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It’s raining, and they’re drawn to it.
We say it’s cleansing, the rain, that it washes away our sins. But perhaps it just drowns out the truth, inviting us to say what we can never bring ourselves to part with.
When Light joins L on the rooftop, he’s making the unspoken promise to leave the lies behind, just this once.
They’ve become so used to understanding each other silently that when they speak, it’s rarely meant for one another. It’s part of the game for which they never bothered to set any rules, because they both know exactly what it takes to win.
Light leans on the railing next to L, and when L doesn’t move, Light knows it means he’s been waiting. So he says it.
“I’m going to kill you tomorrow.”
It’s a strange feeling, being relieved that your executioner has the dignity to take off his mask when you ask him to.
“I know.”
“You know?”
“I’ve known since you accepted the handcuffs.”
“I wasn’t even Kira then.”
“You’ve always been Kira. You just… forgot how.”
Light drops his head, and L isn’t sure he’d have the strength to debate it. It’s probably on purpose then, that Light lets it go.
“What was it about the handcuffs?”
“You never asked when they would come off. You never asked any questions, about anything. You let me do everything I wanted, because you knew it wouldn’t make any difference.”
“And you let me lie all this time?”
“I let you do what you wanted.”
“Because you knew it wouldn’t make any difference?”
L nods quietly.
“I didn’t ask about the handcuffs because it was just one of your tests, and if I had asked, you wouldn’t have used them.”
“We agreed not to lie.”
“Is it really lying if you can tell?”
L closes his eyes; he wants to turn, he wants to look at the man he’s tried to take apart so he could rebuild him without the broken piece, but it’s too late now, and he failed. So he doesn’t turn, and he doesn’t look.
“No. But it’s become harder, not to see the version of you that I’ve wanted. And it’s cruel, that you let me see it so often.”
“Is it really? I quite like it, seeing you like this, every day.”
Light looks at L, but L is focused on the pavement so far below. It’s dark, and the rain blurs out all the sharp edges. There’s nothing to look at. Light wonders if L would jump. It never crosses L’s mind.
“I wish you weren’t Kira.”
Light laughs, and L smiles into the darkness.
“Look who’s lying now.”
“Forgive me. These are the thoughts of a dying man. I guess I was trying to be romantic.”
“It doesn’t suit you.”
“It doesn’t. Did you like it?”
“Not really.”
“Me neither.”
L draws himself up, but he keeps one hand on the railing. It’s a tether, the freezing iron in his palm a reminder that he’s not dead yet. If he let go, he wouldn’t like what else he might grab onto.
“It’s L Lawliet.”
Light remains bent over the fence. He can’t trust what he’d do if he found himself standing in front of L, looking like that. The rain plasters his hair to his face, and he looks tired, with rain in his eyes instead of tears.
“I want you to write my name. Not the shinigami.”
Light wants to ask, but he doesn't, because L already understands. He's always understood, and it's always been too fast. It was exciting at first, it still is, but Light can't help thinking they might have missed something, within the race, something that might have been worth slowing down for.
“I can’t believe L is your actual name.”
“I chose it. When I was four. They called me L at the orphanage, and I thought it stood for Light. Isn’t that funny? Turns out it was just the next letter in the succession, and it didn’t stand for anything.”
“If you think this is going to make me change my mind…”
“I don’t stand for anything.”
They find themselves staring at each other through the rain, and for once, they’re not sure what they’re thinking. They search each other’s eyes, but there are no answers, because they never asked themselves the one question that could have broken through the invisible wall they rushed to build one lie at a time. It doesn’t matter that they can see through it. The wall stands strong.
“L?”
“Yes?”
“We’re getting soaked.”
“Right.”
“Let’s go back inside.”
They leave the rain behind, but it clings to them. It’s in their hair, and through their clothes, and on their skin, and with their thoughts. They dry themselves, but they can’t wash away the truth. They don’t really see a reason to, anyway. Not when they’re this close to the end.
“Would you want to sleep in the bed? Just this once.”
“I would.”
They kept the same room, even after the handcuffs left their wrists. No one thought to bring it up, and no one thinks to check. They never talked about it, because they never talk about anything.
Light settles down on the bed the same way he always does, and it falls on L to brave the transgression. He shouldn’t be surprised, that Light meets him halfway. They’ve always risen to each other’s challenges. In retrospect, they've always counted on each other, and they've never once let each other down.
So when L lies down on the side of the bed that had remained empty day after day, Light casually pulls him to his side, as though they’d done this a million times. L breathes in Light’s skin for the first time, and he wonders what kind of wall lets you get this close.
“I hope they catch you soon.”
“Why? You won’t see me in heaven.”
“You think I’m going to heaven?”
“It’s just a figure of speech.”
It feels good, the pressure of L’s weight on Light’s torso. It should make it harder to breathe, but it doesn’t. It makes it easier, somehow. And Light knows it’s a mistake, having asked for this, but he can’t bring himself to regret it.
“Are you sure you have to kill me? I don’t really want to die.”
“Can you live in a world where I choose Kira over you?”
“I wouldn’t have to if you just chose me.”
“You chose Kira over me, too.”
“You are Kira.”
“I wasn’t. And you refused to believe it. Admit it. That you like me better when I'm Kira.”
“I admit it.”
L shifts higher, until they’re at eye level, and they both realize how dangerous this is, because when they look at each other this way, they don’t recognize themselves, and they don’t recognize each other, and they forget everything they thought they'd understood.
“Would Kira let L kiss him? Just this once.”
“He would.”
They let each other do whatever they want, only to find out they want the same thing. Like everything else, they don't talk about it, and unlike anything else, for this they needed to. But they both chose Kira so quickly that it would never have made any difference. And so when L falls asleep on Light’s chest, Light fiddles with his watch, and he writes L Lawliet with his blood before he can make the mistake of forgetting himself again when L wakes up.