
L is distrustful, and, on the surface, his expression is perplexed.
In reality though…
He is shocked.
Light tells himself it is good, perfect. Fine. All is fine; he is fine.
L is fine.
Light isn’t.
“Why are you lying?” Now L is grimacing. Light wetly swallows - his mouth is not drying, yet it feels like it. “Ah, and it is such a moronic lie. When have you gotten so…”
Pitiful.
Disgusting.
No, L would not say disgusting.
Too simple of a word.
“Pathetic?” Light supplies, playing confident and smiling.
Through tears that don’t exist - and cannot happen.
“Unstable,” L deadpans.
Light wants to kill him.
Wonderful.
How dare he… do this…
“And you think you are oh so sane?” Light rasps.
L watches him.
“You are unstable,” Light hisses.
Which could be true.
Light wouldn’t know - L shows nothing of what he feels, and that is how they operate.
How L operates.
There is no place for Light beside him.
Light almost chokes on tears, pushing them down, so angry, so bloody angry at how this could have happened to him, and to L, and to him…
“Have you wondered,” Light hears the voice, calm, detached. Alien in the atmosphere of the hatred, venom, tension. “Which one of us would kill the other first?”
Everlasting hatred. Lethal tension. One last bite of venom.
Exactly what Light deserves, hm?
That is what L will say - that Light deserved this. L will say it. Light wants to cry.
“Stop crying,” L says blankly instead. “This is getting tiring. You’ve made your bed.”
“Oh yeah?” Light laughs. A little brittle, maybe. “What bed was that?”
“Are you trying to anger me, Light?” L seems to be genuinely, if unkindly, asking. After months of lies, he sounds wrong. Foreign. “Or do you just want to talk for once?”
“I’ve always talked to you,” Light responds before he can be smarter about it.
His throat seizes once he comprehends what he has uttered.
L is… undeterred, though.
“I,” Light says simply to say something before his pulse starts racing enough to earn him a heart attack. “I have done so much for you, and you, you just…”
L’s voice is so even, unbearable to hear, “What did you do exactly?”
And here is another problem.
It might be a time to speak - and it might be a time to stay silent. Light cannot know which one would save him - or if there is any truth that would save him at all. The fight in him hasn’t died yet, although his strength has wilted a fraction, and his will to fight has dimmed.
The last fact is the scariest of them all.
And he cannot afford to be scared at this stage. He will not be able to cry out his angering, unfamiliar emotions again.
Who cares if L knows? L will likely grind him into dust anyway, right?
If that is the case, hopefully, Light’s brain or whole body would break before his mind does.
If he must die, it will be on his terms.
It terrifies him, robs him of his voice, makes him feel… insignificant. As if his fights, his defiance were useless.
L doesn’t care. Light cannot allow himself to care either.
So Light says the one thing that might just matter.
“I made Misa give up the Death Note and Rem - leave.” L looks at him in scepticism. “I don’t have your name.”
L.
Stares.
His eyes are wider than usual. Blank, and his stare is flat in a way it never is.
Light’s back, drenched in cold sweat, is getting stuck to the bedsheets.
He is scared to keep looking at L.
But he does.
Silence feels damning as a quicksand.
And adrenaline-inducing like every battle they’ve ever waged between them.
Then, L says, in a monotone, “Pardon?”
Light laughs.
It’s horrible. So horrible. His head is such a mess, his eyes have trouble focusing, and he can’t even think properly.
And now L is being stupid. Did he really not see it? How could he not have seen it?
Bastard.
L asks, “Why would you do that?”
Light could give a thousand reasons to him, and they would all be ridiculous, blatant, see-through lies.
“I really screwed you up, didn’t I?” he chuckles. “Sorry, L. I’m sorry.”
L is silent.
Doesn’t care, likely.
Finally, slowly - as if testing, tasting the words - he says, “You don’t want me dead.”
Isn’t that the point?
Though L sounds perplexed.
“I don’t,” Light says.
And L is silent.
His eyes are narrowing.
He looks at Light as though Light is a puzzle lock, the codeword for the key of which L cannot decipher.
“Curious,” L says.
“Wow,” Light scoffs while he still can speak.
L has no care in the world for his theatrics.
L gets up.
“I suppose I can inform you that I have installed the cameras inside Misa’s apartment,” he says.
Light’s heart skips a beat.
Oh no.
Oh no, it is Light’s insurance…
“I need to see the recording before we continue this conversation.”
Light’s lips are numb.
If L gives the recordings of Misa with the notebook to Interpol, then Rem might step in, and then L is dead, Light is dead, and…
Maybe it really is the end. It might turn out to be their end.
“L,” falls urgently off Light’s lips. Almost desperate.
His pulse is picking up the pace.
“Don’t do it,” he presses, not taking his wet eyes off L. “Just don’t do it, Rem will kill you, kill us…”
“Do not attempt. To order me around,” L responds.
Coldly.
Light swallows.
He swallows in fear, yes. The anxiety-induced paralysis is starting to take over him.
He swallows also all his dying, stupid desire. All the bitterness and all the longing.
L still stands there, thankfully; with an expression of pure disdain.
“I’m sorry,” Light says, the words tasting like blood in his mouth.
His own blood.
Which will soon be there.
“I really am,” it isn’t worth shit, but, well. He has nothing more to offer. “Vengeance is a stupid reason to kill yourself as well.”
“Work on your vocabulary,” L suggests.
And walks out.
Locks the door behind him.
Light stares at the door, stunned.
L’s feet pad confidently, softly.
Until his footsteps fully quieten.
Light is alone.
He watches the room, starting to feel like an absolute fool.
What on earth had he even been thinking.
Reasons don’t matter. Lies, sentiments, promises - all blend and leave nothing of value behind.
Maybe he should smirk for the cameras. Laugh.
Maybe look a little more intentional, controlled when anticipating the approaching end.
Just not to throw up.
Just to appear a little more dignified.
His eyes hurt from tears. So much.
He is angry, he tells himself, hands shaking.
He can’t breathe.
He throws his head back and screams.
L returns in an hour.
Or more.
Light has destroyed his voice by then, and is wheezing, wild.
“Were you dying?” L asks once he is in the room and the door is locked.
Light laughs like a weeping maniac.
He is suffocating and, in general, is kind of pathetic.
L sits down on the bed.
Again, he is silent.
L must be playing him. Yeah. Yeah, that’s right.
L is playing him, and they haven’t had one normal conversation, and it is the last time.
Light belatedly wishes he could have screamed and cried into the pillow instead.
He thinks that maybe, maybe after this, finally, now, at last, L will tell him what he will do to Light.
“Why did you do that?” L inquires with an eerie calmness.
Light smiles, “Because I fucking hate you. I wanted to screw you over. To prove you wrong. Show that I’m not a monster.”
He doesn’t realise he’d been hissing it all and spit out the last part.
“I see,” is what he gets. “I do hate you.”
Light’s smile wobbles, but he’s alright.
He’s only hurting a bit, and he’s not scared anymore.
“You did not want me to find out,” is what L notes. “Why?”
“Because you’re not worth my secrets.”
“M. Right.”
Light wants to punch him in the face.
“That makes perfect sense,” L deadpans.
“It does!”
“It does,” L nods, rolling his eyes.
Light tries but can’t laugh.
“You know about cameras,” L says.
And Light…
His mouth loses all function.
He tries to roll his eyes.
Not start whimpering as the familiar pain, the familiar, animalistic fear of death starts filling up his lungs with black water.
Not shake.
Not whatever else might get L to murder him.
At least not this fast.
“For how long have you known, exactly?” how does he sound so emotionless for Light, so, so calm?
Light hates it. He hates feeling so shattered.
Like ill-fitting glass pieces, scratched and mudded.
“Two months,” he utters.
“…Two months.”
L is supposed to triumph.
Light’s lips are trembling.
Why is he not triumphant?
“So you took the notebook from Misa earlier.” Light does not bother answering. “You ruined your own plan with Rem.”
He has nothing to say here.
No deceitful justification, no adequate reasoning, no intelligent plan.
“You were so overly confident that you left yourself without insurance.”
“I did not need insurance,” he lies. “I was winning.”
Fuck.
“Won”, not “winning”.
“When did you take the notebook?”
“About… two weeks in.”
He should lie.
He, he should lie.
Why can’t he lie?
“You were so stupid,” L whispers, closing his eyes, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead.
Light stays silent.
“You killed yourself, Light.”
Light does not voice a thing.
For a moment, once again, L is silent. Visibly considering. Thinking.
“I knew you knew about the cameras,” he speaks eventually, after the pause has stretched far beyond what Light thought it would last. “I was simply not certain as to when you had found out. It seems my estimations were off by a month and a half.”
Light almost laughs at that.
“I’m a good actor,” he wants to wipe the tear streaks off his face. At least he is not crying as hard anymore.
“You are.”
“You saw me getting depressed?”
“I saw you seeking distance.”
And there is no parry Light can perform in response.
What would he ever say? A lie? And waste yet another one of what might be the last few moments of L engaging with him ever?
Or a truth that he wishes L knew.
If only L would not use it against him.
If only L would not bring it up.
If only L could be a shade more merciful, though, obviously, Light doesn’t deserve the kindness of consideration.
“You’ll kill me,” Light chuckles, with the blend of wetness and raspiness he, frankly, despises, “Right?”
The words are thorned and tear at the insides of his throat.
“What does it matter?” Light says, and it is on the edge of whisper, and he might crack an inch more if he has to give the question more weight than it already has. “I’m not asking for consideration. Just. Go ahead.”
“I won’t give you to them.”
And that…
What?
What…
Light stares.
There is nothing for him to do but stare. His body doesn’t work correctly, so he cannot rely on it to do much more with an appropriate degree of dignity.
And he…
“What do you mean?” he asks, still.
Because it makes no sense - and L never lets his words make no sense.
And L is looking at him now.
L is looking at him now as if all has been decided.
Light tries to see something through the dimness of already tunneled vision, and hear something from the pounding of his blood.
Air is leaving him.
And not coming back, so his chest… His chest hurts…
He blinks slowly, painfully, with effort.
Then, L looks away.
“I won’t give you to them, Light,” L murmurs. “I don’t want to torture you, or imprison you, or kill you. You will pay a hundredfold - but you will pay to me.”
Light just lies there.
And nothing… L is saying it like it is something real, not a hallucination, not a taunt, but something simpler, something simple, which cannot exist, cannot stand here, has no reason to happen and no way to be true, but L…
L said it, still.
“What,” Light asks.
L looks at him calmly.
“What did you fucking say,” Light roars.
Hurting his throat, hurting himself.
“How, how, when, why, how would you,” his tongue does some pathetic, failing gymnastics, a little sluggish.
Pathetic. Utterly pathetic, truly.
“I hope. You rot,” Light manages more or less coherently, and his veins are filled with poison.
L watches.
“What was it all for, what was it all fucking for?!” and Light is not crying. Of course not.
Of course. Not.
The cameras, the suffering, the moments he felt so abandoned, so lonely, hated to the extent of being doomed to death, and tortured so badly he wanted to claw his own skin off and strangle himself or L with it.
“You don’t,” L comments, ignoring his cry, his questions, his pain - why is he ignoring it, why does he…
Ah.
He doesn’t care.
Right.
Right, doesn’t care. Not even enough to hurt Light.
“And neither I hope for that about you,” L says.
Lying piece of shit.
Fuck him and his perceptiveness.
“You were not worth my hatred,” L says. “But you did deserve it.”
Light swallows.
His fingers shake.
He bites his lip.
“I can conclude that we do and will hurt always, naturally, hurt each other more times than we can count,” L says, quieter. He is looking at the wall - is he orchestrating these mind games between himself, Light, and the wall on purpose? “But, I suppose… I want to keep you.”
Monster. Monster.
Literal monster.
Light’s mouth tastes acidic.
L sits there, not pretending anymore. L sits there, saying this, acting like this, like…
Like a mirror to Light’s thoughts of the last months.
Why?
What for?
Why now?
L hates him. L disdains him, wants him to suffer.
L must want him to die.
It’s a game. Must be a game. Should be.
Light… Light can… Light can play. It’s fine, he, he can play.
He can manage, survive playing - so he says what he wanted to hear.
As evenly as possible, though not even enough to hide self-evident fury, through his teeth, “Do whatever you want.”
And each syllable is full of that longing and hatred.
Giving L the knife Light has slashed him with.
“Go ahead,” Light thinks, and it’s a mad, hazy whisper even in his own thoughts.
“Go ahead,” Light thinks.
Light thinks, “Tear me apart.”
“You want to, right? Ah, you want to tear me apart,” he wishes he could smirk, could say these words, could give them voice Kira deserves, but, alas - he is fucked.
Fucked.
With no beautiful words, no intelligent explanations, no elaborate excuses.
L stripped him raw and is watching him like a peeled-apart butterfly.
L says, “Alright.”
And that is it.
That is it.
Tears well up in Light’s eyes, and it hurts, it hurts, what a bastard.
He makes Light feel helpless. Pissed off, torn apart, helpless.
And a part of Light wants to push L further.
Push L enough that L will make him… that L will finish this. Make him hurt, make him suffer, and make him hurt enough, suffer enough that it will break him, and it will end.
It all will end. He will end.
He does not want to die, but L is not trustworthy. L has never been, and L will never be. Better do it now. Better get this over with now. Better…
Die now. Better die now.
Yeah. Yeah, he can provoke L. Push him. That makes sense, he can do this. It should not take long, it should not take much.
Don’t think about it. Don’t let it hurt you, don’t let it scare you, stop you.
“You know why I didn’t kill you?..” Light tries smirking. Doesn’t work out too well. “I couldn’t do it.”
Feels like shooting himself in the chest, but it doesn’t matter. Doesn’t.
Light laughs, though.
“I couldn’t do it,” he repeats, almost sobs, hatred for L, for himself, for the fate overwhelming him. “And I still can’t. It’s disgusting, really. I’m stuck, at your fucking mercy because I couldn’t kill you.”
L takes his time.
Then, says, “I appreciate that.”
Giving Light nothing.
Again.
Nothing again.
Same as every other time.
Well…
For a moment, he wonders hazily, weaker, why he is even trying.
L likes ruining his plans. Ruining him.
What use are these mind-bending hatred and longing?
His thoughts are… mixing up.
Weirdly.
Running… in circles…
“Well,” L speaks, “While we are at it… I have something for you.”
Torturously, Light makes himself blink, cleaning his eyes.
“What,” Light asks hoarsely.
“Compensation,” L states. “For your… commitment, I suppose. And your distress.”
Light’s chuckle is instinctive, breathless. Not quite hysterical, “I don’t need your compensation.” He is in a fog.
L tries to get up, and Light quickly, without thinking, tries to catch him with the ankles, hold him in an iron grip.
L raises an eyebrow in a mute question.
Light tries again, panting.
L pulls away.
Light doesn’t know why he is scared - but tries again.
“Just a moment,” L is unamused.
Ha.
“A moment,” Light says coldly.
“Don’t get scared yet.”
That’s all he gets.
“Yet”, huh?
He tells himself he wants to kill L.
He is not scared.
L stands up, crosses the room. Rustles with some papers in the desk drawer - he must have brought them. When he comes back to the bed, he carries an envelope.
Words get stuck in Light’s throat.
He is not scared.
Not terrified.
“What is this?” he is tense like a coiled spring.
“Look,” L says.
Light almost kicks him. “I can’t look. I’m fucking handcuffed.”
“When did you start swearing so much? It does not make you more attractive.”
“Uncuff me.”
“Hm.”
“Uncuff me,” he doesn’t scream.
And slowly. slowly…
L pulls away, finds a key.
And releases the metal around his wrists.
Light practically scrambles to sit up and press his back to the headboard.
L is unimpressed.
“Look,” L orders, as if Light is testing his patience. Light takes the envelope with shaking hands.
He is a mess. God, he is such a mess, it’s pathetic, it’s horrible; he tells himself it is.
If it’s not pathetic, it is sad.
Light opens it.
Time stops.
“No,” he says. His hands start trembling even worse as he unfolds the paper and starts reading the letter. “No,” he wants to scream, destroy L’s hearing.
He drops the paper on the nightstand and looks at L in fury.
Scared and pained.
“What did you do?” he asks. “What did you do?” he screams.
L sits near him, and Light should hit him, should make him get away, go away, let Light breathe, let Light… leave, let…
“I won’t do this,” Light forces, tries to growl, maybe fist the bedsheets, not clutch at his own arms. “I will not do this.”
“You sound a little desperate, Light.”
“Is this funny to you?” Light hisses. Finally.
Finally he can maybe, maybe play as if he is simply mad.
“A little,” L nods. Light tries to kick him, L catches his leg and holds it. “Is it not funny to you? Is it only entertaining when you are not the one whose life is being controlled?”
Ah. It’s vengeance.
Light knows how to play this game.
He needs to play it.
“I won’t,” he declares, calmer.
L smirks.
“Pretty mask,” he notes. Light’s heart jumps. “Go shower and start getting ready.”
Light all but digs his heels into the mattress.
He can’t speak.
“Is something wrong?” L inquires, calmer. “Were you too scared to see the acceptance letter?”
“I won’t.”
“Sure you will. Why are you fighting?”
Light pitifully imitates a scowl, barely being able to breathe from the pounding destroying his ribcage.
“I will never trust you with my life. Or with my future. I…”
“Won’t take a loan from me?”
Light almost throws hands.
He feels off-balance. Still hazy.
Not understanding what is going on.
Is this… a dream of sorts?
Like he is… drunk.
“I could pay you for the cases that you solved after you’d wrenched them out of my hands.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Light asks at last.
L shrugs.
“It’s no problem. I’d sleep better if I knew you are not being a piece of trash. And, if you’d let yourself fall as far as to accept the responsibility for your actions and obey the rule of law… You could maybe, one day, be a happier person.”
What.
Light stares.
L watches.
His expression is effortlessly controlled.
“The world,” L says, “Has so much to offer. You don’t need to cling to one part of it that gives you the most power.”
“What are you talking about,” Light says again. “This is not about me.”
“No,” L acquiesces after a pause. “It is about me. About what I want.”
“So?”
“So don’t cling.”
Light throws hands.
“This is my prize,” L says. “My choice, my trophy. Stop biting at the leash and go get dressed.”
“I cling to the one part of it that makes me feel anything good,” Light retorts.
L tilts his head.
And the well of black eyes is too deep for comfort.
“You’ve never seen anything else.”
“I don’t need to to know I’ll be lonely.”
Fuck.
The phrase escapes him before he can do anything about this stray thought.
Then, L speaks.
“Not on my watch.”
Light laughs.
It is weak, and hurts a little.
But, for the first time…
It feels like L, for some elaborately torturous, overly complicated reason, swiped all the ugly shards of Light’s heart into a small, trashy pile.
And took them in the boat of his joined hands, closing the hold to keep them there.
Why - Light does not know.
“Are you always this forgiving?” he voices aimlessly, with no real interest in hearing the answer.
“Never,” L says easily. “I’m making an exception - so work for my mercy.”
So that’s how it is.
How predictable.
“You can be entertaining.” L’s voice is so measured, so calm. “Don’t disappoint me.”
Light pulls his weak knees to his aching chest and puts his face into his palms.
His head spins, words mixing and getting muddled with dizziness.
“I would think I have already disappointed you plenty.”
L gives one quiet hum in response.
They sit in silence for a while.
“Are you going to try and provoke me again?” L questions idly. His mask stays on. “Into killing you or letting you go.”
Light’s exhalation curdles into dense air in his throat.
“Why did you do that?”
L blinks unhurriedly.
“The letter?”
Light laughs, bitter.
“The letter.”
“M. On the off chance that you would decide not to attempt killing me and running,” L explains.
“I know,” Light interrupts it. “I know what I did.”
The black, suffocating ocean of L’s eyes narrows.
Light wonders, absentmindedly, whether L knows.
Knows what he thinks. What he wants, plans.
What he is going to try to do.
Then, L asks.
“Are you going to try and hurt me, Light?”
As if he deserves that.
But the truth is that Light has no other moves left.
“I don’t regret anything,” Light smirks, and it is wobbly, but at least he has some - even if rusty and worn-out defenses on.
He doesn’t think it will hurt L.
Doesn’t think it can hurt L.
But if it does - that’s fine.
It will hurt Light, but L - L will live.
“I don’t. Regret. A thing.”
“Mhm.”
And why, why is L not…
It scratches at Light’s insides, and yet he keeps up; he has to keep this up, has to be honest…
Honesty is the last unforgivable weapon he has.
The one move that should finally make L see him.
And decide what to do with him.
“I am. Sorry,” Light grits out, pulling on a despicable, disdainful smile.
Yes. Here, take it.
See how much hate there is for him.
“I’m sorry you’re hurt, L. I’m not sorry for doing this to you.”
Light says it - because why the hell not.
Why not be honest - once. This once.
After all, L’s honesty is what has sealed Light’s fate.
L’s honesty is what has always been killing Light - especially when Light is not sure whether L is being honest in the first place.
He looks L in the eyes and smirks.
“I would do it again,” he says.
L’s blank expression twitches, like a marionette’s face, in…
Disgust?
“Finally,” Light thinks. “Finally.”
He does not want to cry.
He thinks, almost fondly, on the dangerous edge of fondness, ”Here you go.”
Though L probably does not need his help. Or comfort, or reassurance.
L said… or did not say? Wait. L… No, it doesn’t matter. L implied that the first kiss L gave him didn’t mean anything.
“Marvelous,” monotone, of course. The damned, familiar monotone. “It makes me wonder whether you truly believe that there is a merit in your apologies if you do not regret anything.”
Light laughs.
He should laugh.
L said that there has never been anything good between them, anything on which care, passion, love could grow.
L was right - there was nothing on L’s side.
Light’s own feelings were something L never wanted. Never needed, too - Light has traded his time for L’s either way.
Light was so stupid. Oh God.
L is right - Light caused all of this.
And Light still somehow has the audacity to speak. To have a voice at all.
Still, he might as well… lay it out.
Who knows what happens after it, right?
He sure doesn’t.
“If it makes you feel any better,” he says as if it is nothing, nothing, nothing at all, not him tearing something apart in himself and tearing it away. “I did not think it would hurt you this much. Yeah, I thought I could take you. Use you. Humiliate you,” keep your voice steady, keep your story straight; you cannot fail now. “I thought you’d hate me, cry, break. But I didn’t think,” and isn’t that the first time Light forces himself to say something with a deadly, scorching honestly, “That it would hurt you this much.”
L keeps his silence.
So, Light has to keep going.
“I thought you’d be mad at me. But you’d be restrained and forced - so, eventually, you’d learn to be fine with that and obey.” Wow. It does sound like a poorly thought-out plan when said out loud. He lowers his voice into an evil cadence for the next part, “And you’d like it.”
“Well,” L says, “I did like an aspect or two. Outside them, it was pure pain.”
And the silence is deafening.
Light…
There is no air…
Then, L rolls his eyes.
Sighs.
“Don’t try so hard to make me hurt you,” he cuts off Light’s inhale - mercilessly. “I won’t do it.”
Light’s mind is howling, screaming either way.
Why did he not think about it.
He could not… afford to think about it.
But he should have. Right?
Right?
It is. Fine, though. Salvageable. Salvageable.
If Light hurts himself and if L hurts Light - that should be enough to destroy him, right?
L asked whether Light would try to hurt him - why would L be hurt? L feels nothing for him, doesn’t he?
Though it is… weird, isn’t it? L is being far too kind. Does he want a pet, maybe? A prisoner to torture?
Ah.
Light’s breath almost hitches; he barely keeps his face straight, and his words - flowing, though his focus swims.
Or, perhaps…
No. Stop.
No perhaps.
He opens his mouth and tries, but L intercepts.
Light expects a lot. Cruelty, first and foremost.
But instead of criticism or sharp retort, L says, “I don’t know why I keep falling for your games.”
Light’s brain flickers off.
And on.
“I somehow…” L starts.
And he looks horribly tired all of a sudden.
“Fuck,” L exhales quietly, long and stretched sound, as he rubs his face with a palm of his hand.
Light feels a bit… off.
Trying to blink away the sudden change that demolished the ground beneath his feet in one go - and left him grabbing at what wilted branches he can see.
“Keep imagining that… you care,” L says, as if it’s unbearable for him to speak. “And it is always just an illusion. And I’m left with its… fucking shards, Light. And I have no choice but to try and embrace them because there is no escape from you. But they don’t… help. They only hurt more. Because there is nothing within them. There was never anything.”
And…
And it is…
And it…
What?..
No.
“What are you talking about,” Light’s body forms words, vocalises, while he himself doesn’t know what this is.
What any of this is.
L cannot be saying this.
How does this make any sense? L is cold, marble, disgusted by him.
L cannot appear so exhausted right now. As if he has been pretending all along - he couldn’t have. He doesn’t care about Light - he’s never had, and it is pretty good for him, really - he shouldn’t and should not have.
Yet L succeeds in appearing to have feelings, nevertheless.
Light probably wouldn’t manage to fake being so pissed and resigned at the same time.
“God, Light…”
“L,” Light chuckles, with no strength, no humor. Why are you hiding? Come on.
He tries to catch L’s gaze, but L is still tiredly rubbing his own face.
Light wants to laugh a little.
He seems to want it a lot, doesn’t he?
“You know it’s not true,” he claims - to later claim to have claimed it.
“I don’t know, Light,” L rolls his eyes. Is this a new habit? “I wanted to be your friend, and you knew it, so you decided to smash my heart.”
What?
What?
The hatred prickles Light.
“I wanted you, and you knew it - so you took it and made it as though I wanted to be hurt, forced, degraded. As though I wanted to be used by you. You took the cruelest weapons that would hurt the most and turned them on me. You turned being with you into an Iron Maiden. What did you think would happen?”
Light can barely swallow.
“Did you…” He starts and has to clean his throat, try to keep himself from reacting in some overly obvious way. “Did you rehearse this?..”
L’s glare is utterly unimpressed.
Somehow, Light does swallow.
“You were supposed to yield to me.” It sounds weak.
Although, what else is there to say?
Why maneuver when it is already so late, when this talk is overdue, and the fight is so far along, and they are absolutely powerless to change it?
“That could never happen. You know me.”
“That was the only way I could keep you,” Light says.
L…
Laughs.
“It was not,” he sighs tiredly. “It was really not. Ah, you are ridiculous. I can’t believe I could have ever…”
“You’d never act on anything yourself, L,” Light grits out.
“...been scared of you,” L whispers.
Light’s jaw twitches down.
And there is no fear in L anymore.
And he is beautiful in the dim light of the room.
Fearlessness suits him. It lights up his eyes. Caresses his skin, makes it glow; plays with the messy, soft ink of his hair, like an icon Light would have drawn if he only could.
And L is saying that Light…
Could.
Which is.
No fucking way. No.
“I would if I felt safe.” L decides to slam a nail into Light’s long-awaited, long-suffering, eroded coffin.
“You are fucking with me.”
L sighs, closing his eyes for a second.
“You are exhausting,” he informs.
“What am I supposed to say?” Light leans in, fighting the urge to grab L, to grip him, to force him closer or push him away, because Light’s own veins hurt from how fast the burning blood is pushed inside them by his pounding heart. “You are… all… I don’t know, Shakespearean - do you think this will work?” he should be mad. Mad is a great idea. “That I am naive? I don’t care for your little mind games.”
L watches him.
L seems borderline bored.
And ah, does it hurt.
Does it hurt that much?
“You wouldn’t. Be hurt,” Light says quietly. Brimming with rage, “If you would just trust me to keep you safe. Then you’d know it was a retribution, not an attempt to put you into a grave.”
“How could I know it?” L asks. “You…” he sighs again, like he couldn’t be bothered to continue this conversation, and it shoots a spark of panic in Light, for no reason. “Broke my heart. You told me you were going to kill me. You still wanted to. How could I? Did you think it would not hurt?”
It must be L’s supposed last stand,
So why does it sound so painful? Why does Light feel pain instead of him?
“I wanted to destroy my enemy,” Light pushes, since backing down is not an option anymore. Maybe it never has been. “I didn’t want to…” How can he even explain it if L doesn’t get it? He thought L did, he thought so, “Grind you into dust. I wanted you. To defeat, subjugate, conquer you. It was not Death Note, or my vision, or the game that were the prizes and the thrill. It was you.”
“Very sweet,” L says blankly. Light wants to hit him. “But imagine I would. I would actually break. I would be wounded and slowly bleeding out. My wounds would be driving me crazy until there would be nothing but agony, and then I’d die. Thinking you hated me to this extent. Was that what you wanted?”
“I knew you wouldn’t break this way.“
“I don’t see you caring for my emotional wounds either. It’s like demanding emotional affection, and providing a physical one is all you’re capable of doing on a good day. On a bad day, you’ll torture and slap me into tears.”
“You were not supposed to…”
Why does he not get it?
Light is, however, in too deep already.
“It doesn’t matter what was supposed to happen. Maybe you didn’t think or see beyond your triumph. It is what happened. I won’t tolerate it again.”
How dare he…
Threaten to leave Light alone.
Without him.
Light is about to say something hurtful, scorching to L’s heart, make L feel the way L makes Light feel, but then L says, “I won’t be able to handle it.”
And dares to look…
Vulnerable.
Sad, and, and vulnerable - the way he did on that rooftop.
Showing Light his sadness. Showing his hurt.
And suddenly, all of Light’s hurt feels useless.
All of his schemes feel pointless, and all the efforts - redundant, because how could he ever do something worse than that? L would not care for him more than L cares for himself - and yet…
It is as if it has hurt L.
While Light was so stupidly stuck on how much it was hurting him instead.
His chest muscles are hurting by now, and he struggles to process it all, and he does not feel like crying or wanting to cry.
However, it is a close call.
“I thought it was going to be okay,” he manages to say. “L.”
When L lifts his gaze to meet Light’s, the blackness there resembles pain.
It is the last drop for the ocean.
“Oh, come on! Please!” Light presses, more forceful than he needs to be to keep up his composure. “So what? So I wanted you! And to punish you - more than I could… manage to tolerate, I guess. I needed everything! What do you want me to explain, justify now? That I didn’t want to…” and now he’s out of words. He didn’t want to… what? Kill L? Torture him? Destroy him? Hurt him? In a way, Light did.
In a way, Light did not.
“I would always prefer this outcome,” Light settles on this, and it is, at last, honest - if angrier than it should be. “To end up with you. Here. I don’t know how else I could’ve done it. And you know what? I was being honest - I would do it again if it meant we’d get here. Sure, I don’t want you dead. And I also didn’t want to be the reason you hurt this much. Do you not see I’m being honest?”
L doesn’t bother looking at him - L’s grimace makes Light feel like an unworthy, evil bug biting at L’s wounds. L finds the curtains much more curious.
“I see it,” L tiredly admits.
“Then what are you trying to do?! You knew this!” Light roars. “You must have thought that this would be enough!”
“I did not think that,” L says. “I knew I’d end up hurt and killed anyway. I just didn’t know in which ways and to which extent you’d tear me apart beforehand.”
Actually, Light feels like tearing the world apart.
“How. Could you think that,” that is a hiss. His fingers are opening and closing into fists, iteratively, compulsively.
“I had no hope,” L admits with disinterest, “For compassion from you.”
Light just wishes L would turn his eyes back to Light’s.
For once.
On L’s own volition.
“And?” Light asks.
“What, “and”?”
“And you stopped trying?” Light chuckles, wishing that L would fall for his tricks at least this once, or that Light’s own position were not so shaky, barely standing on the foundation of L’s ridiculous, unexpected sincerity.
L loved him? L, of all people?
L loves him?
It is so untimely. So inconvenient.
Why could L not have said that months ago?
While Light was winning. While Light could pin him down, kiss him into crying, fuck him into obedience.
And hold him for hours, burying his face in L’s wild black hair, feeling him curl up and shake.
Light could smirk, kissing his ear, whispering sweet, dark, loving promises. Caress his torso, press a hand over his heart and hug him into calming down, into relaxing and letting Light take care of him. Carry him to the bathtub, bring him water, make him chocolate pudding and later purr into his neck for hours while annoyed, tired L would be working on cases on his laptop.
Light could make him sleep well, massage him into melting, drag him to sunbathe on the balcony.
Maybe…
Maybe L would agree to play tennis with him again, for once. Or chess.
Or just go to the cafe together and have a meal before going for a walk in the park.
Argue about books and criticise new art exhibitions in the nearby gallery.
Because L can make Light warm. L used to do it.
It has not been the case for a long time now, though.
Light could probably make L happy, in a way - satisfied and entertained, engaged, taken care of - in some way.
That is, if L could settle for who Light really is and not whatever picture L used to have in his mind.
If L could let Kira have him quietly - instead of with a flurry of growling, fighting, hating each other’s words, behavior, habits.
They do fit together.
With a lot of pain.
“I do not understand,” he repeats once they have been silent for a while, and his breathing has evened out, and the tension has subsided from sharp and suffocating to more bearable and familiar, “How you could have ever thought that of me.”
Light repeats that since L has not answered.
“Thought what, exactly?”
Light scoffs - acting as he needs to act.
“That I would do that to you.”
Provocation falls flat.
It was meant to give L a few moments of advantage, to make L react with exasperation and feel a spark of superiority over Light.
Light’s wonderful, tired, half-adequate plan.
L is supposed to say Light made him believe it. Light has, after all. Why wouldn’t he?
And yet, L is L. L is a genius.
L can be an annoyance and a problem.
Does not mean Light does not love him for it, even when Light wishes he didn’t.
Instead, L confesses, keeping up his composure, “I thought this about me too.”
“That… you would do the same to me?”
“That I would not deserve anything but pain and death from you.”
The words don’t come together to create meaning; for a long, long moment.
Eventually, Light sighs, rolling his eyes, “I don’t get it.”
His neck hurts - he exhales and leans back on the headboard. His vision has not stabilised yet - the world is waving.
His body is still terrified, but his brain is tired of being afraid - not when it all still hurts, still grazes over him harshly, borderline peeling off his skin. “Did you think I would never give anything else? That I would never care?”
“You tell me,” L says. “Does knowing this information make you feel powerful?”
Maybe.
Maybe.
It certainly subdues Light’s raging anxiety - or panic? - attack.
“I didn’t think you would be… unworthy of that.” Light phrases it well. “If that helps.”
“M. It does not.”
“Tough luck.”
Silence falls over him.
L is visibly tired, moving positions to perch on the side of the bed now.
Light closes his eyes.
“I didn’t think that of you,” Light admits. “I’d never think that of you. I don’t know, you’re just… Made to fit me. And I’m good at keeping you. You’re… incredible to me,” it does feel like his own vocabulary is severely lacking, perhaps because it is difficult to choose the right words to convey these perceptions and beliefs.
Feelings.
Goddamn feelings.
“If only,” he begins faux-patiently, “You’d open your mouth and talk to me…”
“If only you’d have told me you do not plan to torture me or tear me apart,” L cuts him off.
L’s tone is rigid and cold.
Good.
L is feeling better, then.
Doesn’t he?
“But you did figure it out yourself.”
Now, L looks at him.
“What. Choice. Did. I have,” and that is not the question.
Hm.
The corners of Light’s lips do not twitch into a smirk.
If they did, the smirk would be humorless.
More controlled, at the very least - already a plus.
L is furious, then.
Or just pained?
His voice is forceful, too calm. His face is blank, and his muscles are tense - it can’t be anything but pain that is hiding behind his little play-pretend.
He keeps his facade up well.
Light does not find it amusing tonight.
“My standards for you really have fallen into the pits of hell,” L notes, after another minute or so of the unpleasant, growing oppressive, quiet. “Because my mind still judges your current assertions as “too good to be true”.”
Light agrees.
Yet another occurrence that makes no sense.
He is thinking harder than he has thought in months.
He’s grown lazy from heartache and terror.
It was a mistake to let it happen - and it was a mistake to think that L was as invincible as L painted himself to be.
L is in love, then. With Light.
Light can use this against him.
Or. No.
The best, most fitting, truest formulation would be to use it for him.
Against L’s fears and doubts.
Perfect plan.
“How is this too good,” Light asks, softening his own voice for strategic reasons, “If you’re hurting this much?”
“...This won’t work on me,” L says after a pause.
Light chuckles dryly.
What a bastard.
L is still L, huh?
Self-protective, prickly.
Intelligent, willful.
Sweet.
In that chilly, detached, gently sharp, ruthless way.
Light wants to fight him.
Make him sprawl on the bed, bite him until he’s ecstatic - even unwillingly - and trying to choke Light back.
That would be perfect.
L needs to be laid out and pleasured until he does not have to overthink.
Once he’s… well-loved, Light can talk with him.
As of now, L is not receptive enough for Light to trick him even for a second.
“L,” Light says, “I can’t with you. You have to raise your standards. I know I’m a catch…”
L turns to him.
L looks tired. The fatigue is stuck to him like a second skin he had to shed ages ago - he has never had safety or the opportunity to do so.
“You’re an idiot,” L says. “And a monster.”
Light doesn’t care enough to point out L’s errors in judgment.
Turning away, L whispers, “And you have nothing of value to say.”
“I have nothing that you want to hear,” Light corrects him.
L hums.
“Yes. That, indeed.”
Light’s nails are itching to dig into L’s skin.
Maybe over his ribs. Or over his heart.
Or across his pretty, fragile neck that Light loves biting till it darkens - when L allows him.
“Passion doesn’t equal cruelty, Light,” is what L eventually gives him.
Passion doesn’t make people try to kill their lovers, either.
And yet, here they are.
Light shrugs, “Guess it is not all passion.”
“I suppose not.”
The warm light of the nightstand lamp paints L’s paleness with faint golden hues. The resulting shade is unnatural on L.
Though it suits him.
“I always knew what you are,” L voices eventually. “I just don’t want your claws in me.”
“Alright,” Light says without a pause.
And means it.
It is as if it ends there.
The wildfire that has been devouring them, the scorching agony of the conflict, the flaming whips of the words unsaid.
Because there is nothing left to say.
Nothing is left to break things between them.
Nothing is left to fix them, either.
It is as if they have come full circle and, once again, it ended where it had begun.
L versus Kira.
L versus Light.
“Have you ever dreamed,” Light pushes himself to yawn, spreading his legs as though planning to rest after all the shitshow, “Of another version of me?”
“I cannot bring myself to care anymore,” is what he gets in response.
The response is fair.
Light himself would not have given a kinder or a more honest version of his own truth if he were as tangled up and as in control as L is right now.
“I think I’ve treated you very well,” Light offers instead.
That is true, in his opinion. It does not change a thing.
L ignores him, tilting his head owlishly, tiredly, stretching his trapezius, staring at the wall.
“Are you recording a home porn, L?”
“You wish.”
“Really?” Light asks politely.
After what feels like decades of waiting, L smirks.
Lighter, genuinely lighter than Light has ever seen him smirk before.
God, it looks good on him.
“If you’d be interested in that.”
It drives a chuckle out of Light.
At the end of the day, he is fine.
All is clear, he has some power, and he is fine.
“I am not,” Light says. “However. I’ll take a negotiation.”
“What kind?”
“I’ll let you keep the video. If I am on top.”
L hums.
“I wanted a video about you,” oh, fuck him for making Light feel even better. “So I’ll have to pass.”
“Is that so?”
“I cannot help myself. You’re too charming.”
Now Light feels like shit for having treated L as less than this.
It is definitely some game of L’s, but Light can tell L is not lying now.
“Do I not treat you well?”
It’s a challenge.
And a real conflict at once.
“Mostly, you do,” L agrees.
Even if it seems to be difficult for him to say.
Light feels like he can also breathe a little easier.
“Then what? You will be recording without my consent?”
“No, these are just security measures. I’ll wait until you want to negotiate with me again,” sweet. “These measures are in place because I wouldn’t want to defang you.”
Has L been accumulating all of these warming phrases over the year?
“You won’t get anywhere through flattery,” Light retorts.
“I think I’ll get everywhere with it, actually,” L says and pointedly looks Light up and down.
L’s big eyes practically begging for a kiss with their leftover sadness.
So that is how it is.
Light should have known. He should have always known what was hidden behind all the icy stares and indestructible walls.
Ever so slightly, ever so slowly, Light tries to move closer. To oblige.
“So can I?” L asks.
His tone and expression are equally blank canvases.
It’s a bait.
Light tries his best to subdue the rising arousal.
L’s version of the gentle teasing fans Light’s flame with a force that’s never seemed so hypnotising before.
“Are we going to have sex, then?” Light inquiries, stretching his back and arms to conjure a picture of seduction.
L knows why.
“We’ll both still be here tomorrow morning.”
Light smirks. He wants to dive in and kiss every inch of L’s skin.
And perhaps L lied. And there will be no tomorrow.
“You can execute me and live comfortably,” Light notes, busying himself with the aforementioned stretching that is beginning to risk seeming performative. “It would probably be a better idea.”
L is silent for a moment.
“Have you been thinking this the whole time?”
Light shrugs again.
Stays silent.
There is a flicker of something unreadable, inquisitive in L’s eyes.
“You said you’d found cameras two months ago,” L redirects him.
Light nods in affirmation, pushing away and down all the unconfident, compromising thoughts.
His neck muscles are marginally tighter than they had been yesterday. He could have pulled something while crying and thrashing before.
He violently stomps that memory, too.
“And you would still come sleep with me,” L vocalises slowly, and each sound is unmistakably thought-through. As if he were blindsided. “You’d have sex and sleep with me. I was quite perplexed as to why you were so… nice all the time.”
Obviously, only in cuddling and sex.
L is saying it as though Light was nice in anything else. As though Light could manage that.
Or was capable of that in the first place.
“You didn’t want to have sex with me,” L says.
The only answer Light can give is measured, way too deliberate.
“What does it matter?”
For a long, long moment, L is silent.
Light lets him be silent. Lets him be sad.
Lets him wait and not receive anything but Light’s expectant gaze, with Light’s heart already covered in a freshly conjured layer of iron armor.
“I am not forgiving you,” L tells him after the time for it has long passed.
Light is ready.
He was ready.
He has not expected anything better.
“I am not sanctifying your behaviour,” L continues.
Does he genuinely believe he has to go on?
That it has to go on?
“I am expecting to see real guilt and shame and hear an apology from you,” right, sure. “I know it will come - you are too smart and self-righteous for it not to come,” aha. “I know you will twist it. You will make it self-obsessed, and noble, and villanious, and pretty. I am past expecting anything else. And I don’t long for it.”
“Fair,” Light wants to drop lazily if L gives him a chance to speak.
“Meanwhile, I’ll be taking my compensation and my prize.”
And L keeps going.
“I’ll be taking what I want, and I won’t take anything you don’t proactively want to give - not as a bargaining chip or out of a sense of duty. Resentment is corrosive - I don’t want to hold on to it, but you can if you want to. I believe we hate and despise each other enough - we don’t need any more burdens in this equation. Deal?”
And Light was honest - it doesn’t matter.
It is enough to have the flow of bad blood between them, the rot of fake friendship and the sweet, vitalising poison of unending, mind-bending connection.
Light can lie about it now. L will now see him through, see it through, anyway.
For tonight, Light can play nice.
Just once.
So, Light takes his time, looking at L. At his sharp eyes and the cunning smile.
Immensely enjoying the sight.
“Deal,” Light says.
Calm. Always calm.
And pulls L into the kiss.
L obeys.
Or plays at obedience.
While the obedience is all Light’s.