Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

L is a kept thing, a specimen in a jar on a shelf, an experiment to take out and fiddle with when the scientist, the mastermind, the god of L’s world gets bored. It took L a while to realize this, but mind you, it was hard to realize when he didn’t have any memories, when he had to learn how to walk and talk and function like a human being. Human beings, what a joke of a concept, when L was certain that he was the only one of his species - at least, the only one the scientist had ever found.

Anyway, it was hard to realize then, the first few years. And then, he started getting bullied, and with no parents to rely on, that would naturally take up all of his attention - the perceived rejection from these cardboard cutouts leaving a lasting wound in him that still hadn’t healed ten years later. Mind you, the bullying was still going on, though it had gotten better after L had realized that he was inadvertently feeding into it with his exaggerated reactions, and had learned not to react at all - but he was still excluded, still snickered at behind hands.

It didn’t hurt him anymore, and hadn’t hurt him, not for a year - not since he’d realized that this world was a fake. For some reason - and this had to be messed up, but then, L had been messed up since he was a kid and found himself stalking his bullies, inadvertently fascinated by the criminal element, instead of doing everything he could to avoid them - for some reason, it didn’t hurt that the scientist had organized all this, just to hurt him, just to study his reactions to that pain. It should terrify L, knowing that something out there, a terrible creature, something that had engineered all the suffering that L had endured, owned him, and was playing with his mind as though it was a particularly interesting puzzle.

Instead, almost all L felt was gratitude. Because L had always been willing to forgive his abusers if only they would see him for who he was. If only they would be attracted to him despite it. Because L had been convinced, from childhood, that he was unable to be loved for who he was, that he must change himself in order to be even somewhat tolerable, and so the idea of someone liking him enough to spend their time watching him live his life (and many lives before it) was a relief, because it meant that L could be accepted for who he was.

Once, L had entertained the notion that he didn’t have to accept pain in order to be seen, but that notion was dead and buried now, locked away deep. Misa had left, Misa was gone, and even if other human beings had been real and their relationship had been anything more than an interesting exercise for the scientist, everything would’ve been a farce anyway, because Misa had never truly loved him.

There was no point dwelling on the past. This was reality, and L would take what pitiful comfort in it that he could.

§

That night, the night before everything changed, L, while working on homework, made a snap decision to talk to the scientist. The way he had found to communicate with the scientist was thus; he went to a website that “randomly” picked between a variety of typed in options. He would ask his question, and, on the website, type in varied responses for the scientist to choose from. He would then spin the wheel, and one of the options would come up. Of course, the scientist might not take the bait, and let it be random, but L was betting on his ego - the scientist wouldn’t want L to think he had opinions that he actually didn’t. Of course, this only went so far, and that was why L hadn’t talked much with him - he knew that the scientist wouldn’t give him any hints about the structure of this world or the nature of L’s captivity.

Today, however, L was lonely. He was even able to admit this to himself. And, considering that the scientist was the only other sentient being besides himself, an honest conversation sounded like something that he needed.

So, he loaded the website. He paused for a long time, thinking of what question to ask, then said, “Scientist… I am lonely. I have a question for you.” He paused. “Hypothetically, would you kiss me? Answer… Honestly, please. I suppose I should first ask if you want to be asked such question at all, so… Is such an alright question to ask?” L clicked on the wheel displayed on his computer screen, and it started to spin. Yes, no, yes, no, yes, no, yes, no...

"Yes," the scientist answered.

"Would you kiss me?" L asked.

"Yes," the scientist answered.

L’s heart beat faster.

“Would you… Would you fuck me, Scientist?” he whispered. “Even knowing everything about me and all that I am? Or even… Because of such?” He was scared to ask, not knowing why this felt so momentous, but knowing that it was.

“Yes,” the scientist answered.

Three yes’ in a row. Statistically, when randomly selecting between the options yes and no, as L ostensibly was, there was only a 12.5% chance of one of the options coming up three times in a row. Yet it had. The scientist had answered “yes” to every question. He was getting bolder. Bolder, in a way that just so happened to be what L needed to hear in his loneliness. Coincidence? Perhaps not. Perhaps… L paused. He imagined being fucked. The steady rhythm of it, pulling at his insides. And he felt cared for, despite himself, and that gave him the courage to utter the truth that had been sitting between himself and the scientist since he first became aware of the other's existence. "I belong to you, Scientist."

L didn’t want to ruin this feeling he had, this lightheaded sense of rightness, by asking another question. He closed his computer, and stood up, feeling the scientist’s eyes on him. He shucked off his jeans and boxers, and laid down on his bed, his blankets pooled at his ankles. Quietly, closing his eyes, turning his head to the side and pressing it into the pillows, he got himself off, and when he came, it was with the words “fuck me” on his lips.

§

At some point, L must have fallen asleep, because he woke up at around two in the morning. That gave him about… Five hours of sleep, if he fell asleep around nine. That was really good, for an insomniac such as himself.

Quietly, he got out of bed and got dressed for the day - changing his shirt into a long-sleeved gray one and putting on another pair of jeans. Then, until it was time for him to get ready for school, he put on his big black headphones and listened to music, drowning out the world for a while, and feeling like he wasn’t really there - though the latter might just be because of the depressing nature of the songs he listened to. He was also still touched with the same lightheaded rightness from the night before, touched by the scientist’s confession. L went through his morning routine, walked to the bus, went to his first period class, all in a daze.

The first indicator that something was different was when a teenage boy (light brown hair and light brown eyes, lean physique, objectively quite attractive) walked into the classroom a couple minutes before the bell rang, spoke to the teacher in low tones for a minute, and then, scanning the room, chose to come sit at the desk next to L’s.

He didn’t spare L more than a glance, so L guessed that he simply chose such seat because it was available - a new student wouldn’t know the rumors flying around about him. L knew them all - he was labeled the slow kid, even though he consistently got top scores on his tests and presentations, just because in elementary school he’d not instinctively known how to interact with people and had asked too many questions and had refused to sit still, before he’d learned how to mask enough to get away with being mostly ignored.

The class period went on, L paying only enough attention that he’d manage to recall the material during the test - you didn’t get to be a forensic scientist without good grades, after all, just the way this world worked - until a notable event happened right before the bell rang.

The new kid slipped a note onto L’s desk.

He was very casual about it, simply folding the piece of paper in half and placing it deliberately in the center of L’s desk as L was putting his computer back in his bag. When L straightened, the boy was leaving and the note was waiting for him. L paused, then picked up the piece of paper and unfolded it. It read, “I know you have a free period now. Come find me, I’m waiting outside. I think we have a lot to talk about. -Light.”

L’s heart started beating faster. Wryly, he thought, ‘What are you up to this time, Scientist?’ This was almost exactly what L had fantasized about in his loneliness when he was younger, someone swooping in and being almost overbearing in their determined attempt to win his friendship. It was ironic and surreal that it would happen now, ironic because L now knew he could never find any sort of friendship in this simulation where himself and the scientist were the only sentient beings, and surreal because the scientist had never once before compromised the boundaries of what was “realistic” like this before, because this certainly wasn’t realistic.

This had to mean a turning point. But why? Their conversation the night before? L had never appeared so positively disposed to the scientist before, true, but could that really be the only trigger?

As L looked up, he realized that the next class was coming into the room. He put the note into his bag on top of his papers, zipped it up, and slung it over his shoulder, pushing his chair in and leaving the room. As he exited, he saw that as promised, the new boy, Light, was leaning against the wall on the other side of the hallway, waiting patiently for him. L hesitated - then, unable to resist a mystery, he walked up to him, dodging the students trying to get to their classes.

Light smiled at L. “Hey there,” he said. “You’re probably a bit confused. Do you want to go somewhere quieter so that I can explain things?”

L slipped his hands in his pockets and glanced around. Students were streaming around them, some giving the pair dirty looks for holding up traffic.

If L hadn’t known about this world and how it worked, he would probably suspect Light of being some crazy stalker who’d somehow gotten ahold of his schedule, maybe transferred classes just to be with him. He’d refuse to go anywhere with Light due to the concerningly large probability that he would be murdered.

However, L had a theory that the scientist would never let L die (or, technically, erase his memories) unless he found a simulation boring, and given their conversation last night, L was betting that he didn’t find this particular simulation boring in the least. There was little risk to seeing what Light had to say.

After this pause, L finally said, monotone, “Alright, lead the way.”

Light’s smile grew, and without pause, he pushed off from the wall and started walking towards the art hallway, glancing back to see if L was following. L was. Light finally paused in front of an empty classroom. “No one will find us here,” he said, “There’s no class this period and the teacher is on break, and she always stays in the lounge until the period ends - as long as we leave five minutes before the bell, everything will go smoothly.”

“Are you familiar with the schedules of everyone in this building, or just mine and this absent teacher?” L asked blankly.

“Oh, everyone in this building,” Light answered offhandedly. “I’m good at memorization.”

“I see,” L said, after a pause.

Light walked into the classroom, and, where he couldn’t be seen from the hallway through the open door, sat down cross-legged, on the floor against the wall. He beckoned L, hovering in the doorway, over. L came and crouched down beside him.

“I think it would be best,” Light said, “To introduce myself.”

“Okay,” L said, looking at him expectantly with wide eyes.

“This body is a puppet. The one behind the strings, myself, is the one you know as the scientist.”

“Oh,” L said. He looked into Light’s eyes. Here he was. The being that knew all L’s secrets, secrets he didn’t even know himself. L suddenly felt quite exposed and small and young, and that was all he could say. “Oh.”

Light waited, patiently, for more of a response. It took L a minute, but once he managed to get his brain working again, he managed, “Why? Why send down a - a puppet? Why reveal yourself to me, when you put so much effort into staying implausible?”

Light was quiet for a moment, mulling it over, then answered, “Because I missed you. I missed talking to you and hearing your responses - your responses to me, not the characters I made up. I missed you looking into my eyes, the way you’re doing now, and seeing something beyond this puppet - seeing me, seeing a god. I missed being seen.”

A response occurred to L - ‘Are you mocking me?’ because Light knew about his desire to be seen for who he was, he’d confessed it on different occasions to Misa - but… Something about that possibility didn’t ring true, and L trusted his intuition. If Light had been mocking him, he would have made his speech sound more similar to L’s motives - instead, the similarities seemed… Affectionate, almost, like a friend nudging him, saying, ‘Look, I’m like you.’

So, L took Light’s statements at face value, and thought how to respond. There was an odd sensation rising in his chest, something wanting, like a small black hole. He wanted to hear more. He wanted to hear Light say again that he’d missed him, hear Light talk about him like he was someone worthy of being paid attention to, he - he wanted. L curled a bit further into his knees, and asked, very quietly, “Is there a word for missing something you’ve never had? Or that… You might have had, but don’t remember? Because… I miss being seen. Too.”

Light smiled openly. “You don’t have to miss it any more. I see you, L. I know you, intimately. You belong to me.”

L looked down. He felt - overcome. ‘You belong to me.’ ‘To me.’ And he thought of Misa. Misa had told him that he didn’t have to belong to someone, to be accepted. He could belong with them, instead.

But Misa’s entire existence was a cruel joke, after all. Wasn’t that enough of a reason to find some way to protest this? L thought about it - ‘You can’t just take things and say they’re yours, you can’t own another being,’ - and he thought about running away, standing up from his crouch and darting out the door.

But he couldn’t run from God, and another part of himself quashed the urge to say the former - a smaller, younger, sneakier part of himself, the part that made him think he might have Stockholm syndrome, the part that was determined to win the best possible treatment it could, even if such meant sacrificing his ideals. Because Light controlled the world, and so every impulse in L’s body told him that he must behave how Light desired him to.

(Silently, secretly, he also didn’t say it because a part of him thrilled at hearing that someone wanted him - didn’t want Light’s open smile to fade.)

L stayed quiet, a small, scared, wanting, trapped thing, crouched and still in front of Light, his arms wrapped around his knees, looking at the ground.

“L?” Light asked.

“Yeah?” L responded quietly, still looking at the floor.

“Would it be alright to ask if I can kiss you?”

It was a bit odd of Light to ask, when all he did was take and take and take of L until his sense of values was scattered to the wind, but then, it made sense - because L felt fragile, as though he might crumple into pieces if Light forced anything else right then, and Light, knowing him almost as well as he knew himself, was probably able to guess how L was feeling.

“Yeah,” L murmured, “You can ask.”

Light was quiet for a moment. “L,” he finally asked, “May I kiss you?”

There was a pressure behind L’s eyes, and he wasn’t even quite sure why. “Yeah,” he murmured, “Alright.”

Light leaned forward, reached out, and put his hands on L’s waist, pulling him closer. L cooperated, allowing himself to be pulled forward so he was kneeling in front of Light. Light lifted one hand to cup the side of L’s face, tilting it up to meet his gaze. He leaned forward, and, gently, brushed his lips against L’s.

L didn’t pull back, and after a moment, closed his eyes. Light took that as an invitation, and began kissing him in earnest, insistently, just the two of them in that empty classroom, quietly leaning into each other.

Kissing Light was unlike anything L had experienced before. Light was confident about it, L barely had to do anything, and so he felt almost like a doll, being invaded and used without him having to do anything in response. After a moment, L stopped responding, and simply sat there, pliant, while Light kissed him.

L was realizing… L was realizing that he hadn’t really believed the scientist was real, and now that such was fact, he didn’t know how to feel.

A part of him felt terrified, almost violated - not because of the kiss, but because of the ramifications of the scientist being real, the fact that he was trapped and caught and stuck here like a lab rat, no secrets to speak of - and that came with an action urge, the urge to run and hide, somewhere he would never be found. And he knew he shouldn’t act on that urge, because Light wouldn’t be pleased.

A part of him felt flattered by Light’s attention, all of it - and that came with an action urge too, the urge to wind his arms around Light and melt into the kiss. And of course, he knew he shouldn’t act on that urge either, because such would be insane - Light was experimenting on him and had engineered all the suffering he’d already experienced, and that suffering was the only reason L had low enough self esteem that he was experiencing the fondness he was now.

Over all of L’s senses, though, covering his useless fear and strange affection, was a sense of numbness, of static, and this, finally, came with the last action urge, the one he was acting on - to freeze, to simply wait for Light to get bored and be done with him, like a possum playing dead.

After a while, Light pulled back. His hand, still cupping L’s face, kept it tilted towards Light so he could study L’s expression. “You’re not happy,” he remarked.

“No,” L murmured, after a moment.

“Why not?”

L shrugged his shoulders. “This is all just… A lot to take in.” That wasn’t half of it, but he didn’t feel like explaining himself to Light, who could probably guess anyway.

Light was quiet for a moment, then said, gently, “I want to be clear with you about something up front. Being attracted to you doesn’t mean I’m compromising the sanctity of what I’m trying to achieve here. I haven’t given up on the experiment, I’ve just inserted myself as a variable. Do you understand?”

“What are you trying to achieve?” L asked quietly. “I only have speculation.”

Light smiled. “Good question, my curious one. You might say that I am… Creating a balance. I want to… Push you to your limits, as far as you can go, and keep you there, walking along that cliff, because I’ve found that you give the most fascinating results when you are challenged. So, my method is to present challenges to you, small or large, and watch how you react. It’s that simple. However, you see, it would rather defeat the purpose if I helped you with these challenges.”

“I thought it might be something like that,” L said. “It makes the most logical sense that since you keep tormenting me, you must like the way I react to it.”

Light paused, then said, “You fascinate me, L. Every reaction I get from you sends a thrill through me that barely fades before you do something new and I sense another, because you’re something special - you always find a way to retain some sort of hope and develop new coping mechanisms to continue through life, and each is more inventive than the last. I’m not asking you to forgive me for what I’m putting you through. I’m asking you to understand. I’m a scientist, L, and you’re the most fascinating creature I’ve ever come across and I suspect I ever will.”

L stared over Light’s right shoulder at the wall beyond, not meeting his gaze. He understood Light. He even forgave Light, though this was out of necessity - L had realized long ago that he’d rather be with someone that hurt him than be alone, and had then spent years alone despite such, no one willing to be with him, sadist or otherwise.

So, even as L thrilled to hear Light’s affection for him confirmed, a more rational part of him protested that Light was a kidnapper and a stalker, and his “affection” was nothing like love. It was closer to wanting to cut L open with a scalpel and take out his organs than it was to love. Nothing about it was healthy at all.

And so, L continued looking into the distance, not offering Light a word. Light’s hand shifted, moving back to card through L’s hair. “Tell me, my L,” he said, “Are you truly that unhappy? Do you not thrill, at least a little bit, to hear how I adore you?”

L finally turned his gaze over to Light. “I’m depressed,” he said, deadpan. “If you’d let me, I should like to leave.”

Light sighed, withdrawing his hands. “I suppose I can give you a day to think things through. I don’t want you offing yourself because you’re so overwhelmed. Meet me here again tomorrow, we can talk more then.”

L looked at Light for a moment, then got up, collected his bookbag, and walked out of the room without a backward glance.

The hallways were empty; the period wasn’t yet over. He got to the library, and went inside, but all the seats were full - turning around, he left, and started walking again. He got to the cafeteria, found a seat at an empty table, folded his arms on the table, laid his head down, and fell asleep.

Chapter Text

L heard the bell signaling the end of second period, but since he had third free too, he was able to ignore it, and kept his head down. He was only awoken by the bell signaling the end of third, and then, head foggy (the fog a welcome comfort to stop him from thinking about everything that had happened), he started packing his things into his bag. 

As he did so, a group of three or four kids walked next to him. The one closest to him, a boy, blonde, remarked, “Those chips are there if you want them,” gesturing with an arm to L’s table, the girls around him giggling, then kept walking, not giving L a chance to respond. 

L looked at his table. There were, indeed, a couple chips scattered on top of it, and L knew instantly what must have happened - those kids must have thrown those chips at his table to see if he’d wake up. 

A bit off-put, L gathered up his things, got up, and got in line for the cafe, picking up two muffins from the rack, one blueberry and one chocolate chip. He scanned his card, and left the cafe, starting to walk to his next class. 

It would be fine if he ate there - it was a class called “Resource Room,” where students got extra help with their schoolwork. L qualified for it because he was autistic, but he didn’t really need it because his IQ was so high, and he was so motivated to complete his work, so he basically treated it like a study hall. 

Light wasn’t there. That was unsurprising. L had guessed already that Light was such a perfectionist that he would refuse to allow any perceived “flaws” that would qualify him for special services in a puppet representing himself. L pulled up an assignment he was working on (a summary of a film he’d watched in class the days before) and started working on it in between eating bites from his muffins. 

After a few minutes, he took out his water bottle and drank from that too. L had a very precise formula; half of the bottle was filled with fruit flavored sparkling water, for flavor; half was filled with water, to dilute carbonation; and, added, was six packets of artificial sugar. Best of all, the whole thing was zero calories. L wasn’t bothering to count calories anymore, and had been maintaining his weight since he’d left inpatient treatment three months ago (mainly because restriction was hard, rather than any idealistic desire to heal), but he was in the habit of making this drink and there was no point in drinking calories if he didn’t have to. 

L finished his muffins and half of his water bottle before the bell rang for his next class - gym. This, he barely hesitated before deciding to skip, and he had a way of skipping without getting marked absent, thus; he would deign not to wear the sweatpants he had stowed in his bag, claim he had no change of clothes (the gym teacher didn’t allow students to wear jeans), and thus get away with a written assignment, which he would do later, when he hopefully felt less like shit. 

Decided, L packed up his things, left the classroom, and walked to the gym, dropping them off first in the girls’ locker room and trying to ignore the wave of dysphoria that came from the room, a reminder that society still didn’t see him as a boy. 

When L got to the gym lobby, the gym teacher wasn’t there yet, but most of the students were, congregating. Light was one of them. He was leaning against one of the large windows separating the fitness center from the gym lobby, hands in his pockets, looking at L. Evidently, he’d changed, because he wasn’t wearing the dress pants and button-down that he’d been wearing that morning, instead wearing a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants. He was planning to participate, and must have expected L to do the same. Even God, it seemed, couldn’t have anticipated L’s every move. 

Light walked up to L. “Hey,” he said. “You’re gonna beg ignorance of those sweatpants hiding in your bag back there?” 

“Exactly,” L agreed blankly, dragging his eyes up to Light’s, “I’m just not in the mood to participate. I hope you have fun though.” This was a bit of a backhanded remark; Light was already changed and couldn’t now beg unpreparedness like L - he’d have to find some other excuse if he wanted to spend the period with him. 

“You know, I don’t think I feel well enough to have much fun at all, to be honest. My stomach hurts quite badly.” 

“Oh dear,” L deadpanned, “How terrible for you.” 

“Truly,” Light nodded, looking earnest. “I think I may have to alert Coach Lynch that I may not be well enough to participate.” 

“Hmm, good luck with that.” L was slouched - he commonly stood like that, to hide his chest further - and his hands were in his pockets. He was looking at Light alertly, taking pleasure in keeping his face blank and any emotion from leaking into his eyes. 

“It’ll go quite well, I assure you,” Light said. 

“I don’t doubt that,” L said, “Not when you’re controlling his actions. You could have him say anything. You could have him agree to let you go jump off a bridge if you asked such.” 

Light shook his head, smiling. “I’m not going to cheat, L. Everyone else in the world still acts as their programming is most likely to in response to the variables they encounter. I still have to convince Coach Lynch that I’m sick just as much as anyone.” 

L was quiet for a moment. “I see,” he said. 

Just then, a call rang out - “My class, into the fitness center!” That was the other coach, female, black-haired; L forgot her name. 

As L looked, Coach Lynch walked into the lobby; walking past the students, he called, “My class, into the gym!” Light started walking in that direction and L followed him. Light walked past the Coach, standing in the doorway, and L was about to do the same except - as L had hoped - Coach Lynch paused him, saying, “Hey, Laurel? You haven’t got a change of clothes, have you? A pair of sweatpants or leggings or something? Jeans are no good.” 

L shook his head. “No, sorry,” he said, shifting a bit uncomfortably. 

“Alright, I’m gonna have you find an article on something health, fitness, workout related and summarize it in a paragraph and email that to me, okay? Go get your computer and work out here this period.”

“Alright,” L agreed. 

Coach Lynch nodded, and L walked back to the locker room, getting out his computer from his bag and walking back with it, finding a spot to sit. 

Instead of doing anything on his computer, L took out his earbuds and his phone from his pockets, put his earbuds in his ears, plugged the string into his phone, and started playing his favorite playlist. The first song was called Alice, by Silent Theory. 

“Pardon me, it seems that I have lost my mind~

My mind~

And I don’t have the slightest clue~

Of where it might have run off to~

Hey, you look so familiar~

I’m so glad I found you~

They call me the Mad Hatter~” 

That was when Light sat down next to L, and reached over, gently taking the earbuds from his ears and letting them fall to rest on his shoulders. The music continued playing, quiet but audible. 

“So, shake my hand once~

Oh, the times we’ll share~

Seasons may change, can you feel that air?~

I will remain, alone and forgotten~

I’ll be right here~

I’ll stay right here~” 

“Coach Lynch had quite some sympathy for me,” Light said. 

“Mm, that’s nice for you,” L said disinterestedly. 

“What about you, L?” Light asked, leaning closer, his face inches from L’s. 

L didn’t move, like a deer caught in the headlights. “Yeah?” he asked. 

The music kept playing. 

“Brother, sweet brother, I need you now~

Alice has come and she’s on the prowl~

Looking for blood~

I have half a mind to give her you~

To give her you~” 

“Do you feel sympathy for me?” Light asked. “For all of me? Despite everything? Is it not as I said? Does not a part of you thrill to have my attention fixed so heavily on you, even despite its routinely sadistic nature? Yes, I admit that, how could I not? How could I not be sadistic when you’re the most beautiful when you’re suffering? Not because I simply enjoy suffering, but because you reach such potential when you overcome adversity, you become something resilient, something that will always find a new way to maintain equilibrium. And a part of you is thrilled to hear this, I’m sure of it, because you’re nothing but something that suffers and finds ways to live with that suffering, I know because I made you that way, and so you thrill in hearing I like you like this because there’s no other way you can be.” 

“Pardon me, it seems that you have what was mine~

Was mine~

And I don’t have the slightest clue~

Of where you might have found it~

Do you mind if I could sleep now?~ 

I’m so sad you found me~

No need to lose your head~” 

L found he was trembling. Light’s words had pounded into his skull one by one as if Light had driven in nails by a hammer, and they were still there, resonating, rebounding in his brain, repeating themselves over and over and over. ‘You thrill in hearing I like you like this because there’s no other way you can be.’ 

“Why must you be so cruel?” L asked. “Why must you take the last thing of which I truly had? My dignity? Is this why you sent down a liaison? Not because you missed me, not giving any thought to my loneliness, but simply because you saw an opportunity to take from me the last thing I had and so own me entirely?” 

L’s words were meant to hurt Light back, to cut into the little sentimentality Light had, to show how cruel he was being in the same way Light had brutally exposed L’s mentality himself, peeled his skin back and forced his organs against the light and the cold air, out in the open for both of them to see. Of course, L knew that Light truly had missed him, that was why it should hurt - Light was pressing for too much, too soon, without giving anything in return, and L wanted him to know that. 

“So, take my hand now~

Your path is clear~

You go on ahead, I’ll just stay right here~ 

I will remain, alone and forgotten~

I’ll miss you, dear~” 

Light was frowning, the flash of amusement in his eyes gone. “L, do you… Do you really believe that? I don’t want to own you just… Just for the sake of it. I’m not that kind of person. I don’t want a trophy. You’re so much more than that to me, you have to understand that. L…” Light hesitated. 

“Brother, sweet brother, I need you now~

Alice has come and she’s on the prowl~

Looking for blood~

I have half a mind to give her you~

To give her you~” 

“Like what?” L asked blankly. “Your science fair project? I fail to see how that’s better.” 

He was expecting Light to come with something cocky and self-assured, whispered in his ear, insidious in its truthfulness, something like, ‘Yes, you do. You might actually rather be my science experiment than anything else you could come up with.’ 

Instead, Light was quiet for a moment, then said, “In some lifetimes - not all, not even most - but some, I saw you as a friend. In some of those, I believe you came to see me as the same. I hope that in this lifetime, we can achieve the latter.” 

“Oh,” L said. Once again, for the second time that day, rendered speechless. When he finally opened his mouth, he mumbled, “You’re not doing a very good job of that.” 

“Why?” Light asked, looking for all the world like he genuinely had no idea. 

L debated. Explaining why he was hurt would only give Light more of an insight into L’s mind and mental state, furthering his studies (which L, while not having the motivation to attempt to thwart, didn’t feel like helping along either). However… Light seemed sincere. And something about his declaration of friendship tugged at L, made him want. And so, L decided to offer an olive branch. 

“Light, it’s uncomfortable to be pressed too hard, into giving more than I’m ready to. It’s not a good basis for friendship to try and take fondness rather than wait for it to be given. Have patience. Don’t take. Give, and maybe you’ll be given something in return.” 

Light was quiet for a few moments. The song continued playing. 

“Brother, sweet brother, I need you now~

Alice has come and she’s on the prowl~

Looking for blood~

I have half a mind to give her you~

To give her you~” 

“One of my favorite lifetimes,” Light said, “Was one where I killed you. We were also friends in that lifetime, undeniably, but I was obsessed with killing you all the same. I think, though, in your last moments, you were glad, for I smirked at you, and you knew that you were right - I was just as much of a horrible person as you’d always suspected.” 

“I should think,” L said carefully, “That if we were truly friends, a part of me might have hoped that you would turn out not to be such a horrible person after all, or at the least, make an exception to it for me. I should think that I might care more about that than being right.” 

In the ensuing quiet, as Light tilted his head and thought for a moment, the last line of the song played…

“Pardon me, it seems that I have lost my mind~

My mind~” 

And then the music petered out, leaving silence in its wake. 

Light spoke. “I think I would have regretted it if I hadn’t killed you. I’d spent so long fantasizing about it, I would have always wondered what it would’ve been like. You were beautiful, in your dying moments, I can’t deny that. But… I also regretted the way that lifetime ended, in the years after. It ended too early. I missed that version of you. You remind me more of him, actually. That situation… It was a catch-22, regret either way.” 

A part of L, the part that listened to music like “Alice,” that scribbled dark lyrics on math papers, that sometimes fantasized about his own death, latched onto one particular sentence of Light’s. ‘You were beautiful, in your dying moments.’ And he wondered, now that it was no secret that he thrilled in hearing Light liked him ‘like this,’ a creature made to suffer, because as Light said, there was no other way he could be… L wondered if Light always liked him better when he was closer to death. If that had really been what he’d been after - not L’s death itself, but how he looked standing on that brink, that cliff, as Light had called it, right before he fell. 

This conversation was a series of exchanges. L had offered his olive branch. Light had given something in return, information about their past, morbid though it had been. It was now L’s turn to give, to voice this observation. 

“I wonder,” L said softly, looking over at Light with wide eyes, “If perhaps, you hadn’t really been after my death - you’d been after those moments. Those moments, when I was as close to death as I could get. How I looked, standing on that cliff, about to fall. Isn’t that what you’re after? How I look on that edge?” 

Light’s eyes widened. He looked surprised for a moment, and then he smiled, openly. He reached out and took L’s hand, holding it, running his thumb over L’s knuckles. “This is why I wanted to show up as myself. You, seeing me, seeing you.” He kept smiling, and, reaching out, tapped L’s nose, affectionately. 

L didn’t know what to make of the gesture. It would have been innocuous, sweet, even, if it hadn’t been a signature gesture exchanged between himself and Misa during the time they’d been dating. 

That reminder inspired L’s next words. 

“This is a bit regressive, you know,” he said carefully. “You gave me a relationship where I was cared for unconditionally, no hurt attached to it at all, and now you want me to be with you, someone whose desire to hurt me is the foundation of our relationship - in the process, revealing that in fact, the prior relationship was nothing more than an exercise you designed to hurt me. I’m not saying I don’t want to be in a relationship with you. I’m just pointing out how unhealthy it is.” 

Light had stopped smiling, as L was speaking, his expression slowly shifting into something thoughtful. After a moment, he spoke, slowly. “It’s definitely unhealthy, you’re right about that,” he said, “Any relationship where one party is hurting the other would have to be classified as such. But to condemn our relationship entirely to such a broad and unsophisticated term would be, I think, a mistake. Let me explain. Any number of relationships could be classified as unhealthy - domestic abuse cases, for example, where a man might hit his partner, would be classified as unhealthy. But does that example have anything to do with us?” 

Light paused for a moment, then continued. 

“No, it does not, because I’m not hurting you just to expel stress, or for anger issues, or for control issues, or anything like that - I’m hurting you because I’m studying your behavior under adversity, because you fascinate me. That’s different. It does not, because I see you - I know your quirks and your mannerisms and I listen to your interpretation of how you see yourself - because I listen to you, L. I listen to you. That’s different. It does not, because you see me, you understand what I’m doing and why I’m doing it, and you thrill - it does not, because I see you, and you see me, and we can understand each other, we can talk, have sincere conversations like the one we’re having now, things are different between us because you can talk to me about anything, anything at all, and that’s different, L. That’s different.” 

L was quiet for a few moments, looking at Light with wide eyes. Somehow, he understood completely what Light was trying to say. 

Firstly, the importance of the fact that Light didn’t hurt him for any of the reasons aforementioned, because all of those reasons were selfish, didn’t have anything to do with the victim themself and everything to do with the abuser, whereas Light was hurting him precisely because of the fact of him being who he was - Light was interested specifically in L. 

Secondly, tied to the first, the fact that he saw L, watched L, and listened to L, was important, because again, it emphasized that he wasn’t focused solely on himself. 

And finally, and most importantly, L understood what Light was trying to say about their ability to communicate with one another - because even though they’d only had two real conversations so far this lifetime, it was clear that they felt heard and understood around each other, not only intellectual equals, but both reasonable enough to make sense to each other as well. 

“The fact that you’re hurting me because of who I am, to study me, rather than for a selfish reason - that’s not typical, certainly, but it’s debatable whether it actually makes our relationship less unhealthy. You’re definitely right on the second two, though - those make you a lot more preferable to a typical abuser,” L said, a bit thoughtfully, blinking innocently at Light. 

Light was about to speak, when L opened his mouth and spoke again. “Of course,” he said, “It doesn’t really matter, does it? You’re the only person here, and the idea of escape without an external force influencing the matter is laughable, so the two of us, together - that’s what this all comes down to, in the end, isn’t it? The two of us. Scientist and experiment. No one else. I couldn’t choose someone else if I wanted to.” L looked down at his lap, tapping his fingers on the hand held by Light’s. “It’s only a question of how much I’ll deny myself my attraction to you - and, I suppose, how much of that attraction you’ll reciprocate, and in what manner.” 

“You’re right,” Light said, “It’s just the two of us. That’s what this all comes down to, the two of us.” 

He paused, then slipped an arm around L’s shoulders, pulling him against him. L went willingly, leaning his head against Light’s shoulder. 

“You’re wondering how I’ll reciprocate your attraction, so, I feel I should do my best to tell you. I’m… Not a particularly affectionate person, verbally, that is. If you started saying lovey-dovey things - not that I think you would, but still - I’d probably get annoyed. That said, I like physical intimacy, like holding hands, or kissing, or sex, mainly because of the effect it had on you in previous lifetimes, and because I like feeling close to you. Let’s see. This is pretty rare for me, too.” 

“Sometimes, you like me better than other times,” L observed. 

“Yeah,” Light agreed, “That’s true. It’s kind of cruel to you, and unfortunate to have bias as a scientist, but it’s true. I like when you’re reticent, when I have to pull affection from you, and when even then, you only give as much as you feel you have to, never more. I like when you’re willful, when we can debate, feel that push and pull in conversations. I like when you contain a quiet melancholy, a sense of loss that settles around you, a sense of quiet hopelessness that means you’ve given up on finding the genuine human connection you’ve wanted all your life.” 

L paused, then asked, “Are you purposefully mentioning traits of mine, or?” 

“I’m not,” Light answered. “There’s a reason I came down during this lifetime. This isn’t something I often do. You’re special, L, even for yourself.” 

“You forgot your most important bias, Light,” L answered. 

“Oh?” 

“You like me best when I’m close to death. Whether it’s because I’m literally about to die, or just because I’m put through so much that I almost can’t handle it, you like me best when I’m standing on that cliff.” 

“Yes. You’re most beautiful when you’re pushed to that edge, that ephemeral state between life and death.” Light paused expectantly, waiting for L to continue. 

L was quiet for a minute, then asked, quietly, “You liked me better when I was starving myself, then, didn’t you?” 

Light paused. “I wouldn’t say I liked you better. I quite like you as you are now. You’ve evolved a lot in the past few months. But if you’re asking - as I think you are - if I would like you better now if you would start starving yourself again, then the answer to that would be yes, I would.” 

L didn’t respond, instead choosing to trace little patterns into the skin of the back of Light’s hand. After a couple minutes, he picked up his phone, and looked at the time, then closed it out again. “There’s only six minutes left in the period,” he said softly, “But I think that’s enough time to throw up in that bathroom over there, don’t you?” 

“It’s up to you,” Light said carefully. 

L nodded, then lifted his head from Light’s shoulder, and stood up. He stashed his phone and earbuds back in his pockets, then lifted his computer, and held it out to Light. “Would you mind holding this?” 

“Not at all,” Light answered, taking it. 

L paused for a moment, then started walking to the bathroom. Light followed.

Chapter Text

L reached the door of the bathroom, and went inside. He glanced around, then went to the paper towel dispenser and pulled from it two paper towels. He’d thrown up in school bathrooms before and he’d found that paper towels were necessary to muffle the noise. Then, he walked to the biggest stall. He held the door open for Light to follow as he went in, then, when Light was inside too, he closed the stall door and locked it.

After a moment, L turned blank eyes on Light. “You’re going to watch, right?”

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

L looked at him expressionlessly. “I don’t mind.” He paused for a moment, then moved in front of the toilet, facing it. Light walked to the side wall, leaning against it. L was quiet for a couple moments, standing there, then bent over the toilet, bringing his paper towels in front of him, on the level of the toilet seat, so he could throw up onto them instead of into the water and thus muffle the noise.

L had never actually needed to shove a finger or two down his throat to purge - he had done so several times, and in fact had gone through a phase during his last relapse where he would routinely do so, because he thought it got better results, but today it was more convenient to throw up hands-free so he could hold the paper towels, and he was fairly certain he’d be able to do it. He’d eaten relatively recently and drank a decent amount with his food.

L started gagging, soundlessly, preparing his body to bring up its food. After several moments, his mouth opened wide, pressure in his throat for a long moment - and then he coughed. He ignored it, continuing to gag, until the pressure built up again and a long stream of drool fell from his mouth onto the paper towel. After a moment, L gagged again, and this time, vomit came out, a bit messily, small bits of food ending up on his hands and perhaps on his shirt as well - he wasn’t sure, he couldn’t see before he was throwing up again. Half of the vomit slid off the paper towel into the toilet, but it was quickly replaced.

L then paused for a moment to catch his breath, wiping his mouth on the corner of the paper towel. He then let the paper towels fall into the toilet, and bent over further, seeing if he could get any last bits out. Almost immediately, he coughed again, and decided it was too risky - he remembered trying this before, and in his experience, once the initial purge was over, it was too loud to try and get out the last remnants. L was almost certain anyway that he’d managed to throw up at least seventy-five percent of his intake.

It was time for cleanup. L pulled several sheets of toilet paper from the dispenser and spent a minute wiping his hands, his shirt sleeves, and the front of his shirt. When he was done with that, he took some more toilet paper and wiped off the toilet seat, then putting the toilet paper in the toilet. He looked himself and the stall over, making sure there were no signs of vomit anywhere.

The bell signaling the end of the period rang. L glanced over the stall one more time, and, finding that it looked satisfactorily ordinary, he turned and opened the stall door, holding it open for Light to follow him, and walked out of the stall. “What class do you have now?” he asked Light.

“I have Latin,” Light answered, “I felt it would be too unrealistic to join you as a lab assistant.”

L smiled slightly. “Of course you’d take Latin. The language of scientists, right?”

Light inclined his head. “Exactly.”

L nodded, then asked, “Out of curiosity, how much of my muffins did I get up? 75% or more?”

Light shook his head, smiling slightly.

“Oh well. How about 50% or more?”

Light shook his head again.

“Alright,” L said, “Now I know that’s a lie. You’re just messing with me, aren’t you?”

“I’m not,” Light said, sounding faintly amused.

“Okay, fine, 25% or more?”

“I”m afraid not.”

“Fine, then, did I get up 0% or more of my lunch?”

“Well, of course, obviously.”

L stared at Light blankly. “I know you’re messing with me. You’re going to say less than 1% or something, aren’t you? I won’t bother to ask, we have to go anyway.” He paused, then said, “Don’t worry, I don’t mind.” Sometimes Light liked to lie to L, just for fun, even when the lies were obvious, just to screw with him and make him doubt himself. L was relatively experienced with purging and he could tell that he’d thrown up at least 50% of his makeshift meal.

“Alright,” Light said, “Here’s your computer, by the way.”

“Thanks,” L said, taking it.

They left the bathroom, finding themselves alone in the lobby again - the gym classes ended a few minutes early to give the kids time to change. “Light?” L asked.

“Yeah?” Light answered, turning his gaze on L.

“Was my episode of vomiting suitably interesting?” L asked, deadpan, almost like he was mocking Light for finding it interesting at all - though he wasn’t, and Light would know he wasn’t - Light would sense the real desperation behind the question, the need for affirmation that he was still, if not even more so, the center of Light’s field of vision.

Light was quiet for a moment, then stopped walking, and put a hand on L’s shoulder, stopping him too. He leaned forward, his lips brushing against L’s ear. “Seeing you,” he whispered, “Bent over, desperately ridding yourself of the life-giving nutrients you need to function, in an attempt to maintain your mental state in the face of the stressors I put before you, walking closer to the edge of one cliff, closer to dying from your eating disorder, so you can walk further from the edge of another, less close to dying from suicide. They’re fascinating, the choices you make under stress.”

L looked down, and found himself shaking slightly, his hands trembling. Light’s breath against his ear, the warmth of his hand on his shoulder - L was intoxicated. “Light,” he said.

Light barely paused before leaning forward, tilting his head, and pressing his lips to L’s, kissing him so intensely that he forced L back a couple steps, before pulling back, leaving him breathless. “Come,” he said, “We’ll be grievously late if we don’t hurry.” He started walking again, and after a moment, L followed behind.

They stopped at the locker room doors. “I believe this is where we part ways,” Light said.

“Yep,” L said, “I’ll see you in MAC, right?”

“That’s right,” Light said.

“Alright,” L said, then, after a pause, and, a bit awkwardly, “See you.” He turned, and went into the girl’s locker room. He put his computer into his bag and slung the bag over his shoulder, his heart beating faster than was usual.

Not for the first time, L wondered how symptoms of anxiety, such as an elevated heartbeat, even worked. Was Light just guessing as to L’s emotions at the time and controlling L’s bodily responses based on his guesses? Or had he found a way to actually hook L’s real “brain” (or feature that served a similar function) to this fake body, so that L’s emotions would actually transport signals throughout it?

L left the locker room, looking around for Light, but not seeing him, which made sense - L had just been in there less than a minute, after all, and Light had to change. L considered for a moment whether he should wait up, but decided against it - it wasn’t like they could talk about much of anything in the hallways while walking to their next classes, anyone could hear.

He walked to his next class, which wasn’t really a class - it was acting as an assistant to a chemistry teacher that was fond of him. Teachers tended to like him, probably because he was intelligent and quiet, and masked his autistic traits in school. If he was unmasked, they would not like him one bit, that was for sure - he would be considered too “obnoxious,” at best.

Today, the teacher had him do a written assignment - making an answer key for an upcoming lab. He worked on it for about ten minutes, then found his mind drifting back to Light. He wondered what the topic was in Latin today. He paused, then, opening a new window, looked up, “english to latin,” and google translate popped up.

He debated for a moment what to type in, then chose, “death.”

‘Wow,’ he thought, ‘There’s a lot of words for death in Latin.’ He scrolled through them for a moment, then thought to type in a new word. This time he chose, “blood.”

The second word down appealed to him. It was “cruor,” and apparently, its assorted meanings were “blood, gore, bloodshed, slaughter, murder, and blood from a wound.” ‘Cool,’ L thought, ‘That’d be a pretty good username to have for a vent account. Or any type of account, really. It’d be a pretty good online alias, too.’

L thought for a moment on what word he should type in next, and then typed in, “boyfriend.” There was no translation for it. That was a shame. Maybe “husband?” He typed in that, and found a few words - ‘Huh,’ he thought, ‘Wife is showing up as a synonym for husband. Maybe the words were used more interchangeably in Latin, like the word spouse?’

He paused for a second, then typed in, “love.” ‘Amor, I’ve heard that word before.’ L didn’t feel much of an emotional connection to the word love - he’d managed to reclaim it, when with Misa, after feeling for his whole life that it wasn’t for him, but it had slipped away from him again, and he was much more comfortable with that distance from the word than with the almost supernatural glee that had come with saying it to Misa and almost believing that he might belong.

Now he belonged with Light, who hadn’t fallen in love with him in a million years and wouldn’t fall in love with him in a million more, but who in all that time had never strayed his gaze from L’s stricken form. What was that? Not love. Obsession, perhaps.

L typed in “obsession.” The translation was “nimiam.” He paused, then opened a new tab, and typed in, “latin to english.” He typed in “nimiam.” The translation? “Too much.”

Too much. Yeah, that was Light all right, overwhelming him and overloading him and barely pausing to let him catch his breath before he was pushing him further towards the edge, nothing stopping him from falling except L’s feet digging into the stone and L’s nails digging into Light’s arms.

He paused, then typed in, “addiction.” The translation was “proclivitas.” He then typed in “proclivitas” in the latin to english translator. The translation was tendency or addiction.

L paused again, then typed in, “need.” The translation was “necessitudo,” which also meant “relationship, necessity, intimacy, need, inevitableness, and want.” A yearning went through L. One word stood out to him. “Inevitableness.” That was it, that was him and Light through and through, wasn’t it? The two of them, they had said, that was what everything came down to, they had said, the two of them, together, they had said - inevitable.

L imagined Light pulling him close and kissing him as he had in the lobby of the gym. The imagining felt right, right in a profound way, as though it had been led up to for years prior. But this imagining wasn’t the culmination of anything - no, it was only continuing to lead up to something L couldn’t see, but knew was coming. He knew something important was happening between him and Light, something beautiful was beginning to be created, and he was building it as he passively responded to Light’s kisses, as he suggested he start to slowly kill his body. There was a keen purpose to all the actions hitherto taken, orchestrated solely by Light’s genius as though Light was fate himself - and by now, perhaps he was.

So what was the next piece to put in the grand structure the two of them were creating? What should be L’s next move? Practically, he couldn’t even see Light for twenty minutes, until this period ended. But… Light could see him. Light was watching him, always. L could type, and Light could read what he wrote.

L opened a new document, paused for a moment, then started to write. ‘You’re a black hole, Light,’ he wrote. ‘You’re a black hole, and I like getting sucked in. I like the weightlessness of feeling my feet lift off the ground, I like the cold that I can already feel starting to seep into my bones from starting to slip into that state of being between life and death, only appeased by the warmth of your touch on my skin. I seek out that cold, I seek to present my body as that of someone who suffers, because I wish to define myself the only way I can, because every single feature about me is simply a response to the suffering I have endured, and so I might as well find beauty in my own suffering because there’s no other way I can be. I wish to look like I’m about to die because that is how I can look like myself.’

L was quiet for a minute, reading back what he had written. He paused, then soundlessly mouthed the last line of his paragraph. “I wish to look like I’m about to die because that is how I can look like myself.” That was… That was something L had barely even known until he wrote it just then, but upon writing it, knew it to be true. He wished to look like himself - and in doing so, he knew he would become more beautiful to Light, all sharp angles and protruding bones and waiflike fragility, thin frame beneath baggy clothing, collarbones and tiny wrists and thin legs with a small, pointed face peeking out under a mess of black hair.

And in becoming more beautiful, L imagined - no, he knew - he would be so much more confident in his own skin, not feeling ashamed of himself at all, he’d feel like Light actually wanted to kiss him, not just because he was fascinated with his mind but because he thought he was attractive, too - L would feel as beautiful on the outside as he was on the inside, and not because he thought looking deathly was objectively attractive - oh, no - but because it was attractive to himself, on himself, because by looking close to death, L managed to look like himself, and in doing so, looked more attractive to Light, because Light was utterly fascinated with L.

The bell rang. L closed his computer, put it into his bag, handed the barely touched answer key to his teacher, said, “Thank you,” in response to her expression of gratitude, and walked out the door. He got to the hallway where MAC was held, and waited for Light.

After a few moments, he saw Light walking towards him. L pushed off the wall and met Light in the middle of the hallway, stopping in front of him, much to the dismay of the students around them trying to get to their classes on time. Bluntly, offhandedly, L said, “I’m skipping MAC. Are you coming with me?” In its bluntness, it was a very roundabout way of saying what L actually meant - asking Light to spend the next two periods with him. Instead, L phrased it in such a way that implied he just wanted to skip the class, and just wanted to know Light’s schedule in light of this new information simply for his own convenience.

Light smiled at him, seeing right through it. “Would you like me to?” he asked.

L slipped his hands in his pockets and hunched over further. The hallway was fortunately becoming less crowded. “It’s up to you,” he said blankly, looking into Light’s eyes.

“No, I’m afraid it’s up to you, actually. If you say you want me to come, I will. So, do you?”

L looked down at Light’s shoes and stayed quiet for a minute, then dragged his eyes back up to Light’s again, almost shyly. It would be just like Light for this to be his only chance - for if he deflected this time, Light would simply assent and walk away. Light didn’t have the same sense of urgency that L did, L was almost certain of it. But L - L needed. He was given Light’s kiss, and exactly as though Light had intended to addict him, that first high only left him wanting more. He needed an antidote to the cold seeping into his bones - the cold of the realization that he really was alone in this world except for Light, that he really was nothing but a specimen to be kept in a jar on a shelf, that the best relationship he could hope for really was one that hurt him.

That made him feel cold, and right then, he needed Light’s kiss and Light’s touch to distract him from the fact that even as he felt this inevitable sense of fate pulling the two of them closer and closer, even as he knew that Light would never let him go unless Light died, it was a small comfort in the face of the knowledge that Light was not on his side. How could he consider Light a friend, knowing that? Light’s objective had nothing to do with L’s happiness, in fact, L’s happiness meant nothing to Light outside of noting it as a reaction - because Light’s only goal was to learn as much about L as he possibly could, especially how L reacted to unhappiness.

L needed intimacy with Light, such as he could have, because such was the only intimacy he could hope to experience - and yet, the thought of it made him feel cold, because Light was not on his side. Because Light… Light didn’t need him in the way that L needed Light - and L didn’t just mean that in reference to this particular situation. To Light, L might be vital, but in the end, Light would always matter more to L than L would to Light, because Light had a life wherein he was choosing to spend time on L, whereas L’s whole world was Light, and always would be, unless some greater force intervened and set L free. This fact - the fact that L needed Light and Light simply wanted L - was merely a bitter pill that L would have to swallow.

It was almost too much, the things L was trying to force himself to accept. But he forced himself - he opened his mouth, and, knowing that if Light’s puppet didn’t hear, he’d be able to trace the movements of L’s lips and interpret his speech that way, he quietly whispered, “I need you, Light. Come with me, please.”

Light smiled, and said, almost gently, “Of course. You only had to ask.”

Something angry sparked inside L at that response, because Light knew how hard it was for L to sacrifice his pride like that - but, he’d at least said it gently, almost as though he’d had sympathy for what he’d asked L to do, and so L didn’t respond. Residual embarrassment still lingering, he started walking, past Light, back the way they had come.

Light turned and followed. L walked down the hall, up the stairs, and started down the main hallway.

“Where are we going?” Light inquired.

“I was going to sit at that picnic table I often do,” L answered, “Unless you have a better idea?”

“Not necessarily a better idea,” Light answered, “But I do have a car, if you’d like to drive someplace, or just sit somewhere warmer.”

“Oh,” L said, “That would be nice. It is a bit cold out, huh?”

“It is,” Light agreed. “Come, I’ll show you where it’s parked.” He stepped in front, and L followed. They exited the building, and took a route around the back of the school, eventually arriving at a medium-sized white car parked in the seniors’ lot. “This is it,” Light said. He unlocked the doors. “Are we going somewhere, or just hanging out here?”

“Let’s just hang out here,” L said offhandedly. He walked forward, then opened the door to the backseat and slid inside, closing it behind him. In a moment, on the other side, Light did the same. Soon, they were less than a foot apart, together in this relatively private space.

L pulled his legs up, setting his feet on the seat and putting his hands on top of his knees. He turned his head to look at Light. Light said, “The message you put together for me was quite… Novel.” He hesitated, then smiled, almost cautiously, in a way that L was almost certain was a play, and asked, “If you’d like, I could share my analysis of it with you?”

“Oh,” L said, and found his heart was beating faster. “I’d like that.”

Chapter Text

Light began, “It might be easier if you brought it up on your computer, so I could point to specific sections when referencing them.”

L nodded, his heart rapidly clambering into his throat. He got his computer out of his bag, sat cross-legged instead so he could put it on his lap, and opened it. As expected, the very first open window was the document he’d used to write his paragraph.

Light moved closer to L on the seat, looking at the computer, their thighs pressing against each other. L shifted the computer closer to Light. Together, they studied the document.

‘You’re a black hole, Light. You’re a black hole, and I like getting sucked in. I like the weightlessness of feeling my feet lift off the ground, I like the cold that I can already feel starting to seep into my bones from starting to slip into that state of being between life and death, only appeased by the warmth of your touch on my skin. I seek out that cold, I seek to present my body as that of someone who suffers, because I wish to define myself the only way I can, because every single feature about me is simply a response to the suffering I have endured, and so I might as well find beauty in my own suffering because there’s no other way I can be. I wish to look like I’m about to die because that is how I can look like myself.’

Light was quiet for a moment, then said, “To analyze the word choice first - I liked that you used a space metaphor, when space as a concept is so key to your understanding of the two of us.” It was - L’s current theory was that space, as a concept, the concept of a void that everything floated through aimlessly, was his current frame of reference to understand the real world outside this fake world. L imagined Light in a spaceship designed exactly to his specifications, looking throughout the void for something to spark his interest, and finding L - L, odd and curious, an alien being - and knowing that he had to have him. He’d shared this idea with Light, and even though he knew Light must find it remarkably silly, L knew that some parts of it must be true.

“I also liked the use of the word “weightless,” as it rather amusingly goes along with the idea of losing weight due to your eating disorder, as well as potentially applying to the idea of escaping responsibilities or burdens when being around me. You don’t touch on that theme in the rest of the paragraph, but I can infer it, because I know that responsibilities are one of the things putting stress on you. Am I correct?”

“Yeah,” L said, “I think you’re right.”

Light smiled. “I also thought your warm and cold metaphor was quite interesting, because you presented them both as appealing, which isn’t what you typically see.”

He paused. “For now, to share the meaning of the whole paragraph - I think it really just stands for starting to embrace your own role as a creature of suffering. The tone perhaps isn’t happy, which makes sense, but it sounds accepting. I thought it was interesting how you presented me two different ways here; for one, I’m a black hole, the author of this feeling of cold you’re experiencing - but at the same time, I’m the only one that can appease it, make it feel less deadly through - what is it? Distraction? Comfort?”

L shrugged. “Both, probably.” L curled into himself further. “I guess what I meant by that is that if I was just dying alone, I wouldn’t-” he hesitated. “It would be a lot more lonely,” he finished. “You, watching me and whispering into my ear on how fascinating I am and kissing me - I shouldn’t like it, but it makes everything a lot less lonely.”

“Why shouldn’t you like it, L?”

L looked over at Light with wide eyes. “I should think that’s obvious. One shouldn’t like it when their - when someone who’s hurting them shows them affection. That’s Stockholm syndrome, isn’t it?”

Light smiled. “You don’t have Stockholm syndrome, L. I think that perhaps, you think you shouldn’t like my affection for another reason - you’re scared to embarrass yourself by showing a desire for anyone at all, because by doing so, you give up this mask you made in the past years, the one that slipped off when you were with Misa and that you hastily retrieved right after, the one that says, ‘I don’t need anyone.’”

Light paused. “The mask is different now, of course - before, it said that all humans were inferior, simply beings unlike yourself, to be observed rather than mingled with; now, it says something else - your heart is taken, your love locked away, because your love belongs to Misa, and always will. There’s some truth to the latter, and it’s partly why I find myself so enamored with this version of you; your love is unattainable in its entirety, and there’s something beautiful in that - in that sense of reserve, that sense that I’ll never truly own your heart, even if I own you in every other capacity. But there is some falsehood to this mask of yours, because you do need people, and as you said before, since I’m the only one here, it’s only a question of how much you’ll deny yourself your attraction to me, isn’t it?”

While Light had been speaking, L had glanced down, looking instead at the keyboard balanced on his legs. He was quiet for a moment after Light finished speaking, his fingers tapping on the sides of the laptop. A multitude of potential responses were thought of; in an impulsive decision, he ultimately went with the one his emotional mind desired. He looked up, and said softly, “I’m a bit hurt that you like me better when I’m reserved.” L glanced down again. “That must mean that you thought my younger self was boring when he would have given his heart out to anyone who asked. Just like everyone else did, I guess.”

L paused, realizing that he’d given out way too much of a hint of his actual emotions. He looked back up at Light, and said blankly, “It works out though, I suppose. Whether or not you intended it, I genuinely am reserved now, so I guess I should be flattered, yeah?”

Why did L say all that? Well, he guessed it had probably been because… He had been genuinely hurt by what Light had said. And yet, he also… Trusted Light, to an extent, he was realizing. It was from the way Light had said that he had come down because he missed being seen, because he wanted to be friends, the way that he spoke so reasonably, in such a way that L could understand entirely where he was coming from. So, L wanted to make their friendship work, even if it would be an odd one. He couldn’t entirely regret opening up, even if he now wanted to curl up in embarrassment. He managed with looking down again.

After a pause, Light spoke. L’s heart hammered in his chest. “I didn’t think your younger self was boring. No version of you could be boring to me. The reason I like you better is not because I thought of your younger self as easy, or simple, or lacking in his own personality - I see you, L. I thought that the coping mechanisms your younger self used were absolutely fascinating and incredibly inventive. You and your younger self are anything but simple. You were presented with the idea of the world hating you for being who you are and you found ways to be happy despite it. That’s what it means to be inventive, and you fascinate me for it. The only reason I like you better now is because you, well… You work better with me. Imagine how your younger self would have reacted if I had come down and showed you even the slightest bit of affection. It’s not that I would have minded that reaction, it’s just that… your reaction now, now that you’ve known a healthy relationship, now that your heart is, on some level, spoken for… Now, you’re… More of an equal to me.”

L looked up, confused. “You value that?”

“To be honest, I’m only just now realizing that I do. But, yes, that’s… That’s always been one of the signature components of my favorite lifetimes with you. If I had come down and spoken to your younger self, or a version of you that was your age but still wore their heart on their sleeve, I would still be able to have intellectual conversations with them, and they would understand me when I said that I didn’t love them, but they would just… Take it, and cling to me despite it. Yes, it would be fascinating, to see that reaction, but it would also be… I wouldn’t feel guilt, not for being who I am, but after a while, I would feel… alone, I suppose, because I’m being put on a pedestal so far above this person that there’s no connection between us, almost. Just, like… Coming into our apartment, and seeing them greet me blandly because they sensed a long time ago that I disliked energetic greetings, knowing that they would do this for the rest of their life if they could - it’s not the sadness of it that I mind, it’s the… the fact that there’s no sincerity, because there’s a part inside them, a part buried deep, that just wishes to be loved sincerely, to know that they can be loved sincerely for who they truly are, and as long as I’m there, that part doesn’t get a voice.”

Light paused. “So, it’s not that I like when you’re reserved because I like pulling you out of your shell or something like that. It’s that I like when you know you have value as a human being, and won’t just give yourself away to anyone who asks, and I like that because it allows for a sincere friendship, where we can choose to be friends based on what we like about the other - because trying to make friends with that other version of you just doesn’t work unless you’re a really good person, because that other version of you literally can’t say no to an offer of friendship. They literally feel like they aren’t allowed. And so the friendship, from their perspective, is based entirely on the affection given to them, and has absolutely nothing to do with the person they’re actually friends with. The reason your relationship with Misa worked was because you slowly realized throughout it that you were sincerely loved for who you were, and that you could say no to things if you wanted and you would still be loved despite it. That allowed for you to realize you have value beyond being used, but also in everything that makes you yourself. And as I said, I like that, because it allows for sincerity.”

L was quiet for a moment, processing. When he finally spoke, he said, softly, “Well, then, thank you. For explaining, and for… liking me better this way. I think I’m really glad you do. I think… Anyone who prefers me that way must be pretty creepy, or at least have some issues they need to work through. I think it’s always better to prefer that your partner likes you for you, and isn’t just in the relationship because they’re desperate to be loved by anyone. Mind you, you’re still pretty creepy, but if you mean it about seeing me as an equal, at least on this level, I’d be willing to overlook that.” L gave Light a small smile.

“I do see you as an equal, L. On every level. Since I first started studying you, I always have. Call me egotistical, but I wouldn’t be fascinated by anything less. I already know your mind is as brilliant as my own - and it’s perhaps more so, as I can’t say I’ve mapped out every potential reaction it can give. You’re an equal that I was lucky enough to capture - but it was luck, that’s all. If there are gods, in the real world, one smiled on me that day. That’s all.”

L nodded. His head felt fuzzy, and his eyes were having trouble focusing. “I’m glad to know,” he managed to say softly. “I’m quite glad.”

Light reached out, cupped L’s chin with one hand, and tilted his face towards him. L’s eyes slid to stare unseeingly at Light’s cheek. They stayed like that for a moment.

“You’re dissociating,” Light observed.

“No shit,” L mumbled.

Light smiled slightly. “What for?”

L tried to think. It had been what Light said. That he saw him as an equal. On every level. That revelation was… It gave L more genuine happiness than he’d experienced in quite a while. His brain didn’t know how to handle it, so it didn’t; it caused him to space out so he wouldn’t have to think about anything, at least for a bit. L said, “It’s just been… A lot. In a good way, I’m glad you want to have an equal friendship, it’s just that it’s… A bit of an overwhelming thing to hear.”

“I see,” Light said, “That makes sense.”

L nodded. There was a pause. Light broke the silence. “Since it doesn’t seem like you’re up to talking anymore, is there something else you’d like to do?” L’s eyes traveled back to Light’s, but he didn’t speak. “Listen to music?” Light offered.

L nodded again.

“Alright,” Light said, “How about we get into the front seats and you could pick the songs from spotify and we’ll play them on the car speakers? We could even go for a drive, if you’d like.”

L was quiet for a moment. “Why are you being so nice to me?” he asked.

Light was quiet for a moment. “I’m good at reading you,” he said. “I can tell that if I pushed you right now, you’d have a very difficult time handling it. This has all been a lot for you, and you need time to process it. I don’t want to overestimate your boundaries and find that it was too much for you.”

“I see,” L murmured. “Don’t want me offing myself right when things were getting interesting.”

Light smiled slightly. “Yeah, basically. So, did listening to music sound like a good idea?”

“Yeah,” L agreed. “We can go for a drive too, anywhere is fine.”

“Alright,” Light agreed. He paused, then leaned forward, and kissed L, before pulling away, opening his car door and slipping out. L looked after him for a moment, then turned, opened his own car door, and followed. They both closed the back seat car doors, opened the front seat car doors, and switched to sitting in the front seats in this way.

Light got out his keys, turned on the car, and then handed L his phone - unlocked. L stared for a moment, smiling slightly. “I should have guessed that I would be your wallpaper. Cliche stalker.”

Light smiled. “I’ve been analyzing you a lot lately. Analyze me. Why do you think I chose that wallpaper - why do you think that was the variable I chose to present to you?”

L was quiet for a moment. “Alright,” he said. He was quiet for a moment. “Well, the emotion that would arise in me when I see it, if this was a normal situation, would be surprise at your audacity, because, typically, one wouldn’t show that their phone wallpaper is your picture - a level of intimacy approximately on the level of keeping one’s picture on your nightstand. But of course, this is a mockery, because you’ve had this phone for less than half a day since you came down. At the same time, it’s a genuine nod to your obsession with me. However, such is obvious to both of us, so making it even more obvious in this way is merely amusing. So, I suppose that’s my guess - making my picture your phone wallpaper is simply a joke of yours, and you wouldn’t mind if I found it funny as well - which I did.”

Light’s smile didn’t widen, but his eyes brightened. “Good guess. I like it. I always like to hear all your thoughts, of course.”

L looked at him for a moment, waiting, then rolled his eyes. “Alright, don’t tell me if I was right. That’s fine. I definitely won’t languish away, suffer horribly, and then die, just because you refuse to tell me.”

“Oh?” Light asked, “That’s good. I’d hate for you to suffer horribly and die because of that.”

L pouted. “Light is so cruel to me. Here I am, filled with curiosity, insatiable, eating me alive, and here he is, with the answer! And yet, he won’t give it to me, despite such costing him nothing. I feel I have done nothing to deserve this despairing and unjust fate.”

“Yet, what have you done to not deserve it? Could there have ever been anything? Or is the universe simply an unjust and uncaring void that allows miscreants such as I to commit such injustices as we can, with no regard in the slightest for whether the victims deserved such offenses committed against them? Is it simply a matter of luck that determines which hands receive power over others, and which people have no say in their own lives? Then, if such be the case, why not follow your own objectives while fate allows you, even if such brings you to cruelty - because-”

“Shut up. God. Just shut up.” L was smiling, but his head hurt. He didn’t want to hear Light’s twisted reasoning on why he was alright with hurting L, because it made his head hurt and the metaphorical stab wound in his back ache.

It ached.

Light backstabbed him; he took a little kid and hurt him; he kept him in the womb for nine months where he didn’t know anything, just had to trust blindly that he was in a place where people could take care of him because he knew he couldn’t take care of himself, a place where he belonged, and he did; he trusted, blindly. L, a baby, truly believed that the people around him were there for him.

And then, five years later, his parents died and he discovered that his peers hated him.

This wouldn’t have been so bad, if god hadn’t been real, because it would have been chance. Chance that his parents were on that train that day, chance that he was autistic and his classmates’ parents didn’t teach them about compassion. But it wasn’t chance - a fact L only truly confirmed today. Light hurt L, deliberately. Light killed his parents and programmed his classmates to hate him. Light turned the world against five year old L, just to see how he’d react. And at the time, it hurt. It hurt, so badly. But this betrayal - taking L, telling him that he was safe, allowing him to believe it, and then hurting him horribly - in a way, that hurt worse, because it was completely unnecessary. It didn’t have to happen. None of L’s trauma had to have happened.

This was the wound Light gave him, the wound that Light had finally, truly revealed that morning.

And L didn’t want to hear Light’s sick justifications for why he was okay with hurting L, because L was realizing that his trauma was all because of Light. Because Light was not on his side. Because Light was firmly on the opposite side. Because L suddenly felt very small, and very insignificant. Trapped, almost. Funny, that. L giggled. “Man, you fucked up,” he whispered.

“Huh?” Light asked softly.

“You fucked up, man,” L repeated, “You fucked up. I seriously might actually kill myself.” As L said it, he realized it was true. It wasn’t to fuck with Light, not really - it was just because he wanted to forget it. Forget all of it. Forget his bullies, forget Misa, forget God. Forget everything. “But I’m scared,” L whispered. “I don’t want to forget again, and think - and think - and think that the world is a safe place. I don’t want to have to go through this again. I have the same soul, you know? You can reset my memories, you can’t reset my soul, I know it. My soul’s gonna break one day and you’re gonna be sorry.”

L, then, started crying, quietly.

After a moment, he managed, “You think you’re too mean for us to have been friends? You couldn’t have just walked up to me and said that I seem cool and asked to be friends instead? You think that I would have broken the friendship because you’d be too mean for me? I dunno, I think I’d have been pretty open-minded. Don’t worry, I know it never would have happened. You’re too much of a control freak anyway. I just wish… I wish things had happened like that instead.”

Light smiled slightly. “In 1% of universes, that’s how things went.”

L nodded. “I’m glad for those ones, then.”

They were quiet for a minute, then Light said, “I didn’t intend for you to be so affected by my questions. I still don’t fully understand why they affected you so deeply, when we’ve discussed before my desire to hurt you and you’ve been unaffected by that.”

L raised his eyes to Light’s. His tears had dried up, though his voice was raw. “Is it the scientist who’s asking, or my friend? For what purpose do you want to know - information or concern?”

“Could I be honest and answer: both?”

L was quiet for a moment. “Alright,” he said. “I guess… I don’t think it was your words, exactly. They just triggered something. It was a matter of time; I think I didn’t fully realize the implications of what it means for you to be real - I still haven’t realized them. So, something about you asking what I… what I didn’t do to deserve this, like I could have gotten out of it somehow if I had been stronger or cleverer or even just ten feet to the right, far enough that the beams of light on your spaceship didn’t pick me up - it feels wrong, and it hurts, because the most obvious and easy solution is you. You could have simply chosen not to hurt me. You could still choose to stop hurting me. We’re tiny specks of dust in the middle of a black void, and you’re choosing to put more malice into it than there was before. I can’t relate to that. So I guess it just hurts that I’m stuck here for the rest of my life, probably, with this being that I can’t relate to.”

“The fact of your reality is often difficult to process,” Light agreed. He paused for a moment. “I know it probably sounds like a cold comfort, but do you want to go for that drive and listen to music like I suggested? It would probably be at least better than talking more, right?”

“Yeah,” L agreed, “Alright.”