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Chapter Text

 “God is dead,” recited the young man with unrealized dreams of utopia.  “God remains dead.  And we have killed him.  Yet his shadow still looms.”

It was a cool November afternoon when I first noticed the man who would become God in a high school philosophy class, ironically echoing the words of Nietzsche.  I sat to his left and became enraptured by his peerless skill in philosophical argument and eloquent readings of foreign thinkers, old and new.  Within the hour, he had established himself in my mind as a genius, and I wondered why I hadn't noticed him before, why no one else had noticed him before.  Of course, he had been noticed, but he was not one to expose every part of himself.  Even the handful of girls who each claimed to own a piece of his heart knew little about him.  

To say that I had never noticed him was not completely accurate, either.  I had noticed the odd string of kanji—night, god, moon—every time I’d checked my test ranking, and seen it just ahead of mine without fail.  Light Yagami, I often heard, the genius.  But those within the top ten rankings see everyone above them as threats.  Every compliment is given grudgingly, every smile is painfully forced, and there is no cooperation.  And so, when you are at the top, you have no one.  I didn’t pity him even once, as I fit into the second-place ranking, and had only one threat.  Try as I might, I could never overcome his test scores.  It’s fair to say that I resented him at first.

But that was before I saw him in action.  I remember Light as silent at almost all times , offering nothing unless called upon.  This had less to do with arrogance and more to do with boredom—he was too intelligent to be interested in most classes.  This only changed in philosophy class, when Light came alive, something like enthusiasm shining in his eyes.  No matter the position he was assigned, he could develop an excellent argument and defend it relentlessly.  In just a single class period, I started to see the enemy ranked above me as a person rather than just a name.

 “How shall we comfort ourselves, the murderers of all murderers?" he went on that day, eyes forward as he looked straight through our teacher and into the next world, "What was holiest and mightiest of all that the world has yet owned has bled to death under our knives; who will wipe this blood off of us?”

Perhaps, then, it was curiosity that led me to him, a desire to peer into the mystery of Light Yagami, the highest ranking student at Daikoku Private Academy for as long as he'd been there.  Though I could never achieve perfection and the number one ranking as long as he was there, I saw no reason to resent him.  Rather, I saw all the more reason to learn from him, as Crito learned from Socrates, because I recognized potential where I saw it.  Light Yagami had explosive potential of the world-changing variety, and I wanted to be there to see it happen.  

“What water is there for us to clean ourselves?  What festivals of atonement, what sacred games shall we invent?  Is not the greatness of this deed too great for us?  Must we ourselves not become gods simply to appear worthy of it?” 

It is from the place that I would eventually reach, at the side of a brilliant mind poised for opportunity, that I would witness the makings of utopia and the birth and death of God. 

But I didn’t know that in November.  I only knew that Light was a genius, and that he knew it, too.

*

“Hey, you don’t have cram school until like seven, right?” Akemi asked, leaning over my desk.  Eri and Rin were right behind her, checking their phones.  “Come to the karaoke bar with us!  We never hang out anymore.”

“I know,” I said with an apologetic smile, “But I’m really busy right now.  I have to use all of my time wisely.”

“Yeah, so use it at the karaoke bar.  Relaxing is totally a wise use of time.”  I hesitated to respond a second too long and she frowned.  “Fine, whatever.  We can go without you,” she said, and turned on her heel as the other two followed.  They would later come to accuse me of thinking I was too good for them, but this is not true.  I will admit that, in the pursuit of knowledge, I may have lost sight of some things, but I have never thought myself above anyone.  If they knew what really happened, they would be glad to be rid of me.

“I don’t know how you stand them,” came the voice that read Kant and Russell, and my head shot up in surprise.  Light Yagami stood close by, his bag slung over his shoulder, looking pointedly at the gossiping trio at the door.

“They mean well,” I said, gathering my books, “But I can’t afford to go out with them anymore.  I want to go to To-Oh, after all.”

Something like recognition flashed in his eye.  “Oh, yeah?  I’m aiming to go there, too.”  There was just a hint of a smile on his lips.  “Philosophy test is next week.  Want to study together?”

That was the moment that I was no longer just a classmate, but a potential equal.  I wasn’t about to let the invitation just pass me by.  “That would be great.”

I still cannot decide if I regret not accepting Akemi's invitation.

Chapter Text

Light Yagami's room was tidy, the space organized for maximum efficiency without any personal touches.  "Make yourself comfortable," he said, shutting the door behind us before adding, "Would you like something to drink?"

"No, that's alright.  I don't want to impose," I told him, setting my bag down by his desk and pulling up a spare office chair.  I had been welcomed into the Yagami household in equal parts shock and eagerness, as Light's mother and sister jumped to all the wrong conclusions, and he let them.  "Your family is very welcoming."

"They probably think you're my girlfriend."  He shrugged and came to sit on the other side of the desk, setting the textbook between us and thumbing through it for the current chapter.  "That would make them happy.  You're the next-highest ranking student, after all.

Second only to you, I thought with a hint of bitterness, but did my best to swallow it and only nodded.  When Light invited me over, I decided I would make the best of my perpetual status as "second" and learn from my betters, though it still stung to be reminded of it.  "You're not going to correct them?"

Light looked up from the textbook, fingers frozen between two sections, and his eyes met mine.  I had never noticed how intense his gaze was.  Being under his scrutiny was almost frightening.  "I see no reason to disappoint them," he said, "You and I are far too busy for things like relationships, anyway.  Although playing at one might be interesting."  

"Playing at one?" I repeated, and he smiled.  Even Light Yagami, I would come to understand, needed outlets with which to act like a mischievous, and exceedingly clever, child.  This would become my role.  

"You know, pretending, just to see how people will react.  Unless you've never been in a real relationship and aren't sure how to even pretend?"

I turned the page in the textbook, carefully avoiding his hands.  "How about we look at some philosophy instead?" I said uneasily, unwilling to play any games or divulge more information about myself than necessary.  As much as I admired Light, I had only begun to do so for a single day, and if there was anything we had in common, it was our desire to keep our inner selves completely private.  Light respected my wish for space and relented, though I knew he hadn't given up the idea.

"In class now, we're discussing arguments for the existence of the Abrahamic God," he said, sliding easily from devious student to thoughtful philosopher, producing a pen and a notebook from his bag.  "I'll defend the argument, but first we should agree on a list of acceptable properties.  What are qualities you would ascribe to God?"

"Omniscient, omnipotent, and omnipresent."  I added after a moment of thought.  "And benevolent."

"Of course," Light agreed, starting a list on the left side of the paper, "Would you accept transcendence, as in transcending humans?"

"I suppose."

"I would also like to propose "existent."  Any objections?"

I couldn't help but return his mischievous smile.  "You're going to have to argue that one, Yagami.  I won't just give it to you."

"Very well," he said, and then he changed.  The same light that shone from him in class appeared again, his entire being coming alive in anticipation.  Light did not simply enjoy philosophical debate; he reveled in it.  Were I a theist at the time, I may have compared his charisma and enthusiasm to a Messiah come to deliver the word of God.  "Here is my argument," he began, turning to face me, "First, our concept of God is that of the greatest conceivable being.  There are none greater that can be conceived.  Secondly, if there was not a greatest conceivable being, we could conceive of one that did exist, and it would be even greater.  After all, which is greater--that which exists, or that which does not?  But by virtue of my first point, God is the greatest conceivable being, and therefore exists."

Ontological.  I hadn't expected him to use that approach.  In class discussions, I personally evaluated it as one of the weaker arguments, but now I was hardly capable of a graceful reply.

"There are plenty of people capable of thinking of God as non-existent," I said when I remembered that I was supposed to contribute.

"But they are not truly thinking of God as non-existent.  What they're thinking of is the signifier rather than the signified."  He gestured towards himself.  "Is Light who and what I am, or is it simply a name that refers to me?  Clearly, it's what signifies me rather than who is being signified.  The same can be said of God."  I should have listened with a philosophical ear rather than an admiring one, waiting for something else to use against his argument, but there was something about Light when he debated that was enrapturing and I couldn't escape its pull.  I had once thought myself to be his opponent, but instead became a disciple of Anselm, hanging on every word.

"You earlier denied me the use of "existence" as a predicate of God," he continued, "Allow me to argue for it.  We can agree that the conception of God is a being containing every sort of perfection.  As a being that exists is greater than one that does not, existence itself is a perfection.  As God possesses all perfections, including existence, God must necessarily exist.  Existence is attributed to God the same way that unmarried is attributed to any bachelor.  Not only is this true, but part of the very definition of the thing, and they are therefore inseparable."

"But you can't use existing as a property of anything," I said, searching for anything to make this a debate again and regain my footing.  A good student questions their superiors, I told myself.

"And why not?"

I glanced at the bowl of fruit on the far edge of the desk and leaned over to pick out an apple.  "Take this apple, for example," I said, "If I were to assign properties to this apple, I could say that it's red, or ripe, or sweet.  But to say it exists is pointless.  It tells you nothing about the apple."

"I disagree," he said immediately, "It does tell you something.  My counterexample would be two sets of one hundred pennies, one existing and one hypothetical.  The hypothetical dollar does not contain a single cent more than the real one.  What, then, is the difference between them, other than which one is existing?"

"You can only spend the existing ones," I said dryly.

"So it does make a difference."

I walked right into it.  I was horrified at my inability to defend myself any better, and Light took advantage of my silence to further his point.

"We have a paper due next week.  Let's say I told Ogata-sensei that I wrote a spectacular paper with a flawless support of the cosmological argument.  Of course, it's purely hypothetical.  Is the lack of "being" predicate unnecessary?  Do you believe this would give me an identical grade as one received from an existing paper?"

I wasn't going to give up.  I set the apple down in the basket again.  "Okay.  I'll concede that existence can be used as a predicate.  But I still have objections to your argument."

He only smiled.  "Such as?"  It took me a moment longer than it should have to collect my thoughts.

"How can we ascribe any properties to a thing that has never been seen?" I asked.  "Of course I can assign properties to any number of people and places, since I've seen them before.  But when it comes to something like God, whom we agreed is transcendent, even if these qualities have been agreed upon, how can we be sure they're accurate?"  Again, Light didn't even hesitate, as though he'd already thought of every possible objection and come up with an appropriate counter.

"Tell me, what does a unicorn look like?"

I saw the hole before I stepped into it, but had no choice to keep walking.  "It's a horse with a horn," I said grudgingly.

"But have you ever seen one before?  A real one, rather than an artist's depiction?" he pressed, and then, without waiting, "Of course not, but the word "unicorn" calls to mind these properties.  You have seen a horse before, as well as a horn.  They're known properties that can be given to things that are unknown.  Similarly, we have seen imperfect version of God's qualities.  Imperfect power, imperfect knowledge, imperfect goodness; we have witnessed these things, and can therefore assign them to something we have not yet seen."

I didn't realize I had been silent for a full minute until Light checked his watch and I apologized.  "You're very good," I said.

"Are you admitting defeat?"

"I was impressed by your performance in class, but debating with you one-on-one is a different experience altogether.  I was a bit overwhelmed."

He seemed surprised.  "Did I make you nervous?  I'm sorry about that."  I was equally surprised that he wasn't aware of the powerful effect he had on other people when he spoke, although in hindsight, he was likely being modest.  Light was more than charismatic--his presence was frighteningly powerful, especially when he was trying to convince you of something.

"No, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have let it bother me."

"It's no problem," he said, "Do you think you wouldn't be caught off-guard a second time?"

I searched his expression for any hint of teasing, but there wasn't any there.  He looked like he'd had fun.  "I suppose I would know what to expect."

"Then how about we debate again?  We could both use the practice."  There was just a hint of a smile on his face, the slightest upturn of the corners of his mouth, but it wasn't like the one I'd seen in class.  This one was unguarded, genuine.

I returned the favor with one of my own.  "Then next time, I'll definitely do better.

*

I decided that I really did admire Light Yagami, even if he was occupying the space that I wanted to be at in the rankings and even if he was supposed to be my enemy.  In the wake of our pitiful first debate, I was euphoric at the prospect of returning to prove myself some other time and packed my book bag with a smile.  "I guess I'll see you tomorrow in class, then," I said, but he stopped me before I stood.

"Why don't we wrap up with a quick discussion?"

I paused in the middle of moving to stand up, checked the clock on his desk, and settled back into my chair.  "If you'd like," I said, and was rewarded with an approving smile.

"On the subject of our debate," he said, returning to the open page of his notebook, where he'd been making notes out of his textbook, "What properties would you give to an ideal god?"

I didn't have to think about it for more than a moment.  "Human."  His pencil paused in the middle of the page and he looked at me for clarification.

"Xenophanes mocked Greek religion for its anthropomorphization of the Gods, but I think that, as humans, a human God would be ideal to worship.  The closer a God is to us, the better they understand us.  Don't you think a perfect, unreachable God leaves something to be desired?"

He nodded.  "That's an interesting viewpoint."  I couldn't tell what he was thinking by those words.

"Are you a theist, Yagami?" I couldn't help but ask, and he was silent for a moment.

"If anything," he said, "I consider myself agnostic.  What about you?  You have some very interesting views on God."

"Atheist, actually.  But philosophically, I'm open to any good argument."

"You and I have something in common, then," he said, leaning back in his chair and taking a break from writing.  "Why do you think so many people believe in the Abrahamic God?  Those are some of the most widespread religions in the world, after all."

"I think it relies on the promise of justice."  There was a shift then, and Light looked at me like with more interest than the rest of the afternoon put together.  I may not have been shining with charisma, but what I was saying was of interest.  "There's no question that unjust acts happen all the time.  The good are sometimes punished without reason, while the evil can live long, comfortable lives.  As Kant says, this problem can only be solved in eternity.  Belief in God promises justice for a person's acts after death.  If you are righteous, you will eventually be rewarded, and those who have wronged you will be punished."  I held Light's gaze.  "You know, Yagami...I think I'll have to amend my earlier statement.  I think that the ideal God would deliver justice not after death, but during a person's life.  They would punish those who do wrong and reward those who are virtuous before we die."  I remembered myself and looked down at my feet with an uneasy laugh.  "Does that sound childish?"

"Not at all," he said gently, reaching out to gently touch my shoulder.  His eyes were soft, but within them was burning passion, another side of him separate from his reserved student self and his analytical philosopher self.  This new self, which I only glimpsed briefly that day, was dreaming of something dangerous.  "I completely agree with you."

We both had cram school not long after, so he walked me back to the train station and we said our goodbyes.  I was ecstatic, walking on air after leaving the company of a great mind, somebody whom I had so much in common with.  I never would have guessed that I would have been befriended by the person with the ranking above mine, someone I was supposed to resent, but I was glad it had happened.  I stayed up late, read through the next chapter in my textbook until I'd practically memorized each passage, and dreamt of the coming days.

The ones he had fooled best were those closest to him, after all.

Chapter Text

The killings began in December.

I was too absorbed in my schoolwork to notice a pattern, but it was the story on headlines and website banners and news tickers and everyone's tongues.  "Incarcerated spree killer dies suddenly," and "Kidnapper suffers from fatal heart attack," on and on, everyday, for weeks.  The whispers began on the internet over BBS and other social media that somebody was targeting criminals, and from there, a legend grew. The prospect of a mysterious killer whom could not be found should have frightened people, but when hidden behind the artificial mask of anonymity, they began to speak.

"Someone is out of there," they'd say, "someone is punishing the wicked and rewarding the good with a world that is just that much better."  The parallels to the Abrahamic god were inevitable, and the tone of the supporters went from admiration to unadulterated reverence.  The forums became alters, the evening news became their gospel, and this new deity was given the name of an approximation of the word "killer."  With each murder, his flock increased in size, and he was ascribed St. Anselm's ontological properties as his name was praised.  

A man-made god rose; Kira, god of judgment, worshiped by the persecuted.

But, as an atheist, I was not immediately convinced of his sanctity.

*

In the first days of winter, life went on as normal with the exception of one new development: Light Yagami and I were dating.

Not really, of course, but everyone seemed to think so.  I remained blissfully unaware of the whispers and jealous glances until my friends pointed them out to me one afternoon.

"You and Yagami spend a lot of time together," Akemi said, and I completely missed how expectant she sounded.  

"We've been studying together," I told her, "He's incredible at debate."

"Debate," she echoed, one eyebrow raised.  "Right.  You're going out with him, aren't you?"

She misread my silent shock as an admission of guilt and her eyes widened further.  "No way!" Rin gasped behind her, "You really are?  I mean, Akemi told us that she thought you were, but...."

"So that's what you've been up to lately."

I shook my head, hoping I didn't look guilty.  "No, it's not like that," I said, but she was convinced.  It was too late.

"You should have just told us!" she said with a wink, "We thought you were avoiding us, but I noticed you've been going home with Yagami lately.  You don't have to keep it a secret, you know.  Or maybe you were worried someone would be jealous?  He does have a lot of admirers."  She grinned.

"Admirers?" I said incredulously, "Jealous?"

"Have you looked around?" Emi said in a hushed tone, looking pointedly over her shoulder.  "I'm happy for you!  He's your first boyfriend, right?  I get it now."

"You don't understand," I began, but before I could get a word in, I noticed Light standing close by with a faint smile.  Akemi giggled and nudged me with a shoulder.

"Go on," she teased, "I won't tell anyone, but you've gotta text me later."

I looked to Light hoping for something, anything, but he only offered a stunning smile and stood a little closer.  "Ready to go?" he asked, and I was suddenly aware of all of the eyes on me.

*

"You really haven't had a boyfriend before," Light said as we waited on the train together.  "I wasn't sure if you were being honest."  I shrugged, and he leaned in further.  "Does the idea of dating me really bother you that much?"

"It's not like that," I said, "It's the whole "pretending" thing that makes me uncomfortable, okay?  I don't know why.  I'm sorry."

"It's alright," he said, giving me space and looking apologetic.  "I didn't realize it made you uncomfortable.  I'll tell my parents the truth, if you'd like."  He paused.  "Between you and me, you're the only person from school I can really stand being around.  If you came to think of me as something more than a friend, I'd be fine with that."

I was stunned by the sudden admission but there was no teasing in Light's eyes. He seemed sincere, and that was what had surprised me the most.  "Now isn't a good time," I said, sounding unsure.  Although he nodded in agreement, he wasn't smiling anymore.  Looking out the window, Light stared out into the distance, somewhere beyond the train and the people and everything that made up the mundane world.  

Even then, I knew that those eyes were capable of seeing things that I could not.

*

Without being consciously aware of it, I became a regular at the Yagami household.  The coming weeks with Light were largely spent in his room, debating religion and knowledge and the nature of reality, and I continued to lose each one.  I resigned to the fact that he was academically superior, though I still tried, hoping that I could someday surpass him, and he indulged these efforts with a bit of teasing.

"I'll give you something if you win," he'd say, "Whatever you'd like," and I would just laugh, prompting him to ask, "Do you know what you want?"

"Not at all," I'd say, "And I won't even think about it until after I've won."

We would spend an hour studying independently, enjoying the other's company in Light's room, working side by side at his desk.  Light's mother would call us down for dinner--and I would join them, ever since receiving her invitation several nights prior--and we would socialize with his mother and sister and occasionally his father, should he come home early.  Soichirou Yagami was just as fond of me as the rest of the family, and it was after meeting him that I just couldn't bring myself to tell them the truth about the nature of my relationship with Light.  Light, too, clearly had no intention of saying anything, playing at embarrassment or at least a thinly-veiled secret whenever he refused to give a definitive answer to their not-so-discreet prodding.

One evening, Light and I were collaborating for a project when I caught the name "Kira" from the TV in his room.  We both stopped what we were doing to watch for a moment, listening to yet another story about the mysterious death of a serial rapist.  "Kira again," Light noted.

"People say he's a god."  My eyes never left the screen.  "But if he were, don't you think he wouldn't wait until after the fifth woman was raped to do something?"

Light was silent.  My face flushed with embarrassment as I realized what I'd said, and I was just about to insist that I wasn't supporting a killer or anything when he spoke.  "Isn't that a bit like the problem of evil?"

The problem of evil.  

It was either my best or worst debate topic due to my inability to separate my personal feelings from the argument.  

"Evil exists," I said, "We can both agree on that.  And if there is evil, how can I reconcile its coexistence with a benevolent, omnipotent, omniscient god?  You can only have one.  If god truly possessed the three qualities we gave to him before, then there would be no reason for evil to exist."

Like a switch had been flipped, Light abandoned his assignment and turned to me with the passion of a philosopher in his eyes.  "Perhaps you should clarify your definition of evil," he offered.

I didn't have to think too long about it.  "Evil is suffering," I began, "It's all of the misfortunes suffered by people, big or small, from disasters, war, and illness to simple unhappiness.  According to Mackie, anyway."  He agreed to the definition.

"It seems logical that we should begin with god," Light said, but I shook my head.

"Limiting the previously agreed-upon properties does not solve the problem of evil, it merely avoids it," I said, feeling a surge of confidence when Light frowned but merely nodded.  I had previously noticed that he spoke with his hands, often making powerful gestures while in debate.  Even before I knew him very well, I had never found it distracting; rather, it served to highlight his enthusiasm and certainty.  When Light spoke without movement, he was trying to think of an escape.  But when he spoke with fervent motion, it was the listener who should be cautioned not to back themselves into a corner.  Unlike our previous debates, he sat then leaning over his desk with his hand over his mouth, deep in thought.  I was on the offensive this time.

"Furthermore, it treads dangerously close to pantheism and deism.  The Abrahamic god proposed in those is considered by some to no longer be "god" in the traditional sense," I continued, "It's also contradictory.  "Partial omnipotence" is an absurd notion.  We previously agreed that these properties are perfect, and cannot, by their very definition, be limited.  I ask again, how do we reconcile the existence of our perfect god with the existence of evil?"

Given an opportunity to speak, Light didn't waste a moment.  "Couldn't it be said that evil is not a product of god?  Consider if the Universe was devoid of evil until we came into existence.  In that case, it was not god who made evil, but us.  It's a product of our free will."

I shook my head.  "That only begs the question; why would an all-seeing creator bestow free will upon its creations knowing they would misuse it so badly?  We can't say god couldn't have seen it coming, since He's supposed to be omniscient.  Why not create us perfectly, or perhaps give us free will, yet a disposition to always do the right thing?"

"I remember you recently telling me that the appeal of the Abrahamic god is the promise of justice in the afterlife," Light countered, "In that case, evil could be considered a test of character.  Justice, the afterlife, and everything it entails, must be earned."

"But why?" I asked, "Why the need for a test in the first place?  A benevolent god wouldn't want to condemn anyone, and an omniscient one wouldn't need to test someone to see that they would make a mistake.  And the reward doesn't make sense, either.  How can an infinite reward or punishment be granted based on a finite period of time?"  Light opened his mouth but I cut him off.  "Don't you dare say He works in mysterious ways.  That doesn't count as an argument.  And if we return to the definition of evil, illness and disaster are included.  Those things aren't necessarily caused by human action, and therefore aren't necessarily a product of free will."

"Don't you think those evils may be necessary?" Light said.  "Suppose our world had no evil whatsoever, and it never had.  Would we be capable of recognizing good when we saw it?  Would we even be able to appreciate it?"

The image of one of the rapist's victims appeared on the television and I glanced at it out of the corner of my eye.  She had been young, not much older than me.  "I would counter by asking if so much evil is really necessary.  That woman was tortured, raped and killed.  Could she not have been merely harassed for the rest of us to appreciate our good fortune?"

Light backed down from that one.  I tried to keep my smile to himself.  "If not for appreciation, then perhaps for the enrichment of other lives," he suggested, "Tragedy and disaster bring people together.  Crimes, such as that one, elicit a powerful response from law enforcement and the community to work together."

I paused.  "That doesn't seem like something a benevolent god would do.  I suppose life will be enriched for those who survive, but in disasters, many still die.  If that's the case, then people who have done nothing wrong are being sacrificed in order to grant some sort of benefit to those who survive them.  If no one had died at all and if there was simply property damage, then people would still come together to rebuild their homes."  I paused to allow Light a chance to speak, but he was still thinking.  "I see nothing that justifies the extent of the suffering.  Not free will, or some convoluted test of character, or positive reinforcement.  If we reduce god's qualities to fit, He is no longer the god we previously considered.  And if we free will, tests of faith and a method to enforce appreciation cannot account for the evil present, then what are we left with?"  

A knock on Light's bedroom door startled us both.  Sachiko Yagami poked her head in and smiled at us.  "Sorry to bother you," she said, "But it's almost seven.  Don't you have cram school?"

I glanced at the clock and my heart almost stopped.  I hadn't noticed how much time had gone by since I came over.  By the time I had my things together, Light was on his feet at the door.  "I'll walk you to the station," he offered, trying not to laugh at my panicked expression.

*

"I'll be honest with you," Light said later, "You won that one."

"I doubt it," I scoffed, "I could see it in your eyes.  You were about to come up with something clever."  We shared a laugh.  "Honestly, though, I think the deistic approach makes the most sense.  If I were a theist of some sort, it's what I would choose."

"Really?  I think deism is ridiculous."  We reached the train station, but I didn't go inside just yet, turning to face Light.

"Why's that?"

"Why would anyone turn on the machine of the universe and then walk away?"

I shrugged.  "Maybe He got bored.  Or maybe He just works in mysterious ways."

"Come on, that's not fair.  You told me I couldn't say that earlier."  

I smiled playfully.  "What's reasonable to you, then, if you find deism to be so strange?"

"If I had to pick, theothanatology."

"I should have guessed," I said.

"God is dead, and we have killed him," Light recited, just like the first day I'd noticed him.  A shiver ran down my spine.  "That's the greatest evil right there, isn't it?"

"I can think of greater evils than patricide, honestly."

Light regarded me carefully.  "Murder isn't a big enough crime for you?"

"There are worse things.  And murder isn't always wrong."

"When is it right, then?" he asked.  His tone was a challenging one.  I almost indulged him, but I remembered myself.  It was probably a debate that could wait a few weeks, maybe until after Kira was caught, I'd figured.

"We'll have another debate on our hands if we're not careful," I told him, "But doesn't it make you think?  If the first evil was the murder of god, yet no evil existed before god's death, then where did it come from?"

"A paradox," Light said with a smile.

"This is why deism makes the most sense to me of those options," I said, "We are all gods, Yagami, capable of creating and destroying, so if I learned that god was real, but flawed, I could believe it.  I can accept that there's evil because we are the only gods there are, and there's nothing perfect about us."

With those as our parting words, we went our separate ways.  After cram school, I found myself excitedly wondering what I could reasonably ask Light for as a token of my first victory, and hoped I would win many more.

In my elated state, I didn't even notice when the news reported another suspected rapist went into sudden cardiac arrest after just one girl went missing.

Chapter Text

I have always been an empiricist.

That is to say, I believed that the sum of knowledge and understanding can be attributed to experience and the five senses.  I opposed the notion of innate knowledge--the assumption that we are born possessing fundamental or universal truths--in favor of seeing the mind as a blank slate on which experience imprints itself.  Inductive reasoning is one of the axioms of mankind; we believe that the sun will rise tomorrow because that is what it has always done.  We believe that objects released from our hands will fall to the ground, because we have previously observed them to do so.  It is with the power of induction that we reason our way through everyday life, each experience building upon our previous knowledge and inscribing upon the tablet of the mind.

It was my inductive reasoning that governed my interactions with my mother, however infrequent they may have been due to her schedule, which consisted of a job at the closest convenience store, coming home to change, and heading out to bars until the dimly-lit hours of the early morning.  During the week, I was fortunate, as we rarely encountered one another, though every so often, she would suddenly appear in the afternoon and announce she had the day off, and we would be made to occupy the same space until one of us could stand it no longer and relinquished the apartment to the other.  

A particular Saturday in December went this way.  I was reviewing for an upcoming test at the table in the living room when I heard the key turn in the lock and tensed on reflex.  I entertained the idea of relocating to my room, but was offended at the notion of moving just because she was present and stayed where I was.  

"Hey," she greeted neutrally, eyeing me a moment, and I returned the gesture.  My mother was a tall woman with long hair, and she was proud of her youthful face.  It could be reasoned that many men found her beautiful, as she had no shortage of them.  "How was school?"

She did not ask because she cared.  My inductive reasoning reminded me of how many parent-teach conferences she had attended--it was a number I could count on one hand--and how many times she'd failed to produce money for school uniforms or books or even food--that number was significantly higher.  "Fine," I said.

As she passed me on her way to the kitchen, I smelled men's cologne mingling with her perfume and felt sick to my stomach.  She started boiling water.  "Isn't there a fee due soon?" she wondered aloud, "For books or something?"

"That was two weeks ago."

"Ah," she said.  

Slowly, like I might have tried to bite her, she came back to the table and left some large bills next to my textbook.  She stood waiting, looking like she expected me to thank her two weeks later for money that was not hers.  Inductive reasoning told me this.  Her money was gone, I knew, because that was the way it had always been, paychecks disappearing on the same day they were given, into department stores and bars, so much so that I began to doubt their existence.  The money on the table was from a man, one whom she'd slept with the previous night and then, that morning, mentioned her daughter to.  "She's a good girl," she'd say sadly, "But she doesn't have a father, and I can only do so much.  I'm trying to put her through school, you know.  How will I make sure we both eat this week?" and he was fooled, he believed she made a mistake and that she learned from it, and he gave her the money thinking she'd take it to the grocery store and go home with food and she would sing his praises to her daughter.

I almost pitied the anonymous men who had paid for my education until high school.  I knew none of their names or faces, but I pitied them all the same.

"I already took care of it," I told her, pushing the bills across the table towards her.  I had previously debated taking the money anyway, but in the end, I decided I didn't want it.

At this, her eyes narrowed, and she snatched it back, calling me ungrateful, ungrateful brat, I work so hard for you so you can go to a nice school, and it's all thrown in my face.  Where did you even get the money, she asks, sleeping around?  I know it's not from a job, because I told you that if you're going to work, that's all you're going to do, you're not going to go to school anymore, because I know you don't have time for both.  I'm just trying to help you, I'm doing the best I can.  I couldn't give you a father, but that wasn't my fault.  It's just me, I'm all you have, so why don't you appreciate what I'm doing for you?  And where do you think you're going?  You can pack your bag if you want, I won't stop you.  I won't run out the door after you, because that's what you want, isn't it?  No, I don't have to, because you'll come back, you'll come back because you've got nowhere else to go.  You've got no one, I'm the only one who does anything for you, so go ahead and leave, and when you come back, I'll be waiting.

The door slammed behind me, and I ran, holding my school bag full of everything that mattered in my life to my chest.  More than angry, I was ashamed, because every time we saw each other, every time she smelled like cologne and gave me money that wasn't hers, I thought for a minute that we were more alike than I wanted to admit.  Where had I gotten the money, if not from her?  Of course she would ask, and I wouldn't answer.  She was wrong, but I couldn't say that, because she was awfully close.

*

My mother was absent-minded, and when her make up started going missing when I started high school, she believed that she was simply misplacing it and bought more.  I remember standing in the bathroom of the train station, carefully applying lipstick that was a brighter shade of red than I was used to seeing in even clothing and being disgusted by my reflection.  But this was what girls who did this wore, I'd heard from circles of gossipers in the hallways at school, it was bright and lively and even though they looked mature, they still looked young.  That was the whole point, of course; looking young.

I had first heard about compensated dating from a couple of classmates who were spreading rumors about another girl.  At the time, I could only think of my mother and feel revulsion for anyone who would do such a thing for money.  Perhaps it was my upbringing that desensitized me, or perhaps I simply became desperate after a time, but upon starting high school, I no longer wanted to rely on my mother.  My desire for freedom and the pursuit of my goals led to the rationalization that I would never go as far as she did, I would never become the person she was, and that became my mantra; I am not like her.

I told myself that repeatedly as I changed into the dress I'd brought from home and tied up my hair, putting my day clothes into my school bag and checking my face once more in the mirror.  I'm not like her, I thought, this is different.

Daigo was a salary man and hopeless romantic, and he had a wife and young daughter.  He never mentioned them over dinner, of course, but I knew about them because a photo had fallen out of his wallet as he was paying me at the end of a date.  He'd smiled sheepishly and tucked it back inside with something like guilt in his eyes, and I'd wanted to tell him to never see me again, tell him that someday, his wife will notice that half of his salary never seems to come home, and that his daughter will be teased at school, her classmates taunting her because her father is unfaithful and pathetic and so hopeless that he goes on compensated dates with high school girls and takes the out to eat and tells them he loves them, and she will never forgive him for that.  But without Daigo, I won't be able to pay for school.  I told myself that it would only be for a little longer, just until graduation, and then I'll delete his number and never see him again, and he'll either return of his wife or find some other high school girl so desperate for money that she'd resort to the gateway drug to prostitution.

If Light could see me now, I thought bitterly, staring at my hands as I wrung them under the table and the bright fabric of the dress they rested on, what would he think of me, knowing that his fellow philosopher wasn't much better than a whore?

"Are you alright?" Daigo asked from across the table, returning me to the present.  I looked down at the steak on my plate--always expensive food, the kind of thing he should be eating with his family--and then up at the man himself, a worried frown on his face.  How twisted was it that the man I went on subsidized dates with cared more for my emotional well-being than my own mother?  That was why I kept seeing Daigo; he was safe.  He didn't push for sex like I heard so many did, and I'd remained a virgin throughout our correspondence, something that was important to me to further distance myself from my mother.  

I forced a smile and felt all of the makeup on my face.  "Of course," I said, "Thank you so much for dinner.  You're so good to me."

He beamed, and dinner resumed as normal.  I swallowed my self-loathing and ate.

*

Half an hour later, I was 30,000 yen wealthier than I'd started and went to the train station, only to stop and wonder where I would go.  I couldn't go home, and not just out of stubbornness.  Previous experience told me that she would be irritable for the rest of the night, until she went out to drink and we wouldn't see each other for a week or so.  I thought about sending a message to Akemi, Eri or Rin, but changed my mind quickly.  Nobody could see me like this; even if I changed out of the clothes and wiped off my face, I still felt dirty and if I saw someone, I wanted to have myself together again, returning to the persona I adopted at school.  I didn't know where to go, so I just got on the next train and sat down to think.  

Light Yagami was on the train.

By the time I realized that it was him standing near the opposite door holding onto one of the bars for support, dressed in a hooded track suit, the doors had shut behind me and I stumbled in my high heels as the train jolted and began to move, heading towards an open seat.  I knew that the makeup and dress didn't disguise me completely, especially with my school bag in my lap, and I kept my head down, staring at my feet and hoping he would be getting off soon.  Unfortunately, the day continued on its course, one which had me regretting ever getting out of bed, and I heard him call my name.  I didn't react, and suddenly his shoes came into view.  I couldn't hide anymore.

Slowly and reluctantly, taking a shaky breath to steel myself, I looked up and met Light's eyes.  He had a smile initially, but after studying my face for a minute, it disappeared.  "What's wrong?" he asked, as perceptive as always, and I shook my head.

"Nothing," I said, the lie obvious to both of us.  My grip on my bag tightened.  "Nothing's wrong."

At the next stop, the seat next to mine became empty, and Light took it.  The undeterred, solemn expression on his face told me that he had experience with people withholding information from him, and that he intended to figure out what I was hiding.  "Have you started on your final paper yet?" he asked, "For philosophy?"

I nodded.  "Yes," I forced myself give a verbal response in a futile attempt to lessen his suspicion.  "Have you?"

"Yeah."

"What topic did you choose?" I asked, but as he opened his mouth, I shook my head, "No, never mind.  I can probably guess."

He grinned at that.  "Yeah, you probably could."  It was quiet for a moment, the clattering of the train tracks the only sound until Light spoke up again.  "I was just on my way home," he began as innocently as possible, "If you're not busy, you can come over for a bit.  Besides the paper, there's also the final exam to get ready for."

I knew that going with him was exactly what I shouldn't do.  Of course I didn't have to tell him anything--I didn't have to tell anyone anything--but the shame was still there, and the fear that somehow he would just know.  I didn't know how he would figure it out, but I still worried and held onto my bag tightly and thought about how I was no better than her, whoring out my affection to whoever was willing to pay for it.

Light said my name again and I startled to attention, looking over at him.  "Um."  He was looking at me carefully, likely examining the makeup.  Even though I was wearing the mask of another persona, I felt exposed, like he could see through it, through the lipstick and the mascara and right into the desperate and fearful person I really was.  

I told myself that it was better this way.  If it had to be someone, I was glad it was Light, the Socrates to my Crito.  There should be no secrets between us, even if the revelation of those secrets would put distance between us.

"Okay," I said finally, and on his face was the pleased smile of the victor.

*

Sayu was out with her friends, Souichiro was at work, and Sachiko was preoccupied with something in the kitchen when we got to Light's, so we got to his room unhindered.  I felt ridiculous, still wearing the dress from the date, though when I'd asked to change at the station, Light had smiled and told me to wait until we got to his house, a gentle way of telling me that he was still going to figure out what was going.  I took a seat at his desk and stared absently at the bowl of apples in front of me.  "Yagami, would you say you're more of a rationalist or an empiricist?" I asked.

He shut the door and hesitated, and I knew he was not trying to formulate a response but rather figure out why I was asking.  "Generally, I favor empiricism," he answered.

"Why is that?  Do you consider rationalism to be unrealistic?"  He took the seat on the other side of the desk as I spoke, watching me carefully.  "It can be.  It seems that a priori reasoning can only get us so far.  We see water and observe its qualities, but without experience, how do we know that we can drown in it?"  Light only listened.  He didn't move or speak, just listened to me, his eyes never leaving my face.  He looked like he was waiting for something.  "But empiricism isn't much better.  We say that the future will be like the past because that's how it's always been, even though we're only begging the question.  The sun will rise tomorrow.  How do I know?  Because it always has before."  I smiled bitterly.  "We're so used to it that we don't even notice the connections we make.  There is no justifiable correlation between cause and effect, just a habit of the mind to see one where there is none.  Maybe the sun won't rise tomorrow.  Maybe everything we know to be true today won't be tomorrow.  We don't know."  Tears pooled in the corners of my eyes and ran down my cheeks with a trail of mascara.  I put my face in my hands.  "We don't really know anything at all."

Light was so quiet that I had forgotten he was there until he said, "Do you really believe that?"  I inhaled and my shoulder trembled.  "Do you really think that the world is really some random, chaotic place where we can't predict anything?  Do you think that if you stop drinking water, you won't necessarily die because the cause and effect aren't actually connected?"

I shook my head.

"You told me you use inductive reasoning all the time," Light said gently, "And if you use it wisely in conjunction with a pragmatic view, you'll rarely be wrong.  Connecting cause and effect is the way we survive and get from one day to the next."  Respecting my boundaries, he did not try to embrace me or come any closer, but he kept watching for my reaction to his words.  When my sobs died down into whimpers, he did nothing more than put a hand on my shoulder.  "Induction is a powerful tool, but you have to allow yourself some flexibility, otherwise when things don't go the way you expect, you won't be able to handle it."

I couldn't meet his eyes.  "I don't think I'm the person you think I am," I said.  

"What do you mean?"  I didn't answer.  "If it helps at all," he said, "I'm of the opinion that people don't really have a "core."  All of the different selves we act as--at home, at school, with friends--those are all parts of us.  There's no one "real" self, because they're all you, attuned to different social settings."  

I wasn't sure if that made me feel better or worse.  "Today, I did something I that I know was wrong," I told him, "It was even illegal.  I'm a criminal, Yagami.  Do you think Kira will kill me next?"

Light was stunned at my admission.

"I hope he does," I murmured, and then I began to cry again.

*

In the end, I told Light everything; I told him about my mother and the subsidized dates, how I hadn't gone any further than dinners and kisses goodbye but I knew it was wrong and that I shouldn't do it anymore.  He listened patiently with the same expression he had when he listened to my arguments, and I felt like he was analyzing what I said for more than just the literal meaning of the words.  When I finished talking, Light did something he hadn't before--he held my hands in his.  "I see why you didn't want to say anything," he told me gently, "And you're right, it's not a good thing to do."  I bit my lip.  "But since you told me everything, I understand the situation you're in.  Honestly, if I were you, I probably would have done the same thing."  I hadn't expected that.  "You and I are actually a lot alike.  We both have high goals for the future, and we'll do anything to reach them."  His eyes shone with sympathy and passion.  "We won't let anything get in our way."

I swallowed and nodded.

"From now on," he continued, "You should accept whatever money your mother gives you, because it sounds like she does come up with some eventually.  I think you should stop going on compensated dates, too.  If you have to pay for something and you don't have any money, tell me."

"Yagami, I couldn't do that," I protested, "Your parents have you and Sayu to take care of.  They don't need me to burden them."

His hands tightened around mine.  "If you don't want to ask for money, that's fine," he said firmly, "But I don't want you going on those dates anymore."  His tone was different, and though I didn't recognize it as such at the time, I reflected later that he sounded almost possessive. 

"I won't," I promised, earning a pleased smile.  I checked the clock on his desk.  My mother had likely gone to a bar.  "I should go."

"Alright."  I was left cold and somewhat disappointed when Light released my hands.  "You might want to wash your face first, though."  I touched my cheek and pulled back my hand to find a black circle on my fingertip.  

"Thank you," I told him as I went to use his restroom.

When all of the black and red had washed down the drain, I looked up at my reflection and smiled at the face I saw.

*

It was almost nine when I finally returned home.  I froze when I saw my mother bent over the table, but she was fast asleep, a bottle if sake drained in front of her.  Under the bottle was the money she'd tried to hand me earlier with a small, hand-written and tear-stained note reading, "I'm sorry."

My inductive reasoning hadn't prepared me for that.  The situation was unfamiliar; never had I returned to find her still at home, much less having left me anything resembling a note.  Carefully, I moved the bottle and took the money, slipping it into my school bag.  I watched her for a moment, her shoulders slightly rising and falling with each breath, and then I went to my room and thought on Light's words.  Induction had failed me, I realized.  It looked like my previous experiences did not help me predict this outcome.

But for the first time, being wrong brought me, however momentary, a bit of happiness.

Chapter Text

It occurred to me, in the beginning of January about a week before University entrance exams, that Light and I had yet to come to a definitive description of our relationship.  While his family and our peers had come to their own conclusions, and Light himself had said that he wouldn't be against such an arrangement, we hadn't discussed the issue since.  Things were not awkward with Light--if anything, I was more comfortable with him than anyone else--but every time I came over, Sachiko would smile knowingly at us and let me know I was welcome to stay for dinner, constant reminders of what we'd been avoiding discussing.  With philosophy class having ended and our high school careers almost completely behind us, it seemed as good a time as any to finally have that talk, and determine the nature of our interactions in the future.

Light must have been having similar thoughts, because on that Saturday, he called me in the morning.  When I saw his number come up on the screen of my phone, I set aside my notes and took a deep breath before answering.  "Hello?"

"Hey, are you doing anything today?"

I knew he already knew the answer to that question and smiled a bit.  "Of course not.  The exam is next Saturday."

"Do you think you could work a break into your studying schedule for a few hours today?"

I hesitated to answer.  "Why?"

"I'm stepping out to get a breath of fresh air.  You know the new café downtown with the outdoor seating?"

"Yes."  I paused again.  "Why?"

"Because I'm inviting you to join me there," he said, sounding amused.

It had only been a week earlier that I had confided in Light about the subsidized dates, but it took no time at all for our relationship to change.  Perhaps it was our proximity when he took my hands into his, or the weightlessness I'd felt immediately after he knew my secret, but I'd come to admire Light for more than just his intellect.  Although I enjoyed his company, sometimes--a playful light in his eyes or a teasing smile--I would become flustered, no better at communicating with him than the girls who followed him in flocks in the hallways of our high school.  Worse still, I was in no way prepared for any of it, and was often frustrated with myself for stammering and blushing.  In some ways, I hoped that things would return to the way they had been before I had decided that Light was handsome as well as smart.

"It's fine if you don't want to," Light said, reminding me that I was on the phone, and I hurriedly told him that I did want to.  "Great.  I'll meet you in an hour."

I clumsily let the phone fall somewhere around the table and scrambled to my feet to find something to wear.  My mother stood in the doorway, but I didn't notice her for several minutes, pulling clothes out of my dresser and holding them against myself in the mirror.  "Who was that?" she asked, and I nearly dropped the shirt in my hands, turning to face her.  I considered my answer carefully.

"A friend," I said at last.  She looked like she wanted to press the matter further, but her eyes softened, she smiled, and then she walked away, leaving me turning in the mirror.

*

The cafe that Light had in mind had opened several months earlier, just old enough that the initial hype had died down and we didn't have to fight for seating.  We settled into a booth towards the back, away from prying eyes, and as we were handed our menus, our eyes met and I felt my face heat up.  "Graduation is coming up," I said conversationally, "We won't have anything to study for together until school starts up again."

Light wasn't flustered in the least.  "I've been thinking about that, too," he admitted, adopting a teasing tone, "Not that anyone would know the difference if we kept meeting after school.  I think they expect it by now."  He watched my expression carefully.  "But it doesn't really matter what they expect.  Do you want to keep coming over?"

"Yes," I said, "But what would we do then?"  He covered his mouth with his fist like he was thinking but I could see that he was trying not to laugh.  "Look, I've never been in his situation before."

"I know," he said gently, trying to reassure me that he wasn't making fun of me, "I guess I haven't, either."

I almost argued that he had until I thought about what he meant by that.  Light wasn't an affectionate person.  Even the girls who'd spent their weekends with him couldn't claim that anything more than hand-holding had happened.  All the time we spent together, all the lingering touches to the shoulder and the little space between us when we both leaned over an open book were probably new to him, though he was good at hiding it.  

"What is this, exactly?" I asked, "What are we calling this?"

"Do we have to call it anything?" Light asked.  "Let's just enjoy the afternoon.  Next weekend is the exam, and I'm sure neither of us will be doing anything this week other than studying."

"I am enjoying it," I insisted, “It’s just…you know me.”

“I do,” he agreed, “I’m guessing that you’re thinking about this too hard.”

“If you look at the qualities of this meeting, there are some contradictions.”  Light looked like he was trying very hard not to laugh.

“What are the qualities of this meeting, then?” he asked, humoring me. 

“Well,” I said, feeling confident enough to lower the menu, “This is a casual weekend outing to a café.”

“Okay.”

“And there are only two of us.”

“That’s right.”

“And…” I looked at him cautiously, “Are you going to let me pay for my order?”

He smirked.  “What do you think?”

“This looks like a date, Yagami.”

“Well, there you have it.”

“But it can’t be a date,” I argued, “Because “dates” is a property belonging to couples.”

“Friends can’t go for a date?”

“No.”  I paused.  “Well.  The connotation is different then.”

“If we’re talking about properties, then you and I have been dating in all but name for a while now, haven’t we?”

“I suppose I haven’t thought of it that way.”

Light raised a brow.  “Then how have you been thinking of it?”

“Honestly?  Pederasty.” 

I had thought of it the same way I thought of everything—in terms of philosophy.  Specifically, I’d thought of Socrates in Ancient Greece and Eros.  The bonds of Athenian pederasty were not necessarily sexual or romantic, but rather a rite of passage, an intellectual bond between teacher and student.  Those that did pursue it in a romantic fashion did so ritualistically—the student was to resist to prove they were worth having, and the teacher was to persevere until their affections were acknowledged and returned.

“Pederasty?” Light repeated incredulously, “Not only are you female, but we’re the same age.”

“I didn’t mean literally.”  Self-conscious again, I buried my face back into the menu.  “Never mind.”

Gently, Light pushed the menu down with one finger until I let it drop on the table.  “No, I wasn’t making fun of you,” he said, “I was just surprised.  That, and it’s funny.  You were so confident when you were describing our relationship in terms of properties and qualities.”

“It’s my comfort zone,” I murmured. 

"And that’s fine,” he continued, “The reason we started talking in the first place was philosophy.  But if you need a different reason now, I'm sure we could make one," he said, and I tried to hold his gaze.  Light said nothing for almost a solid minute, waiting for my response.

I was the first one to break eye contact, looking down at the table.  Light smiled, but looked disappointed.   "We’re a lot alike," he said, "In intellectual pursuits, we’re above and beyond our peers.  But when it comes to more emotional matters, we have more trouble than most."  His hand found mine over the table.  "So how about this; we'll keep things the way they are now, and I'll ask you again later.  Will you think about it in the meantime?"  

I nodded.  "Yes," I said, "I think I could do that."

*

We didn't stay out long--we both had the test to get ready for, after all--and after what felt like not nearly long enough, Light walked with me back to the train station.  "I would wish you luck, but that would make me sound condescending, or lacking confidence in you," I said, and he laughed.

"I feel the same way."  We both stood silently, waiting for the other to do something, and when nothing happened, he stepped away.  "See you then."

"See you."  I started towards the doors, but stopped to look back at Light once, and he gave a small wave.  I smiled in return.  This was unfamiliar territory for me, a place I had never been and was a bit hesitant to explore, but if Light was my erastes, then maybe I wouldn't mind going sometime soon.

*

Exams came and went uneventfully.  Although I was already confident that I would be accepted to To-Oh, I still sighed in relief when my acceptance letter came.  To her credit, my mother had tried to show interest, though the significance was largely lost on her.  I woke up on the morning of the entrance ceremony to find that she had already left for work.

Light was already at To-Oh when I arrived, staring up at the new student welcome banner with a faint smile.  “Good morning, Yagami,” I said, and he returned the greeting, turning to give me his attention.  “You’re giving the opening address, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, but it’s not just me.  There was another student who had the same score I did.”

I frowned.  “What?  Didn't you get the highest score possible?”  He shrugged.  The familiar twinge of disappointment at my ranking returned, but I willed it away.  Things were different now that we were in college—the rankings wouldn't matter anymore. 

 “You know, you can call me by my first name now, if you want,” he said, “We’ve known each other long enough, haven’t we?”

I almost refused, but then thought of our talk a week earlier.  I had been thinking about it, and I intended to give him an answer when he asked again.  I nodded.  “Light, then,” I said slowly, and he smiled in encouragement.

Light’s address was, in fact, given alongside another student who shared the name of singer Hideki Ryuga, though had nothing in common with the teen idol.  To say that this Hideki was unkempt would have been an understatement; he stuck out in the auditorium, wearing a t-shirt and jeans, shoelaces untied, dragging his feet up to the stage to stand beside Light.  He spoke with an uninterested drawl and surveyed the silent audience with scrutiny.  It was surreal to see the two of them speak next to each other, even more jarring to hear Light’s enthusiastic speaking alongside his apathetic tone.

After the speech ended, there were slow, hesitant applause as they both made their way to their seats.  I couldn't take my eyes of off Hideki, who looked so out of place, and noticed that he had begun talking to Light as soon as they stepped away from the podium.  Light didn't say a word for a long time, though Hideki said something to him that caused him to stiffen up slightly in the same he did as when I managed to get a leg up in our debates, barely noticeable to those who didn't know what to look for. 

He took a moment to compose himself before replying, and the two continued quietly conversing for a few minutes. To the casual observer, Light looked little different from usual, but I could see that he was uncomfortable.  I was just beginning to wonder what they were talking about when Hideki noticed me staring and our eyes met for a moment.  My breath caught in my throat at the intensity of his gaze; those were not the eyes of an ordinary person.  Was Hideki really a student here, I wondered.  There was no question that he was brilliant; he'd gotten the same score as Light on the entrance exam.  But there was something else there, some definite purpose and suspicion.  I didn't know what he wanted, and I wasn't particularly interested in finding out.  I looked away quickly, returning my attention to the next speaker at the podium, and though I no longer felt his eyes on me, I felt unease that must have been something like what Light was feeling.

Chapter Text

Towards the beginning of our school careers, Light and I didn't see as much of each other as we had hoped.  This was due to our differing schedules and classes, as Light followed in his father's footsteps and pursued law while I began studying speech-language pathology.  Philosophy took a back seat to my new focuses, spectra graphs and syntax, and we met only during lunch in a study room on campus.  

"I'm officially moved out of my mother's," I told him, "So I can look for work now."

"What do you think you're going to do?"

"Ideally, home tutoring.  My old cram school said they'd recommend me, but I'm not sure if I'll actually find any work."

"No, someone always needs a tutor," Light reassured me, "You'll be fine."

I glanced out the window at the flowering cherry blossom trees, resting my chin against my palm.  "Do you ever go flower viewing?" I asked.  

He stopped taking notes to look up.  "No.  Why?"

"I went once.  It was a while ago, when I was in elementary school.  Everything looks different at the start of spring."

"Is this an invitation?" Light asked, grinning.  

I turned my attention back to him and couldn't help but smile shyly.  "Not really.  I don't actually plan on going."

"Why not?  We could go together."

"You and I both know we don't have time for that."

He nodded.  "Well, if you change your mind...."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a certain dark-haired sloppy genius shuffling between the trees outside.  "Do you know anything about the guy who gave the speech with you the other day?"

"Ryuuga, Hideki, right?" Light said, "Not really.  We talked a bit after the speech, but that's all."

"Hm."

"Why?"

I shrugged as neutrally as possible.  "Just curious," I said, knowing I'd successfully dissuaded any suspicion when Light changed the subject.  There was something about Hideki that put me on edge, but I wasn't quite sure what it was.  Though I wasn't one to pry, I was curious as to what he and Light had discussed the previous day that made him look so worried, but it didn't seem like Light wanted to talk about it.

Light himself had undergone some noticeable changes.  He'd always had this distant look in his eyes, not unfocused but ambitious for things not in his immediate grasp, and that had only intensified since starting at To-Oh.  Though something else was there as well since his encounter with Hideki, and if I'd known better at the time, I would have recognized it as anxiety.  I wasn't the only one that Hideki put on edge, it seemed.  It wasn't really my business, but we were friends, or so I thought, and I felt that I deserved to know.  But I didn't push the matter, and Light never brought it up.

*

As I was on my way to class the next day, I found them in the midst of a heated game of tennis.

A crowd had gathered to watch, an impressive serve followed by a lengthy exchange back and forth over the net.  They were silent the entire time, focused on not only the ball but on each other.  I didn't know Hideki well enough to know what he was thinking, but Light was positively burning.  I couldn't tell if it was passion for the game or anger, or maybe both.  When it finally came to end and Light was announced the winner, there was a round of applause and both of the panting athletes congratulated each other on a good game.  

Light left with Hideki and I didn't see him later for lunch.  In fact, I didn't see him again for the rest of the day.  It was only the following afternoon that we met again, and Light was noticeably distracted.  I would stop talking when I realized he had mentally wandered, and he would return a few moments later, apologize, and tell me to continue.  

"Light," I said finally, "What's wrong?"

I was sure he would try to brush me off, but after a short pause, he sighed and looked down at the table.  "My dad had a heart attack last night."  I held my breath and almost regretted asking when he continued, "It was from stress and overexerting himself at work.  He's fine now."  I nodded and Light looked at me curiously.  "You've gotten pretty good at reading me."

"Probably not as good as you think," I said, "You've just been zoning out a lot today, that's all."

"You're the only one who's noticed."

"Well, I used to debate philosophy with you.  I think a person's debate performance tells a lot about them."

He smiled at that.  "Speaking of which, I'm sorry we haven't gotten the chance to do that lately."

"There's nothing to apologize for.  I'm sure we'll get the chance sometime soon."

Checking his watch, Light excused himself and left for his next class, leaving me thinking about our conversation.  He'd seemed so surprised that I could tell when something was on his mind, though I hadn't considered to be any great feat.  It was true that I'd come to know Light quite well in the time we'd spent together, but I still didn't know him as a person as well as I wanted to.  I knew Light as an academic, Light in the context of philosophy or mathematics or literature, but there was still a lot I didn't know yet.  I respected his desire to keep himself private, though I wondered if he was planning to show his innermost self only to someone much closer than a friend.

I then thought of Soichirou, whom Light was worried for and likely still believed that I was romantically involved with his son.  Was I expected to visit him?  Was my absence reflecting on me poorly?  I knew that I couldn't pick a worse time to admit that Light and I were only friends with everything his family was already dealing with, though I wasn't sure if it would be proper to continue pretending we were something more.

"Is this seat taken?"

I was jarred out of my thoughts by a familiar drawl and looked up to find Hideki, dressed in the same manner as usual, looking pointedly at the empty seat across from me.  I hesitated a moment too long to answer and his gaze slid to me questioningly.  "No," I managed to say, still overcoming surprise and anxiety.  

He nodded in acknowledgement and climbed into the chair, positioning himself so that his feet were on the edge of the cushion and he was huddled over the table.  I waited a moment for him to say something, but he only stared at me, so I tried to go back to studying.  "I don't believe we've spoken before," he said suddenly and I looked up again.  "I'm Ryuuga, Hideki."  I introduced myself, as well, and Hideki took this as evidence that I was interested in conversation.  "You're a close friend of Yagami's?"

"Not close, necessarily," I said, "But we are friends.  We went to the same high school."

"Hm."  I didn't think that sort of answer warranted any deep thought, but he took a moment to consider what I'd told him.  "I see."

"Do you," I began, meeting his eyes, "Know Light from somewhere?"  There wasvnothing there that I could read.  This was someone who kept themselves even more private than Light did.

"Not before coming here.  However, we've recently begun talking and I'm hoping we can become friends."  There was a short pause before the last word, so brief that I almost missed it.  "He's not the easiest person to get to know."

"You think so?" I asked, "I guess he is in some ways.  We had a common interest in philosophy, so that made it easy for us to talk to each other."

"Philosophy?" Hideki echoed, sounding slightly more animated.  

"Yeah, it was a hobby for both of us.  When we had time, we would go over arguments we were learning in class or debate."

"But you don't have time anymore?"

I shrugged.  "I do, but Light's going through a hard time right now.  I don't want to bother him."

Hideki hesitated only a moment before asking, "Then perhaps, in his absence, I could become your debate partner instead?"

I wasn't sure why he was offering, though I told myself I shouldn't be looking for a motive.  I'd isolated myself from my high school friends with the exception of Light and now that the latter had other things to worry about, I found myself alone much of the time.  It couldn't hurt to make more friends, even ones as eccentric as Hideki, so I nodded.  "If you'd like.  Are you interested in philosophy?"

"I suppose it's a hobby of mine, as well," he said, "Though I may be a bit out of practice."

*

I assumed that his comment about being "out of practice" was out of modesty, as Hideki had no trouble whatsoever keeping on the offensive despite my best efforts to keep up.  He didn't smile once, and I couldn't tell if he was having fun, but I figured that if he wasn't he would have left.  We began with the mind and body problem--the connection between them, should the former exist--and even my best attempts at defending Cartesian dualism were thwarted easily.

"The mind and the body can be considered distinct, separate entities that exist independently of one another," I said at some point, "It's possible for a person to possess a body but not consciousness, such as when they enter a vegetative state."

His reply came so quickly that it seemed he'd come up with an answer several minutes ago, "If that's the case, then the mind and the body are not independent of one another.  Damage to the body or physical brain can cause the "mind" to cease functioning, suggesting that they are not as separate as you say."

I was trying to come up with a counter when I realized that it was still the middle of the day and eyed a clock on the wall before hurriedly gathering my books.  "I'm sorry," I told him, "I have class soon.  We can consider that your win."  He still made no indication that he'd enjoyed the exchange.  "Thank you for indulging me."

"Would you care to try again some time?"  His expression was still unreadable.  "I enjoyed that."

"Oh."  I smiled.  "Of course.  Let's do this again sometime."

Despite his habit of staring unblinkingly, I decided that Hideki wasn't so bad.  He and Light had a bit in common, it seemed, both possessing interest and skill in philosophy--and tennis, if a few days prior was any indication.  They also debated in a similar fashion, and that led me to wonder if I would come to understand him better the more we spoke, which we continued to do in the following weeks.  I thought that together, Light, Hideki and I, had the potential to become good friends.  

*

This notion of friendship with Hideki, I came to understand, was not one that Light was fond of.  Before I had a chance to even mention it, Light approached me as I was leaving for the day to return to my dorm.  "Have you been talking with Ryuuga?" he asked first, and because of his careful tone, I wasn't sure how I was supposed to respond that.  

"Yes?"  It was apparently the wrong answer, because he frowned.  "Do you dislike him?"

"It's not that," he said quickly, "I don't know him well enough to dislike him.  It's just that he's a little...odd."  Odd was obviously not his first choice of descriptors.  

"He is," I agreed, "But I think he's harmless.  He's actually really interested in philosophy."

"Is that right?" Light murmured.  I didn't think I was meant to confirm that.  I broke the following silence by taking a step and excusing myself.  "Just be careful around him," he said as I walked away.

*

I gave some thought to whether or not I should allow Light to tell me who I could and could not associate with.  On one hand, I valued his friendship and trusted his judgment, but on the other, my own judgment wasn't so poor that I couldn't make good decisions on my own.  While Hideki had initially made me nervous, speaking with him had told me that he was just as socially awkward as I was, though he wasn't nearly so self-conscious about it.  The more I thought about it, the less certain I became, and I eventually chose a different study room as a compromise.  Perhaps I would just avoid Hideki for a few days.

Of course, that didn't work as planned, and I jumped when the door was opened and Hideki hesitated in the doorway, looking a bit surprised to see me there.  I couldn't believe that he hadn't noticed me through the glass walls of the room or the "reserved" sign on the door, nor could I gauge his expression for whether or not his surprise was genuine, though with the rest of his quirks, I figured it was possible that it really was a coincidence.

As usual, he was the first to speak.  "You weren't at your usual spot."

"No.  I thought I could use a change of scenery."  It was one of the poorer lies I'd made, considering all of the study rooms looked identical.  

"Perhaps."  He shut the door behind him and came forward, though didn't sit down, choosing instead to stand next to me, slightly hunched over with his hands in his pockets.  "Or perhaps Yagami asked you not to associate with me?"  

I pushed too hard on my pencil and the lead snapped.  While I didn't want to tell another bad lie, it would have been rude to admit the truth, though my hesitation clearly told him everything he needed to know.  "I'm not mad," he continued, "if that's indeed the case.  It's possible he's jealous."

"Jealous?" I repeated, laughing, "No, our relationship isn't like that.  We're just friends, like I said."

"Really?  Many of our peers seem to think otherwise."

I frowned.  "Do you like to gossip, Ryuuga?"

"No, but it's difficult not to overhear it."

That, I could not disagree with.

He decided to sit down at last and went to the other end of the table to pull out the chair and curl up onto it.  "Are you interested in becoming romantically involved with Yagami?"

I watched him uneasily.  "I'd rather not answer that question."

"My intention is not to be invasive," Hideki said, though I wondered how someone could ask such a question and not be invasive, "Rather, I'm asking after Yagami more than I'm asking after you."

I tried to understand where he was coming from but couldn't think of much.  "What do you mean?  Are you trying to ask me what kind of person Light is?"  

There was a pause.  "I might be."

"So why didn't you just ask me that to begin with?"

"Because I'd like an honest answer."

I blinked.  "And you don't think being straightforward solicits an honest answer?"

"Not necessarily.  Under some circumstances, indirectness yield much more honest responses."

I still didn't answer.  "Are you asking Light stuff like this, too?  That might be why he's so wary of you."

"If I were," he said vaguely, "He wouldn't be nearly as easy to get a rise out of as you are."

I wanted to be offended, but Hideki was smiling just a little, and I knew it was true, so I laughed instead.  And so, despite Light's warning, I decided I would become Hideki's friend.

The repercussions would not become apparent until much later. 

Chapter Text

April passed seemingly in the blink of an eye.  Classes continued, my old cram school contacted me with a possible job, and Hideki reignited my passion for philosophy as Light became increasingly busy with something that he didn't feel comfortable divulging.  Though Hideki remained largely unreadable, he confessed that he did enjoy our discussions, and I found him occupying my thoughts more frequently.  What sort of thing would we debate next time, I wondered, and how could I catch him off guard?  It was the sort of playful thinking that I'd had in high school towards the beginning of my arrangement with Light, and it went hand-in-hand with my increased comfort when I was around him.  Hideki and I were friends.  Or at least, I considered him to be my friend.  As closed-off as Light was, I could still read him much better than I could Hideki, who was always conscious of what he did and said.

And then suddenly, at the end of the month, Light returned.

I noticed him at the door to the study room and Hideki followed my gaze and excused himself.  He and Light exchanged glances as they passed each other at the door, not quite glares but in no way neutral, before Light came in and shut the door behind him.  "You and Hideki seem to be getting along well," he said, pulling out the chair across from me to sit down.  Though there was no edge to his voice, there was something else.  My crush on Light had waned in the previous weeks, in part from his sudden withdrawal without any explanation and his disdain of Hideki for no discernible reason, and so my response came out much more harshly than it would have months ago.

"I don't think it should matter to you who I choose to associate with."

"Well, it does matter," Light insisted.  The tension in the air was practically tangible.

"I don't want to argue," I said, softer this time, "And I don't want to lose you as a friend, Light.  Why do you dislike Hideki so much?"

"I can't talk about it."  

"There are a lot of things you can't talk about lately."

"Yes, there are."  Light took a deep breath.  "We're friends, right?"

"Of course."

"And you trust me?"

I paused.  "Yes, Light, I trust you."

"Then you have to trust me when I say that this is something I can't talk about."

*

Light and I started to avoid each other.  When one of us came into the room, the other would leave, and we didn't make eye contact, speaking only when necessary and giving one-word answers.  It seemed childish, and I'm sure he was just as frustrated as I was, but neither of us were willing to budge.  Hideki was in the middle, and I felt terrible for putting him there, as Light had clearly made it known that he didn't like us talking.  For weeks, we behaved like children, and Hideki continued to meet with me between classes, his presence comforting despite my guilt.  

From the other end of the study commons, I watched as Light was approached by a female classmate and tried to ignore how it stung.  Hideki sat to my right, waiting patiently for me to return my attention to the debate.  "You look like you've been dumped."  I turned to him, wide-eyed in embarrassment, and stammered out that he knew that wasn't the case.  "I'm not saying that's what happened," he said, sounding uninterested, "I'm saying that's what it looks like."  I apologized for getting distracted, but he shrugged.  "No, I think this sort of reaction is normal for someone in your position.  Do you ever think that you and I should stop associating?"

"No.  He doesn't have any right to tell me who I can and can't be friends with."

Hideki didn't comment on that.  "You're both stubborn," he said, "But unlike you, Light is a sore loser.  It's likely that he'll try to make this as painless as possible until you cave in, but it's also likely that he will do everything in his power to facilitate your surrender sooner, possibly by--!"

"Can we please get back to the debate?" I snapped.  What I did dislike about Hideki was his penchant for psycho-analyzing everyone around him--he said it was another hobby--and how accurate he tended to be.  He allowed himself a small smile.  He always seemed to enjoy completely honest, emotional responses from me, regardless of how much I disliked them.

"Of course."

Our first debate on the mind body problem had opened a can of worms and we had exhaustively dissected every solution we could think of, beginning with my lackluster defense of substance dualism.  This time, Hideki was defending eliminative materialism, a stance that considered all mental states and emotions--love, happiness, pain, belief, and so on--to be nothing more than "folk psychology," outdated ways to refer to what would one day prove to be nothing more than brain processes.  Of the various solutions to the mind body problem, eliminativism was one of the more radical.  While identity theory posited that our feelings could perhaps run parallel to brain processes, and behaviorism treated them as tendencies, eliminativsm said that emotions should be completely discarded.

"Folk psychology is akin to old superstitions from bygone ages," Hideki said, "It's not so different from folk biology, or folk cosmology.  For centuries, it was widely accepted that the earth was at the center of the universe and that everything revolved around it.  There is a history of mistakes and revisions in science, and to think that we were correct the first time in terms of neuroscience is baffling."

"But to completely dismiss all emotion as nothing more than "folk psychology" seems a tad drastic," I argued, "Especially since they're such private things.  Behaviorism assumes that mental states, such as hunger, are tendencies expressed through behavior, but this isn't always true.  If someone is dieting, they may very well not eat even when presented with food, despite being hungry.  There are feelings that are not expressed through behavior and are only known to the person feeling them.  Even if you say that I don't feel, I know I do."

"Just as one may have "known" a witch to be guilty based on spectral evidence," Hideki countered, "Preserving something as scientific fact based on intuition alone is unthinkable.  Though we may not currently have the technology to pinpoint the exact location of each and every feeling, I don't doubt that in the future, we will, and we will change the way we refer to them accordingly."

"So one day, I'll come into class with a headache, but instead of saying my head hurts, I'll tell you my C-fibers are firing, and you'll know exactly what I'm talking about?"

"Exactly."

"Hideki, that's ridiculous."

"Mere assertion is not an acceptable counterargument."

I saw a girl approach Light and sit nearby, and they traded a few words.  Light laughed and they continued talking, both looking very animated.  "I think," I said, no longer looking at Hideki, "That eliminativism is too critical of so-called "folk psychology" and doesn't give it enough credit for its successes.  Maybe we are wrong.  In fact, we probably are.  But I don't see any reason to completely discard our current understanding of emotions and the way we talk about them.  If I tell you that I'm in pain, you know what I mean.  There are some emotions that are complex, not fitting within the context of behaviorism, and for these, the only way to express ourselves is to use the word.  If revision is in order, then fine, but I think that folk psychology still exists and is so widely in use because it's onto something."

Hideki studied my expression, not needing to look where I was looking to know what I was so fixated on.  "I will concede that," he said, "There are some rather complex mental states.  It would be difficult to fully express yourself if you couldn't describe your emotions as, say, longing."

Light looked happy.  My chest felt tight.  "Longing," I repeated, "When you put it that way, it's almost embarrassing."

"But is it accurate?"

"Longing" isn't a word I'd ever applied to myself, or an emotion I thought I was at all familiar with, but seeing Light smiling and talking and so far away made me think.  "No more than C-fibers firing," I told Hideki with a bitter smile.

*

One of my former cram school teachers had gotten in touch with a family in the area who were looking for in-home tutoring for their teenage daughter, and I'd agreed to start in May.  A conspicuous envelope had come in the mail with money for that month's rent, and I knew that I should do something nice for Mother's Day.  As strained as our relationship had been, my mother and I had come to an understanding after my enrollment to To-Oh, and we talked infrequently.  Our time apart had given me the chance to reflect on her good points and every letter I got in the mail reminded me that though she was all I had, I was all that she had, as well.

The plan was to treat her to lunch somewhere and maybe give her flower or something.  I wasn't really sure--when I lived at home, we celebrated by me wishing her a happy Mother's Day in the morning, and then she would disappear downtown for the rest of the night.  I figured changing things up with a formal meal wouldn't hurt either of us, and wrote to tell her that I wanted to spend time with her.  

I spent the train ride to my old cram school trying to think of restaurants.  It would look bad if we went somewhere cheap, but I didn't exactly have a lot of money at the time.  Something simple, maybe a cafe, I thought, along with, this shouldn't be so difficult.

I arrived towards the beginning of a class session, and my former teacher warmly welcomed me and introduced me to the class, making sure to mention that I had been the second-highest ranking student.  I smiled cordially, wanting to tell them that it didn't really matter, but said nothing.  He stepped out into the hall to give me a paper with the family's address and contact information and wished me luck, and I thanked him for his help, starting to leave when I noticed that the address was familiar.

It was Light's home address.

*

"It's good to see you again," Sachiko said as I took my shoes off in the entryway, "How have you been?"

"Fine," I said, putting on my best smile.  Something was off--her own smile was nervous.  I awkwardly excused myself upstairs.

Sayu could not be more different from her brother.

Her room was cluttered with casual clothing and magazines, and she had a poster of Hideki Ryuga--the singer, of course, rather than the eccentric student Light had an irrational and baseless grudge against--over her bed.  "Sorry it's a mess," she said sheepishly, shoving a sweater under the bed and going to her desk.  

"It's not so bad," I told her, taking a seat next to her.  "What do you need help with?"

"English.  I'm not doing very well."  I opened her textbook and saw her staring at me out of the corner of her eye.  "Um...do you mind if I ask you something kind of personal?"

I stopped turning pages.  "That depends on the question, I guess."

"Okay."  She hesitated.  "Why did you and Light break up?"

I pretended to be interested in her textbook.  "Break up?" I repeated distractedly, trying to come up with a better answer.  

"He said you weren't actually dating," she continued, "But I don't believe him.  You actually broke up, right?"

His mother's awkward behavior suddenly made sense.  But I couldn't figure out why he'd chosen then to tell the truth.  It was possible that they'd asked if I would tutor Sayu for free as a family friend, and he'd taken the opportunity to correct them, though it seemed more likely that this a passive-aggressive way of putting more distance between us.  We weren't pretending to be a couple anymore.  I couldn't help but wonder if this meant that he'd also slammed the door in my face in regards to dating in the future.  He hadn't asked again if I was interested, and perhaps this meant that he wouldn't be asking.  

"Did you?" Sayu prodded, and I shook my head.

"No, your brother's right.  We're just friends."

She looked very skeptical, but when I asked her to show me what she was working on in class, she didn't ask again.

Sayu worked hard and caught onto concepts quickly, much like Light did.  I was needed mostly to help solidify concepts that she was having trouble with, and didn't actually teach much.  "You're doing very well," I told her, and she shrugged.

"I have to," she said, "I have to be at least close to as good as my brother, otherwise Mom'll be disappointed."

I hadn't thought about it before, but being Light's sibling must have been difficult.  Sachiko probably expected nothing less than perfection from her, after her first child had been at the top of the rankings, and it made me wince to think that so much pressure was put on her.  When I had been in high school, that kind of thinking had made me isolated and unhappy.  Sayu had gone the other way; she had been the one to say "yes" to her friend's invitations out, and her grades had suffered for it.  On the other hand, I didn't see her turning into the socially-awkward recluse that I was.  

"There should be a balance," I told her, "Between having fun and working hard.  You just have to find it."  

"You think so?"  She sounded glad to hear it.

Chapter Text

Kira, who had up until then been a silent deity, addressed the world for the first time on April 18th that year, declaring his intent to make a better world for the innocent.  Throughout the broadcast, chat rooms and social network platforms were abuzz with opinion and conspiracy, but largely words of praise and hopes that his vision would come to pass.  When the broadcast was interrupted and Sakura TV's head reporter came on to denounce Kira, the backlash was immediate and the internet was flooded with denouncements of Sakura TV and any who interfered with the "savior's divine mission."

That night, I'd watched the beginning of the broadcast and followed the following comments, and was startled by the reverence people showed to this mysterious killer.  It was hard to argue with Kira's ideals--and according to some, even his methods--but what had begun as something like a religion had started to much more closely resemble a cult following, and the number of supporters was certainly on the rise.

Did the birth of utopia truly justify the means?  It was a question I asked myself frequently to cement my own standing on the issue.  I had never imagined that Kira would go so long without getting caught.  He had amassed more victims than any other killer I was aware of, and yet had more public support than the prime minister.  But was that support well-founded or misguided?  I was still undecided, but for much of Japan--and maybe even the world--there was finally a solution to the problem of evil.

Whether there had been a god before or whether or not this god was benevolent no longer mattered, because a new god had been born and was eager to deliver punishment.

In the days that followed, Kira again faded back into a background event in my life as the buzz died down until early May when Light inexplicably began trying to get on Hideki's good side by joining us for philosophy discussions between classes.  

"Room for one more?" he'd said from the doorway of the study room with a hopeful smile and I'd glanced wide-eyed at Hideki, unsure of what to make of it.  His smile wasn't without some strain.  

"Of course," Hideki answered smoothly, and Light let the door shut behind him and joined us at the table.  There was a moment of silence before Hideki took the initiative and spoke.  "What are your views on your religion?"

Something strange was going on, though I wasn't sure what yet.  Light's reappearance and Hideki's sudden decision to change our topic--which we had been discussing for almost a solid month--both put me on edge.  While I'd been interpreting all of Light's recent actions as passive-aggressive jabs, I wondered then if whatever was going on had nothing to do with me but was instead between the two of them, considering the almost tangible tension hanging in the air between them.  "I'm an atheist," I answered first.

"I could have guessed," Hideki said, and I was honestly not sure if it was intended as a compliment, an insult, another one of his psycho-analyses or simply an observation.  "What about you, Yagami?"

"Agnostic," he replied simply.

Hideki waited a moment longer before continuing, "I'm sure you've both heard about Kira lately?  He has quite the religious following."

"I understand that people refer to Kira as a god, but does that really make it a religion?" I asked.

"Philosophically, yes.  Religion is a method of valuing.  In the case of Kira, his worshipers value justice above all else."  Hideki glanced at me, and then at Light.  "What is your opinion on this?  Do you think belief in Kira is healthy?"

Light was the first to answer this time.  "If we're evaluating it as a moral system, there are parts of it that aren't, and parts that are," he said, "On one hand, it seems, as you said, like a religion of justice.  The innocent are elevated over the guilty, and it does address the problem of evil."

"I was just thinking that the other day," I said, "Belief in Kira gives immediate benefits during life rather than after death.  As far as promises of retribution in modern religions, it's the most realistic option."  Hideki looked perturbed by my answer and I hesitated to continue, but Light offered an encouraging smile and picked up where I left off.

"Following that train of thought," he said, "It runs the risk of becoming a religion of revenge.  It's possible that belief in Kira could promote people to wish ill on those who wrong them, even if the transgression is relatively minor.  Not to mention the implications of a religion that's built around a mass-murderer.  Kira is just a person, after all.  He's not a god."

"Actually," I said, "Based on the criteria that you and I used to debate with, he might as well be.  Kira is omnipotent, capable of smiting criminals no matter where they are or what they're doing.  He also seems to be omniscient."

"What about benevolent?" Light asked, and Hideki, too, seemed interested to hear my answer.

"That's the only one I'm not sure of," I said, "But even if he isn't, it doesn't seem to matter much to his followers."

When our discussion had come to an end, I'd tried to talk to Light for a minute but he'd said he was busy and left for his next class.  I didn't take it personally, but I did wonder what his erratic behavior could mean.  I suspected Hideki was in on it, whatever it was, as he excused himself soon after and I was left by myself in the study room trying to figure out what sort of secret had them almost glaring at each other throughout an afternoon discourse.  

*

That Sunday, I met with my mother at the same ice cream café that I'd gone to with Light almost half a year earlier.  She wore her hair down with a summer dress and high heels, and we almost looked the same age.  She looked at me and tried to smile.  "Hey," she said, almost on reflex, like she worried I would get up and leave if she didn't announce her presence.  I tried to smile back.  "How's school?" she asked, and she might have been genuinely interested.

"Fine," I said, then elaborated, "Really good, actually.  I'm doing well.  I'll find out next week if I got the scholarship I applied for."

"Good."

"How...."  "...is the convenience store?" would have sounded condescending, so instead, I said, "How are you?"

She shrugged.  "Same as always."  A waitress came to take our orders.  I noticed my mother asked for the most inexpensive ice cream on the menu.  "So are you and that boy still close?"  My delayed response served as an answer all on its own and she nodded.  "Ah.  Well, that's okay.  There're plenty of men out there."

"We were just friends," I told her, and she smiled sadly.  Thinking back, there seemed to be a silent moment of understanding between us that lasted for just a moment, but I really felt that she knew exactly how I felt.  I had trouble imagining my mother as a timid young girl who would find herself in my situation, unable to express her feelings, but maybe we had more in common that I was willing to admit.  

When the ice cream came, she stared down at her cone and watched it melt under the summer sun, dripping onto her hands.  "I don't deserve this," she said.  It took me a moment to work up a disagreement, but she only shook her head in response.  We ate in silence, and in the end, she paid for both of us.  I regretted not being able to bring the words "Happy Mother's Day" out of my mouth.

*

Light started dating one of his classmates, Kiyomi Takada, later that month.  

It came as a shock partly because we had met together with Hideki several times after that first discussion about the Kira cult, and I had thought that we were working up to being on regular speaking terms again.  It might've taken me a few days to notice on my own, but Akemi--who had gone to Osaka and texted intermittently--sent me a message saying, "Sorry you got dumped :(."  Apparently, gossip was still a rampant monster even in college, though not nearly as bad as it had been in high school.  Several of our peers had gone to To-Oh as well, and they'd been quick to notice that Light was openly dating someone and had let her know.

I hadn't been dumped, because we hadn't been dating, but it still left a bad taste in my mouth that lingered for a few days.

Sayu, who was prone to noticing these sorts of things, noticed my mood the moment I came up to her room and wisely not asked about it for the duration of our tutoring session.  But once we approached the end and I was getting ready to leave, she couldn't help herself.  "I think you two made a better couple," she said, and before I could remind her that we were never a couple, she went on, "It's not that I dislike Light's girlfriend now, but you two just seemed to go together so much better."

"It's not your business or mine who Light chooses to see," I told her, "Frankly, I think him and Takada make a cute couple."  I hoped it didn't sound too forced.

Sayu showed confusion initially that melted into something like pity.  She glanced at the door to her room and scooted her chair closer to mine.  "Light told me not to tell anyone," she whispered, "But I think you deserve to know something."

I wasn't one to gossip, but just once, I couldn't help myself.  "What?"

"Is he dating a girl named Takada?"

"Yes?"

Her frown deepened.  "Well, he's dating another girl, too.  That model, Amane, Misa."

My train of thought completely derailed.  I knew  Light, or at least thought I knew him, quite well, and this was not typical behavior for him.  His interactions with Kiyomi did not strike me as immediately suspicious, though admittedly, the way they'd suddenly begun dating did stick out to me.  All of his recent actions would not have been so strange if they weren't bunched together and happening all at the same time, and I could only think that he must be panicking--it was only when he was cornered in debate with no possible escape that he began to act so erratically.

"Don't tell him I told you," Sayu added quickly and I told her that I wouldn't.  I would have to confront Light about it, however.  I was just about fed up with being left in the dark.  If Light had good enough reason to be keeping secrets, then fine, but he was going to take my feelings into account.  

We both startled when we heard the door open downstairs and Sachiko's muffled voice welcoming someone home.  Light's voice followed soon after, apologizing for being so late, and I stood up from Sayu's desk.  She looked to me pleadingly.  "I won't tell him who told me," I said, but she didn't look reassured.  

I stepped out of her room and into the hallway, and Light met my gaze as he reached the top of the stairs and greeted me neutrally, ready to step around me to get to his room.  I couldn't come up with a better phrasing, so I began the conversation with, "We need to talk," which I immediately recognized as a bad idea because Light was instantly on the defensive.  He regarded me warily and said, "Okay," before opening the door to his room and gesturing for me to come in.  Light went to sit down but I continued standing and had to steel myself to continue.  "I just want to figure out where we are," I said.  "I know I wasn't particularly vocal concerning my own desires on the matter, and that's not one's fault but my own.  I can't be upset with you for seeing someone else when I was so slow to answer you.  But, Light, you're going out with two girls at the same time and holding me at length, and I don't--!"

"Hold on," he interrupted, "What did you just say?"

"I don't really want to repeat myself."

"You said I'm dating two girls," he said, "I'm dating Kiyomi, that's it.  Who else are you thinking of?"

"I don't know, some model."  He laughed and started to tell me how ridiculous that was, but I cut him off.  "Light, I debate with you.  I can tell when you're grasping at straws because you've run out of convincing arguments."

"What, is this a rumor that's going around?"

"No.  I just know, okay?"  He didn't look particularly happy about that.  "And you know what?  I'm not even mad about that.  What you do is your business.  But you've been acting really weird lately and all I want to know is where I stand now, because I'd at least like to still be your friend."  He didn't answer for a long, incredibly awkward moment and I considered going home, wondering if I'd overstepped my boundaries, before he said, "I'd like that, too."

I've never been sure who of the two of us was at fault for that day--me for desperately wanting his friendship back or him for knowing exactly what to say to get what he wanted--but I forgave him easily.

"But could you please not tell anyone?  About,  you know...."

"I dunno, Light.  Keeping secrets is a friend thing.  Are we friends?"

He stared.  "Are you blackmailing me?"  I grinned at him.  "Okay.  Friends it is."

"I wouldn't have told, anyway," I said, "I respect you too much to run off, telling the world all of your non-existent dirty secrets."  I turned to leave.  "I don't know what she sees in you."

"Neither do I," he admitted, and we laughed like we hadn't in a long time.

*

The name "Amane, Misa" appeared in bold on tabloid covers in the next few days, associated with drug charges, and Light again disappeared.  Rather than angry, I became concerned.  Romantic or not, there was some kind of connection between them, and I worried what this meant for Light.  He hadn't told me anything because of my quick forgiveness, but I still suspected that there was a lot he wasn't telling me, and I was certain that there was something bigger going on beneath everything I could see.

My suspicions were confirmed when Hideki, too, disappeared not long after.  I couldn't find either of them in the study room or anywhere around campus, and when I'd finally worked up the courage to ask Kiyomi if she'd seen Light lately, she'd said she was taking notes for him because he'd told her he'd be gone for a while.  Sayu didn't know more than that, either, though Light had said that he was working.  She told me that her brother had helped the police solve cases before and she figured it was something like that again.  She was under the impression that he was going to class and then straight to work, sleeping wherever he and his father were working, and I didn't want to worry her so I didn't tell her that he wasn't coming to school, either.

It was worrying that Light had seemingly covered all of his bases except where I stood.  He'd given appropriate cover stories to several people, though he had a history of withholding information rather than flat-out lying to me, and that made me worry more because he'd chosen to say nothing at all.  I wondered if something had caught him off-guard and if he was okay, and my wondering and worrying persisted into the summer months as he and Hideki were still nowhere to be found.

And then, finally, on the morning of August 1st, I was just waking up and making breakfast when my cell phone went off and a number I didn't recognize displayed on the screen.  "Hello?"

"This is Yagami, Soichirou, Light's father," came the reply, and I just about dropped the cup of tea I was holding.  He sounded tired.

"Hi, Mr. Yagami," I said cheerfully, trying to think of the most roundabout way to ask if he knew where his son was without making it seem like he was missing.  

"I'm sorry we haven't had a chance to speak more often," he began, "Light is really fond of you.  That's actually why I'm calling; he requested to see you sometime today."

"Requested?" I repeated.  At last, my question was answer, though it was not the answer I had been expecting or hoping for.

"Yes.  Light was...arrested in June."

Chapter Text

Soichirou never told me what exactly Light had been arrested for, but my mind flew to the only case worth mentioning in those days—Kira.  It started to add up—the sudden change in debate topics, Light’s increasingly erratic behavior, his and Hideki’s disappearance, Misa Amane’s arrest.  Individually, these events weren’t cause for suspicion, but together, I knew they had to be related. 

What I had trouble wrapping my mind around was how exactly Kira could be involved.  The case had been thus far handled with such secrecy, with broadcasts detailing Kira’s actions becoming more and more infrequent.  Conspiracy theorists claimed the NPA was purposefully withholding information on criminals and the investigation, but no one could know for certain. 

Could it be that Sayu was right, and that her brother was working on this case with their father?  Were Soichirou’s words meant to be interpreted differently, a way of telling me that Light had been hurt, or worse?  Or did he really mean that Light had been arrested?  I couldn’t imagine him being held under suspicion of being a mass-murderer.  When the friends and family of serial killers were interviewed, they usually came up with something that signaled a warning, some behavior or attitude that made them wonder.  I never had that with Light.  Yes, he was brilliant, and yes, he was ambitious, but not once did I think he could be capable of murder.

I didn’t realize then that what I was missing was the hindsight that those friends and family members had at the time of their interviews.  There are some things that are impossible for the average person to notice without being able to look back, and Kira was one of those things.

On the morning of August 2^nd, Soichirou arrived to pick me up at nine o’clock sharp.  I hadn’t seen him for quite a while, probably a few months, but he looked just as tired as I remembered, maybe more.  “It’s good to see you,” he said, getting out of the car to greet me.  Reaching into his pocket, he produced a dark strip of fabric and held it out to me.  “I’ll be taking you to the investigation headquarters, and so I’ve been asked to ensure that its location remains a secret.”  His tone suggested that this was neither his idea nor something he felt was particularly necessary, so I didn’t ask about it and hesitantly took the blindfold from him.

Climbing into the passenger seat, I covered my eyes and tied it behind my head.  I felt the car pull out onto the street.  “How have you been?” he asked conversationally.

“Everything is going well,” I told him, “The last round of exams went just fine.  Ah, and the last time I saw Sayu, her English was much better.”  I figured he could use some good news.  “So…how’s Light?”  I was hoping for some elaboration on what was going on.

“He’s fine,” he told me after a long pause.  The number of times we turned made me think he was trying to take the longest route possible, as if I was keeping track of where we were going.

“Is this…”  I hesitated to ask.  “Does this have something do with, you know….”

He gave a heavy sigh.  “Yes, this is about the Kira investigation,” he said, and he sounded so exhausted, so close to just being done, that I didn’t ask anything more.

*

The car pulled to a stop but Soichirou told me to keep the blindfold on.  He opened the passenger side door and lead me the rest of the way.  There was a blast of air conditioning, and I knew we’d gone inside.  After several minutes of walking blindly through hallways and metal detectors and into an elevator, he told me I could look now and I eagerly uncovered my eyes.

It was disorienting, suddenly being in a new place with nothing to connect how I’d gotten there.  The hallway was long and lined with doors on either side, devoid of furnishings or carpeting, metal on all sides like an unfinished office building.  I handed the cloth back to Soichirou and he knocked on the door he stood closest to.  There was a high-pitched, “I’ll get it!” from the other side before it opened just enough to reveal a blond girl my age blinking up curiously. 

Soichirou said hello to her and introduced me in an almost frustrated tone and she let out a long, “Ohhh,” like she’d remembered something important.  She opened the door a bit wider and I looked to Soichirou, who simply nodded.  A few steps into the room and I immediately noticed Light and Hideki standing in the middle, a long chain hanging between them connecting their wrists as they worked together to push an overturned couch upright.  I couldn’t seem to come up with anything that properly explained the scene. 

“Hey,” I said weakly, and Light’s attention snapped back immediately.

“Hey,” he returned much more enthusiastic, smiling warmly.  There was so much I wanted to ask him, so many things I wanted to know, but that unburdened, carefree smile was one I hadn’t seen since high school, so I pushed all of my questions to the back of my mind for the time being and smiled back.

The girl brushed past me on her way to the couch opposite the one they were standing up and I wordlessly followed her and sat down with a cushion between us.  She continued to stare at me not very discreetly and I wondered if she was ever going to introduce herself.  She looked suspicious of me.

“I didn’t realize you were here, too, Hideki,” I said once they were satisfied with the couch and sitting opposite of us. 

“Hideki?” the girl beside me repeated in confusion, and then nodded.  “Ohhh,” she said again, and then looked across the table at the guys.  “She doesn’t know anything, does she?”

“Misa,” Light said in a gentle warning tone, something like a parent scolding their child, and I glanced back at her.  I had seen photos of her in magazines before without being aware of who she was, but this was the first time I’d ever seen Misa Amane in person.  She had a youthful face and was quite pretty even without makeup on.  She wore dark colors, a top that showed off her arms, a short skirt and striped socks.  Perhaps it was too early to make such a judgment, but I could only think that she didn’t look like the type of person I’d expect Light to date.  

“I’m afraid none of us are at the liberty to explain the entire situation,” Hideki said, “Although I’m sure you’ve already gathered that this concerns the Kira investigation.  Unfortunately, if you have any questions, we won’t be able to answer them.  Surely you understand.”

“Of course,” I said, not because I actually understood but because Hideki had made it known that my questions would be ignored.

“I’m sorry it’s been so long since we last talked,” Light said sheepishly, and then tried to change the subject, “How are classes?  Am I missing much?”

“Not really,” I said, “I’m sure you’ll be fine.  And Ki—”

I glanced at Misa.  It occurred to me that the three of us—myself, Kiyomi and Misa—were mostly unaware of the others. 

“I’m sure you can borrow someone’s notes.”

He nodded and smiled appreciatively.  

“Come on, don’t talk about school,” Misa whined, “Light and I are supposed to be having a date.”

“Oh,” I said, more surprised than offended.  How was she supposed to have a date with Light chained to Hideki?  “Well,” I continued, trying not to laugh, “I guess we could make it a double date.”

“That’s a great idea!” she said eagerly.  The corners of Light’s lip twitched and despite his expression remaining the same, his smile didn’t meet his eyes.  Hideki, predictably, didn’t react at all.  “That would be so romantic.  Can we, Light?  Pretty please?”

“She was only kidding,” Light said before I had a chance to voice an opinion, “There’s no reason to force them to do something they don’t want to do.”

“I don’t know, Light,” I teased, “She has a point, romance is a perfectly good reason to justify actions.  Have you ever heard that eros, or love, is the force that holds the world together?”

“Who said that?” Misa asked.

“Empedocles.”

“That’s right,” Hideki mused, “Empedocles believed that the forces of love and strife were the major pushing and pulling forces of the world.  Funny you should mention that; I was just thinking it’s been some time since we’ve had a debate.”

“Mind if I join?” Light asked hopefully.

“Wait, what are you doing?  What kind of debate?” Misa asked, looking disappointed to be left out.

“A philosophical debate.”  Hideki glanced purposefully at Light.  “I was thinking of a perfect topic, too; ethics.”

Light’s eyes narrowed a bit at this and he and Hideki continued to stare at each other the same way they had when we’d discussed the Kira cult several months earlier.  I wasn’t sure if I should say something or not, but thankfully, Misa stepped up to the plate.

“What?  No way, that sounds so boring!”  Even if it wasn’t for the reasons I had in mind.

“Then what do you suggest?” Hideki asked, and she shrugged.

“I don’t know, something more interesting.”  She grinned.  “What about love?  Debate love!  Or can you?  I mean, love is pretty much unquestionable.”

They both looked like they wanted to object.  “I think that’s a great idea,” I said first, and all eyes were on me.  “We should probably start with a definition.”

“What is love?” Misa sighed, “Unconditional, right?  Happiness, and affection, and fondness, and being willing to die for somebody.”

“That’s a good point,” I said, “Just affection or fondness alone doesn’t seem to be quite enough.  There’s an intrinsic quality that makes it valuable or worthy for its own sake, sort of like joy or happiness.”

“There are also different kinds of love,” Hideki went on, “Such as romantic love, familial love, religious love, and narcissistic love.”

Light was still stunned at the sudden turn of events, but seemed to catch up.  “It also incorporates notions of altruism,” he added, and Misa nodded, apparently testifying in support of his opinion.

“If we agree on these qualities,” I said, “Then I would like to argue against the existence of love in the traditional sense.”  There was a stunned silence.  Light in particular looked interested. 

“Love is a concept learned through the habituation of social conditioning,” I began.  “Parent-child bonding and mating processes are inculcated into us by society.  The concept of love is a human construct.  Our affections towards ourselves and others are not dependent or contingent on the love concept.  It is superficial, and proffers no genuine reality to the affections that human beings naturally express.”

“That’s not true,” Misa argued, “Love has to be real!  I’m in love with Light, I know it.”

“Mere assertion,” Hideki muttered.

“You’re implying that learned behaviors can’t be genuine,” Light said, “I have to disagree.  Could you provide an argument in favor of that?”

“Additionally, love as a conditional state does not render it non-existent,” Hideki added, and I raised a brow at him.

“Hold on a second, whose side are you on?”

“Love’s,” Hideki said with a mischievous grin and I rolled my eyes. 

“This is hardly fair,” I protested, but Light’s grin widened further.  He looked like he was really having fun.  “I argue for love as a social construct, such as fashion, sports and etiquette.  Should humans cease to exist, then so, too, would love.  I don’t think we can suggest that through an inventive mind, things become real.  Consider an imaginary friend learned about after many years.  This does not make the friend real.”

“Human concepts are real insofar as we treat them to be real, I agree,” Light said, “Going back to your example of social conventions, we can’t treat those as unreal.  They are real precisely because we choose to treat them as real.  To be in love is to know that the object of one’s love is real, and in realizing the reality of our loved ones, we come to realize the reality of love.”

I was speechless.  I’d found the topic to be absurd and more of a joke, a way to indulge and make a good impression on Misa, but Light had taken it very seriously.  There was humor in his eyes, but also sincerity.  I couldn’t bring myself to argue with him.

“Yay!” Misa cried, throwing her hands in the air, “Love wins!”

“I guess it does,” I said.

*

Several hours later, the date was ended at Hideki’s suggestion and he called Soichirou up to retrieve me.  “You know,” Misa said, pulling me aside while we waited, “I wasn’t sure who you are when I first saw you, and I was actually kind of worried.  Light’s my boyfriend, after all.  But after talking with you, I can see you two are just friends.”

Light looked back across the room at me and I met his eyes briefly.  “Yeah,” I nodded, “That’s right.”  We didn’t speak.  He was still smiling, and so was I.  But there was longing in my gaze, and I wondered if I was just imagining it in his, as well.  I returned my attention to Misa.  “Take good care of him for me,” I told her, and she promised she would before going back to the couch and cramming onto the same cushion as Light.

I recognized that I had many reasons to be jealous of Misa Amane, primarily the fact that she was Light’s girlfriend.  But before I left, I looked back to the couch where she circled her arms around him and giggled, but her grip was firm, and she held onto him like she was afraid he would vanish if she let go.  Light smiled, but he didn’t return the embrace, only sighed and patted her hand like a young child, and I couldn’t bring myself to be jealous of her.

I could feel only pity.

Chapter Text

Weeks passed.  Light and Hideki were still absent from class all of September, and I wondered how they were going to pass.  Sayu and Sachiko still claimed that Light was working with his father, though they sounded less certain than before, and began indirectly asking if I might have heard otherwise, to which I responded in the negative.

Talk about Kira began to die out and his cult was much less vocal, as criminals stopped dying altogether and company CEOs began to have heart attacks instead.  Some felt betrayed, fearing their savior had abandoned them.  Some claimed that it had to be somebody else, that there had to be an imposter and that Kira must be in hiding, waiting for the fake to be outed.

With this shift, my own uncertainties evaporated; I did not support this Kira, nor did I need to consider my stance.  This was just another criminal killing out of greed, someone who would benefit from the deaths.  Rather than consider the philosophy behind it, I focused only on the surface and how that affected Light and Hideki.  They were doubtlessly involved in the Kira investigation, and though I didn’t know the details, I had the possibilities narrowed down.  Adding to the equation Hideki’s meticulous, if eccentric, way of doing things, I also considered that Light had been more or less handcuffed to Hideki, which I couldn’t imagine would be anything other than a precaution for safety.

The conclusion I eventually drew was that Hideki didn’t trust Light, which made sense when I thought about their earlier interactions through that lens.  What I wasn’t sure of was what reasons he had for doubting him, though I was running out of room to postulate and was ending up closer and closer to what I didn’t want to think about; that Light was a suspect in the Kira investigation.

I don’t know why the thought bothered me so much.  Of course I didn’t want to believe that a close friend could be a mass murderer, but ignoring certain aspects of the situation wouldn’t make it go away; it would only leave me ignorant.  So I told myself that I had to leave that open as a possibility. 

But why would Kira be working on an investigation team devoted to catching him?  Probably because it would dissuade suspicion and maybe even hinder law enforcement.  If a killer didn’t want to be caught, where better to hide than among those who are looking for him?  The more I thought about it, the worse I felt and the harder it was for me to deny the possibility.  Light was a genius, of course.  I’d known that since I first met him.  If I had to pick someone I knew as possible candidate, then he would be the first person I thought of.

My unease persisted all throughout September and intensified in October when I got another call from Soichirou, who told me that Light had requested to see me one more time.

Just like the last time I had visited, I was blindfolded and disoriented by the many turns taken on the way to the investigation headquarters.  The next time I could see, I was in the same room as my previous visit, and Light, Hideki and Misa were present.

“Hi,” I said with a slight wave.  “Good to see everyone again.”  I took the same seat on the couch as last time. 

“Would you be willing to submit to a personality test?” Hideki asked rather suddenly. 

“I guess so,” I said, “But why?”

“Just for fun.  They took it earlier.”

“It was actually kind of fun,” Misa said, looking up from the fashion magazine she was flipping through.  “Mine said that I’m the kind of person people admire, and that people wish they were more like me!”

Light gave no indication that he had either way, though he looked uneasy and stared at me intently.  There was a tense silence.

“How long will it take?” I asked.

“Not long.  You just answer a series of questions.”

I couldn’t figure out what exactly Light was trying to tell me, and I didn’t see the harm in taking the test.  I didn’t have anything to hide.  “Sure,” I said.

Pleased with my answer, Hideki leaned forward a bit and reached out towards the pen and paper in front of him on the desk.  “First question,” he began, “What time of day would you say you’re at your best?”

“Probably the afternoon.”

He wrote something down.  “Alright.  Next; what are your favorite colors?”

Almost all of the questions were like this in the beginning; incredibly general and lacking apparent relevance to anything I could think of.  I’d wondered if it had something to do with the investigation, but I couldn’t see what kinds of conclusions Hideki could draw from the information I gave him.  Light continued to watch our exchange silently.

“Here’s a hypothetical situation,” Hideki said, “You’re concentrating very hard on something—let’s say you’re studying—when someone comes in an interrupts you.  Would you be receptive to a break, or would you find yourself irritated at whomever had interrupted you?”

This didn’t seem like a complicated question, but it had more depth to it than some of the previous ones.  I answered honestly.  “It depends, really.  I can see myself going either way.”

Hideki recorded the answer and pressed on, and gradually, the questions became more complicated, though I could still see what was really being asked.  How do you make difficult decisions?  What are your morals?  How do you handle authority figures?  It went on for at least ten minutes and Hideki went through several pages writing down what I said before he finally stopped.

“We’re done,” he said, staring down at the paper, and I nodded.

“So what are my results?”

He read over whatever he had written once.  “You’re careful,” he began, “And practical.  Your peers likely see you as gifted or talented, though you’re modest.  You’re not the type to make friends quickly or easily, but you are very loyal.”

He looked up then and I froze.  His eyes were the same as when I’d first seen him at the entrance ceremony; searching and suspicious.

“You know how to plan ahead.  You never act on impulse and prefer to consider your next move for days, maybe weeks or months in advance, which takes a degree of patience.  You have a docile nature and are not apt to violence of any physical sort, though with the appropriate preparation, you are more than capable of psychologically disabling an opponent.  You also have a preference to keep things to yourself and generally play your cards close to your chest, with the exception of close confidants, of which you likely have very few.  And, perhaps most importantly, you are completely compliant with societal norms and the concepts of crime and punishment.”

“Okay,” I said uneasily, “That sounds pretty good.”

“It is,” Hideki agreed, “Of course, you’re almost an exact match for Kira’s psychological profile.”

I figured that was the inevitable direction that he was going with the test.  “Kira is killing people,” I argued, “How does that not constitute physical violence?”

“Kira is killing people remotely through heart attacks, and we don’t know how yet,” he corrected, “While physical violence of some sort probably shouldn’t be ruled out completely, it’s something we have yet to fully understand.  You’re a match on every other point, regardless.”

“So what?  Are you just testing everyone and seeing who matches?”

“I am not saying that you are Kira,” he said, “I am saying that you are very similar to the kind of person that Kira is.”  He paused.  “Your answers were quite similar to Light’s, actually.”

I was certain then, when I looked across the table to Light, that he was a suspect.  “Does this help you with the investigation somehow?” I asked.

“It might in the future,” he said with a shrug, “But you can relax.  I’ve been compiling a much more comprehensive psychological profile of you throughout our philosophical debates, and I can say with almost one hundred percent certainty that you are not Kira.”

“Almost?” I repeated incredulously.

“Yes.  I thought initially that you might be the type to be taken in by the cult phenomenon, though the reality is much more complicated than that.  I don’t doubt that you would be susceptible, given the appropriate circumstances, but….”  He trails off.  “Perhaps that’s all I should say.”

“Ryuuga, you’re freaking her out,” Light said with a laugh, and then looked to me.  “Don’t worry, he doesn’t actually suspect you.”

But there was so much that wasn’t being said hanging in the air between the three of us; Light’s eyes still held some kind of message for me that I couldn’t decode, and Hideki glanced between the two of us.  “I’m sorry,” he said slowly, “Light is correct.  I don’t suspect you.”  His tone of voice didn’t leave me convinced.

*

I stayed much later than my previous visit and didn’t realize it until Misa announced that she had to get some sleep early for a commercial shoot in the morning and shooed us out into the hallway, but not before Hideki had her call for Soichirou to walk me out and take me home.  “I didn’t even notice it was so late,” I said, “It was good to see you again.  I hope I see you both on campus sometime soon.”

“Me, too,” Light said, “I miss you.”

I must have looked surprised because he offered a small smile.  He misses me in a strictly platonic sense, I reminded myself, even if that’s not what I hear.

But then he glanced over his shoulder at Hideki, who stood at arm’s length staring at the wall in disinterest, and he came a little closer.  I retreated a step to avoid crowding him but he came forward.  “Light?” I asked.

“Would it be okay,” he said, keeping his voice low, “If I gave you a hug before you left?”

I eyed Hideki over his shoulder, who was still not paying attention to us.  His tone was quiet and secretive, and he had that playful smile on his face that he did when he had the advantage in debate.  “I wouldn’t mind,” I said quietly.  There was nothing wrong with a hug, was there?  We weren’t doing anything wrong, yet I felt guilty for some reason.

But when Light wrapped his arms around me and pulled me against his chest, resting his head on mine, I wasn’t sure I could call it platonic anymore.  I was not a physical person, and neither was he, but I doubted this was the kind of hug that one gave their friends.  My heart beat a little faster and my face felt hot.  Light didn’t let go.

“There are things I want to tell you,” he whispered, “But not right now.”

“Light,” I said, but didn’t know how to continue, so I gave up on speaking and relaxed against his chest.  Light’s heartbeat was quick, too. 

The ringing announcing the arrival of an elevator down the hall echoed around us and Light pulled away, and I stared up at him with a million questions in my eyes as Soichirou came towards us.  “Ready to go?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said, but I glanced back over my shoulder once.  Light nodded to me, an unspoken promise there, but I didn’t know what he was promising.

I had trouble sleeping that night, kept up by mounting confusion and worry.  What reason did Hideki have to suspect me of being Kira other than a psychological profile?  What reason did he have to suspect Light, for that reason?  And most importantly, what was going on with Light?  I still remembered how warm it felt to be held by him and it made my chest ache.  Love is real, I realized, it’s real and it’s painful. 

The guilt, however, of somehow going behind Misa’s back, had slipped my mind altogether.  While there were no immediate repercussions for this, it’s important when I reflect on it; one part of Kira’s psychological profile that I was not aware of that day was his complete lack of remorse.

Chapter Text

The killing of criminals resumed in November, and that was when I decided to become an active participant in the online discussions regarding Kira.  Most forums hosting such discussions were hosted by those who claimed to be followers of some sort, so I claimed to be a supporter playing "devil's advocate," and my debate was welcomed with open arms.  It was more likely that they intended to convert me, though as much as I loved a good argument, I thought it would take more than that to draw me into something like that.

I left messages on forums in the morning and would check for replies when I returned home from class, and these long-distance debates filled the gap left by Light and Hideki.  The latter had been on my mind frequently, as the topic most often argued was, in fact, ethics.  It was very relevant where Kira was concerned.  The people who worshipped Kira were aware that he was a murderer though still equated him with a deity, and their reasons for doing so were almost all identical; put simply, the principle of utility.

The principle of utility is, at its most basic level, the greatest good for the greatest number.  The Kira cult was quick to point to this as a defense of their god, as they believed that this was his motivation.  My responses, too, became less varied the more I heard this answer, until I was constantly asking, "But how do we know what Kira really wants?"

Most claimed that it went without saying; why eliminate criminals who do wrong to others if not for the purpose of making a better world?  I didn't have a good reply formulated quite yet, but I was still unconvinced.  Kira's godhood was not something he himself had claimed, but something that had been ascribed to him.

Omnipotence, omniscience, and most importantly, benevolence.

Nobody had ever seen Kira before, but he was certainly real; his actions were proof of that.  But to elevate him to the level of a god seemed, to me, unnecessary.

At school, Kiyomi was obviously distressed at Light's prolonged absence, but her worry was accompanied by what seemed to be frustration, and it only grew with each passing day.  Finally, she approached me during lunch in the study room, knocking on the door before letting herself in.  "Could you give these to Light?" she said, holding up a packet of what I assumed to be the notes she'd been taking for him.

"Yes," I said, "But aren't you...?"

She only shook her head and left.

I glanced at the pile of papers.  The notes were neat and meticulously organized, and I thought she must have worked hard on them.  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kiyomi still standing outside of the glass walls of the study room and looked up to see if she still needed something.

She was talking to Light.

I tried to pretend I didn't even notice them, feeling a mix of excitement that he was back and empathy for Kiyomi.  Although her back was turned to me, her posture was rigid; she stood up straight with her shoulders square and her arms stiff at her sides.  They spoke for a minute or two longer--Kiyomi gestured back to me at least once--before she nodded and walked past him without looking back.  I kept my attention on my textbook when the door to the study room opened again and feigned surprise when I looked up.

"Light," I said, and my enthusiasm was genuine, "It feels like forever since I've seen you here.  How are you?"

My smile faltered at his expression.  Shortly before disappearing, Light's face had constantly been marred with what I interpreted as stress, even when he smiled.  It was only the last two times we'd seen each other at the investigation headquarters that he'd seemed different; less burdened, maybe.  Whatever it was, unease or concern or some kind of secret, it was visible again.

"Did something happen?" I asked, and Light was quiet for a long time, looking back at the stack of papers beside me.  "Oh, these are your notes," I said and slid them across the table, "Kiyomi made them, she just left them with me."

"I see."  He smiled to himself, small and bitter.  I didn't need to ask.

"I'm sorry," I told him, and he shook his head.

"No, you have nothing to apologize for.  I've just had better days, that's all."

I thought about asking after Misa, then thought better of it, and silently studied his face for any clues.  I had seen Light in all possible moods, but had yet to see him look quite so disappointed.  "Well, how is Hideki?" I asked, figuring that would be a safer topic.  "I haven't seen him yet today."

I waited.  Light said nothing.

The silence became oppressive, mournful.

"Wait," I said, "You're not...."  I swallowed a lump forming in my throat.  "He's not...."

Light couldn't meet my eyes.  "He's dead."  The words were so quiet that I would've missed them if I hadn't been listening for them.

"But...but that's...."  I covered my mouth with both hands.  Hideki was dead.  It hit me hard, like a punch to the stomach.  "Was it...you know...."

"Yes."

I thought about Hideki and all of his eccentricities, the debates we'd had, the times we'd sat together and he watched me stare across the room at Light.

"I'm sorry.  Light is correct.  I don't suspect you."  Those had been his last words to me.  I had thought that he had been lying and was so upset with him that we hadn't spoken again for the rest of the evening.

My shoulders shook and I wiped my face with the backs of my hands but I couldn't stop the tears.  It didn't seem real.  How could he be dead?  We were all still young, still just students, undergraduates, even.  We didn't think about dying, not so soon.  How would I have acted if I had known that night that I would never see him again?  I thought of Hideki as what I had been reluctant to call him--a friend--and I started to cry.

Light had come around the table and was standing next to my chair, his own eyes shining with sympathy as he held out his arms, and I didn't hesitate to accept his embrace this time.  I held onto him tightly, like Misa had, like I was afraid I would drown without him, or that he, too, would die if I let go, and I cried into his chest.  And Light didn't say a word; he just held on tightly, a silent anchor to keep me from drifting away.

I think I missed the following class, but I didn't care.

*

Any doubts I'd had of Light were promptly forgotten, partly because Hideki had been a friend to both of us, and partly because I couldn't bring myself to even think about it.  At the end of the day, I'd just gotten myself together but took a shaky breath when I caught Light's eye.  "Let me walk you home," he said, and I didn't argue with him.

I had been to Light's plenty of times before, but had never had him over at my residence.  My dorm wasn't anything special--it was a little cluttered as of late, but I wasn't emotionally stable enough at that moment to worry about what he might think.  I cleared off some space on the table and offered whatever I had in the refrigerator, but he declined.

"I wanted to ask you," he said carefully as I sat down across from him.  "If you've heard much about Kira these past few days."

I bit my lip.  "Why?"

He hesitated to answer.  "The truth is," he began, meeting my eyes, "The investigation has come to a complete halt, but we're probably going to pick it back up soon.  I'll be back at school, but I'll still be working with them."

"Still?" I asked, choking on the word, "Light, you could die."

"I know that," he said softly, "But I made a promise to myself that I would avenge Hideki.  If we never catch Kira, then what did he die for?"

I took another shaky breath and he held his hand out over the table.  I reluctantly took it and he squeezed reassuringly.

"People defend him through utilitarianism," I muttered, "An act is morally just depending on its outcome, not on the act itself.  They say that Kira's acts have a positive outcome in the end, so he's justified."

"And what do you think?"

"Hideki is dead."  I took a deep breath.  "I try not to be ruled by emotion rather than logic, but I've never lost a friend before.  Right now, I don't think all the arguments in the world could convince me that Kira is right."  I wiped my eyes with my free hand and looked up at Light.  "I'm not going to tell you not to help with the investigation.  I know that law is what you want to go into.  But please, please be careful, Light.  I don't...."  I had to look away.  "I don't want to lose you, too."

"You won't," he promised.  After that, he decided to change the topic to something lighter, but he didn't let go of my hand.  "I've got time to meet over lunch again."

"Good," I said, "It's been boring without you.  I still tutor Sayu, too, so I might run into you from time to time at home."

Light paused.  "Actually, I'm not going to be there anymore."  I nodded.  "I'm moving in with Misa."  I nodded again, slower this time, and began to pull my hand back, but his grip tightened.  "Temporarily," he added.

"You need to tell that poor girl the truth," I said, heightened emotions making me a little bolder.

"And what's that?"

"That you don't really love her."  Light's gaze became a little more intense and I began to regret saying anything.  "I'm not...I'm not trying to be rude.  It's your business.  But I think you need to be honest with her.  She loves you so much."

"I know," he said, "Have you been thinking about it?"

"About what?"

"About your answer, if I ask you again."

I was confused for a minute before I remembered our tentative, still undefined relationship, and I pulled my hand away completely, earning a frown.  "I haven't thought about it at all," I said, "And I won't, until you have yourself figured out.  I know you, Light.  This thing with Kiyomi and Misa was either some kind of experiment, or some kind of...cover for something.  I'm not interested in that."

"If you know me," he said, "Then you know I've been interested in you for a while now."  I hadn't expected to hear him say it so bluntly.  "I think you haven't been honest with yourself."

"Don't turn this around on me," I argued, but ended up laughing.  "It's terrible.  We're so much alike."

"Are we?"

"Yes.  I can always see why you do the things you do, even if I don't agree with them.  You make sense to me.  I think, if I had your charisma, I would also do what you do."

Light considered my words silently for a moment.  "Then give me a little more time," he said, "And I'll have myself figured out."

I smiled.  "I'll wait for you."  He stood to leave, and I stopped him, asking, "Wait.  Is there anything else?"

He looked confused.  "What do you mean?"

"No.  Never mind."  I nodded.  "I'll see you around?"

"Yeah."  Finally, he smiled.  It was small and not as warm as I'd hoped, but it looked genuine.

When he was gone, I reflected on the last time I'd seen him at the investigation headquarters, when he'd held me and told me that he had something he wanted to tell me.  He'd looked so confused just then, though, and I thought, with disappointment, that he must have forgotten all about it.

Chapter Text

True to his word, Light returned to school and began meeting with me again over lunch, though we didn’t debate philosophy for many weeks.  Sometimes we just studied together quietly and sometimes we said nothing and just enjoyed the other’s company.  I glanced often at the empty chair that Hideki had once sat in.

We had run into each other on our way to the study room and walked the rest of the way together.  I was just telling him that Sayu had aced her last test when we passed the commons, where a group was gathered around one of the TVs watching a news report on Kira.  Light followed my line of sight.  “Let’s go,” he said, and I lingered only a moment longer before following him.

News of Kira became as regular as the killings once his targets became criminals again the previous month.  For a while, I couldn’t watch the opinion segments and news reports, as Hideki’s death was still too fresh in my mind, but with the passing weeks, my morbid curiosity grew.  I wanted to hear the justifications people had for defending the one who’d killed my friend, wanted to know why they continued defending their murdering deity. 

The ends justify the means, they’d say.  I was only a casual philosopher and no more an expert than the common person, but even I could see the obvious flaws and exploitability in both consequentialism and utilitarianism.  If the majority says that killing is justified, then of course it would be—their happiness outweighs the suffering of those being killed by virtue of their numbers.  Even if the killing was done for some other purpose, or if it were not criminals being killed, the majority is what determines the morality. 

“Light,” I said as the study room door shut behind me and I took my seat beside him at the table, “You’re familiar with utilitarianism.”

“Yes,” he said uneasily, “Are you sure you want to talk about this?”

“I’m sure.”  I had to.  I had received no closure regarding Hideki’s death—the killer was at large and a bit of a celebrity, and due to the secrecy of the investigation, no funeral service had been held, or so I’d been told.  “I told you that’s the first thing Kira supporters jump to in defending him.  What are your thoughts on that?”

Light put his pencil down.  “I really don’t think this is something we should debate right now.  There’s a lot of emotional charge behind this topic for you….”

“I do my best debating when I actually care about the topic,” I insisted, “Light, please.  Just indulge me.”

He said nothing for a moment, and then he nodded.  “Okay,” he said, “I can assume that you’re attacking?” 

“Yes.”

“I suppose it would also depend on which kind of utilitarianism we’re talking about,” he began, “Bentham set the groundwork for the theory and introduced the ‘happiness calculus,’ where you assign a numerical value to the possible ‘good’ and ‘bad’ consequences an action might have, regarding things like how good or bad it would be, or long the effects would last.  If the total number is positive, then the action is moral.”

“The happiness calculus can be skewed very easily,” I argued, “If a moral act is nothing more than what will bring pleasure to the greatest amount of people, then the genocide of a minority by a larger populace could be considered ‘moral’ by these calculations.  It also relies on accurate predictions of the future, when the outcomes may not be immediately obvious, or even impossible to predict.”

Light nodded.  “In regards to your last objection, I doubt absolute certainty is required for calculations.  Caution and common sense are probably sufficient.  For example, if a person is considering whether or not they should enter a relationship with another person who is already in another relationship, they don’t need to accurately predict the future to know that their actions could potentially cause great harm, and that the action is therefore not in the best interest of themselves or the other party.”

I paused.  “I’m surprised you even used that as an example.”

“It was the first one that came to mind,” he admitted.  I almost laughed, but Light already looked perturbed.  “But as I said before, it depends on which type of utilitarianism we’re talking about.  Mills disposed of the happiness calculus altogether because he felt that it was impractical and unreasonable.”

“At its core, though, utilitarianism is only concerned with the outcome of the action rather than the action itself,” I said, “There are times when the outcome isn’t the only part of the action that’s important.  If several people are dying in a hospital because they need organ transplants and a doctor removes organs from a healthy patient to save them, then the outcome is more heavily weighted towards ‘positive’ and overall happiness despite the action being questionable.  This example also goes back to what I was saying earlier, about a majority making the minority’s interests irrelevant.”

“I think, at face-value, you’re right,” Light said, “Utilitarianism would definitely agree that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few in that situation.  But the theory is based around the concept of making a moral society.  I think a utilitarian would also take into account the long-term consequence here, which is what might happen if we create a society where it’s acceptable to kill someone for their organs because they’re in the hospital with other people who need them.  The negatives would come to outweigh the positives, as the people of this society would react to this knowledge.  They might not ever leave their homes for fear of injury, or people in hospitals may protect their organs by responding with violence.  It is about the greater good, but at a societal level, with the functioning—and proper functioning—of a civilization to take into account.  Try applying it to Kira.”

I wasn’t sure I liked where this was going.  “If we’re weighing Kira’s actions from a utilitarian standpoint, and deeming them moral,” I said, “Then we’re potentially creating a society where it’s acceptable to kill criminals, and where people are afraid to commit even minor crimes.”

“In a way, we’re already halfway there,” he said, “Capital punishment is reserved for murder and treason, but we still have it.”

“I’m still not sure,” I started to say, but Light’s eyes met mine, his gaze almost forceful.

“You don’t think a world where people are hesitant to even shoplift would be a bad thing?”

I shook my head.  “Hideki wasn’t a criminal.  What does that mean, then?  A society where law enforcement can be killed, too?”

“Not at all,” Light said, “So far, Kira has only killed law enforcement that pursue him.”

“So a world where Kira is permitted to operate freely,” I murmured, “And by operating freely, he continues to purge the world of criminals, which discourages crimes from being committed.  There could hardly be a tighter circle.”  Light didn’t say anything, waiting for either a counter or an admission of defeat.  “I don’t know how you do it.  A minute ago, I was so sure that the defense was faulty, and now it makes sense.”

He smiled.  “It’s been a while, that’s all.  You’re just a bit rusty with your philosophy.”

“No, I mean it.  I’m admitting defeat to you—again.  And not just because I’m out of arguments.”  I sighed, glancing at the textbook that I hadn’t even opened yet.  “From a purely philosophical standpoint, I don’t think you’re wrong.” 

“That’s an interesting way to say I’m right.”

“You are so full of yourself,” I said with a laugh, knowing that he had every reason to be.  When I looked at him again, his smile was a lot closer.  I almost scooted my chair back.  “Light,” I said firmly, “We literally just debated this.”

“And I won the debate.”

I put a hand on his chest and pushed.  “You are unbelievable.”  He put his hand over mine to hold it there.

“You said you understood me,” he said quietly, “Even if you didn’t agree, you understood.”

“If you’re asking for what I think you’re asking for, then I definitely don’t agree.  You said you’d figure yourself out first.”

“I’m not asking for a date,” he said.

“Then what?  Just a kiss?”  He looked at me expectantly.  “Why?”

“Do you really need a reason?” he asked exasperatedly.

“Yes, I really do.”

“Then why don’t you use the happiness calculus?”

I studied his face for a minute before I realized he was serious.  “Light.”

“The first variable is intensity,” he said with a mischievous smile, “Ask yourself, how strong will the pleasure be?  Well, it’s just one kiss, so probably not too much.  That can be the negative value, maybe five.”

“Light.”

“The second variable is duration,” he continued, pulling me to the edge of my chair.  Our knees were touching.  “Ask yourself, how long will the pleasure last?  Again, it’s just one kiss, so probably not long.  We’ll say that’s worth another negative five.”

“Are you…trying to seduce me with philosophy?”

“Is it working?”

It was, and it was far more enjoyable than it probably would be to someone with more normal hobbies.  I didn’t want to admit how much fun I was having and tried very hard to suppress my smile.  “I don’t know.”

“Then I should probably keep going until you’re sure,” he said seriously, and I giggled at that, turning red when his smile widened, “The third variable is certainty.  Ask yourself, how likely or unlikely is it that pleasure will occur?”  He paused.  “This is a more difficult number to figure.  We have to take into account experience and expectation.  Have you ever kissed before?”

I hesitated for a very long moment before muttering, “No.”

“Then this number will probably be higher.  I do have the experience, and you have nothing to compare it to.  How about fifteen?”

“How about ten?”

“Fair enough.  Next is propinquity.  How soon will you experience pleasure?  That’s completely up to you.”

His voice had noticeably dropped an octave and I had to remind myself that we were just talking about a single kiss.  He was undoubtedly doing it on purpose.  “For the sake of the calculation, I’ll say immediately.”

“That’s definitely a twenty.  Next is fecundity, which is the chances of the pleasure being followed by another similar sensation.”  He paused as if waiting for me to change my mind.  “But that’s not going to happen at all, so that’s a negative twenty.  And then there’s purity, how likely it’ll be followed by pain rather than pleasure.”  He smiled and leaned forward a bit.  There wasn’t much room left between us.  “There isn’t any chance of that happening, so that’s a positive twenty.” 

I could hear my heartbeat in my ears.  “Isn’t there another one?” I almost whispered.

“Extent,” he said with a nod, “How many people will be affected.”

“You and I,” I said, “And Misa.”

“Are you planning on telling her?”

“No.”

 “Then not Misa.  Just the two of us.”  He exhaled onto my lips.  “Did you add up the total yet?”

“No.”  I closed the distance between us. 

When Light had said “one kiss,” we had both thought of a quick peck on the lips but by the time he’d finished going over the happiness calculus, we’d apparently both changed our minds. I wasn’t quite sure what I was supposed to do; the extent of my knowledge of even basic intimacy was what I had seen in TV shows and movies.  Light, however, obviously knew what he was doing, his mouth moving against mine almost feverishly, teeth pulling at my lower lip, one hand on my cheek and the other smoothing down my arm, moving lower.

I pulled away for breath and we both stopped moving, faces flushed and panting.  I’d moved from my chair practically into his lap, and when I noticed, I quickly removed myself from him and looked at my textbook, thinking that it had been anything but just a kiss.  Neither of us spoke.  He was perceptive enough to realize that I was torn between being elated and guilty without needing me to say as much.

We sat in silence for a long time, unsure of what to say, until Light finally broke the silence.  “If I told you that my relationship with Misa is a cover related to the investigation, would you call me a liar?”

“No,” I said, “But that doesn’t mean that she sees it that way.”

“I’m not sure how long you’d have to wait,” he admitted.

The past few minutes were a warning about how dangerous Light could be and how easy it was for him to get what he wanted out of me, and I probably should have been feeling apprehension, or an urge to insist he sort out his relationships before approaching me with it again.  Instead, I felt that I was willing to be patient, because he was right; I did understand him.  Light was an expert at manipulating other people, and I had no illusions about that, but I found myself wanting to manipulate him, as well.

Perhaps it was because of all of the time we’d spent together, or maybe I had always had that side to me and Light had only brought it to the surface.  Whatever it was, I wasn’t consciously aware of it for quite some time, until I decided that being completely receptive to Light’s progressively less subtle advances would work against me.  I was “playing hard to get,” in a sense, in order to hold his interest and force him to move before I did.  I was almost certain that it wasn’t the sort of thing I should be doing, but I knew Light because we had a lot in common, and knew that this was the only way.

“It’s not as if you have a lot of competition,” I told him.

Light, who played a game with everyone around him, recognized that I was interested in playing, as well, and smiled.

The nature of the game then was innocent, if immature.  In time, that would change.

Chapter Text

My game with Light Yagami went on for years without resolution.  In that time, we both graduated from To-Oh—Light joined the NPA, and I went into speech pathology.  He continued seeing Misa, but he arranged to meet me now and then for coffee, and though the meetings became more and more infrequent as time went on, he became more direct, as if he was working on a deadline.  Neither of us budged; he insisted that his relationship with Misa was still necessary.  As my frustration with him grew, so, too, did my regret for not asking him out when I’d had the chance.

Light invited me out again in November, almost exactly four years from the date of Hideki’s death, and we met downtown at a newer café.  Tokyo had a heavy snowfall and a cold winter that year, and I waited a moment longer after we sat down to take off my gloves.  “I’m sorry we haven’t talked much this year,” he said, “You can probably guess how work has been.”

Despite the best efforts of whatever investigation team Hideki had left behind, Kira was still at large years later, and had even gained public support from much of the Japanese populations, but several other nations as well.  Kira’s followers were no longer restricted to the darkened corners of internet message boards as his image as a hero and deity was promoted even by mainstream television programs, and the following that had been quietly growing suddenly came into the light.

Light didn’t show the same distress that he had almost five years ago, though he seemed distracted at times.  I didn’t doubt that he had a lot on his mind.  “I understand,” I said gently.  We ordered two cups of coffee from the waitress, who smiled knowingly at us as she took our menus away.  “Will you get a break to celebrate the new year at least?”

“I hope so.  Do you have any plans?”

“Actually, I’m spending it with my mother.  We haven’t seen each other in a while.”

He seemed surprised, pausing a moment before saying, “Really?  Then things have been better between the two of you?”

“We’ve gotten along better since I moved out,” I said, “We just didn’t make good roommates, I guess.  You’ll be with your family and Misa, then?”

“Yes.  I was hoping I could convince you to stop by, but maybe next year.”

“I’m not sure Misa would be happy to see me.”

“You’re the only female friend I have that she doesn’t feel threatened by,” Light insisted.

I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to feel good or bad about that.  “If she finds out how much time you spend with me, that might change.”  He chuckled at that.  When the coffee arrived, we drank in silence.  I glanced out the window at the soft blanket of freshly-fallen snow that had woven itself over the city. 

“What are you waiting for?” Light asked suddenly, and I turned my attention back to him.  “It’s been almost five years since I started going out with Misa.  You could’ve given up by now.”

This was part of the game we’d been playing, gentle prodding to see if the other was still interested.  Light asked with a curious expression, but beneath that, he sounded almost apprehensive.

“Maybe I should give up,” I said with a shrug and smiled teasingly.  Light didn’t smile back.  “I haven’t,” I assured him, “But I have to be honest with you, Light, I’m not going to wait forever.  If someone approaches me, and I’m interested, I’m not going to say no.”

“What if it’s me?” he asked, “What if it’s a little over a year from now, and I have all my loose ends tied up like you wanted?”

“Then I would definitely say yes.”

Light smiled gently and reached across the table for my hands, squeezing lightly.  “Give me that much time,” he said softly, “Give me a year and a half, and I’ll ask you again.”

For the first time, Light had given me a definitive time frame.  It was hard not to be excited, even if it was a while.  He was right, I had already waited five years; another one would go by soon enough.  “I’m going to hold you to it,” I said, “Eighteen months.  After that, I’m not waiting anymore.”

“Deal.” 

*

I spent New Year’s Eve with my mother.  We sat at the table with a bottle of champagne between us with the TV on in the background giving the countdown to the new year.  “You know,” she said, pouring herself another glass, “I don’t think I ever told you that I was proud of you.”  I shrugged.  “Well, I am.  I am proud of you.” 

“Thanks.”

Our relationship had slowly improved every day that I didn’t live at home, and even though we talked to each other more like acquaintances or work colleagues than family, it was better than every conversation we’d had when I was growing up. 

“You’re a speech something, right?” she asked.

“Speech pathologist.”

“Right.  How’s that going?  Tell me about what you do.”

“I work at a center at the University, and I help people communication disorders.”

“I remember when you were in elementary school,” she laughed, “And you wanted to be a doctor, but you were so afraid of people you didn’t think you could do it.”

 “Yeah.  I’m still a little afraid of people,” I said with a smile, “Just not as bad as before.”

In an awkward way, we were both trying to make up for lost time and have all the talks we’d never had.  I wished we could have done all of it sooner, but on the other hand, I was glad we had come far enough that we could have them at all.  We continued making small talk about our immediate plans and resolutions for the new year until she interrupted herself with a story.

“I never told you this,” she said, “But there was this guy I was really crazy about in high school.  We went on a bunch of dates and I spent a lot of holidays over at his house.  I even lost my virginity to him.”

“Mom,” I gasped, and she laughed.

“Really.  And you know, we kept in touch even after high school.  He went to college, of course, and I started working, but now and then we’d find time to meet each other.  I loved him for a long time, and he loved me, despite everything.  And we kept talking, even after my life became a huge mess, even after I got pregnant and couldn’t remember who the father was.”  She sighed and took a long drink from her glass.  “Of course, everyone’s got a limit to their patience.  He purposefully fell out of touch with me at some point.  I hear he’s gotten married since.  But he sent me one last letter.  I still have it.  He sent money, too, and told me to spend it on you.  You know what I did with it?”

I shook my head.

“I paid for your elementary school uniform.”  My mother looked up from her drink to me, and her expression was solemn but encouraging.  “You know what’s the difference between you and me, though?  You’re not stupid.  You went to college, you graduated, and you’ve got yourself together.  If you never got married, I still wouldn’t worry about you, because I know you can take care of yourself.”

“You’re not stupid,” I tried to say, but she shook her head.

“I don’t want to hear it.  You’re not where you are today because of what I did.  You’re here despite everything I’ve done.”

I felt my face heat up and my eyes stung with tears, but before I could cry, she turned to the TV.  “Damn, we missed it,” she said, and raised her glass with a grin, “Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year,” I said, and we clinked our glasses together in a silent vow to overcome all of our regrets. 

*

The following year was the calm before the storm, a long and quiet period where Light and I grew apart as the investigation became more demanding.  By the summer, our meetings completely stopped, and I didn’t hear a word from him.  Kira remained as active as always, and criminals were killed off steadily.  The crime rate was at an all-time low, and I couldn’t imagine that made the investigation any easier. 

At the end of the fall, I was starting to count down the months that Light had left, but I was beginning to think that it was time for me to move on.  As I left work and headed for the train station, I found myself wondering what sorts of things he might be dealing with.  The immediate threat, of course, was the Kira investigation, but I wondered if he might be worried about what would come afterwards.  Kira was a deity only to some, but he was a hero to most.  How would it make the NPA look if they finally apprehended him?  Would there be rioting in the streets demanding his release?  Would his execution lead to complete anarchy as people realized their god had been murdered?  Or would society slowly return to the way it had been before Kira had appeared?

Would that be better or worse?

It was almost nine when the train arrived, and the cars were mostly empty at that hour.  That was the only reason that I took note of one of the only other passengers riding with me.  I studied the sullen face of the man sitting across from me for a minute, certain he was familiar, and when he looked up at me and stared back a moment before saying my name slowly, it finally clicked.

“Daigo?” I asked quietly, and he nodded.  It was the man I had gone on subsidized dates with in high school. 

“You look well,” he said with a weak smile. 

I thanked him rather than said, “you, too,” because he didn’t look so good.  Daigo was likely on his way back from work, as well, wearing a suit and carrying a briefcase, but he was pale and slouched in his seat.  He looked miserable.  “Headed home?” I asked.  He didn’t answer right away.

“My wife filed for divorce,” he said finally, “Not recently.  A few years ago.  She found out about, you know.”

I nodded, not at all willing to have this conversation.

“It’s been tough.  I only get to see my daughter on the weekends.  She’s starting middle school soon.  She doesn’t’ know why we split up.”

“I’m sorry,” I told him weakly.

“It’s okay,” he said, looking down at his briefcase.  “It’s okay.  I’m okay.”  I had the distinct feeling that he didn’t plan on going home, but I didn’t know what to do.  As guilty as I felt about just leaving him, he knew the risks he was taking when he went on subsidized dates.

And so did I, when I learned that he had a family. 

“Do you want to talk?” I asked. 

“No.  No, that’s okay.”

I tried to think of something helpful to say, but my stop was next.  “This is my stop,” I said as the train began to slow, “Daigo, think about your daughter.  Don’t do anything that would hurt her.”

“I won’t,” he said, and then stood, “And this is my stop, too.”

I tried not to frown as he followed me out the open doors and to the exit of the station.  Daigo walked a few steps behind me for a few streets until I didn’t feel comfortable anymore and stopped to face him.  “Do you live near here?” I asked.  He didn’t say anything.  I took a step back.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, and I stopped to hear him out, “I’m sure you don’t want to talk to me right now.  But what are the odds that we’d run into each other again?  I was going to kill myself, you know.  Just end it.  And then I ran into you.  Like it was meant to happen.”  He reached into his pocket and I saw something glint in the dim lighting of the street lamp above us.  I turned on my heel and ran, but I heard him start after me not a moment later, and I started screaming.

We were on a side street in a residential area, and even though no one was outside, I hoped someone might hear me.  I looked back over my shoulder a few times, wondering if I would be able to outrun him, but one of the times I looked back, he wasn’t running anymore.  When he collapsed, I slowed to a stop and turned around, watching him convulse and groan for help.  He reached one shaky hand towards me and I stood, paralyzed in fear, and finally fell to my knees when the initial fear died down and they began to ache.

I was certain that Daigo had just had a heart attack. 

Someone approached from the direction we’d come and passed Daigo without so much as looking at him.  When this stranger stepped into the circle of light cast by the street lamp above us, I slowly looked up into eyes that almost glinted red framed by black glasses and my breath caught in my throat.

“Are you alright?” he said.  I nodded, and he offered a hand to help me to my feet.  “Would you like me to walk you back home?”  I still couldn’t find my voice.  “Don’t be afraid.”  He smiled.  “God is watching over you.”

On a cold night in the beginning of December, I was certain that I had finally gazed upon the face of the god of judgment. 

Chapter Text

I was haunted by the face of god and didn't dare to even leave my apartment for some time, calling in sick to work for the next day and spending the weekend inside as the events of the previous night finally sunk in.  I had been rescued by Kira.  I wasn't sure what other conclusion I could draw from it.  I had known the moment Daigo suddenly collapsed that it had to be Kira, but to have actually seen him and heard his voice, to have seen Daigo die and then see the man who had killed him, that had left me shaken up for the rest of the night.  Of course I had heard that nobody knew how Kira killed, but I had witnessed the result with my own eyes and that made it so much more real.

I had a million questions and worries, because it had happened right when I needed help, which meant that either Kira was following me or he truly possessed omniscience, and both possibilities were terrifying.  I couldn't come up with any reasons for being followed, which made the latter seem likely, though I had seen Kira, and he was obviously human, but if he had some strange power that allowed him to kill from afar, then I could believe he had other powers, as well.

What was more worrisome was where this situation left me.  Kira, whose work had undeniably done good things for our society, had saved my life.  Did I consider his actions justified, despite all of the innocent people that had died trying to apprehend him, including a close friend?    It seemed as if I was looking at a slightly modified problem of evil--a god who killed criminals and law enforcement alike, though only if the latter stood in his way.  But unlike all of the uncertainty that surrounded the traditional problem of evil, I had become convinced that Kira really did seek a better world but used extreme measures to accomplish his goals.

And, of course, I thought a while about whether or not I should tell Light.  He had been working tirelessly to catch Kira for years now, and even though I didn't know for certain, my information could potentially be helpful to the investigation.  But Kira had gone so long without getting caught; I wasn't sure why he would show his face to me.  Was he certain that I wouldn't say anything?  There were so many people who supported Kira now that perhaps several people knew his face but they were all his followers.  Or, more worryingly, maybe he was still watching me, and would somehow know if I went to tell someone.

I thought about Kira himself, who was fighting for a better future.  I thought about Hideki, who had been doing the same thing, and had died to do it.  And I thought about Light, who was continuing that fight where Hideki had left off.

I made my choice.

*

"It really surprised me when you called," LIght said as we found our seats at the same café we'd met at almost a year earlier.  "I'm sorry we haven't met lately."

"It's okay," I said, "I know you're busy.  I just wanted to talk to you about something.  How have you been?"

"Less than ideal.  I try to talk to Mom as often as I can.  Ever since Dad...."  He stopped.

"What?"  My eyes widened.  "Light, you never told me about that."

"I didn't want to bother you," he said, "It's just a bad time for our family right now."  He looked across the table.  "What was it you wanted to tell me?"

"God, Light," I shook my head, "Never mind."  I wasn't sure I could tell him after knowing he already had so much on his plate.

"Please," he urged, smiling gently, "It's okay, we're doing alright.  It's been a long time since we've talked.  I'd like to hear whatever you have to say."

I stared down at the table for a long time before I lowered my voice.  "It has to do with your investigation."

Light's smile fell and he leaned in to listen.  "What is it?"

I took a deep breath to steady myself.  "I think I saw Kira's face."

He studied my expression silently, asking very slowly, "When?"

"Last week.  I...he saved my life."  He didn't say anything for a moment.  "I'm sorry," I said, "That's not important.  I'm so sorry, Light, I'm still a little shaken up, and I didn't even know about your dad, this is probably the last thing you want to hear right now...."

"No," he insisted, and his eyes seemed a bit brighter, "Listen to me, it's very important that you tell me what you saw."

I still hesitated.  "When you catch Kira," I said slowly, "What will happen?"

"He'll be executed.  He's killed more people than any other modern serial killer...."

"No, I mean after that," I interrupted, "What will people do?  Do you think the crime rate will go back up?"

Light was silent.  "What are you trying to say?"

"Light, I think I've become a theist, in the philosophical sense," I admitted, "I do not worship Kira, but I do believe he exists, and I'm worried about what will happen if he's apprehended."

"What are you saying, that I shouldn't try to catch him?"

"No, I...."  I stopped.  That was exactly what I was saying.  "I don't know."

"Are you saying that you agree with him?"  Light's voice was a little more firm now, but he didn't sound angry so much as determined to get a straight answer.  "Yes or no?  Do you agree with what he's doing?"

"I-I don't know," I said weakly.  I didn't want to hold Light's intense gaze but I couldn't look away.  "Yes," I finally caved, voice cracking, "Yes, I...I agree."

Light closed his eyes and I held my breath, waiting for them to open and for me to find disappointment, but before that, he held his hand out over the table, silently asking for my hand.  I reluctantly reached out and he laced our fingers together.  When his eyes opened, I saw no disappointment.  I saw relief, and I only became more confused.  "You need to be careful about who you tell those kinds of things," he said quietly, "You could get in trouble."

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

"I know you're worried about the impact Kira's arrest would have on a society that's embraced him," he went on, "And believe me, I've thought about it, too.  But I still need you to describe the person you saw the best you can."  He smiled gently.  "Even if you agree with Kira's ideals, you wouldn't have told me unless you agreed with mine, too, right?"

"I...right."

"Ultimately, we want the same thing; a world without crime.  We're just approaching it two different ways."  I looked away.  "I'm not mad at you," he said, "But I'm wondering how you came to feel the way you do now."

"When I saw him," I said quietly, "I almost didn't believe it.  I'm not wealthy, I'm not a politician or a celebrity, I'm nobody special.  I have never believed in any god before, but there he was, saving my life.  It's scary to think that if he hadn't done what he did, I might have died.  Maybe I would have tripped and fell.  Maybe nobody would have heard me screaming.  Maybe help would have come too late.  The difference between Kira and the police is more than just their moral stance; it's how capable they are of helping people in need."

"You really think he's a god?"

"I know he's a human," I said, "And that makes him exactly the kind of god I prefer."

I described the man I had seen to Light as well as I could, recalling his dark hair, glasses, and the long coat he'd worn, and Light thanked me.  "Am I the only person you've talked to about this?" he asked.

"Yes."

"You probably shouldn't tell anyone else."

I promised I wouldn't.  Light got up to leave after that, but I stopped him.  "Am I..." I hesitated, "going to get in trouble for this?"

Light smiled at me very gently.  "No.  Everything's going to be just fine."

*

I found myself thinking as I walked out of the café about Hideki's suspicions of Light that had once bothered me so much.  It had been a long time since I'd thought about it, but Light's reactions to my information earlier had brought it back to the forefront of my mind.  I'd realized before that the ideal place for Kira to hide would be among those trying to find him, and Light had even joined the NPA.  I walked more slowly as I thought about his strange relationship with Misa and all of the times he'd acted strangely, from when I'd known him in high school to the present.  

"Watch it!" someone cried, and I looked up in time to see a flash of gold and just avoided running into someone.  It was Misa, dressed not quite warmly enough for December with a short skirt and her jacket down around her shoulders.  "Oh!" she gasped, "It's you!"

"Hi," I greeted, wondering if she'd seen Light leave before me.  She was smiling, so I guessed she hadn't.

She introduced the person with her, a bigger man in a tan suit whom she told me was her manager.  "It's been so long," she said excitedly, "How are you?"

"I'm alright.  How are you?"

"Great!"  She frowned.  "Actually, not so great.  Light and I haven't gotten to spend a lot of time together."

That got my attention.  I knew Light had been busy with work, but I thought they lived together.  "I'm sorry to hear that."

"That's not the worst part, though.  There's this other girl that he sees all the time!  It's Kiyomi Takada, from that show on TV."

"Misa," her manager said uneasily, "I'm not sure you should be...."

"It's fine," she said with a dismissive wave, "She knows a little about the investigation.  Anyway, that's the only reason Light's spending with Kiyomi; he's just using her.  But she's so dumb she think he's in love with her, and she's really smug about it.  I don't like it when Light spends time with other girls!  I mean, you're okay since you don't like him like that."

I stared at her and tried to figure out what was going on.  Light had told me that he was dating Misa for the investigation, and I had figured that it was a cover of some sort.  Suddenly, he was also dating Kiyomi again, and Misa explicitly told me that it wasn't genuine.

"I wouldn't worry," I told her, "You said yourself that's it's only for the investigation, right?"

"I know.  It just makes me mad."  Misa's manager cleared his throat and looked pointedly at his watch, glancing to me with sympathy.  "Oh my gosh, I forgot!  I'm in a hurry.  Sorry," she said, and started walking again, "We'll talk again some other time!"

"Okay."  I waved weakly and watched her disappear down the street, the gears in my head already turning as I resolved to get to the bottom of whatever was going on.

*

Most forums agreed that Kira first appeared in the last few days of November of 2003, and I could confirm that the first news report acknowledging the mass killing of criminals was at the very beginning of December of that year.  That was coincidentally around the same time that Light and I began talking in our philosophy class, which sent a chill down my spine.

Criminals continued to die at a steady rate throughout the month and into the next year.  In April, Kira addressed the people of Japan on Sakura TV.  I couldn't find anything of note that happened between there, but Light's bizarre relationships with Kiyomi and Misa alerted me to their involvement somehow.  He started dating Kiyomi sometime that year, though I couldn't remember exactly when, and I heard about Misa through Sayu not long after, and not long before she was arrested.

It was around that time that Hideki and Light both disappeared, apparently held by the investigation team.  When I had gone to visit, Misa had been there as well.  Had Hideki suspected her, too?  There had been talk online about multiple Kiras, especially when he began killing company CEOs rather than criminals, an event that the forums dated to July of that year.  If there were more than one with the power to kill remotely, then the man I had seen could be Kira, and still leave open the possibility that Light was, as well.

I plotted out the dates on some paper and spread them out over the table, and I marked the major players involved.  There were Kiyomi and Misa, both of whom were romantically interested in Light as covers for something.  There was Hideki, who had suspected Light and who had been killed by Kira.  There was the man I had seen who I thought must have Kira's powers.  And there was Light, who was working to catch Kira now.  I didn't have enough information to really suspect Light of anything, but I didn't doubt that evading arrest for five years was something he could accomplish.

I had spent years denying it, trying to convince myself that Light could not be Kira, but when I thought back to every debate I'd ever had with Light, every talk we'd ever had about Kira and justice, I knew that I couldn't avoid it forever.  I knew, even without any hard evidence, that there was a distinct possibility that Light could be Kira.

Inevitably, I wondered if I, too, was being used, just as Misa and Kiyomi were.  We weren't romantically involved, but that was only because of my insistence rather than a lack of interest.  If I had said yes to Light in high school, would I be in Kiyomi's position, another cover of some sort?  Was Light's interest even genuine?  The time frame he had given me--eighteen months, twelve of which were already gone--was also puzzling.  He had only been dating Misa at the time, but now he had two relationships to take care of.  And what was to stop him from pursuing someone else in secret while we were dating publicly?

I was concerned, but not overly.  As Light had said before, I knew him, and when he had given me his deadline, it made me think that he would have no need for a cover any longer.  And of course, I thought, if Light turned out to be Kira, then I was most certainly being used.  Every debate we'd had in recent memory had been used to justify his actions and strengthen his resolve in his pursuit of a utopian society.

When I looked back at all of my interactions with Light through that lens, they made sense, and I had to ask myself, "If Light is Kira, then what do I do?"

I didn't have an answer right away.  

Chapter Text

Some say that god died in modern secular culture, or perhaps along with the concept of transcendence.  Some say that god died with his incarnation as Christ.  Some say that god died when the world was created.  And some say that god died in the concentration camps of World War II.  Maybe they’re right.

But the god that I believed in did not die from a lack of faith or a change in human perception and ideals, because my god was only a man, and such things do not kill men.  I may never know the entire truth of what happened, but if I had to put a date to the death of god, it would have been on the 28^th of January, 2010, and if I must assume a cause, it could have only been murder.

On January 24^th—four days before the death of god—I received a text message from a number I didn’t recognize asking that I come to a certain coffee shop alone and wait at the table closest to the back the next evening.  I thought briefly about telling Light, but with my suspicions of him renewed, I decided to keep it to myself.  There was a good chance he already knew, after all.

I arrived the following day at the appointed time to find the place mostly empty, and had no trouble securing the table at the very back, furthest from the windows.  I didn’t wait more than a few minutes before I heard the bells above the door jingle as it opened and someone slid into the booth behind me.  I was just opening a book to read when the person spoke, and I froze.

“You’ll be receiving something soon,” said the voice of the man who’d saved me, “From god himself.”

I didn’t answer or turn to look at him, remaining where I sat and tried to appear calm and casual to anyone who might be looking.  He no doubt had a reason to be sitting behind me rather than at the same table.

“It’s alright,” he said, “There’s nothing to be afraid of.  I’m only here to explain.”

“Is someone following you?” I asked quietly, eyes down.

“I’ve been warned that there’s a possibility of that, but they’re not inside now, nor are they close enough to see that I’m speaking to you.”

I turned the page.  “What is it that I’m going to get?”

“An envelope,” he said, “And you are not to open it until January 28^th has passed.”

“What’s on the 28^th?”

He didn’t answer immediately.  “Something very important.”

He didn’t stay long after, leaving without another word, but I didn’t have to ponder the meaning of his words for long. 

On the evening of the 27^th, there was a knock at the door.  Light was standing there, a book and a manila envelope under his arm.  I stared wordlessly, certain now, and I knew, from the gentle and reassuring smile on Light’s face, that he knew I had finally figured it out.  “Hey,” he said, and I timidly nodded in greeting, stepping aside to let Kira into my apartment.

Light set both items down on the table in the living room.  “Be sure to put this somewhere safe,” he said, and I nodded, still stunned.  Even though I had known—all along, maybe—it was still surprising to have the answer delivered so obviously.  Light did everything for a reason; I wondered why he had chosen now to tell me.  He motioned for me to follow him and went to the apartment balcony, sliding the glass doors open and standing out in the cool, night air, leaning on the railing.  I stood beside him, staring up at the sky, unable to ask the things I really wanted to ask, almost afraid.

Light broke the silence first, eyes fixed on the large, almost-full moon above us.  “I’m ending my relationship with Misa tomorrow,” he said, and I looked over at him, my heart beating faster.  I should have asked why, or if she knew, but I didn’t.

“What about Kiyomi?” I asked. 

Light wasn’t even fazed that I knew.  He turned to face me, one hand still on the railing, the other coming up to rest on my cheek and he said, softly, “She isn’t a problem anymore.”

I looked up into Light’s eyes, and I saw there what I had seen in November years ago in a high school philosophy class, a burning passion like fire, but no longer was he idling as he dreamt of a world that would never come to pass.  He had the means, the power, to change everything, and he was going to use them to their full potential. 

“I should be afraid of you,” I told him, “Hearing that should have scared me, or made me run away.”

“But you’re still here.  You’re not afraid.”  Light’s other hand left the balcony railing and came to rest on my right side. 

“How long?” I asked, “How long have you…been….”

“A while.” 

“In high school, too?  That last year?”

He nodded, still smiling.  “How long have you known?”

“I don’t know,” I said, “I want to say I only just figured it out, but maybe I’ve known for a while.”

“Does it change how you feel?”

“No.  Not at all.”

He leaned in.  “I can’t stay tonight,” he whispered against my lips, “There’s something I have to do tomorrow.  But I wanted to tell you that you don’t have to wait anymore.”  He moved to close the distance, and this time, I met him halfway, letting my eyes shut and bringing my arms around his neck.  Light licked at my lips and I opened my mouth, letting him take over and blushing when a little whimper escaped.  I had waited so long for this, and now that it was here, I could hardly think straight.  Light’s hands were both on my waist, smoothing down my sides and reaching for the edges of my clothing, and I pulled away for breath, almost panting as I looked up at Light. 

I had never seen that look on his face before.  His cheeks were flushed as he, too, tried to catch his breath, the smallest hint of a smile on his lips, and his eyes were burning with desire and wanting.  Any thoughts I’d had about Kira and anything I was worried about slipped my mind when Light swooped in for another kiss, one of his hands slipping under my shirt and I inhaled sharply.  His other hand reached for the hem of my pants, but he stopped then, as if he suddenly remembered where he was.

“Do you at least have an hour?” I asked timidly, still holding onto him.

Light blinked, almost as surprised with me as I was at my forwardness.  “I might,” he said with a grin and led me by the hand back inside.

Those moments were filled with a whirlwind of emotions, and I was consumed by longing, led by the god of judgment into the most primal, basic dance known to living things, and everything blurred together into sensations, a rush of heat that spread throughout my body, the feeling of his hands on my bare skin.  I was confident, then, even elated, that I had been victorious, that the reward for my patience was coming, that I was in the place closest to god, seeing things that no other person had seen.

It did not feel like love, but it did feel like comfort, like we had both finally come home to something familiar after such a long time away.  I was certain now of god’s humanity and imperfection, and that this was the god I believed in.  Sharing breath, our bodies so close and connected that I couldn’t tell where he ended and I began and the space between us was as close to nonexistent as it could ever be, my name on his tongue and his on mine. 

Yet at the same time, I reflected on Light Yagami who I had met in high school and the differences between him and the person in my bed that night.  I wasn’t sure they were quite the same.  Of course we had both changed in five years, growing wiser and perhaps more cynical, but the changes in Light were more than that.  Maybe, I thought, man dies when god is born.  Maybe Light had died long ago, long before Hideki’s death, and maybe this rapture was his remembrance.

I shared a bed with the god of judgment, and I recognized him as both who he once was and who he had become.

*

“A light has dawned on me: I need companions, living ones, not dead companions and corpses which I carry with me wherever I wish,” Light read, smiling as I finally came out of the bedroom and back into the living room.  “But I need living companions who follow me because they want to follow themselves—and who want to go where I want to go.”  The book he had brought me was a copy of Thus Spoke Zarathustra, a gift he said he’d intended to give me long ago.  “A light has dawned on me: Zarathustra shall not speak to the people but to companions!  Zarathustra shall not be herdsman and dog to the herd!  To lure many away from the herd—that is why I have come.”

“In some places,” I said, approaching the table as he closed the book, “It’s a perfect analogy for you.  But in some places, it’s exactly the opposite.”

“I never claimed to be a god,” Light said, handing the book to me, “The title was given to me.”

“You didn’t turn it down.  People see the face of god in all sorts of strange places when they look for it.  Windows, toast, prolific serial murderers….”

“What do you think?” Light asked.

“I think you’re more convincing than the first two, which is stranger than it sounds.”

He stood to leave.  “Tomorrow,” he said, “Will see the birth of a new world.”  It was a promise.

 “I want to see you then,” I told him, and he said I would, leaning over for one last kiss before he went to the door, smiled again, and disappeared.

I never spoke the words, “I love you,” to Light Yagami, nor did he ever say anything like that to me.  Thinking back, I’m not sure I had many chances.   The person who left my apartment on January 27^th was not Light, but Kira, and he had been for some time already.  I know that we both embraced each other with desperation that night, an urge to completely possess the other person, but the word “love” never passed our lips, maybe because it was too late. 

Kira, god of blind judgment, loved no one, and was maybe incapable of love.

But I think that Light Yagami might have loved me once.

Chapter Text

There was no snow on the morning of the 28^th. 

I went to work, but I drifted to the break room between appointments to catch the news, waiting for something.  Whatever it was, I never heard it.  At the end of the day, I went home, and I waited longer, pacing until exhaustion overtook me and I sat my desk to read out of the book Light had left me. 

What was the point of Zarathustra’s struggle, I wondered.  He was a wise man who thought of the world differently than anyone else, but in the end, only a small group truly believed in him.  He preached eternal recurrence; that everything in life, all of its struggles and pleasures, would all be repeated by mankind indefinitely.  That is the difference between humans and those who ascend beyond their humanity; when given this knowledge, a human is overtaken by regret and seeks to change all of their mistakes.  A greater creature would simply find happiness in every moment and would not change anything at all.

Not that it mattered.  None of Zarathustra’s followers went beyond their humanity the way he was able to, and he was left alone in his enlightenment.

One minute into January 29^th, I set the book down and pulled the envelope out of my desk.  Light had never told me what he had to do, but I had an inexplicable feeling of dread that mounted as I began to open the envelope with shaking fingers. 

The first thing I pulled out was a letter addressed to me in Light’s handwriting.

“If you’re reading this, then I’m dead.”

I stopped reading after the first line for a minute and checked the time again.  Could it be that there was a delay of some sort?  I didn’t want to believe that, after all these years, something had finally caught up to him.  But as the minutes passed by, the idea began to sink in.  Light was meticulous.  The envelope was a fail-safe, a last resort in case something went wrong.  He was counting on me to read it.

“Along with this letter, I’ve left you all the tools you need to pick up where I left off.  I understand that you might be torn about whether or not you should continue Kira’s work, and I will provide you twenty-four hours to come to a decision.”

And then what?  How could he know what I chose if he was dead?  I kept reading.

“I’ve left these things with you because I think you are the person best-suited for this task, and, to be perfectly honest, you are the only person I know who is capable of doing so.  The choice is ultimately yours, but I urge you to think carefully of all the times we’ve ever talked about a world in which Kira is allowed to do what must be done.”

He didn’t sign his name at the bottom, but it wasn’t necessary.  I went through the rest of the envelope’s contents and found a stack of papers, notes that Light had compiled over the years.  Most of them were related to the Kira investigation, detailed explanations of his plans and whether or not they went the way they were supposed to.  There were many notes discussing “L,” “N,” and “shinigami,” and I knew there was more information than I could possibly digest in one sitting, so I set it aside.

The last thing in the envelope was a slim, black notebook, the words “DEATH NOTE” carved into the front cover.  The first page was different from the rest, unlined and containing numbered rules.

“The human whose name is written in this note shall die.”

I almost recoiled when I read the words as I began to understand.  Light had left me with the tool with which he’d begun carving the trail to the new world, the power that had allowed him to kill thousands of people without even being present.  My fingers were white around the notebook as I tried to read the rest of the rules, but my vision became clouded with tears and I had to set it down as the reality of the situation finally crashed down on me.

Light was dead.

Light Yagami, Kira, god of judgment, was dead.

And he wanted me to finish what he had started.

Despite my initial tears, I didn’t cry for long, feeling more numb than mournful.  Maybe it was because Light had died long ago, and Kira rose from his ashes.  It may not have happened all at once.  Maybe it was a process that spanned years, many deaths and rebirths, and the pining I did from afar was how I had mourned each of his passings.  It was difficult to cry for this last, physical death because I simply felt lost.

I knew Light, almost as well as I had known Kira, and he had known me.  But as I looked down at the black cover of the notebook, I thought he might have misjudged me. 

It was hardly fair; when Light met me, I had been an atheist, and he’d had the nerve and the persuasion to convert me.  I may not have worshipped Kira, though I recognized and agreed with his ideals.  But after this, after learning of the death of god, a god that I believed in, I knew that, by default, I had become a theothanatologist.

Light was dead.

God was dead.

I looked again at the notebook, and then at the mess of papers Light had left behind, and I started sifting through them.  I knew, as I began reading, that he had truly believed in what he was doing.  The manuscript I held in my hands might as well have been the word of god, and he’d left it with me because he believed that I could do what needed to be done.  I didn’t want to prove him wrong.

Then again, I didn’t believe in an afterlife.  Light would never know if I hadn’t been able to do it.  And yet, despite my conscious mind telling me that I couldn’t, that I wasn’t strong enough, I wanted to do it.  I wanted to accomplish what Light could not.  I wanted to see the new world that we’d talked about for myself.

So I read the notes, from beginning to end, from November of 2003 when he found the instrument of humanity’s salvation on the ground to January of 2010, when he met the opposition that would be his demise.  I read about “L,” who used the alias Hideki Ryuuga, and whom Light had spent more than a year trying to outsmart.  I read about Teru Mikami and his religious fervor, and how Light had been grateful to him for rescuing me.  I read about “N,” later called “Near,” and a meeting to be held on the 28^th of January.  And finally, I read about the “shinigami,” the god of death whose notebook now sat on my desk.

When I finished reading, it was almost four in the morning.  I had twenty hours left to make a choice, but I wouldn’t use them.  I had already decided.

*

The god of death came at midnight, oozing through the wall in my room and towering over me.  He was tall and garbed in black, his fingers long and claw-tipped, and his face was frozen in a grin.  If I hadn’t known he was coming, I would have been frightened, though his appearance still startled me.  I stayed where I was, seated in the chair at my desk, and looked up at him.

“You’re Ryuk, right?” I asked, and he nodded, “Then you’re here to ask if I’ve made a decision yet?”

He chuckled, the sound rough like sandpaper.  “That’s right.  So, have you?  Because there’s an antsy god of death who’d like his notebook back if you don’t want it.”

I turned away from him momentarily to grab the book Light had left me.  “Have you ever heard of Thus Spoke Zarathustra?” I asked.

He paused, trying to find the relevance.  “No.”

“It was one of Light’s favorite books.”  I opened the front cover and thumbed through the introduction.  “‘God is dead,’” I read to him, “'God remains dead.  And we have killed him.  Yet his shadow still looms.'”

“That was Light’s favorite?” he chuckled, “How ironic.”

“Almost prophetic,” I nodded, and snapped the book shut, looking up at him.  “My answer is yes.”

“Oh?”  His eyes glinted in amusement.  “And here I was, sure a day wouldn’t be enough time for you to think it over.  Light waited five whole days before testing the notebook.”

“I would’ve, too,” I admitted, “But we’ve both changed a lot since high school.”

“Out of curiosity,” Ryuk said, “Why did you decide to do it?  Did you also love ‘Kira?’  Or maybe you worshipped him?”

“No,” I said, tucking the notebook away into my desk drawer and standing up, “On both counts.  I didn’t love Kira; I loved Light.  And I’ve never worshipped him, or any other god.  I used to be an atheist, actually.”

“Used to be?”

“Kira converted me into a theist—I believed in him.  And then I became a theothanatologist the other night—since he died.”

“And now?”

“Now I’m an autotheist.  I am god.”

There was a short silence as he absorbed the answer before he murmured something about having the strangest sense of déjà vu, and then he hurriedly followed as I began to shut the door, his body halfway through it.  “Wait, where are you going?”

“I’ve been thinking about publishing a paper on the correlation between criminal behavior and difficulties in communication,” I said, locking the door, “Naturally, I have to do some field research, and I’ve already gone through the proper channels to interview a certain criminal today.”

“You’re going to talk to Teru Mikami, aren’t you?” he asked, “You’re going to ask him for the names he saw in the warehouse.”

“I’m sure he remembers.  He was devoted to Kira, after all.”

“You’ve read the rules, right?  A name’s only half of what you need.”

“I know,” I said, “But Light chose me because he knew I could do it.  I may have always come in second place to him on tests, but I think we’re almost equals out of the classroom.  I have all of the same tools that he did; except I also have a list of his mistakes.”

“You have a pretty positive outlook for someone whose god died,” Ryuk chuckled.

I couldn’t help but smile.  “God is dead,” I said, “But his shadow still looms.”