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“You killed me.”
“Most would agree you deserved it.”
“You’re a murderer.”
“Takes one to know one.” L risked a glance over his shoulder at the glowering ghost. Blood dripped from the hole in the centre of his forehead, painting Light’s face with dark smears.
“You’re so immature,” Light snapped.
“Jealous you never grew up?”
Light clenched his fists and half-turned away, legs fading in and out as he adjusted. “It’s my death note. I want it. I need it. You know I need it. Be reasonable.”
“We both know the rules. It’s not your death note anymore.”
“But I need it!”
L tutted. “Don’t be childish.” He drummed his fingers against the desk, swaying slightly in his chair. It was eerie, watching Light pace behind him out of the corner of his eye without a footstep to be heard. His current case was a bore, but he’d be done soon. He’d be done sooner if Light would settle down.
L blinked as Light popped up inches from his nose, red eyes glowing, face pinched in a scowl. “Don’t ignore me.”
“You’ve said your piece. Here’s my answer: no.”
“But with the death note–”
“Light, look at yourself. You clearly don’t need the death note to manifest.”
He stilled for a moment, scattered glow fading around the edges until he was translucent. The dribbling wound spat out a clot as he considered himself. Even as he relaxed, he was fading. All at once, he sprung into flurried pacing, working back up to a fury. “But it only works when I’m mad at you,” he said bitterly.
L snorted. “And isn’t that a shame.”
“We could try it, just once, to see if it makes me stronger. I wouldn’t try anything, you can trust me.”
“Mmm. I don’t.” L reached for his half eaten ice cream, dripping dangerously close to the evidence piled across the desk.
“What could I even do? I’m dead.”
“I have no doubt it would do something, or you wouldn’t be so desperate.”
“Maybe it would let me pass on.”
“Unlikely. You’re a stubborn bastard.”
Light sighed and settled into the seat beside L, taking advantage of his temporary visibility to indulge in L’s stare. “Like what you see?”
“You’re fading.”
“You didn’t answer the question.”
L sighed. “You’re much less attractive covered in blood.”
Light’s voice was almost a whisper now, an echo floating on a draft, barely an outline in the dim room. “You’ve got ice cream on your chin.”
L smiled and wiped ineffectively at his face, leaning through the cold spot perched on Light’s chair to grab a napkin.
“We should do this more often.” L paused. “It’s nice to see you,” he confessed.
“Come to bed,” said Light.
L grunted and leaned further into his papers spread across the hotel coffee table. He was busy, couldn’t Light see? He’d go to bed when he was good and ready, and not a moment before. A cold kiss was pressed against the nape of his neck. Pulling his laptop closer, he ignored it. L let his fingers hover over the keys for a moment, huffing when they were guided toward b-e-d. “That’s enough out of you,” he said, shutting the lid. He leaned back and stretched, a shudder going through his body. “Fine, fine, I’m coming.”
“You don’t even need to sleep,” L said through a mouthful of toothpaste. He spat. “Fuck, neither of us need to sleep.”
A message was scrawled across the fogged mirror in Light’s perfect handwriting. I like it.
“Of course you do. Lazy.”
Workaholic
There was a band of cold around L’s wrist, a bracelet that refused to warm. Light tugged him by their intangible chain towards the fluffy bed. L threw the covers back and crawled in, waiting a moment for Light to follow. He seemed to be hesitating. “Crawl in, mooch.” L reached out a hand. Cold fingers intertwined with his, clambering closer, and under the covers cold feet pressed against– and for one horrible moment, through– his legs. L settled back to stare at the ceiling for however long he would end up indulging the dead monster in his bed.
He wondered, sometimes, what they looked like from the outside. What he looked like from the outside. It had started out as a game, so long ago. A game with very high stakes, but a game nonetheless. And then, a triumph for justice, leaving L with the foul taste of victory on his lips. Light had looked so scared , those last few moments. When he looked L in the eye and dared him to do it. L shuddered and rolled over, reaching for his laptop.
Watari was distant these days. L had never been one for relationships, but even the smallest sandcastles crumbled to the sea of whatever it was he had with Light. Watari had asked him once, point blank, if Light was still around. He hadn’t answered. Watari left, and it felt sometimes like he had never come back.
He was pecking along some hours later when a sudden cold gripped his hands. He froze, watching his fingers type out go to sleep. you need it.
“It’s nearly morning. There’s no point now.”
Still, the phantom cuff around his wrist tugged him down and down, deep under the duvet. Invisible hands shoved him until he rolled over onto his stomach. Light began to trace a careful pattern up and down his spine, his body softening under the caress. He grumbled something incomprehensible into the pillow and let himself relax, eyes sliding shut. Only for a moment, he decided.
“You’re a brat.”
Says the ghoul.
“Excuse me? You’re literally dead.”
Between the two of us, only one of us has been mistaken for a ghost.
“You’ve never been mistaken for a ghost because you are a ghost.” L crossed his arms across his chest, pulling them back from the laptop to let his point sizzle. Light wasn’t up for verbal speech at the moment, so they were typing while L worked away at a case. They’d tried ouija. It hadn’t worked; Light found rituals demeaning, and L could rarely rummage up enough people to sit a proper séance.
“Light, are you looking at this? I have an idea.”
I’m not racing you. You’ve already solved the case, you rotten cheater.
And indeed he had. “The next one, then. New to both of us. You know you want to.”
I can’t manipulate the computer. It’s unfair.
“I’ll give you a hand.” L’s hovered over the keyboard while he waited for Light’s response. The pause was heavy with judgment. “Scared you’ll lose?”
That did it. You’re on.
L pulled up the case file, and they were off. L cheated first, reclaiming the frantically typing hand from an infuriated Light. The monitors began to flicker, the lights in the room getting brighter and brighter, the patch of cold at L’s side growing steadily in power.
The cold and the power fluctuations continued even after L returned his hand. It felt odd, the force guiding his fingers without a thought to guide them. The monitor flickered again, stronger than before, like a heartbeat, and then turned off. The rest of the computer followed suit.
Fans slowly whirred down in the awkward silence. Side by side in the dark, L knew Light had manifested before he even glanced over. They stared at each other, Light’s shoulders heaving with effort. L bit his lip and looked down.
“Do you think being controlled by the death note feels like being possessed?”
Light scoffed. “You’ve never been possessed.”
“You're being semantic.”
Light shrugged flippantly. “Lending me your hands is completely different. You’re still all there. It’s your body and your hands. With the death note, it’s like they’re hollowed out inside. Like they know they’re already dead, and it’s just a matter of time.”
“You’ve seen it up close?” L asked.
There was a softness in Light’s eyes that came with the memory, but it held no warmth. “Yes. It was beautiful. Best feeling in the world, watching the mounting horror in someone’s eyes when they realize they’re essentially already dead.”
“I disagree,” said L, “it was awful watching you die.”
“Then you shouldn’t have killed me, prick.”
L flapped a hand dismissively. “You know it was necessary. The point is–”
“It hurt. When you shot me,” blurted Light.
L blinked. “I rather assumed it had.”
“It took me rather by surprise, you know. I considered us almost friends."
“And I considered you Kira.”
“I wasn’t Kira at the time.”
“Close enough. It was a race, Light, and I won. If you’d beaten me to the punch I’d be the dead one. There’s no shame in winning.”
“Isn’t there?” whispered Light.
A cup of tea and a cup of coffee sat on the kitchen table, the coffee untouched. L had taken to more mundane tasks since Watari had left; having someone new just wouldn’t be the same. L curled in his chair, hands sticky with pastry, and looked out the window. Snow was falling. “Did you know snow falls at approximately eleven feet per second?” He paused. “Of course you already know, you’re such a smartass. There’s something poetic in it. Eleven feet per second sounds so fast, but when you look at them they’re falling so slowly. We were like that. Too fast yet too slow.”
He added a sugar cube to his tea, dipping a finger in the coffee. Ice cold. L tutted. “There’s no need to be snippy, darling.”
“Darling?” said Light as if from a great distance. This far from the death note, he struggled to manifest physically. A little further and he would be nothing at all.
“Would you prefer something else? Killer? Parasite? Beloved?”
Light kissed the back of his neck right above the collar, a brush of cold. “They all sound true enough, I suppose,” he said haughtily. L checked the tea again. Lukewarm. Much better. He downed it in one go, swirling his tongue through the slurry of sugar left on the bottom. He stretched out, peering out the window. The flurries fell quickly, and he wished he could see through their curtain. “I want breakfast,” said L.
He stood and started for the door, pulling on a long puffer jacket and shoving his hands deep into the pockets as the door swung shut behind him. “I do hope you’re coming with,” murmured L. He slipped from the elevator out into the early morning sun, squinting a little. “You probably won’t be very good company, but I suppose it’s not your fault.”
He left shallow prints that were quickly lost beneath the bustle that plagues every city. Light, if he was there, left no mark at all.
L wandered into the first café he saw, sliding into a private corner while he studied the chalkboard menu. The pastries looked nice. “I’ve been thinking,” he said conversationally to thin air, “about the performance of the self lately. Look at you. Your persona means everything to you, and it’s all a show, a performance. I used to think you were scared of who you were, deep down. The hole in your soul that Kira crawled out of. I know now it’s easier than that. You’re not nearly that complicated. You genuinely believe you’re perfect.”
L made his decision, pushing the chair back with a resounding screech, dropping his jacket haphazardly across the table to claim the spot. He tapped his foot waiting in the short line, and ordered the sweetest thing on the menu, with extra whipped cream. The barista smiled at him politely.
Smacking the bottom of the powdered sugar over his cinnamon bun, he continued. “Light Yagami is not perfect. You wish you were. Kira is perfectionism made monster.” He took a bite. “We’re similar. I can do terrible things, and I also hate to lose.” L looked skyward, running a thumb against his lips. “I didn’t kill hundreds of thousands of people, though. And I’m not putting on a show. I am who I am.
“If one was to cut Light Yagami open, I wonder what there’d be inside. Beyond the shrapnel. Under the perfectionism and the boredom and the pulsing indifference. I think I’d like to know that man. I’d feel your cold dead body against mine like an ache every morning and love you all the more for it. I would like to know you, and correct me if I’m wrong,” he grinned wryly, “I think you’d like me to know you.”
They were far from the death note, if Light had even bothered to follow, and he expected no answer. A draft blew through regardless, something familiar in the shiver that ran down his spine
It was four in the morning, the distant sounds of the city filtering through to the dimly lit room. L hadn’t bothered to turn the lights on when he came in, and the only illumination came from soft streetlights. Rain knocked faintly on the roof. L hummed, considering, as he reached out a hand to trail down Light’s invisible cheek.
“I wish I could see you.”
“No you don’t. I’m horrible.”
Tsking, L dropped his arms down around Light’s waist, pulling him along as he shuffled in a circle. “I don’t care. We’re dancing, and I wish to see you.”
“If wishes were fishes,” said Light, adjusting his hands along L’s waist, running a teasing finger along the small of his back, just where his shirt had ridden up.
“I bet you wish for all sorts of things, Kira.”
“Of course I wish for things. Everyone does.”
“You wanted to remake the world.”
Light snorted, a puff of air in L’s face. “I have different ambitions, now.”
“What do you wish for?”
“You go first.”
“I asked you first.”
Light sighed and stepped back, still holding onto L, but only barely. “You have to promise not to hold it against me,” he said slowly. “I wish-” Light trailed off.
L said nothing, hauling Light back in and turning them slowly around the room, listening to the rhythmic pattering of rain while he waited. He grunted when he shuffled into the coffee table, bumping his legs. Light, the bastard, passed right through the solid wood.
“I wish you could have forgiven me before we met.”
L blinked. “That’s impossible.”
“It doesn't have to be possible. It’s a wish.”
“Why forgiveness? You’re not much for regret.”
“I regret nothing. I only wish,” he trailed off again. They danced in silence for a long moment. L let his arms drift upward until he was cradling Light, who leaned in until his cheek rested against L’s neck.
“I miss you,” said L at last.
“I’m right here.”
“I miss us. How we were before. It was intoxicating.”
“Deadly, you mean.”
“This,” L jerked his chin, “isn’t the same.”
Light smiled against L’s neck. “That’s because you’re deadist.”
“That’s not a real word.”
“Is.”
“Isn’t.”
Light laughed, and said nothing more.
Light followed behind L as they walked slowly through the streets of some city or another. He rarely paid attention to where they were, anymore. It was a beautiful evening, and snow fell slowly past the lampposts. He hesitated for a moment, eyes catching on a television display in a window. He never could resist the news.
Hustling to keep L in view, Light darted into the alleyway he had wandered down, the lone set of footprints vanishing as the ground got icier in the shadows. He caught sight of L a ways down, but was in no hurry to catch up. This far from the death note manifesting in any way was impossible.
A man walked through Light, appearing behind him without a sound. The man was shaking, Light noticed. He had a gun. Light shouted a useless warning. L still had his back to the man, tapping one boot against the ground while he studied a piece of graffiti that had caught his attention. The man came up behind him and pressed the gun into L’s spine. He turned slowly, hands still jammed into his pockets, studying the mugger with his head cocked to the side.
“This is a bad idea,” said L.
“Shut it,” the mugger took a step closer for emphasis, “and get your hands up.”
“If you walk away now I’ll call it even.” He kept his hands in his pockets. Light cursed, hovering right behind the mugger. He could see the look of sleepy defiance on L’s face and knew this wasn’t going to end well.
“I said get your hands up!” his voice was as steady as his hands weren’t.
“How do you know I don’t have a gun?” L gave his hands a wiggle. “I could be pointing one at you right now. So it’s best for everyone if you just walk away.” His voice was flat.
The man blinked heavily, his breathing picking up. Light felt his stress.
L sighed. “Look,” he started, pulling his hands at last out of his pockets, and Light saw a look of panic flash across the mugger’s face as his shaking hands pulled the trigger.
“Oops,” said L. The mugger shot him one last look and fled. L lumbered over to the wall and sat down, leaning against the brick. It was kind of gross down there, Light noticed as he settled beside him, hands ghosting over where L clutched his chest. L was bleeding.
The thought resonated through Light. L was bleeding and there was nothing he could do to stop it. It was as if he wasn’t even there, less substance than even the wind. ”Light, you there?” said L. He snickered. “You’re always there. I’ll get moving in just a minute, so there’s no need to fret. I bet you look like a mother duck right now.”
They sat there together for a long minute. L shivered. Light wished he could warm him.
When he was good and ready, L grimaced and stood. Blood was smeared across the brick where he’d been leaning, pooling on the ground. With faltering steps L walked toward the streetlamps. Light sat where he was, eyes locked on the red puddle. When he looked up L was backlit with a holy glow. His shoulders were hunched with pain.
Light stood and watched him go.