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Light Yagami was perfect.
He knew this. Everyone knew this. He knew that everyone knew this.
The way he held himself, with his arms pivoted at his side as if giving a formal salute, demanded attention from anyone and everyone. The way he stared down his long, peach nose at those he deemed unworthy of his time was intense, precise, accurate. His fingers held onto objects for only as long as needed, his lips parted only to offer simple feedback, and his shoes created such timely and rhythmic taps on the ground that people classrooms away would know when the Light Yagami was arriving. They would know.
He was typically handsome with nothing too special about his appearance, but his stylish antics added to his massive appeal. The sharp suits, fitted precisely around his shoulders and ankles, the ironed ties colored blood red, the shine that reflected from his temple to his jawline, all were fancy touches that made every person, regardless of their idea of beauty, breathe, eat, and sleep Light Yagami.
But no one, absolutely no one, loved Light Yagami more than Light Yagami himself, and no one, absolutely no one, was loved by Light Yagami in turn. He could appreciate general aesthetic, could understand who was attractive and who wasn’t, but this understanding would only be extended to those he knew would give him what he wanted. When he was done with them, done pretending to be interested in their lives and the foolish ways in which they lived them, he tossed them aside like leaves in the wind, feeling nothing but annoyance at having wasted his time.
People were numbers to him, just statistics and percentages, and he felt - no, he knew - that no one but himself should be allowed the right to mess with them. A part of him felt disgusted by the glee that overcame him when he meddled in personal affairs, as his favorite trait was his utter lack of interest in everything, but he decided to focus on what he knew was perfect and forget everything else; it would be completely ridiculous if the most influential person in the country was a bumbling idiot, right?
Light Yagami was not a bumbling idiot. He knew everything about anything. His marks were sublime, his social status was nothing short of fabulous, everything from his tone of voice down to his handwriting and anything in between was angelic. God Himself could not have given Light Yagami anything more, for Light Yagami was incorrigibly perfect.
Only a true devil of Hell, one of Lucifer’s own demons, could ever knock Light Yagami from his rightful throne. Only a poisonous serpent, gifted with a tongue of deception and hatred, glittering with scales of vicious intent, could rot the apple that perched gracefully between his slender fingers, could boil his blood so red-hot that for a single moment, the only moment in the history of his reign, Light Yagami would slip.
Any torturer of this design would deserve only the most wicked of punishments, and Light Yagami was more than prepared to give one. Every inch of him, every centimeter of his perfect and smooth skin, ached to thrash and tear at anyone who defied him, ached to turn their intestines into festive ribbon, ached to cut and cut and cut and cut until their eyes bled with the force and they had to, finally, leave him alone to tend to his world and his throne and his roses.
The man who skirted the edge of his corneas, the man who fed him words of destruction and chaos and deceit, the man who, no matter how silently he pleaded, would not give up, was Light Yagami’s only competitor, and the single last person on Earth he wanted to love.