Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Gutta cavat lapidem.

The drop (of water) cuts the rock.

The chat explodes.

It moves so fast. It’s lagging.

Light only ducked down. Tilted his head slightly so L’s crappy laptop camera could catch his face.

And L’s fans are erupting.

It’s a stroke to his ego, really.

Chat

??????

WHAT

W

W

WHOOOO IS THIS FINEEE MAAAAANNNNNN

IS HE SINGLE

W

:stickerofsonicwithhistongueout:

im so sorry who is this man and why is he mogging L so hard

W

U DA REAL ART

W

I HAVE NEVER SEEN ANYONE MORE HANDSOME SEXY BEAUTIFUL GORGEOUS HANDSOME ATTRACTIVE GOOD LOOKING DOES HE NEED A DOORMAT 

HOLY fucking mogness mogism mog mogtopia what the HELL

W

IM DROOLING

W

W

W

WTF

WHY IS HE SO GOOD LOOKING

HOW IS HE NOT A MODEL

W

L is quiet. 

Even he doesn’t even know what to say. It’s as if he didn’t expect his fanbase to be so in love with Light. Serves him right.

Donations ping here and there. They’re all brought alive by the text-to-speech voice, but one in particular silences the entire room:

natsucks donated $67!

oh light is my PRINCESS and he is gettimg SO pregnant by me tonight.

…

What?

Light and L both gape at the words.

He doesn’t even know what to say. 

What would Kira say? 

Light tries to think: well, considering Kira’s arrogant nature, he would definitely feel this is somewhat of an ego stroke. But at the same time, he would also interpret it as offensive, wouldn’t he? Kira asserts dominance, he always does, and he wouldn’t want to be depicted as a ‘princess’ and wouldn’t exactly appreciate the threat of being impregnated, nobody would, but then again… What am I, as Light, L’s polite university student roommate even supposed to say? Well, like any other person, I would be shocked and taken aback, but what am I supposed to say? Quick, I need to think, L is staring at me and—oh, he’s not actually, he’s staring weirdly at the donation… Huh?

Maybe it’s better for Light not to say anything.

“Yes, chat, this is my roommate,” L says, breaking the silence, and his words feel like an attempt to dim the catastrophe in the chat. It does not work, but he still tries, “His name is Light.”

On the other hand, Light doesn’t appreciate being introduced to the camera like a pet dog. He can introduce himself. Who does L think he is?

Of course, none of this disdain shows on Light’s face when he gleefully greets the chat, “Hi guys, I’m Light. I’m sure you’ve heard a lot about me. It’s nice to meet you all.”

He ends with a chuckle, the practiced one, the one he’s used countless times on L to make situations less awkward and to make his image of an average university freshman more convincing.

“Light-kun,” L mumbles, sudden but not impulsive, because nothing he says is. “I want you to work on the Shibuya case with me.”

On L’s desk, Nori licks her paw, then turns to look expectantly at Light. Their shared bedroom doesn’t speak for a couple moments. The air conditioner is startlingly cold. It stings Light’s skin. The fingers above his laptop waver. It’s midnight. Is this an invitation? Is it a ploy? 

Will the hand he stretches out stab him later?

“Why?” is what Light asks. 

A safety precaution.

Their beds are on opposite sides of the room, like how their pawns are when they play chess. They are polar opposites, they’ve had multiple debates that show this, that they have different ideals and define justice in different ways but L wants Light to be his ally. L wants Light’s hand in his, wants them to work toward the same goal, something they could never do.

Could they?

There’s not much that Light can say, except yes. If he declines, it will raise suspicion on him. Because there’s no other reason for Light to refuse, anyway. Light has shown repeated interest in the case, and refusing will only be a loss on L’s part, because they both know that Light helping out on the case will make it progress faster. If Light declines L’s offer, it could be perceived as an effort to be a hurdle to L’s investigation. There’s really no other option. 

L has him backed into a corner. Like he always does.

Light turns to look at him, and smiles, not crooked, “Sure, Ryuzaki.”

L blinks.

He does not look unfazed, but he murmurs, “I didn’t think you’d actually say yes.”

It’s a lie. Light knows L is lying. L set this entire scene up entirely for the purpose of getting Light to help him. Of course Light would agree. 

“You’re actually a part-time detective, huh?” Light says, and it’s not a question. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“That would be unprofessional of me,” L says boredly, popping another marshmallow into his mouth.

Light squints his eyes, “But you told me you’re L.”

“One is my online persona, the other is my career,” L sighs. “There is a very prominent difference.”

L swears that he sees Light’s eye twitch from the corner of his vision. Nori flicks her tail, nearly knocking over L’s marshmallow tower.

“Are there any other people working on the case?” Light asks. L knows better now than to be skeptical of it. He knows Light is, at his core, unnecessarily curious.

“Yes, people very close to me,” L answers and it’s a half-lie. What he says after is not a lie: “They’re also my Twitch mods.”

L swears Light’s eye twitches again, but when he looks, Light only nods.

“Anyway, I’ve been meaning to ask, were you born and raised in England?” Light changes the topic instead. Suspicious. “Y’know, since you go to Oxford.”

“No,” L lies, and tells another lie: “I was homeschooled.” 

L was not homeschooled. He’s lying through his teeth. L has never had a home, he was taken into Wammy’s House as a kid which does not serve as a home. It is an orphanage with educational benefits. Which is what gave him the chance of getting into a university in the first place. If Watari had not found him, cold and abandoned in the snow, maybe L would be nobody. 

“Oh?” Light seems to not believe him. 

But is L somebody?

L knows that there are many questions that Light wants to ask him, because that’s how it is. Maybe he wants to ask: really, what are your parents like? What was your house like? How did you get into Oxford, then? L only has answers for one of the questions.

“Oxford is one of the few universities that I was looking forward to applying for,” L mumbles while chewing, “and it happened to accept homeschooled students. I only needed to take some admission tests and submit certificates.”

This is only partly a lie. The thing about certificates is true. The thing about admission tests is false. L did not take any admission test, he got into Oxford with letters of recommendations and Watari’s personal connections. That and other test results combined with records of previous cases he’s helped out on, was enough for him to get in.

The thing about Wammy’s House is it is not just an orphanage. It was created with the intention of not just hosting kids, but raising smart ones. So L grew up with thin, fragile beds and mass breakfasts and educational opportunities. Scholarships for universities outside of the country were widely promoted. They expected to raise kids until they were of age, and send them to prestigious universities. 

They claim it is to help them explore their passions and craft bright futures, but L knows better, he knows it is so their public image is great. Because if they really did just want to help, there would not be so much pressure on the kids.

“That’s nice, Ryuzaki,” Light smiles. L knows it is not sincere. “I assume you are planning to be a full-time detective after you graduate?”

“Yes, I am,” L reaches for another marshmallow. “I am looking forward to it. For now, I only have to finish my thesis.”

L is nobody. But soon, he will not be. He finds it ridiculous, really, because why would the higher-ups of both Wammy’s House and Oxford measure his skills and competency solely through a research-based academic paper they call a thesis? L has certainly proved to be competent enough to be a detective, with or without the thesis, so what is the point?

It’s infuriating the amount of emphasis that is placed on a mere research paper. Watari and all of the higher-ups of Wammy’s House refuse to let him make his own name until he has graduated. L cannot graduate, his professors won’t let him, until he finishes his thesis. This typically has never been a problem—L has opted to take up cases without credit upon his name. He can give insights and connect dots without professionally being on the case, and that is what he has done for years.

Light is silent for a while. He is thinking. L takes a sip from the previously neglected coffee cup. It is sweet. L stares at his reflection in the liquid. It stares back. Nori curls up on his table, getting ready to sleep. 

But now, suddenly, everyone is against him taking up cases. Watari told him to finish his thesis and graduate before he can take up any more. Watari had told him, this is better for you, once you graduate you can make a name for yourself. You have been in the shadows for years. Wouldn’t you like that?

And yes, L would like that, but not as much as people think he would. L is not solving cases solely for the reputation. If he was, he would have graduated early by now. He solves them because they are entertaining, like puzzles. And they have been taken away from him.

It is highly unlikely that you would get hired by a client without any form of academic qualifications, Watari had explained. That is why we want you to finish your degree before you can take up cases. It is for your own good.

Perhaps, the most frustrating part is that Watari is partially right. There is not much L can do without a degree. L could argue that he could display records of the cases he has helped to solve, but there is not much upon his name except for a couple appreciations, if any. On top of that, Wammy’s House simply cares that much about academic records, so he has to get a degree and prove himself as an alumni, too. How frustrating.

“What do you plan on writing for your thesis?” Light asks. This is what makes L tear his gaze away from the silhouette in his cup.

L lies, “I have not thought of it.”

Because the truth would be: you, Light Yagami. I want to write pages about you, for you. I don’t want to admit why.

(Months pass by. 

If the statement were to be followed up by the words ‘in a blur’, that would make it a lie. Months pass by, not in a blur, time is not fast, it is dreadingly slow, taking small steps at a time, but every choice Light makes leaves footprints far too deep. 

The world is momentarily stagnant. During the day, Light goes to university, a weary look in his eyes and he comes back to the apartment they are hesitant to call home with the same dull rings for irises and pupils that wish to grow. They do, eventually. They come to life when L talks to him. When they play chess. When L asks for ‘insights’ on the case, when really what he wants are not insights, and they come to life the way L’s smile does when Light talks about anything related to justice. 

Light finds himself wondering often, too often: to an outsider, would it look like an exchange between friends?

It would. It should. In reality, it is anything but. The conversations they have are not friendly. Not comforting. They are interrogations. L asks questions he shouldn’t ask and Light gives answers he is expected to give. It’s a continuous cat-and-mouse chase. L is certain Light is Kira. The rope he is walking on is so thin. Nothing more than a couple wrong words, the wrong actions, or the wrong reasoning will lead to L confirming the truth. It is scary, but thrilling all the same, and Light will vow victorious at the end and, this time, he actually will. 

Because he has endured. He has endured for months. He only has to continue for some more, and L will move out. Light will endure. So far, he has. Light has survived through sleepless nights where L streams, almost on purpose. He has even made multiple features on L’s streams. Light helps L connect the dots between his case, they identify new victims almost every day, and he is helpful to his sworn enemy. Light has willingly risked his identity being known, in his pursuit of not to be known. Light has done so much, so he will endure all of this, and L will never know who he is. What he doesn’t know won’t kill him.

L will move out, and that will be the end of the chase. 

It has been fun.

Light pretends he doesn’t think of how boring life will be again when L moves out. Does he even want L to move out?

Well, Kira does.)

(It’s a video of L’s grainy facecam, one of his recent streams. The surroundings are dark, the only source of brightness being the saturated computer screen that glows upon L’s face. 

The video is silent for a moment at the start. L is staring at the camera absentmindedly, thinking hard about his next chess move. Suddenly:

“Ryuzaki, you really can’t be serious right now,” slurred Japanese comes from somewhere far from L’s laptop. It’s Light, half asleep and his tone is thick with fury.

“Do you actually need that much brightness on your laptop? Or do you think it’s funny to see me pissed off?” Light’s voice is emotional, something rare, and he sounds mad. If L weren’t streaming, he’d claim this is Kira-like behaviour. “It’s two thirty-five in the morning. You’ve got to be kidding me. Normal people sleep. Even criminals sleep. Hell, even Kira sleeps.”

L stays silent. 

He turns down the volume of his laptop, he mutes it, so that the sound of donation pings can’t be heard. 

Light does not know that L is streaming. 

He thinks the camera is not recording. He thinks his voice can’t be heard. And when nobody’s looking, unfiltered, raw emotion spills out of Light.

“You always do this! You act like you’re not living with someone else, or maybe you just… don’ t care," Light hisses. “It makes me so—irritated, you know? How would you feel if your roommate refuses to let you sleep every night because his laptop brightness lights up the entire room?”

Chat

i feel so bad for light…..

L TURN DOWN THAT LAPTOP BRIGHTNESS RN

MY POOR BABY LIGHT 

L

L

HELP I FEEL SO BAD

L

wait but its not that deep bro

L

L

L

“I imagine it’d be the worst feeling in the world,” L says, although his facial expression says the complete opposite.

“Exactly,” Light scoffs. “Then why do you do it? I have class tomorrow, professors who actually care if I were to pass out in the middle of class, and you don’t care, not even in the slightest, and…”

Light stops.

His eyes dart onto the screen.

“Are you streaming?” 

The clip ends.)

The night is dark. 

Nighttime in Japan is always dark, the Sun sets before five o’clock. Outside the blurry, clouded windows, the rain refuses to stop pouring, its tears painting the busy streets outside. The storm is angry. Their shared apartment is quiet, but not lonely, and the silence is no longer awkward like it initially used to be, it’s comfortable now. They’ve memorized each other’s routines like how Light memorizes the materials for his tests, effortlessly and quickly, faster than he should.

L is typing on his laptop. The lights are off. Nori is asleep on L’s desk. Light is on his bed, on the other side of the room, opening one of his law books. L wonders if Light really is reading, or if he even can, since the lights are off, which basically confirms he is not. Light is merely thinking and pretending he’s reading so it doesn’t look weird.

But, really, knowing someone is beyond knowing their routine. L knows this. L has never let anybody even grasp a chance of knowing him, and it’s in the name of professionality and safety, he claims, but it’s not. In reality, L deems human connections as something not worth his time if it doesn’t benefit him in some way. He doesn’t deem them useless, that would be stupid, because personal connections are what got him into Oxford in the first place, but he doesn’t bother indulging in them if they are not of his interest. 

He is the opposite of Light, who says things people want to hear and does things people want him to do all for the sake of his image. L could not care less. Relationships used to be for L’s personal benefit, and his personal benefit only.

That should apply to Light. 

It used to.

But with every sleepless night they share, with every lead in the case that Light finds and every coffee that Light brews for him in the morning, L finds it increasingly difficult to continue lying to himself. Because, really, what benefit does L get from countless chess games with Light? Sure, it allows L to directly study Kira’s patterns and moves, but they rarely even have proper matches like that—where they’re silent and thinking a lot, too much, and reading too deep into each other’s moves—anymore. 

They play casual games now, they knock pieces off too fast, and they don’t play like they’re on opposite sides of war anymore, and for a moment, L dumbly considers that Light only asks him to play because it’s fun, or because he enjoys it. Light is clearly not putting any effort, no grand schemes behind the bishops or knights or rooks he moves, and L wants to ask why? Because neither is L, and if they’re not playing to study each other anymore, then what are they playing for? 

What is the point of brewing coffee for L every morning, if no part of the drink is poisoned? 

What is the purpose of cooking dinner almost every night, adjusting the taste of each plate to L’s preferences, even when he doesn’t ask for it? 

What is the point of gladly helping L solve the case, even though he’s stated he doesn’t want to, but Light helps anyway, he says what seems like every thought he has related to the murders. Why?

L considers the possibility of Light just trying to reduce the suspicion he has on himself. Because, it’s true, all of these actions and behaviors are severely unlike Kira. But, if that is the case, then Light would not go to such an extent.

Would he?

L wishes the answer is yes. But Light brews coffee, cooks dinner, plays chess not with a transactional, lifeless look in his eyes, and that’s what scares him. 

What scares him is the possibility that Light doesn’t realize what he’s doing—that caring for L has become a habit he doesn’t want to break. It should be terrifying. It is. It’s terrifying because Light doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into, he doesn’t know how deep the hole he’s dug himself in, and it’s terrifying because L does not hate it. 

L does not spitefully despise all of these actions like he should. He should feel disgust, hatred, and all of those ugly feelings because this is Kira, this is Kira, his online nemesis who hates L and wishes all of the worst things to happen to him, but it is also Kira who brews coffee and cooks dinner and plays chess with him and tells him things he does not tell anyone else. And this does not irk L as much as it initially did.

Light does not mean to act like he cares. L knows this. Light intends to see L lose, to see him drop to his knees, and beg for mercy, and he tries to do it by seeming nice on the surface and stabbing him in the back later, but when an actor is so immersed in their role it’s only a matter of time until they break character or start unconsciously inhibiting that character’s traits and the latter is what Light is doing. L knows Light, maybe more than he knows himself.

It would be a waste of time to wonder why.

L decides to test it instead. 

“Light-kun, if you had the power to save people,” L asks, “would you use it?”

Light closes his book, echoing the sound of pages slamming together. He looks at L. 

“Well,” Light pauses, “you would have to define what it means to ‘save people’ first, Ryuzaki.”

Ryuzaki, Light says, and calls, every time, even though he knows he is actually L, and L has said to him that his name isn’t actually Ryuzaki, but Light says it anyway. There is something in his voice that L does not dare to name. Light knows he is more L than Ryuzaki, but he says the fake alias anyway, almost unconsciously, as if he wants to pretend that this domesticity they’ve made up is real, as if they can continue to play dolls in this dollhouse of an apartment forever, an actor too immersed into his role.

It’s midnight. They should be asleep. They are not. Their nights go like this. It should not be silent. The sound of clicking is prominent, and the pages from Light’s law textbooks flip, and the rain outside is screeching. 

But, now, it’s quiet.

They don’t say anything, and their eyes don’t dare to whisper when they meet, not even the usual intimidation, it’s quiet. L can see, behind Light’s eyes, the mix of confusion and worry, as if he fears that something he say will be wrong, but he says it anyway.

“Let’s say, to make the world a better place,” L murmurs.

There is no hesitation.

“Of course,” Light scoffs, as if the question is foolish. “It’s the right thing to do, isn’t it?”

He says it, generalizes it as if it’s basic human morals, as if his skewed sense of justice is something everyone has and lives with. It appears that he does not know he is wrong. He assumes as if everyone will agree with him. 

As if those who oppose him are the ones that are wrong.

“Then, tell me, how would you describe your ideal world?” L asks, it sounds like he’s pondering but he’s not, these are rehearsed questions. “In the situation that you do succeed in making the world a better place, what would it look like?”

Light looks at the wooden-planked ground. He tears his gaze away. 

He looks back up, at L and into his eyes, and answers, so fluently that it feels rehearsed too, “A world with no criminals. With no bad people. The world would only have good people, and it would be a perfectly functioning society. A utopia, you could say. What do you think?”

He looks like he doesn’t want L to disagree. His eyes are begging L to agree. L does not.

“I don’t think so. The world can never be pure, Light-kun,” L does not talk down to Light, he says all of this in a calculated tone, not expecting to be met with understanding, but explanation. And that’s what L wants. “Your perfect utopia can never be achieved. As long as humans exist, crime will exist, and world peace can never be permanent.”

“Wha—no, Ryuzaki,” Light furrows his eyebrows as he rebukes. “World peace can be achieved. If there were no bad people. I mean, think about it. Crime and criminals are rot. They make the world rotten. Without them, don’t you think the world would be a better place?”

“If you say that,” L pauses, “then you are subconsciously agreeing with the perpetrator of the Shibuya murders.”

The rain does not stop pouring. It’s louder now. Agressive. Almost like hail.  L stirs his coffee. Light’s law book is now long abandoned.

“I’m not,” Light is frowning, now, “why would you say that?”

Light really seems to believe it, this, his… belief. Maybe his sense of justice isn’t really skewed. But extreme. It is not inherently bad at its core. He wants the best for the world, it should be a selfless belief. But is it really? It is more of a blinded, naive belief.

“Allow me to elaborate,” L sighs. “Sinning is human nature, Light-kun. All of the criminals in the world could drop dead at this very moment, and yet crime will continue to exist. It has existed before we were born. It will exist after you die, and after I die.”

Light seems to find it absurd. He seems to find L’s mindset absurd, strange, and wrong. 

L has always noticed this, Light’s arrogance, how could he not? It is not shocking, per se. Someone like Light, who has always proved time to time to come up on top, always at the peak of the pedestal, is practically guaranteed to have some sense of arrogance. And when people constantly praise you, congratulate you, it is hard for you to admit you are wrong. L knows this. Because he struggles with the same thing, too. Sometimes, L realizes: they are so similar and yet so different, it should be eerie, but to both of them it is not, it is merely another challenge.

“If I were to play devil’s advocate,” Light mumbles, “in the situation that all criminals were to drop dead, I could argue that crime would still be significantly reduced because of the widespread fear.”

Light is not ‘playing’ devil’s advocate. He simply is. 

It’s something he does when he wants to oppose L’s arguments without seeming too petty. It’s a shame that L sees right through it.

“Yes, Light-kun, ‘significantly reduced’, in your own words,” L stares at Light. “But crime cannot, and never will be, entirely gone.”

Another beat of silence. The rain is pouring less harshly. 

“If you really believe that, then why are you a detective?” Light hesitantly asks. Not mocking. But, as if he actually wants to know. “That sort of mindset… It would make your work feel useless, wouldn’t it?”

The rain has stopped now. 

But their apartment still feels cold. They stay like this: L in his seat, right by his desk, laptop flashing bright lights but his fingers no longer hover over the keyboard. Light is still on his bed. 

L spreads the truth out for him, “Well, I do it because I enjoy it. It helps, somewhat, but I am not in a pursuit to cleanse the world. As I’ve said before, I only take cases that interest me. Not all.”

Light is silent. 

“That’s a selfish reason. But I guess I understand it,” Light nods only once. “Can I ask you one last thing, Ryuzaki?”

“Go ahead.”

“I could argue that you could take more cases, and reduce crime further, but,” Light’s hand grimaces. “Why don’t you do it? Why do you choose not to?”

Because, if I had the power to, I would. I would do what I could to make the world a better place by my standards, Light does not say, but L hears it.

“I suppose I just do not care enough. And I believe that it’s impossible to save everyone, and…”

The rain has stopped. 

“...It’s dangerous to believe you can.”

L is alone in their shared apartment.

Light will be getting home later than usual. He texted him. He said he has extra courses on criminal justice. L knows he is lying. Kira is live right now. It is weak evidence, but it is evidence, and L takes everything he can get.

Nori is on his desk. Of course she is, it’s her favorite spot. She seems to favor it more than her cathouse, the one that Light bought a week ago. L considers that maybe Nori just dislikes the cathouse because Light is the one that bought it, and it is too far of a conclusion but it would not be odd for her to actually do that.

Nori has always been picky with the people she likes. She is a quiet cat. She rarely meows, and when she purrs, it is only when L feeds her.

L is alone. Whenever Light goes for university, or is asleep, is the only time L works on his thesis.

Nori is staring at his laptop screen now, as if she could read the words:

University of Oxford

Centre for Criminology

Faculty of Law

Justice and danger: exploring when morally good intentions bring harm to the world

L Lawliet

There are many pages of the thesis. L presumes his progress is about 64% so far. He wrote most of it the night before. He scrolls onto the next page. 

Dedication

This thesis is dedicated to L.Y., 

the one whose insights fueled this entire work, subjected himself to discussions that benefited this paper,

and prevented me from writing a less-than-mediocre quality thesis, or from failing to produce one at all, a couple months ago.

This work would not exist without you.

L Lawliet

L wishes he could say the words: I don't know why I dedicated my thesis to you, Light. 

But he can't. He really can't. The worst part is, he can't pretend he doesn't want to dedicate it to him. And no matter how hard he's thought about it, L cannot bring himself to delete the block of text either.

The rest of the thesis goes like this: abstract, table of contents, abbreviations, introduction, chapter one, two, three, four, five, six, conclusion, and bibliography. L does not add acknowledgements. 

There are a plethora of reasons L could use to explain why he dedicates his thesis to Light. He does not try to cover it up, though, the fact that Light has contributed to his thesis, and if he had not been his roommate, perhaps he would still be wondering what to write. It would be foolish to lie about something so obvious; Light is the only person who is on par with him. That Light is the only one who can oppose him so bravely. 

L wants to hear every argument Light has against him. L wants to live through every debate they’ve ever had, just one more time, because Light opposes him like they do when they play chess, and the way he does is fascinating. He pretends to be on the same side, but also wants L to know they do not have the same values or beliefs, and Light will still brew coffee for him after they disagree on something.

L only has one fear when it comes to Light Yagami:

He fears the day he will be breaking his vow, the day he breaks his promise to himself when they first met, which was that he would never fall in love with him. 

It is all the more terrifying that the day where that happens, has already passed.

The murky concrete floor does not creak when they step over it. The building is tall, lonely, and the walls are narrow, they loom over and reach for the two of them. L is walking, hunched over, and Light’s footsteps hesitantly follow him.

“Ryuzaki,” Light frowns, confused. “What is this place?”

“We call it the Tokyo Annex,” L’s teeth rake against his nail, “but you can call it whatever you want, really.”

Light’s eyebrows furrow further as he asks, “We?”

Light pretends he wants to know about the place. Maybe he does.

L leads them through the corridor and into the main room. The place is not cold, there is only one air conditioner installed in the room, and fans in the corners. Near is sitting on the floor. Mello is on the couch, his right leg is up, pressed against the edge of the table and his other leg is sprawled out. Matt is beside him, sitting on the couch too, and his thumbs are aggressively pressing on the nintendo switch he’s holding.

It looks ridiculous to Light. 

There are three teenagers in this abandoned warehouse that L calls the Tokyo Annex. Not a fitting name for the setting. L is one of the biggest mainstream streamers and also a detective and he just led him to this weird abandoned warehouse. He calls these people his ‘accomplices.’ One of them is solving a puzzle on the floor, another is eating chocolate on the couch, and the third one is playing Mario Golf (in this day and age?). 

“Please, introduce yourselves,” L smiles, and he’s speaking in English now.

All three of them look somewhere between horrified, confused, and annoyed. It’s rare that they all think the same thing, but here they are.

“Light!?” Mello shouts, standing up and he slams his chocolate bar on the table. It cracks. “It’s—holy shit, it’s actually you! What—what!? Why!? Why are you—”

“Oh my God,” Matt mutters, and he nearly drops his switch to the ground. “It’s… him.”

“It’s him,” Near scowls, his voice is lower but. “The one who’s been causing us all this trouble.”

“Please be nice,” L says in a tone that is not at all caring or defending. “This is my roommate. I believe he can be of help to the investigation.”

What?

“How do you guys know who I am?” A bead of sweat drops from Light’s forehead, now, he is really worried. 

Light is not aware that he is a public celebrity outside of L’s fanbase. It’s scary. Have they found something? Why do they know his name, and did the one with white hair say he’s been causing them trouble, why, no, he hasn’t—

“I can’t believe I’m actually meeting you in real life!” Mello’s voice is the loudest, Light can’t read if it’s shock, confusion, or distaste. “I’m Mello, I’ve only ever seen you on stream but you look the exact same, dude, what the hell!? I thought Matt was joking when he said L would bring you here!”

“I was!” The boy who Light assumes to be Matt defensively declares, “I swear, I didn’t know he would come here. And stop it, Mello, you’re scaring him! You too, Near!”

Then, Matt turns around and says: “Don’t worry. You’re chill, man.”

‘I can’t believe I’m actually meeting you in real life?’ ‘Don’t worry?’ ‘You’re chill, man?’ Why are they saying these things to me!? Wait, on stream?

“It is such a hassle to moderate the chat box when you appear,” The last boy says, and Light assumes he is Near, he looks like he’s trying to hold back from being too mean.

Moderate… The chat box? 

When I appear?

No…

No way!

Are these… L’s mods!?

Light wants to laugh. It’s painful to hold it in. 

Oh, L is so stupid! The number one rule of being a Twitch streamer is not to reveal the identity of your mods. Well, it’s not necessarily the number one rule, but there is no advantage that comes from it either. No advantage to L. For Light, this is everything. He can get crucial information from his mods, the people closest to L, and with it, he can use it to evade L even further. L can have all of the suspicion in the world pinned on Light but with no evidence to prove it. Because his closest allies are on Light’s side.

Now, Kira will never be caught.

Soon, victory will be his.

“Are you guys,” Light pretends to be shocked, “L’s mods?”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot to tell you, Light,” L mumbles. “They are. Now, we can start working on the investigation.”

They do not work on the investigation. They end up sitting cross-legged in a circle on the ground, because the sofa is not big enough. L is typing away at the monitor, the only one sitting on a chair by the desk.

Mello keeps whispering things to Matt, and Matt keeps asking Light out-of-pocket questions, like: what is it like living with L? Is L a nice roommate? Does he snore? Light finds it mildly annoying but he doesn’t let any of it show on his face and answers all of those questions with the things they want to hear. Light swears that this Near kid hates him, because, from the corner of his eyes, Light keeps seeing Near give him the most awful glares when he thinks Light isn’t looking.

It’s insane. What did Light ever do to him? Sure, it’s true that the chat creates a ruckus whenever Light appears, but c’mon, that is hardly his fault. Right? Light can’t help that people are just so enamoured by him.

They do end up making progress in the case. 

Thanks to Light, they come up with an elaborate plan. 

“Only a couple hundred more…” L mumbles. Light grimaces beside him, praying L doesn’t notice it.

L is about to hit 15M followers on Twitch.

He’s doing a face cam stream, not playing anything in the background. It’s just him. Light is sitting right beside him.

It’s the first stream where L and Light sit side by side—usually, Light makes really minor cameos, just ducking his head down to be slightly in frame, or just talking from outside of the camera’s view. 

Light doesn’t know why he agreed to this. 

He doesn’t want to witness L, his online nemesis, reach 15M followers before he does. No. He doesn’t. Although they only have a 1,432 follower gap, which seems small with their big numbers, it’s still a big deal to Light.

Light is certain that L is only reaching 15M faster because he’s live streaming the occasion. It’s true. If Kira were to do the same thing, he could reach 15M too. If not, faster. 

He’s just unable to because of this.

Because L asked Light to accompany him for this ‘special occasion’, and refusing that would increase the suspicion he has on Light.

And so, Light is sitting here, right beside L, shoulders touching and in the same frame of the low-quality facecam, and Light is fuming inside. He wants to scoff. He wants to click his tongue. He wants to roll his eyes.

He can’t. There are cameras on him. L’s facecam, to be precise.

Light sees red. 

The follower counter keeps going up, up, and up, and with every person that follows L, his fury grows even more. 

14,988,884.

14,988,896.

14,989,009.

People just keep following L. The increase doesn’t stop. 

Damn it!

Light hopes, for a second, from the very bottom of his heart, that L gets banned on Twitch at this very moment. He can picture it—L getting banned, his fans devastated, but Kira’s fans would be overwhelmed with joy and triumph. It would be heaven. Or, the Twitch site could just collapse at this very moment. Both situations would be heaven.

The air conditioner breathes, cold. A nudge, as if to prepare him for something, like—

Ping!

llightforlife donated $5!

when we hit 15M will u two kiss

…

It’s nothing new.

Really. 

They’re used to the constant shipping. The text-to-speech monotone voice reads the donation out. It echoes.

This is different now.

Because Light has a plan.

He’s so grateful, really, for the donation, because it has unknowingly played into his grand scheme. Sure, when the camera is on, Light is playing the role of the innocent, kind university student who is L’s roommate. He pretends he doesn’t know anything. In reality, he is anything but. Light’s goal here is simple: he wants to bring L to shame, wants L to bow and kneel upon Kira as the better streamer, because he is. So Light will not waste this shining opportunity to do so.

“Thank for the donation, llightforlife, and,” L pauses. “That’s up to Light, really.”

Too easy.

L has scattered his pawns and offered them up in Light’s hands as a sacrifice, and Light wants to laugh, but no, he can’t laugh yet. He’s got to hold it in. Because his plan hasn’t even started yet. Or has it?

Light knows that L would say something like that, he would say something to shift the focus on Light. Like the coward he is. All the more victory for Light.

Is winning really this easy?

“Just one, right?”

“I’m afraid you have to elaborate on that.”

“You—just one kiss, right?”

It’s so easy, really. 

To play the role, to pretend he is nobody, to act clueless, it’s so easy for Light. He knows the right words to say and the right things to do that will make the fans go insane, the pattern is so prominent. 

Light will not kiss L.

He will lean in. 

Close enough to feel him breathe. 

And he will pull away at the last second. 

It’s perfect!

The perfect plan. It is. L will be dumbfounded. Light will look superior. L will be embarrassed. Light will make L look stupid. So stupid. A hopeless loser. All in front of the very fans that worship him as an intellectual being above all, just like L did to him all those months ago, when he made Light see the scorchingly bright losing screen, and L will pay for it today. On top of that, this situation will certainly explode on all social media, and there’s even a chance that people will talk about their almost-kiss more than L’s fifteen-million milestone and that’s how Light wants it. He doesn’t want to see any posts about L’s follower count. After this, there won’t be any.

Light will pass it off as a joke, and say, c’mon, you didn’t think I’d actually do it, did you? And Light wonders how L will look when he’s caught off-guard and dumbfounded and everything alike, will his face turn red? Will he end the stream immediately? Will he get mad? Can he, even?

L will never know how his lips taste. 

He’ll taste bitter, ruthless revenge instead.

That’s how Light wants it to be.

15,000,000.

And that’s how it will be.

When the counter reaches that sweet, rounded number, the chat moves even more rapidly. Light pretends to be happy as he congratulates L. L sounds unfazed. As if he already expected it.

Chat

WOOOOOOOOOO 15MILLLLLLLL

W

I LOVE U L I’VE BEEN WATCHING SINCE 200K IM SO PROUD OF U

W

HAPPY 15M

W

W

YAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

W

15MMMMMMMMM

W

KISS?

W

 

“It appears we have reached fifteen million followers,” L smiles and Light wants to punch it right off his face. “Thank you, everyone.”

What do you mean ‘it appears we have reached fifteen million’? Light wants to roll his eyes so badly, and he thinks, yeah, we can tell… Oh, I can’t wait to wipe that smile right off his face.

Ping!

llightforlife donated $10!

WE HIT 15M WILL U TWO KISS NOW??????

 

The text-to-speech voice is still monotone. It always is.

“Well,” L attempts to appear in thought, “it is up to Light, really.”

Light turns his head, “Are you saying you’re fine with it?”

“I am not opposed to it.”

The bastard didn’t answer the question. That’s fine. Pick your poison. Light just needs to be more forward.

“Neither am I,” Light says, too casual.

A beat passes. 

Two. Three.

The chat is chanting. 

They’re loud. Pressuring them to do it. And Light is going to lean in. Not because he is pressured into doing so. But because he will pull away—just as fast.

L’s lips curl up even more upwards, “Is that an invitation?”

“Maybe it is,” Light laughs. “Fine, only to celebrate the milestone. Say thanks to me, guys.”

The chat does. L looks like he wants to scoff. He does not.

“I am not sure that a kiss is an appropriate way to celebrate my follower minestrone,” L murmurs, “but you do you, Light.”

Shut up, damn it. 

For a second, Light considers punching him instead of leaning in.

He decides on the latter. 

Light leans in. L does, too. 

Light’s eyes lock onto L’s lips. Three inches away. They’re slightly chapped. But not that uncomfortable. How would they taste? Light will never know. He looks back at the camera. The chat is lagging. The bright screen dawns on L’s face. Light looks at the camera again. Light’s hand grimaces. They’re closer now. Less than an inch away. L’s breath tastes like strawberries, and—

Light pulls away, and—

L does too.

…

What!?

No… It can’t be! 

It happens at the exact same time. It looks choreographed. Planned. Light’s eyes drift away from his lips, onto the chat, back onto his lips again and up to L’s eyes. 

Why!? but how? Did he know what I was gonna do? How is he two steps ahead? Why? How—

“No PDA on stream, Light,” L wiggles his index finger in front of Light’s lips, exactly where his breath was previously looming over, and says, “it might get my account banned. That would be a shame, wouldn’t it?”

God—damn it!

Light sees red.

Light really wants to punch him. Now. 

Not with his lips. He’s so mad, and it makes him even angrier how he can’t express it. Because his face is in half of L’s stupid, grainy, horrible low-quality facecam, and he’s so pissed, because why does L always know what he wants to do before he even does it? It should not be humanly possible. 

It’s not fair. 

None of this is fair.

L proceeds to read the chat reactions as if nothing happened, talks about some chess tactics, and closes the stream. 

As if nothing happened. 

It is midnight now. 

The stream has long ended, just a couple hours ago. As expected, #Llight is trending at #1 on Twitter (the #2 hashtag is literally just #kiss), clips are resurfacing on basically every single social media platform on this Earth, and Light wants to melt into the wooden-plank floor of their apartment. Light is sitting on his bed, on the porcelain-white sheets.

Light has replayed the moment, the almost-kiss so many times that the scene is memorized in his head, engraved, and he could retell it from memory. He does not want to, though. He cannot, for the life of him, figure out why L pulled away at the exact same time.

Did L see it coming?

Did L coincidentally think the same way Light did? Was L also aiming to make a fool of Light?

No. That’s not it. 

Light Yagami does not believe in coincidences. 

None of this—meeting L in real life, sharing an apartment—none of this can possibly be a coincidence, Light does not believe so. To believe that this is all some fairytale, fate-based plan that the universe above has planned, would be stupid and embarrassing, but that is the hypothesis he reaches. He believes L has reached the same conclusion, too. 

And so, Light can only conclude that L saw it coming. Someway, and somehow, L knew that Light would pull away after he leaned in, and so L pulled away too. It is the only plausible explanation. 

Maybe it was something in his mannerisms, body language that spoke louder than the silence, or even solely L’s gut instinct. 

Whatever it is, L was right. L is right. He always is.

L is always capable of reading Light like a book, and he can read every motive or thought he has that is one with the very bones of his body. L can see it all. Sometimes, although Light would never admit, Light thinks that L may know him better than he may know himself.

But that is, at the end of the day, just a thought. It may not be true.

Light is pondering. He does not like the unknown, he wants to know all there is, and what could be better than asking the source directly? 

L is just across the room, clicking away at his laptop, a sight he’s seen a million times. 

Light grabs his Introduction to Law book and opens a page. It’s one-hundred and forty-three.

Then, Light cups his hands over his mouth, as if L can’t hear him perfectly from a not-so-short distance, and calls, “Ryuzaki!”

L turns his head immediately, although the name being called is not his. The bastard puts a hand over his ear, and Light knows he can hear him perfectly, he’s just pretending he can’t to piss Light off. Light suppresses the urge to roll his eyes.

Light makes a gesture to come over here instead, to come closer to him, to walk over to his bed. L does. L shuts down his laptop first, closes it, and walks over to Light. 

“Sit beside me,” Light says, patting a spot on the bleached sheets, and then he points at one of the lines in his law book while looking up at L and asking, “Here, the book mentions the term mens rea but it’s not defined. What does that mean?”

L merely blinks. His eyes are full of darkness that overwhelms his irises, and his eyes speak more than he does, the gaze he has seems to ask a question back: you know what this means. Why are you asking?

And L is nobody if not a liar, someone who keeps all of his thoughts to himself, so he explains, “Mens rea is latin for ‘guilty mind.’ It is the mental state of the defendant who is accused, or has committed a crime. To be precise, it can include the perpetrator’s motives, reasoning, way of thinking, internal factors or what they intended to achieve by committing the crime.”

Light nods. A practiced movement. He says, “Thank you, Ryuzaki. I understand it now.”

“Why would you ask that?” L does not say you’re welcome. Instead, he asks a question back, and maybe this is the most straightforward he’s ever been, “You and I both know that is a question far below your capabilities.”

What do you want? L does not say, but Light hears it. What do you want from this?

Light can think of a thousand different lies that could cover his motive.

L has him cornered, because he always does, and Light can easily choose his way out. He does not. Maybe it is because it is midnight, because he hasn’t gotten much sleep lately, so the truth slips out much faster, the fact that it even slips out at all is already a problem, but Light knows it is everything but unintentional when he whispers the words.

“Did you know I was going to turn away?” Light looks at the ground, but he is not lying, he is honest.

For the first time, Light is honest.

And L seems taken aback. Because why would Kira be honest? Kira is everything but honest. 

“I did.”

“How?”

“Instinct. And your body language.”

Light finally, finally pulls his gaze upwards after L reveals how he knew. 

L’s lips curl upwards, “Why do you ask, Light-kun?”

They are sitting too close. Their shoulders brush, just slightly, when Light closes his book and puts it away. It’s the closest they have ever been to each other, other than the incident that had just happened earlier during the stream. 

The silence is too loud. On the average occasion, Light would say something, anything appropriate, anything the average university freshman, anything the average roommate would say, but he struggles to find words. 

He is lost, lost in the scene, the electricity that strikes when their shoulders touch and how L looks when he smiles.

L’s irises are not black, there are translucent rings that guard his pupils. 

His pupils are wider than they usually are, but his eyes are dark and empty. 

Light does not know why, but he does not want them to be empty. Light wants to see L’s pupils grow wider than they are now, he wants to wipe that smile off his face, with a punch, or anything, really, he wants to see L rendered in shock, a scene he was trying to paint earlier but the canvas was torn apart. 

Light wants to see L everyday, he wants L gone, he wants to wake up and cook miso or waffles or pancakes or anything he’d like and poison the food, but if he did, he would mourn L’s death until the end of time. Light wants to punch that smile off his face, but if he did, he knows he would be the one tending his wounds anyway—he would be the one putting medicine over the bruise. Light wants L to be confused, to be perplexed until he does not want to fight Kira any more, but he also wants L to be the only one to ever know him.

Light wants L to think of him. 

But Light does not think of any of this when he leans in.

Light leans in. Closer to L. Light can feel his breath again. It still smells like strawberries. His lips are still chapped.

They both close the distance between their lips.

At first, it’s experimental. Then, it’s not. When they pull away, L grabs the back of Light's hair and Light gasps.

In that short moment, L whispers against his lips, sickeningly sweet like poison, and it stings just the same, “The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?”

Light freezes. And they kiss again. 

L’s pupils are blown wide, now. His hair is more tangled than before. Light didn’t know that his pale skin could turn so red. It’s the first, now second, kiss they share. Light wants this one to be the last. 

The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?

The echo of the words is enough to get Light to push L away. The room feels colder than before.

Maybe the kiss happens because it is midnight. Maybe L says it because they both haven't gotten enough sleep lately. Maybe it happens because Light started it. Maybe it happens because L lets it happen. It is a mistake. There is no 'maybe' about that. There are so many reasons that Light can choose to excuse what happened, and he chooses them all, he tells all of those reasons to himself, anything but confronting the truth, that:

It happens because they want it to.

A week passes.

An entire week after—after it happens.

Light does not dare to name it. But he thinks of it. Too much for his own good, even. Replays of the night loop in his head. Against his will. He does not know where he was going with it. For the first time, Light feels like has fallen behind, he has given into the animalistic urges of being human that he used to look down on, and it truly is terrifying. It is all the more terrifying because they refuse to talk about it. 

The days pass in a blur, and they are devastatingly normal. They do not kiss again. They act like it never happened. They talk about the weather over breakfast. They still talk about the case, about the new murders that happen every week. They talk about the things that happen on social media. They talk about everything but it. That is the worst part; they never talk about it.

Light has been thinking.

This night is not like the other nights, but not like that night either. L is asleep. L is not typing, clicking at his laptop. He is asleep. He is at the other side of the room, sprawled out on his bed. Nori is also curled up on his desk, asleep. It’s 2.36 a.m. L is asleep.

And yet, Light is not. 

It’s ironic. It should be the other way around; it always is the other way around. L is the insomniac one and Light is usually asleep by ten. Today, he is not. 

Light cannot sleep. 

Because the bed he is supposed to sleep on, is where they…

He gets up. Light’s footsteps echo loudly, in the silent apartment, as he makes his way to the dim and lonely kitchen that begs for visitors. When he arrives, he does not turn the lights on. He reaches for the coffee machine. 

It is an expensive one, the coffee machine. It’s from De’Longhi. Light was so shocked when L brought it in, because it’s far too fancy. He had said, who needs a branded coffee machine? And L had simply smiled at him, saying I do. And it had pissed him off so much, this all pisses him off so much, because L is everywhere, L is carved into his very memories and into his boring routines and into his thoughts, whether he likes it or not, because Light thinks of L when he brews the coffee and slips in only one sugar cube cube. Because he used to drink his coffee black before he met L. 

Because he cannot, even if he tries, stop thinking of L.

Frustrating. It is. He cannot, for the life of him, figure out why, why L occupies his mind and his life so much. 

It’s not because he is Light’s first kiss. It’s not. In fact, Light has kissed a couple girls before, some from high school and some from university but, still, he does not have a lot of experience. But that’s not the reason. It’s not because L is terrifyingly great at kissing, either. It’s not. 

In fact, he is certain it’s the opposite: that Light is L’s first kiss. And yet, L is unfazed. He acts like he does not care. Why? How? Light has so many questions. L acts like this does not affect him, and Light considers for a second that might be the case, because L does not care. L continues life, continues living with Light as if nothing has happened, no follow-up or discussion, and it really is infuriating. Maybe it’s because L is only mirroring Light, because Light has not said anything about it either, but he does not plan to. He does not plan to talk about it tomorrow, or for forever.

Light knows now. He knows what to do.

He will mirror L back, and the reflection will sting. Light will not say anything about what they did, he will pretend it never happened, and he will pull away like he should have, he will refuse like he should have. The fact that he even let it happen is the problem. If L continues to occupy his life like this, there is no merit that comes from it, either, so really there is no point, no purpose, other than to bring Light’s guard down and to mess up his focus, his goals, to confuse him in hopes his mind will be sidetracked off of Kira. Maybe L did it with the hopes that Kira will surrender, and instead become L’s ally. Maybe L was pretending that he wanted him. Maybe he really wants him defeated. Again.

Clink. Light drops his spoon. The sound is loud. Too loud. It sits on the floor now. The walls of the muted apartment echoes the sound, and with it, Light’s thoughts.

Oh. 

Perhaps that is why L kissed him. Perhaps L did it to bring down his defenses. Perhaps Light has fallen victim to a mere trap. Because, at the end, what is all of this if not a game? That’s fine. It’s fine. Light can do the same. Light will not fall into the puny, badly set up trap that L has made—really, how did Light even fall for it in the first place? Light will retaliate. Light will pull away. 

Light will pull away. Like he should have. He regrets not doing so sooner. Or does he?

He reassures himself he does. 

Light takes the sugar cube out of his cup.

Far long after he takes the last sip, the sweetness still lingers. 

L knows it instantly. After he wakes up. 

That something is wrong.

He notices it instantly. It is not because Light doesn’t reply when he says good morning. 

It is because Light left their apartment before L could say it.

Light always has classes early in the morning, but even after they’d first met, the night after L slept for the first time in front of Light, none of that has ever stopped Light from waking L. He’s always woken L up in the groggy mornings after he sleeps, just to eat breakfast. Every time he does, he adjusts his recipes to L’s liking, without L asking. Sometimes it’s waffles. Sometimes it’s rice and miso soup. Sometimes it’s pancakes.

This time, there is nothing.

L has grown comfortable.

L realizes it now. He has grown comfortable to a routine. Something he should never, ever, feel, because most routines are temporary, there will be minor changes over time, but sometimes there are major changes, too, and he feels it now.

Nori sits by the doorway to the kitchen, as if she is waiting for someone to come. Maybe she is. Maybe even she is waiting for Light.

The apartment is cold. Colder than usual. It feels unfamiliar.

The smell of Light’s perfume—or, rather, the absence of him as a whole—lingers in the air.

“Goddamnit!” 

Light slams his fists on the table. He prays that the soundproof walls of Kaikatsu Club block out the noise. He takes a deep breath. He’ll need it. 

DEFEAT

The screen is rude.

Unbelievably so. It glares at Light. As if it’s his fault.

It’s not. It never is.

“Why—why would you go there!? Are you dumb? Are you deaf!? That’s the opponent’s base! God—who is this? Who is this teammate? Why are you so bad at the game? If you can’t play, then don’t even try to team up with me, I swear!” Light only pauses to take a breath. “How many times do I have to say it!?”

If this were to happen on a usual day, Light would not be this mad. Sure, he’d be pissed. But not this pissed.

It’s true.

The rumors are true. Light is eccentric. He is emotional. He is taking it out on these video games. On stream. Where people watch him. Live.

It’s the fifth, tenth, or maybe fifteenth time it happens. He slams his hands on the table. His mic spikes. His chat is no longer exploding as it used to. Now, they are unfazed by his erratic behaviour.

Because that’s how it’s been for two weeks.

Light is still panting heavily. The screen is still staring at him.

But, Light, with all of his intelligence and intuition, could still never predict—

Ping!

L donated $500!

are you okay