Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Light is eight years old the first time that he feels it.

Light’s elementary school was not in the habit of giving IQ tests to their students. Even after seeing his consistently high grades and the speed at which he picked up new concepts, the administration was hesitant to extend what may be construed as special treatment. However, Light’s father was more than influential in their community, and it didn’t take a large push to convince them to make an exception for him. The exam itself had been easy enough to border on boring, nothing but logic puzzles in various forms, but his parents’ enthusiasm had bled into his and he’d found himself eager to hear the results.

When he finally receives them, a packet of papers with the impressive number 207 stamped onto the front page, the elation barely extends beyond a few moments before Light jolts forward with the force of a harsh slap against the back of his head.

He whips around at the sudden sensation, the gushing sounds of the adults surrounding him fading into background noise as he finds himself confronted with nothing but an empty classroom behind him. His gaze searches the room desperately, trying to find the culprit. His parents and teachers are in front of him, and besides, Light knows that they would never hit him like that. But the feeling was too real to have been imagined, and when he brings up his hand to palm at his aching head, his hair is newly mussed into a sloppy disarray. He frowns, but there’s nothing to see.

The steady stream of praises - “never seen anything so advanced for someone at his age, I would recommend enrolling him in higher level courses, with his intellect and mannerisms I have no doubt that his scores for the entrance exams would be incredible even now” - from his teachers trails off at his mother’s concerned, “Light? Is something wrong?”

He rubs at the back of his head again before slowly turning to face forward again. “I thought I felt something-” he begins to say, but is immediately cut off by five sharp pin pricks digging into the side of his neck, accompanied by a freezing cold pressure pushing against the skin obscured by his hair. It feels frighteningly real, like someone is squeezing the back of his neck with the intent to kill, and the pain forces involuntary tears to well up in Light’s eyes. When he frantically brings his hand up to try to pry his attacker away from him, his palm meets nothing but his own skin. Light’s fingers scrabble uselessly at his neck even as the pain persists, completely undeterred by Light’s desperate attempt to make it go away.

His father shoots to his feet at Light’s visible panic. “What’s wrong?” he demands, but Light can’t bring himself to speak, shoulders raised protectively up to his ears and frozen in place. Light gasps when the grip finally loosens and pulls away, leaving one last lingering scrape before disappearing completely. He takes a few heaving breaths, struggling to understand what just happened.

He curls further into himself, exam results forgotten, as he parses through his thoughts. “I don’t know,” he chokes out when he comes up empty, and the sentiment is terrifyingly new. “I don’t know!”

Hours later, when Light has finally calmed down in the safety of his own home, he does his best to explain what had happened to his parents - the sudden pain, the scary nothingness, the tangible sensation by an invisible force. His mother’s gaze softens even as Soichiro’s brow continues to furrow with open concern. “Oh, Light,” Sachiko says with a small, sad smile. “I think that was your soulmate.”

“My soulmate,” Light repeats, skeptical. 

Light knows about soulmates. Cultural osmosis makes them a common feature in his life. Soulmates are represented by soulmarks - unique, coin-sized symbols that are placed somewhere on the person’s body. Not everyone has them, but they’re more common than not. His father doesn’t have any soulmarks, but his mother has two on the inside of her left arm and Sayu has three in a loose ring around her belly button. Light only has one - the English letter L in a black, stylized font. It’s located on the triangular patch of skin above the base of his right thumb, so he can always see it clearly when he writes. He’s always admired the look of it, the monochrome simplicity that contrasts elegantly against his skin. His soulmark faces him when he studies, and he likes to think of it as a reminder to do well, so he can prove himself as a worthy soulmate to whoever exists for him behind the L.

The purpose of a soulmate goes far beyond a simple insurance that someone special will exist in a person’s life, however. When two soulmates meet, they can forge a soulbond. A bond is created by exchanging blood, most commonly by pressing a small cut in their palms together for a handful of moments. Light has seen his mother do it several times with Rio Auntie and Mitsuru Auntie whenever his family goes to visit them in Kyoto, connecting together with a brief flare of light. People forge soulbonds multiple times over the course of their life because each bond acts like time travel. Although the soulbond only lasts a few seconds in reality, each soulmate is sent backwards through time into the other’s past to whenever destiny deems that they need emotional support. The only thing that they can interact with during the soulbond is their soulmate. Essentially, they are comforting, time-travelling phantoms.

The presence of a soulmate travelling through someone’s life is supposed to be positive and beautiful. The angry ghost who hurt Light today feels nothing like anything he’s heard of before. He - and Light now knows that L is a he, somehow, is convinced of that with a certainty deep in his bones - acts like he hates Light rather than loves him, like everyone promises that he’s supposed to. Bitterness wells up within him.

“I hate my soulmate!” he declares and surges to his feet. “And I hope he never comes back!”

“Light!” Sachiko exclaims in horror, but he’s already scrambled up the stairs and slammed the door of his room behind him.

Unfortunately, Light’s soulmate - his L - completely disregards his wishes and becomes a permanent, if sporadic, feature in his life. By the time Light turns ten, he’s used to feeling L in the form of chilly, painful jabs of invisible fingers into his side or the distinct imprints of a hand squeezing his shoulder in a too-tight grip. If souls could leave bruises, Light thinks that he would be covered with them from L’s angry hits.

And L is angry with him, Light is sure about that. The one thing Light can’t figure out is why.

Light excels in everything he does. He’s the perfect student and son and brother. He doesn’t cause trouble for anyone. He exceeds everyone’s wildest expectations for what someone his age should be able to accomplish. If anything, he should be the model soulmate. So, why would L hate him so much to purposefully try to hurt him during their soulbond? What could Light have possibly done to deserve such a bully as a soulmate?

The closest thing that Light can figure is that he and L must have been in the middle of some sort of argument right before they decided to soulbond. It’s possible that they thought forging a soulbond would be a good way to learn to get along, as if they would be able to understand each other better afterward? Light’s heard of people doing it before. His future self must have been stupid for agreeing to that, Light thinks bitterly. He would have known how mean L had been when he was growing up! He should have insisted that they wait until they’d been happier.

There had to be some sort of logical explanation to it. His parents had said that Light would inevitably figure it out when he’s older, after he and L met in person.

Light hates that idea. He doesn’t want to wait that long, but with no way for him to communicate clearly with L, he’s forced to do nothing but slough through L’s weird form of torture until they meet.

Light’s walking home from school when he senses L appear. L’s soul is freezing, sucking the heat out of the air before he even bothers to mess with Light. Light sighs, annoyed. “What do you want?” he asks tersely as the frigid void keeps pace with him. 

L shoves against Light’s side with enough force to knock him off balance if L had actually had a physical form. Light glares at the space where he would be. “I’m not even doing anything! Tell destiny to shove off.”

As if in answer, L taps Light’s hand where it’s wrapped around his satchel. The three off-rhythm beats are purposeful even as they press what feel like sharp fingernails against the thin fabric of his black glove, right above where Light’s soulmark is hidden from sight.

“What, the gloves? I thought you’d be happy that you couldn’t see my soulmark,” Light says, exasperated. He’d bought them three months ago for his birthday. He’s been wearing them daily ever since, but this must have been the first time L had actually seen them.

L touches the spot again, the imprint of nails digging into Light’s skin, and Light whips his hand away to hold it against his chest protectively. “I don’t get you!” he complains, ignoring how ridiculous it feels to be ranting at empty air. “You’re mad that I’m your soulmate, but you still get angry when I try to ignore you! Do you want to be here or not!?”

There’s a sudden, hard impact against Light’s cheek, the distinct sensation of four points sinking against his skin. Even though there’s nothing physical to back the feeling up, Light still stumbles with surprise, caught off guard with the force of it. Light brings his hand up to the spot, mouth open. “Did you just punch me?” he asks L disbelievingly. 

In response, L pokes once at Light’s newly exposed glove. Light groans. Yeah, okay, that ruse was obvious in hindsight. He would rather die than admit the defeat, though. “Ugh. You’re the worst, you know that?” he snaps. The pain from his face is already fading away, and Light shivers at the familiar feeling of passing through the frostbitten chill of L’s soul as he moves his hand away. “Also, I’m not taking the gloves off! Never! Not even after we meet!”

There’s a brief pause, and Light can easily imagine the ghost of L digesting his angry statement. Then, L smacks at the back of Light’s head before abruptly vanishing away from reality, the soulbond whisking him forward in time. Light breathes a sigh of relief as the early summer warmth returns, replacing L’s frosty presence. L could be a problem for his future self to deal with. 

Hopefully, it would be the future self with the ability to hit back against L’s physical form, but if Light’s luck with his soulmate was any indication, there’s no way that he’d get relief for that long.

Chapter Text

Light is bored.

That’s the crux of it, really. Light is eleven years old, in his final year of elementary school, and he is bored out of his mind. Yes, he has multiple friends and a loving family, yes, he is at the top of his class, yes, his soulmate won’t leave him alone, but he’s weary of it all nonetheless. He feels like he’s sloughing through the material that he’s learning, picking up the concepts too quickly for any of them to hold onto his interest for long, despite how impressive his skills appeared to his teachers. 

He’s not afraid to admit that he’s a genius. The problem with that is that he’s absolutely certain that nothing and no one can even possibly hope to keep up with him.

(Would L be able to keep up with Light? Was he as brilliant as Light is? Is that why Light tolerated him enough to forge the soulbond?)

His father has started giving him old, unclassified case files to look over in a desperate attempt to help his son, and that helps. His mother scolds Soichiro that the grisly subject matter is far above anything age appropriate, but Light doesn’t mind. He likes the puzzles of solving a mystery, of picking apart the motivations of everyone involved, how the various actors think and use the resources available to them. As interesting as it is, however, he’s always hesitant about indulging his hobby. L is always there when Light works on police cases, hanging over his shoulder and tapping idly against his skull as he goes through the archived evidence. 

L seems almost calm in those moments, less of an unrelenting wall of fury and more like he’s resigned himself to a childish sulking. The change isn’t bad, but Light refuses to let his guard down. After all, it’s not like L’s behavior is all that different normally. He acts the same as ever whenever Light’s not doing detective work, back to trying to communicate his hatred through chilly touches alone. But still, it’s a noticeable enough difference to always catch Light’s attention. It’s like L’s trying, in his own stunted way, to embody what a soulmate should be, rather than continuing his own personal rampage.

That’s a nicer interpretation of his newfound behavior than L probably deserves, but it’s a comforting thought to Light nonetheless.

He never admits it outside of the privacy of his own mind, but the fact that L approves of Light’s detective work is part of what pushes him to seek it out more, dig further and further into what his father can access for him. Even though the cases have been solved for years, it still feels like what Light is doing matters. Like he’s helping people by bringing them justice, even if everyone who could possibly benefit from his deductions has long since moved on.

Everything changes the day that he gets one wrong.

Soichiro clicks his tongue, frowning at Light’s work. He sets it next to the official report, two decades old. “No, Light,” he chastises, gaze roving between the two files. “It was Yamaoke in a crime of passion. He’d recently discovered that his wife was cheating,” he points at the case timeline redundantly, “so he killed her on the day that he knew that she would be meeting with her lover. He waited until Himiko left Tatsumi’s home so that he would have evidence of wrongdoing, but he snapped and murdered her as soon as she left rather than turning it into the police.”

“But why would he wait?” Light presses. “If Yamaoke actually had decided to kill her rather than report the evidence, why wouldn’t he do it while Himiko and Tatsumi were together? He filmed the entire scene, so why would he only get that angry after she left?”

“These people are deranged. You can’t expect one of them to be thinking clearly. It’s obvious!”

“No, it’s not obvious,” Light argues. “You’re just thinking too small scale!” He leans over his father to shuffle through the reports until he finds the list of character witnesses. “Himiko was a company manager at Labrys Industries at the time she was murdered. Their stock prices had recently dropped, and she was in charge of deciding who to fire so they could downscale. One of those people,” he taps at the profile picture of a mousy, frowning man, “was Hasegawa Yuka. Yuka served as a character witness for Tatsumi in order to strengthen the argument against Yamaoke, and he said that he and Tatsumi were close enough friends that Tatsumi told him about the affair. However, I think that he and Tatsumi worked together to kill Himiko and blamed Yamaoke, knowing that his motivation for murdering her would look obvious.”

“Himiko fired multiple people at the time, and the interviews made it quite obvious that the affair was common knowledge around the workplace. Why Yuka specifically?”

“Yamaoke was seen a lot at the Sukuno Fitness Center - that was used as some of the evidence that he was violent. However, Yuka also held an annual membership at the time. Yamaoke said that he was able to figure out that Himiko was having an affair because her behavior changed, but I don’t think that’s right.”

“You think he was lying?” 

“Not lying,” Light hesitates, gathering his thoughts. There’s an icy brush of phantom fingers against the bared skin of Light’s neck. The touch is surprisingly gentle. Undeterred, Light continues, “I think that Yamaoke convinced himself that he noticed Himiko change. Actually, I think that Yuka told him. After that, he just had to set up an ambush at Tatsumi’s home so they could kill Himiko and frame Yamaoke!”

Soichiro frowns, brow furrowing. “Why would Tatsumi help?”

Light lets out a frustrated huff of air. “Tatsumi and Himiko had reportedly been arguing about the company layoffs. If she was out of the picture, he would get the opportunity to take her place and rehire some of the people that she fired. Like Yuka, who was Tatsumi’s friend! The evidence, the motivation - Dad, it’s all there!” He slams his palms on the table and leans forward, eyes bright with determination. “Yuka and Tatsumi are the murderers, and they’re still free!”

“I see,” Soichiro says, voice halting and uncertain. “Light, you figured that all out just from this file?”

“Yes!” Light exclaims, exasperated. A cold impression of a hand ruffles at his hair. If Light didn’t know L any better, the gesture would almost seem fond.

Soichiro looks down at his son, eyes wide as if seeing Light for the first time. “Light,” he commands, something urgent in his tone. “Light, I need you to write down your entire thought process, as well as every piece of evidence that led you to make those decisions.”

“Um, Dad?” Light starts, but Soichiro doesn’t seem to be listening.

“I’d like for you to have that done by tonight, because I want to take you to the station tomorrow. I’ll call your school and let them know,” Soichiro continues, almost to himself. “It may not be possible to call a retrial, but I would like the police chief to hear your deductions for himself. Labrys Industries is still fully operational.”

Light can see where his father is going with this, and the thought of it makes him giddy, despite L’s hovering. “Dad, was I right?” he asks. “Did I do it?”

Soichiro smiles at his son. He reaches down to tousle Light’s hair, his large hand warm and solid as it travels through L’s invisible touch. “Yes, Light,” Soichiro says, beaming with pride. “You did it perfectly.”

And just like that, the boredom begins to fade.

After that, Light starts spending most of his free time at the police precinct, analyzing cases. It’s not too different from what he’d been doing before, actually, except that he’s no longer working through long-irrelevant cold cases. Instead, he was being given currently active mysteries. It takes an agonizingly long time to be given anything more to work on than dreadfully dull open-and-close investigations - it’s so aggravating that the majority of his father’s colleagues still view Light as nothing more than an idealistic child rather than an intellectual force more competent than half the NPA combined - but eventually, he’s able to prove his worth despite his age. The cases that he’s assigned become increasingly complex, despite the fact that some of them are already half-solved, only requiring a new perspective before being declared closed. At least, it’s enough to fend off the boredom that Light had become accustomed to: the sick, lowly fog in his mind, slow-acting poison dragging away at him.

Like before, L shadows Light’s detective work, a phantasmal companion constantly draped over him. Sometimes, L will shift away from his placid interest in the crimes and instead just tap Light, drumming his fingers on his scalp or his arm in random, staccato beats. Distantly, Light notes that L only starts when Light finds himself stalling for a moment too long, briefly halted by a particularly difficult scenario. L’s tapping is a mild distraction, filling the empty space. Light ignores them as much he can, but he can tell when L gets increasingly annoyed at the lack of attention, the purposeful rhythm transforming into more painful jabs. It’s nothing that Light isn’t used to, but it’s annoying nonetheless. Every time Light thinks that they’re making progress, L always proves him wrong. Light wonders if his future self hates his soulmate just as much as he does now.

Light’s growing work with the police is never enough to impact his studies or damage his relationship with his friends, but it’s enough to make his mother frown with obvious distaste. The grating resentment reaches its climax one night, after Light and Soichiro had trudged home in the late hours of the evening. Light jolts awake in bed to the sensation of L’s icy hand wrapped around his wrist. He immediately groans, burrowing deeper into his warm blankets in an attempt to escape whatever it was that his soulmate wanted to bother him with now. It was late, Light hadn’t had much time to sleep recently, couldn’t destiny just take a hint-

L refuses to let go of Light’s wrist. Instead, his fingers clamp harder, as if he’s trying to tug Light out of bed. Petulant, Light mutters, “Go away!”

L doesn’t release him, but he does bring down his other hand to swat against the back of Light’s head. He yanks at Light’s wrist again, and Light’s mouth opens, a biting insult on the tip of his tongue. Before he can spit anything out, he’s interrupted by a timid knock on his bedroom door, decidedly much more tangible than L’s ghostly presence.

Light opens his eyes to see Sayu slowly push the door ajar. He can barely make her out in the dark, her small silhouette just another shadow in the night. Still, Light sits up in concern. “Sayu?” he asks her, voice soft. “What’s wrong? Is everything okay?” He runs down a mental checklist of anything that could make her come so late in the night. The weather is remarkably clear, so it’s not like she’d be woken up by a storm. She would have gone to their parents if there had been any sort of accident. It could have been a nightmare, then. But why come to him instead of their mother?

Sayu matches his tone of voice, creeping closer. “I’m - I’m okay,” she whispers as Light moves to stand. “It’s just,” she takes a deep breath, “I couldn’t sleep and then I heard Mom and Dad fighting about you and I just - I just thought you should know about it.” She rambles on as Light freezes, stunned, “They were getting loud and I didn’t know what to do.”

Sayu is getting increasingly distressed, worrying at the sleeves of her pajamas and hunching her shoulders as she talks. Light holds out a placating hand for her to take even as his mind races. Their parents were fighting about him? He’d always exceeded their expectations. There shouldn’t be anything for them to fight about!  

But Light can’t ask a six-year-old to give any reliable details, and Sayu looks too panicked to not take priority. “Hey, it’s okay,” Light says as she holds on to him, his thin gloves creasing in her desperate grip. “It’s probably nothing to worry about.”

“But they were - Mom-” Sayu takes a trembling breath, and Light fights to stay composed with L’s impatient presence at his back. “Mom was saying that you and Dad, that he was - he was making you do all this stuff and it was going to - to drive you insane, or something, I don’t - I don’t know-”

“What?”

Sayu’s eyes are wide and pleading. “So you - so you have to stop, Light, okay? I don’t want - I don’t want anything to happen to you! I don’t care about what Dad says!”

“Sayu, calm down,” Light says, even as his own curiosity flares into alarm. “It’s - you just might not have understood them.”

“I didn’t! Light, she just - Mom just sounded so mad.”

“Okay,” Light says. “Okay, Sayu, why don’t you-” he flounders briefly. He needs to know what he did wrong, because he can’t let his parents down, too, like he somehow did his soulmate. “Why don’t you stay here,” he tells her. “I’ll go talk to Mom and Dad, and I’ll get everything figured out.” 

Sayu doesn’t look convinced, biting at her lip, so Light smiles and adds, “I promise.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. It’ll be okay, don’t worry.” He begins disentangling himself from her, leading Sayu to sit on his bed to make his way to the door. L prods at him, and Light slips into the darkened hallway before Sayu can voice another protest. 

He tiptoes towards his parents’ bedroom, footsteps nearly silent on the carpet. Sayu was right - even through their closed door, he can hear their muffled voices, rising as their argument escalates. Light stops when he’s a meter away. He presses himself against the wall as L hovers beside him, a frigid shadow. 

His mother is speaking, her tone threaded with a righteous anger that he’s never heard her use before. “Murder, rape, arson - Soichiro, the list goes on! You need to stop doing this to Light!”

Light frowns. His father isn’t doing anything to him! Soichiro apparently agrees. “He volunteered to do it!” Soichiro argues, voice firm with conviction.

“He’s only a boy! It’s not Light’s job to know about these cases!”

“You saw him, Sachiko! He was degrading right in front of our eyes! He needed something productive to focus on!” 

Degrading? No, Light had just been bored. It’s not like he’d been wasting away!

The world had just been getting increasingly duller, as if the only thing grounding him to reality was his ever-shifting thoughts about L’s hypothermic mood swings.

“And you think this is productive?” Sachiko snaps. “Solving crimes that will traumatize him?”

“Was anything else working?” Soichiro takes a ragged breath. “This is all because of that soulmate of his!”

Light’s breath catches. In response, L wraps a hand around Light’s wrist, lightning-fast. Light forces himself to focus on the freezing grasp instead, ducking his head.

“Soichiro, don’t-”

“I know you don’t like discussing it, Sachiko! But the truth is, Light’s going to spend the rest of his life stuck with someone abusive, and I want to give him an outlet while we still can!”

Light isn’t stuck with anything! He’s stronger than L, smarter than L - there’s no way his parents could think so little of him to think that he’d be overcome by anyone or anything! Besides, Light helped the police because he wanted to. L hadn’t factored into it at all.

A tidal wave of rage crashes over him, and Light whips around. He’s unsurprised to be met with empty air where L would be, but he jerks his arm forcefully nonetheless, desperate to dislodge L’s cognitive hand, to free himself from the rock-solid hold. L refuses to release him, instead yanking at his arm painfully. Light bares his teeth, flushed with anger. He just wants L to go away, to leave him alone to hear his parents speculate about how his future was already ruined due to his failure of a soulmate!

His mother’s voice snatches him back into reality. “Soichiro, you don’t know that! You can’t predict his future. You don’t understand what it’s like to have soulbonds!”

“Do not start that with me again! I know that my son is in pain. Isn’t that enough to convince you that his experience might be different than yours?”

“Oh, don’t you dare accuse me of not knowing Light! I’m his mother! Just because you’ve started dragging him to the police station doesn’t mean that you understand him and his emotions better than I do!”

Soichiro’s voice booms. “Apparently I do, if you think that him solving cases is doing him more harm than good!”

The two of them lapse into silence, and Light barely represses a shiver that’s entirely detached from L’s frosty aura.

Finally, Sachiko speaks up. Her tone is decidedly softer, almost soothing against her husband’s indigence. “I think we’ve … strayed from our topic,” she begins. “Yes, Light needs a healthy outlet for his energy. I just don’t believe that police files are appropriate for his age.”

Soichiro sighs, bone-deep. “What do you suggest, then? He’s not Sayu - we can’t just point him in any direction and expect him to enjoy it. He’s old enough to make his own decisions.”

“Not old enough for this,” Light’s mother says, quiet but resolute. “One day, maybe, but not now. Not when he’s eleven. His intelligence doesn’t matter - he’s still a child.”

At that, L’s hold on Light’s wrist tightens, shocking in its angry possessiveness. Light winces at the newly crushing pressure.

When Soichiro stays silent, Sachiko says, “I thought that it would be nice to direct him towards some school sport. It will be competitive enough to keep him occupied, even if it won’t be as challenging as the work he does now.”

After a deliberating pause, Soichiro replies, “You’re right. Something physical might prove good for him, especially against his soulmate.”

‘Something physical,’ his father had said. Something defensive. Light didn’t need to protect himself, he was fine, of course he was, even against a soulmate as overbearing and horrible as L-

Light stumbles back, suddenly frantic to put space between himself and his parents’ lack of trust in him. Turning on his heel, he flees back to his room, shuddering as he passes straight through L’s frozen being. The arctic temperature vanishes, but Light can hardly bring himself to appreciate the warmth that replaces L’s presence.

The next morning, Sachiko daintily reminds Light about the extracurricular tennis lessons that were offered by his school. Rather than trying to defend his own ambitions, the near-feral desperation to throw himself into detective work in any attempt to destroy the horrid monotony that had consumed his existence, he bites down any arguments against his parents’ gentle insistence and sedately agrees to attend.

Two weeks and a hasty enrollment later, the tennis racquet keeps flying out of Light’s grip. 

He scowls as the handle once again slips out of his hands, the racquet clattering onto the unflattering green asphalt of the court. He wipes at his forehead with his wrist, the sun’s beating rays - uncharacteristically hot for an autumn’s day - only proving to mount his frustration further. A nearby student snickers at his continued failure when he finally stoops to pick the racquet up, and he reddens. The taut yellow strings across the racquet’s oval face seem to be mocking him almost as much as the other amateur tennis players. 

There’s over a dozen of them in total, middle-school boys that Light hardly knows in awkward tennis attire, all clustered randomly around a long series of nets. In a stroke of pure luck, the season had only just begun, meaning that Light could enter on the same lack of basic skill level as everyone else. It was only Light’s first day, but it had proven difficult to approach sports with the open mind that his mother had encouraged. The fact that something as mundane as tennis was supposed to be a quality replacement to the most important and stimulating work that Light had ever done was almost insulting. Unraveling active criminal charges wasn’t nearly as aggravating as this.

Their instructor had yet to graduate any of them to the actual task of hitting a ball, which Light is absolutely certain that he could if he tried. Striking it across the court is all about aim and trajectory and hand-eye coordination. He can do that.

No. Right now, they’re all stuck on lesson one: swinging. The one thing that Light can’t do. And it’s not even his fault!

It’s the stupid gloves. He can’t keep a solid hold on the sleek handle of the racquet with his gloves in the way to erase all of the necessary friction. There’s no way for Light to get proper traction with the smooth barrier of fabric, only exacerbated by the sweat gathering on his palms underneath. It’s infuriating, but the only other option is to remove them. However, even though L’s soul isn’t currently present, the idea of taking his gloves off and having his soulmark be on bright display for everyone to see makes Light unreasonably anxious.

It’s the principle of the thing, after all.

His tennis instructor seems to have noticed the problem too, and Light can’t help but feel a swoop of dread as Tadano-sensei approaches him, a stern frown in place beneath the scarlet elastic of his headband.

“Yagami-kun,” he begins, and Light straightens to attention. Tadano’s eyes flick to Light’s hands, still pathetically clasped onto the racquet’s handle. “I’ve noticed that you’ve been having some trouble.”

Having some trouble. What a diplomatic way to phrase it.

When Light doesn’t respond, Tadano sighs. “The best way to keep a good hold on your racquet would be to use it bare-handed. You can get a better feel on the handle and start to really build up some callouses to keep it steady.”

Hyperaware of the eyes of his peers riveted to him, Light answers, calm and sure, “I’m sorry, Sensei, but I don’t think I can do that.” Tadano’s eyebrows raise disapprovingly, so Light tacks on, “My soulmark’s on my hand.”

It’s surprisingly honest, but it works. Tadano’s rigid posture softens with understanding. The majority of the population with soulmates have soulmarks that can be easily hidden underneath clothing. It’s not uncommon to keep those that aren’t covered up for privacy’s sake. But even if it hadn’t been for the cultural excuse, Light would have concealed his anyway. It’s what L deserved for being such a bullying brat.

“I understand that,” Tadano says, “but it’s detrimental to your tennis playing.” He stops, considering his words. At that same moment, the temperature plunges dramatically, the hot day abruptly freezing over. Light refuses to react to the familiar chilling balm that announces L’s appearance. 

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. Obviously. Because this experience wasn’t quite horrible enough.

“There are shops that sell handling gloves with a more ridged palm,” Tadano tells him, oblivious to L’s arrival. As if in protest, L jabs at Light’s shoulder. Light ignores him as his instructor continues, “You should consider investing in those if you’d like to go further in this sport.”

Light just gives Tadano a pleasant smile. “Thank you, Sensei,” he says. “I’ll think about it.”

Tadano nods, relieved. “Continue on, then. I have others to attend to.”

As Tadano ambles away, Light shifts his attention to the apex of the polar vortex. “What do you want?” he hisses, careful to keep his voice low to not attract the attention of the other tennis students.

L taps at Light’s hand where it’s still fisted around the racquet handle. Light jerks it away, only to scramble to keep a firm hold as it slides dangerously in his grip. “This is all your fault!” he complains, pushing down the urge to kick at the ground childishly in lieu of his inability to aim it at L’s physical form instead. “You’re not even here, but you’re still making my life worse.”

Exasperated, Light waits for L’s inevitable retaliation. But as the seconds tick by, L does nothing, stationary at Light’s side. Light knows that L’s soul hasn’t left - the freezing void is still there, cooling the hot air, (and Light refuses, refuses, to acknowledge the fact that the miniature cold front provides a pleasant contrast against the sweltering sun). Light sighs. The silent treatment? It’s better than L’s usual tactics, but just as infantile as expected.

“Be that way,” Light says, purposefully turning away from where L is to focus once again on the stances that Tadano had demonstrated to them. If he can’t actually swing his racquet - failure is humiliating, especially in front of someone as petty as his soulmate - he can at least practice how to stand correctly.

He bends his knees and squares his shoulders, keeping his feet shoulder-length apart. He focuses on the vacant expanse across the net, honing in on an imaginary opponent. Light takes a deep breath, letting it settle into his lungs, and then-

There’s an icy pressure on his chest, the distinct imprint of a hand pushing on his ribs. At the same time, another presses between his shoulder blades. Light stiffens as they squeeze him, but unlike L’s usual abuses, the sensation is almost gentle. It’s as if L is just trying to guide him rather than actively hurting him. Light frowns, suspicious of the new impression. It’s unnerving in its complete painlessness.

Light blinks slowly, considering. L had seemed encouraging of Light’s passion for detective work. Fine. Light will humor him with this weak substitute for it, too.

The heel of L’s palm on his chest angles upwards as the one on his back slides further down his spine. Cautious, Light adjusts to the simultaneous forces, straightening his posture and crouching further. L stills as Light moves, keeping his hands in place until Light finally settles. After a few moments pass, he lets go of Light completely. Light can’t help but shiver as the cold drifts further away from him as L retreats. It doesn’t take long for L to return - long fingers hooking onto the insides of Light’s elbows to push against them, spreading his arms farther apart.

Light is unceremoniously shoved out of his concentration by Tadano’s loud exclamation of “Yagami-kun!” He whips his head around, careful to stay in position as his instructor meanders closer. Tadano looks over him with a critical eye before beaming. “Excellent!” he praises. “Your form is impeccable.”

L ruffles his hair, and Light can’t stop a smile at the praise.