Archive of Our Own

What was that number, again?   

Out of all of the things he could have been thinking about in that dark, cruel world of his, both meaningful and meaningless - all he could remember in that quiet moment of judgment, was one measly number. A code? Not exactly. A phone number? Why, most definitely.

Pale fingers nervously glided along his left arm until they reached the cuff of his white shirt. The undershirt he had been sporting for days - many long days since the incident that surely decided this twisted fate. Those same pale fingers trembled. Was it anger? Sadness? Desperation? Madness? Who can say - it might just be all of the above.

“This court is adjourned.” The looming  judge slammed his gavel down on the desk in front of him.

The lawyer fled. The jury murmured. A gothic blonde winced.

And then -

Light Yagami surrendered.

The man who once thought he was a god held his head in shame. He had officially lost in his own sick battle. He couldn’t speak, move, cry, or yell. All he could bring himself to do, was peer over to a fading blur of white. Ruffled tresses of white snow fell over his head, his back hunched as he seemed to be examining a toy of some sort. Light grimaced.

How laughable it is, that a ruthless criminal, a maniacal Kira, who wielded the power of death and a sick idea of “justice,” managed to lose to a kid who played with helicopters and dominoes.

The brunette’s legs gave way, and it was almost as if everything fell into slow motion as he hobbled helplessly on the cold ground. He didn’t bother to get up. He only laid there, taking in the way every small speck of dust seemed to glint ; he was beginning to see the world’s beauty piece by piece.

It took him long enough.

The passing figure of pitch white eventually left the room, only sparing a final glance to the fallen one. His childish face and big black orbs held no pity of any kind toward Light. Said criminal tilted his head ever so slightly, just in time to see every single memory of every moment that had ever occurred in his dimmed life flash before his eyes like a monochromatic motion picture. And when it was all over, he glimpsed Near holding up a single thumb, the other fiddling with a wispy strand of his hair.

It was one of those undeniable gestures that Light didn’t have to hear him say it to know what it was. His eyes, his lips, his hands, the flickering ghost of a smile on Near’s face said it all -

Good game.

-

Many days lingered on like the grey clouds in the sky, but they passed anyway. Decisions were absolute, and Light Yagami got himself landed in prison. They said something like, “He is sentenced until death.” Death. The word echoed and bounced off the walls of his sad, aching head.

Light still refused to utter a word, or add his two cents to the situations and events that unfolded right before him. Light Yagami, the quick, witty murderer with a charming and killer smile was now simplified to nothing more than a born-to-fail, written-to-lose antagonist in his own story. He was chased back into his own mind, where he knew he truly belonged.

Or maybe instead he belonged back at home with his family, all alive and well and proud. He belonged back in college, where the cherry blossoms fell and the pretty girls swooned over him. He belonged in his room, studying and planning, calculating, sleeping, anything - anything but this.

But all he could do for himself now was sink back into the depths of what was left of his mind. He was aware enough to acknowledge the fact that he was indeed going to spiral into insanity, (as if he didn’t already) and that he was indeed depressed. Yes, Light Yagami fell into a state of depression - a hole, an endless darkness that he had already fallen into ages ago. He was just too crazed with power to realize it, perhaps.

His head rested against the thick, rusted walls of the dingy prison cell he was confined in. He was kept in a “special” room of his own. He wasn’t fully alone, if you’d like to count the company of the cockroaches and mice that scuttled across Light’s feet occasionally.

Misa visited often. Her lips were still red like strawberries, her hair still fell over her shoulders in vibrant blonde tresses - Light noted, she must’ve dyed them a lighter shade at some point. Everything about her was the same, except one thing in particular. It was her smile.

The happiness and ditsyness that once danced inside of Misa Amane, was no longer present. Now, she looked like a sad, worn out doll.

“Light,” She whispered, her perfect fingers curling around the shiny bars of the prison cell. “I… I’m not sure I’m fully aware of what all has been happening, but…”

Ah, Light pondered. She doesn’t remember what I put her through.

“I just - I want you to know that I still love you! And…” The sad little doll hesitated. Her grasp around the cool, metal bars of what might as well be Light’s bird cage, tightened. Splotches of white swirled to her knuckles, and she bit her lip.

Light imagined biting into a strawberry on a hot summer’s day. (Who was that person who loved cakes and candies and sweets of all sorts, again?)

Was he listening to what Misa was saying?

Probably.

“. . . and things will get better, I guess.” The tension was cut short, just like her sentence. Because Light knew she had meant to say something else (he wasn’t sure what) but she forced out a lie anyway, of course.

Light merely flitted his saddened brown gaze to the wall behind Misa. Oh, how he wanted to scream at her, to shake her by the shoulders and repeatedly yell and protest that things would not get better. But, no matter how high the flame of anger and desperation inside him burned, something inside of his head told him to snuff it out. To ignore it. To give in. To somehow control it.

The things that any normal human being would want to forget slowly became the trivial details and morbid subjects Light wanted to remember. He just simply couldn’t recollect anyone that took part in his fight for justice, give or take a few individuals, like Near, Mikami, and Matsuda.

And as he gently bumped the back of his head against the hard wall over and over, he also wanted to remember who all he took the liberty of killing. Or, those who had died in someone else’s hands because of him, rather.

“Light? Please, Light, speak to me. Say something!” Misa urged on, tilting her head of blonde hair.

Shut up, I’m trying to remember things, damn you.

He truly did bury himself back in his own head, didn’t he? But maybe it was a good thing. Maybe he could find answers, or some route of escape.

It was as if Misa heard Light’s thoughts (if only that were the case, someone could set him free) as she stepped back some, an expression of hurt on her perfect, but not so perfect face.

“I. . . I guess I’ll leave then, if you can’t talk. Bye, Light.” With that, the gothic blonde was gone. And much to his dismay, Light was left alone. In his cage. Feeling strange, and depressed, and angry, and all sorts of complex things that he wished he could just figure out. And if he couldn’t figure them out, he wanted to be released from them ; he wanted to speak, he wanted to turn back time with his own two hands and start all over. He knew someone who could help him, but what was the use, when all Light remembered about that specific person was that they were dead?

But then he felt a strange notion, maybe somewhere in his beating heart or his lonely mind. Another thing he wanted to remember - that damn number. A digit. Or was it two digits? Or three? Or ten? He had heard it so many times among the whispers of passing people on the streets. He caught a faint memory of his sister, Sayu, passionately talking about how she discovered something amazing for the first time. It was something very important; you could say it was essential to human existence, like food, or a bed, or even a friend.

A friend.

“You were my first friend, Light.”

The jailbird blinked, shaking away any recurring memories.  

He needed to know that number. It was his one possible way of getting the help he needed.

Light sank down lower against the wall, his hands skimming over the rough ground beneath him. His gaze lazily scanned the bars that kept him from going any further. The reflection in those bars seemed to mock him. He may have gone into a quick moment of hallucination, or maybe it was just the voices in his head talking to him -

You wanted justice, right? You killed those behind bars, all for the sake of a better world. Look where that got you.

It ended bitterly.

Had someone else been granted the honour of being Kira, judging you through this cage, you’d be dead.

If he were to be able to make any noise in that moment of despair,

Light would have laughed. Or even cried.

But instead, he drifted off into a deep sleep, dreaming of boys with white hair and strawberries with random digits carved into them. Someone in his dream, who could have been Near (he wasn’t so sure, and didn’t quite care) was offering the small fruits to him. Well, rather than offering, they shoved them in his hands, insisting he found the one with the correct digit.

Light’s dream-self accepted the strawberries, balancing them in the palms of his hands. Everything that surrounded him looked like an old, nostalgic recording of a 70’s movie. The sky was a hazy shade of purple, the stars twinkling as if they were pixelated. The white figure in front of him, who he assumed to be Near, smiled politely before turning around and dancing into the dreamy night.

Light proceeded to bite into one of the strawberries. It was sour, and left an awful, bitter taste in his mouth, (that surprisingly felt and tasted very real) so he spat it out. The same thing occurred with the rest of the strawberries, all but one.

This particular strawberry had a number that Light could not see - it annoyed him. It was one of those painfully slow dreams where he could not make out certain things, or keep himself from falling onto the pavement that was crafted from his mind.

Light liked it there, in the solitude and peacefulness of his own sleepy delusions. He never really had many dreams beforehand, back when his life was normal. But now, as his life got darker, his dreams became brighter. He knew for sure that this confusing, ethereal dream of strawberries and lavender skies and numbers, was where he would rather reside in forever.

Better was one night in a dream, than a million nights in prison.

So Light Yagami gave up on trying to figure out which number was carved into the delectable fruit. He had taken it out of his mouth after biting into it, surprised to see that it was still a regular strawberry, lacking any bite marks or saliva. This is a dream, after all. All he knew was that it was the correct one, the answer he was looking for. But it seemed to Light, that even his dreams were against him. But that’s okay, he thought, his mind aware even in his slumber. Everyone is against me anyways (But who can he blame but himself?) .

And many lingering seconds later, his dreamscape began to come to a peaceful, but almost irritating end. Light’s vision started to blur even more, the strawberry in his hand now looking like a vibrant red blob. The mystery number never did make its appearance, after all.

You could only imagine the criminal’s annoyance when he awoke. Though he still refused to speak, and show much emotion, it was there. It was visible, and neatly etched on Light’s features. To think a simple dream, of all sad and better things, managed to annoy him until that quiet afternoon.

He was brought only a small biscuit and some soup once in the early morning. Then when noon rolled around, he was given another biscuit - and an unexpected visitor.

He assumed it to be a loud, and persisting Misa. He thought maybe she had come to babble on about how much she loved him, or what kind of commercial she was going to be starring in, or even what shade of pink lipstick she decided to wear that day. But Light’s expectations were surely proven wrong when Near himself stepped into the lonely room.

Light could only frown at the sight of him, watching with careful, detecting amber eyes as the short, white-clad boy allowed himself to step further towards Light’s cell. The albino paused for a moment, his charcoal orbs never leaving the caged one’s as he reached into the pocket of his slightly disheveled shirt. He fiddled his fingers around for a couple of quiet moments, his sleeves rustling a bit as he did so. And once he pulled his hand out, Light was dumbfounded to see a piece of paper dangling from Near’s thin fingers, along with a small, outdated cellphone (Which, he could barely see, due to the length of his long sleeves.)

Light wanted so badly to inquire a small, “What’s that for?” But, no matter how he tried to will himself into speaking, he simply just couldn’t.  And quite honestly, he did not know for the life of himself as to why he couldn’t utter a single word, or sound.

Near did not speak as he further approached Light, slipping the tips of his fingers in between small space between the bars of the cell. The mysterious paper dangled in front of Light.

Said brunette gazed at it with emptiness in his honeyed eyes for only a few lingering moments. Near bothered to shake the paper slightly in Light’s line of vision, as if to tempt him to reach for  it. He was never one to give into pointless temptations (unless you consider picking up a Death Note on school grounds as one of those useless, sickening temptations, then he was) but he definitely was in that particular moment of silence.

Light finally lifted himself up off the dirty ground just barely, so he could crawl lazily to Near’s reach. He succeeded in doing so, stopping to make dramatic eye contact with the thoughtful albino, who looked down at him almost mockingly. He looks down on me, now. Light stressed, averting his gaze away in subtle shame. Near surely caught this fleeting moment of guilt and embarrassment, though he chose not to care, or speak of the matter. He simply pushed the paper further towards the caged criminal, urging him to take it out of his hand.

And so he complied, gently but quickly taking the small item away from the other before scooting backwards and settling himself down against the side of his bed, again. Near then bent down, carefully sliding the phone towards Light’s feet through the thin bars, then straightened his posture only by a little.

“Don’t take this as a resemblance of my pity towards you, Yagami. I have none - although,” Near paused, twirling his silky hair between his fingers and rolling his eyes to the ceiling.

“A certain individual thought this might prove to be rather useful to you, considering your unfortunate situation.” He pointed out. Light didn’t respond. Near hadn’t expected him to, but he figured the information was worth giving.

There were no thank-yous, no goodbyes, nor any last words exchanged between the two individuals as Near finally parted from Light, whistling a soft tune upon leaving the room.

However, that childish jingle faded and drowned into distant background noise once Light realized just what Near had offered to him. Realization dawned on him like a brilliant idea, and his amber eyes widened some when they landed on the bold number that was scribbled on the paper.

Seven.

Light’s fingers trembled a little. He wanted to smile, and shout for joy - but all he could do was stare in shock. That was it. It was what he had been longing for all along, what he heard so many people talking about but never gave it any thought because he was too blinded by his own dark wishes and desires.

Light was getting very desperate. So desperate, that he might even attempt to talk to a spirit for help.

It was a pathetic move for him; it would probably appear that way in anyone’s eyes (maybe even Near’s or Misa’s). But Light was for certain that if anyone were in his place in that moment, they would be feeling as much desperation as he was.

Light reached with a shaky hand as he retrieved the cellular device next to his foot. Flipping it open with ease, he was rather calmed (but also a little surprised) to see that the screensaver was a nostalgic photograph of a field of daisies and an abundance of crimson roses. It was the first heart-warming and pleasant thing he had seen in a long period of time, other than the valuable piece of information Near had just given him, maybe.

The male couldn’t help but gaze for a moment until reality flooded back to him, and he remembered what it was that he wanted, no - needed to do. He pressed a few buttons and accessed the calling screen, then proceeded to hover his thumb over a certain digit for a moment. Then, the second he pressed down on that damned number seven,

Light’s aching heart pounded once.

It sounded through his ears like a drum and vibrated in his chest as he gulped and held the phone timidly to his ear. Why did he bother to give me this, anyway? How can they trust me with this phone? He wondered, though he figured that he trusted himself with the phone since, come on now - look where tampering with devices and numbers got him? It’s probably bugged and secured anyway. Near isn’t dumb.

Light almost had a heart attack when a robotic female voice emitted from the phone, speaking in a soothing but  monotonous manner.

“To connect with an angel or spirit, please dial 7 again.”

And because he didn’t know how much more he could take, Light Yagami did just that.

He waited. His hands shook. His heart pounded. His breath was hitched in his throat.

His memory jogged as he tried to recall a list of anyone who could possibly answer that phone any second. Anyone who had died, anyone he personally killed, or perhaps it could be someone he didn’t even know. Mello? Kiyomi? A death god, maybe? The names and appearances  of many important people reeled back into his head, and then -

“Hello?”

Light froze. Someone answered. But unfortunately, Light still had yet to will himself into speaking.

“Hello? Who is this? I’m here now, if you would like to speak with me.” That voice , Light thought hard, the familiarity of the other person on the line making him rather nervous, but intrigued.

“I swear, if this is some kid on earth trying to prank call - ah, who am I kidding? Talk all you need, if you will,” ...this voice is oddly comforting. Light bit down gently on his chapped lip, shifting so he sat criss-cross-applesauce on his bed. He wanted very badly to respond, but all he figured he could really do was make some sort of noise to let the spirit or angel (or whatever the hell it was) know that he was indeed there.

“H… hmm…” Light managed to hum out quietly into the phone, mentally slapping himself.

Why can’t I speak properly? Am I that depressed? Hell, am I becoming permanently mute?

“Ah, you’re there after all. May I ask. . . who this is?” The voice inquired kindly. Light noted that it was a male, and it held an almost familiar gruff but relaxing, fatherly tone.

Fatherly.

The caged brunette’s mind raced as he sat up straight and blinked rapidly. He clutched the thin sheet of the bed tightly until his knuckles faded to white.

“Um... “ He uttered out. Another mental slap. Those can’t possibly be the only things I can say.

“Take all the time you need, now. I’m sure not going anywhere.” The voice on the other end said, followed by a short chuckle. In his mind, Light laughed along too. But all he could do with his words was fumble them around incoherently. He really didn’t like it at all - he felt like a small baby, learning how to talk all over again.

“I… um…” Light slowly spoke. It was better than nothing.

“Hey, son,” the male said kindly, causing Light to flinch at yet another familiar aspect the voice held. He recalled how his father used to address males as “son” sometimes, whether they were his biological son or not. Light had always liked that ; when his father, Soichiro, would praise him for his excellent grades, he would pat Light on the back with a warm smile, saying,

“I’m proud of you, son.”

“Wait a moment and relax. Then try to talk.” He could almost hear the smile gracing the unknown (but still familiar) man’s face. It was comforting to Light ; almost therapeutic, even. To know that he probably had someone on his side, someone who was patient and nice to him - he couldn’t have asked for anything better.

So he waited, swallowing hard and gathering his scattered thoughts together. He took himself back to his happy place, thinking of cherry blossoms, math tests, his family, and vasts fields of flowers that varied in vibrant colors. He pursed his lips together before biting at his bottom one again, inhaling and exhaling in an attempt to calm himself and rid his mind of foul things. He would probably have to address all of his guilts and problems eventually, but that time would come later. At that moment, Light was finally beginning to feel some sort of peace - a peace he hadn’t experienced in a very long time.

He opened his mouth and then slowly opened his eyes. He didn’t know he was squeezing them shut for so long.

“I could really. . . use some help. P-Please.” Light didn’t smile, but was internally proud of himself for finally speaking. He raked a hand through his messy coffee-colored hair, which had grown a few inches past his ears.

“I figured that’s why you called. But, before you tell me what’s wrong, can you tell me who you are? You sound awfully familiar. . .” The male replied, trailing off as he seemed to be in thought. Light cleared his dry throat, and successfully spoke once again. “I’m Ki- No, sorry I um - I’m Light. . . Yagami.” He said, his heart rate picking up a little. What was that? Why did I almost call myself th-

“Light?!” The male on the other end shouted suddenly, a tinge of hopefulness and shock in his tone of voice. Light mused, his memory building itself back together each second.

“Light… you’re alive! Oh my…”

(A perfect skyscraper, glinting and standing tall and proud in an open field of flowers. It was the only one there ; the only building Light could visibly see. But it was breathtaking.)

It all clicked in the brunette’s brain, and he jerked forward once he realized who was on the other end of the line.

“DAD!”

Time froze. All he could hear was the heavy breathing coming from his own father over the phone. And for the first time in many, many years, after so much time and heartache and trauma -

Light wept.

And his father did, too. Angels weren’t supposed to feel sadness, right? But they could sure feel an overwhelming amount of joy. That’s what Soichiro’s tears were made of. Tears of pure joy, and relief. Light was feeling so many things at once ; he didn’t know how to handle it. His father, who had been shot those several years ago, and who he deemed a necessary sacrifice so blatantly, was speaking to him right there on the phone.

The two men remained silent for a while, both drowning in the contentment of knowing that either of them were there, hearts beating and crystal tears falling silently down their faces.

“My son. . .” There it is. “You’re - you’re alive. It’s been so long, I. . . I never thought we would speak again like this! I don’t know where to start. . . Light, where are you?” Soichiro’s voice curved with utter concern for his son and his whereabouts. It pained Light that he would have to admit to his deceased father, of all people, that he was the sick mastermind that pulled the strings behind the hell he put his father and various other people through. And not only humans, no - he messed with a completely different realm in the process. He had always thought that he would have no regrets, or even the slightest trace of shame. He thought that he would succeed in creating a better world, with the power to rid the earth of millions of criminals with a single flick of his pencil against paper. Not once did he play the outcome of losing his battle in his mind - not once.

“Ah…” Light sniffed, embarrassed to have cried while his father listened. He wasn’t so sure how to communicate with his own father after everything that came to be, along with the fact that, well, he’s dead.  “I’m in prison, dad.” He responded hesitantly, his heart sinking a little when he heard the sharp gasp on the other end.

It went silent again. Light wondered if his father was beginning to put together the pieces, (poor Soichiro. It was what he had tried so hard to do for many long years - only for the curtains to close like this, with his son on the other side?) and he was right.

“Wait, what did you do? You can’t mean -” Light cut him off, though not too abruptly, but firm enough, as his mind and temper were both on edge, given the fact that Light did not want to face nor speak the truth. Especially to his father, who died believing that Light was a hero.

He could’ve been one, had things come out differently.

“Damn it, damn it all,” Light cursed, immediately regretting his sudden sharpness. Another string of deafening silence followed before he surely proceeded to release every last word of the truth to his father.

(A few more buildings and gorgeous skyscrapers seemed to sprout from the flowered ground, one of them looking similar to Light’s old home. He stood, bewildered. He was alone, but at peace.)

It took quite a long time for Light, to be able to explain everything thoroughly while keeping his composure. It all seemed too unreal, too impossible. What was the next step? What would his father say? Surely, his father wouldn’t be proud, nor happy, nor neutral. Light didn’t expect him to say anything. Light didn’t expect his father to give him anything else, and he sure as hell didn’t expect him to stay on the call. It was one of those moments where no one would have known what to expect, or what to anticipate. It was just a still moment in time that halted in its tracks. Though it held importance. It was almost history in the making.

Light prepared to hang up on his father, even so. Then he flinched, because hearing his father actually beginning to respond absolutely terrified him.

This wasn’t an ordinary day back at home, where Light would waltz into the house, immediately getting showered with praise due to his excellent grades and intelligence. This wasn’t some phone call he was making to deal some sort of great news to his dad about his new scholarship. He had to tell himself this over and over, no matter how quickly the truth in it shattered his heart piece by piece.

His sister wasn’t there to tease him. His mother wasn’t there to greet him with her warm smile and kind eyes. It was just him, his prison cell, and his father’s shaky voice on the other end of the line.

“Light.” He spoke softly, much to his son’s surprise. But Light knew that his father was furious, and disappointed, and possibly sad and overwhelmed - the things that he should feel, and had absolutely every right to feel. But none of those things were shown in Soichiro’s memorable words that made what was left of his son’s heart pound.

“No one else can make this all better but you, you know.”

If only it were that easy, dad.

“It was so nice to speak with you after all this time, son. But now, I think it’s time you think things over,” Soichiro’s voice was laced with nothing but calmness and that of sympathy towards his only son. It still shocked Light, to say the least, that his father had no words to offer him in response to every single thing Light poured out to him, after so many thrilling years of heartache and madness. But maybe, the seven small words that Soichiro slipped in right before hanging up, held the answer to as many things as Light thought they did.

“I love you, Light. No matter what.” The line went dead with a small beep, and Light could have sworn he heard the sounds of his own heart trying to put itself back together.

-

The next morning, Light dialed the same number again.

And again in the afternoon.

And then once more, late in the quiet solitude of the night.

The first call he made, which was around 7:30 AM, was probably the most interesting one that Light had experienced thus far. After many frustrating times of dialing the number and getting connected with random, unhelpful (but still nice, nonetheless) spirits, Light was relieved but also quite shaken up to finally connect to one being in particular - Ryuk.

There were several other shinigamis making a fuss in the background noise, some of them even attempting to steal whatever device Ryuk was using just so they could speak with the, “infamous Light Yagami.” The criminal had started a huge uproar in the shinigami realm being that most, if not all death gods who resided there, took quite the interest in the maniac with a charming smile. When Ryuk was finished with Light, just several days before the brunette had got himself thrown in prison, he had debated on writing his name in his Death Note, but decided against it. He knew that Light’s time of dire need would roll along some time - and he thought for certain that it would prove to be very interesting.

And the apple-loving reaper’s satisfactions were definitely guaranteed.

“Yeah? Who’s calling - hey, get your slimy hands off me, four-eyes!” Came the all-too-familiar shinigami’s voice that had Light nearly dropping his phone.

“R-Ryuk. . .?” Light stuttered, pure shock and what could have been fear written on his pretty face. Ryuk cleared his throat into the phone (as if it could do anything to help, his voice was already as throaty as it could be) and cackled loudly. Light had to hold the phone away from his ear, cringing a little bit as his hand shook.

(Light’s observing eyes travelled along yet another skyscraper he hadn’t seen before. This one in particular was a little dingier compared to the rest, but still held a mysterious significance - all of them did.)

“LIGHT? I’D RECOGNIZE THAT EARTHLY LITTLE VOICE ANYWHERE! HA!” He spat, chuckling for an eternity as if someone had just told him the funniest joke in the world - or maybe perhaps, Light’s loss and distress was the funniest joke in the world, to him. His eternal laughter hitched and turned into a wild cough, before the shinigami cleared his throat again. His voice was low now, but still taunting.

“Well well well, look what you’ve gotten yourself into, Light-o.” He sneered. Another shinigami in the background shouted, “Let me talk!” but Ryuk threatened to throw his Death Note down into the human realm if he didn’t shut up.

That shut the poor shinigami up, alright. And Light had to hold back a chuckle, as he instead grimaced and scoffed at the old nickname Ryuk had oh-so-freely graced him with.

“Can it, shinigami.” He shot back, rolling his eyes and rubbing a hand through his hair exhaustively. This riled Ryuk up that much more, and Light could already feel the billionth headache he’d had that morning creeping in.

“Hey Ryuk, from which direction, coming from my perspective, would I be able to see you?” He inquired, listening carefully  as the said shinigami went silent for a moment, obviously in deep thought.

“Eh. . . well, you’re sitting towards the left of your cell, so eh. . . to the right, I’d say? Why do you w-” He stopped speaking once Light shamelessly held up his free hand and flipped his middle finger right in Ryuk’s general direction, where Light figured he was looking down on him from. The death god cackled loudly once again after several silent moments, and Light heard what sounded like an abundance of other shinigamis laughing along as well. Ryuk must have been slapping his knee for a minute before addressing Light once again, calming down some.

“You must hate yourself now, don’t you, Light? Hey, you happen to have any apples on ya?” He asked, not seeming to care how much he was irritating Light.

“No, there aren’t any apples here. I rarely get fed anyhow, so fat chance.” He responded, ignoring Ryuk’s first question as he sat down on his bed and settled his ankle over his knee casually. He heard Ryuk scoff and curse under his breath.

“I’m craving apples badly, Light. But never mind that, you didn’t answer my question,”

“Yes, I di-”

“Do you hate yourself, Light?”

The two of them fell silent, and the criminal’s lips parted slightly as he blinked. He had honestly thought it was just a rhetorical question - and besides, why did Ryuk, that damn shinigami, even care? After all, he was the one who didn’t assist Light in the end (though he would never even forgive Mikami for screwing up so badly, even if it wasn’t entirely his fault) anyway. Not that he was furious with him over the matter, considering that Ryuk was basically at Light’s every beck and call during the whole Kira incident. He just. . . didn’t understand it all. He never really considered Ryuk a friend, but more so a pawn. But there they were, speaking rather playfully over the phone as if they were still together in Light’s room - he could picture the memory now: Light at his desk with a bag of potato chips, and Ryuk on his bed reading whatever erotic magazine he had stumbled upon, and begging for apples at the same time.

The image in his head tugged at Light as he considered the death god’s question.

He mused, and retracted his foot from where it rested on his knee, placing a firm hand there instead.

“Yeah, I do.” He answered truthfully. Ryuk let out another raspy chuckle at this before speaking again.

“Well, it was entertaining while it all lasted, Light. You lost and they won, in the end. But even so, you’re still a very interesting human, indeed. You put on quite the show there, for awhile.”

Light cracked a small smile and looked at the ceiling. His headache was beginning to wear off, fortunately.

“Yeah, yeah. Bye, Ryuk.” He said, his mind telling him that the call needed to end in order for him to find more answers. “Later, Light-o. Thanks for always keeping me entertained.” And then the shinigami hung up without another word, and Light held the small phone to his chest quietly.

The second call, which was made sometime in the afternoon, startled Light. He hadn’t expected Kiyomi to answer.

“This is Kiyomi Takada. Who am I speaking with?” The female asked calmly, and Light almost hung up on her right then and there. However, he decided against it, and he bit his lip until he drew blood. “Kiyomi. . .” He spoke ever-so-softly, the female’s breath hitching a little on the other side.

“It’s Light.”

Never did Light imagine that he would  be scolded and screamed at so profusely by an angel, an angel he had also intended for to die in his favor. But everything that Kiyomi yelled and ranted about and threw on Light’s shoulders was undeniably true, sadly. (As if Light didn’t have the weight of the world and the guilt of his actions cracking down on him already.) Never did Light Yagami imagine that the woman he once thought he loved would come into his life again, in such a way. He could easily say the same for anyone else he would call, or anyone else he had called prior.

Light didn’t even have to tell her his sins. He didn’t have to say anything at all. She already knew full well where his intentions got him, and she surely thought he deserved it.

She made it very clear.

“Damn you, Light. Damn you. . .” She was crying now. That caught Light off-guard. Angels weren’t supposed to cry, right? Maybe she hasn’t quite made it to the other side, yet. He concluded, with a blank face and a heavy mind.

Light considered apologizing, but he didn’t. His apologies were all already gone, cast away into nothingness because they no longer needed to exist, no longer needed to be said. Light had stopped apologizing long ago, and now - he had forgotten how.

He would only get screamed at and damned again anyway, if he did.

Like many other instances when Light spoke to people, there was another deafening silence strung between the two of them. Light’s ears began to ring just barely, the sound starting out small then crescendoing almost painfully, then fading out again. He squeezed his eyes shut then bent his forehead into his palm, sighing tiredly.

“Light,” Kiyomi said. He didn’t budge, but she knew he was still listening.

“You need to get out of there. Go. Run. Somehow, you need to just. . . get out of there.” She continued, her voice shaky and strained. This made Light open his eyes and stare at the wall, as if Kiyomi was standing right there with all the answers. Where are the answers, anyway? What am I supposed to do? How the hell am I supposed to get out of here? There has to be a better outcome for this, I know it . . .

Light’s calculating mind would normally think ahead of everything and everyone, weighing out the possible outcomes and results of whatever predicament he seemed to be caught in.

He voiced his own frantic thoughts, throwing questions at the woman who didn’t know how to answer them.

“Where? Where is he, Kiyomi?” He pleaded, and Kiyomi fell into confusion at Light’s words.

“Light, who? Who are you talking abo-”

“WHERE IS HE?!” He cried out, and before he knew it, his fist met the wall with a bone-cracking thud. He breathed too heavily, inhaling and exhaling rapidly as if he were turning it into some sort of competition.

But another voice startled Light, and he refused to turn around and see who had visited him.

“L. . . Light? What are you doing?”

It’s Matsuda.

“Goodbye, Kiyomi.” And with that, Light ended the call, angrily tossing the phone across the room and startling his new visitor. He kept his back toward Matsuda - there was no way he could face him. There was absolutely no way. He held his head low, resting his forearms on his thighs as he focused his gaze on his pants.   A stain. . . there’s a small blood stain, there.

The sound of feet shuffling across the floor made him twitch with irritation.

He wasn’t necessarily mad that it was Matsuda, really. He was mad because he wasn’t who he wanted him to be. Not that Light remembered this person’s exact name, but rather, he remembered small quirks and details in his appearance that almost anyone would remember.

He used to bite his thumb quite a lot.

“Hey, uh, Light.” Matsuda said softly, and he was quite unsure of himself, as per usual. Light still continued to hang his head, the words Matsuda uttered barely reaching his ears as he felt himself give in to the strong hold of another trance. But when the shy, raven haired male began rattling the cell almost violently, his voice high to the point of screaming, that strong embrace set Light free, and he was now falling back into the unwanted reality.

(And did Light only continue to crawl on, grasping anything on the side of the building that he could. He was careful with his footwork - balancing his heels on the protruding ledges and window-sills with caution.)

Light didn’t really hear what Matsuda was yelling at him. It wasn’t that he didn’t care, or that he wasn’t paying attention. He tried to tell himself he really was. But trying your best to listen to someone while withstanding the pain of a burning headache could be quite hard, you see.

He would usually sit with his knees pulled up to his chest. He always looked pretty uncomfortable.

His memory raced, in colors - unlike it ever had, and Light’s eyes bore themselves into Matsuda’s, said man screaming and yelling and jabbing accusing fingers at the honey-eyed criminal, who knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that there was a way to finally get himself out of there.

“Light, are you even listening to what I’m saying?!” Matsuda shouted, breathing heavily and shakily as if he had just finished running a marathon.

“Matsuda. . .” Light croaked, his face still to the ground.

“Wh-what?” The other stuttered, suddenly caught off-guard once Light finally decided to speak.  “Tell me. . . this isn’t the end, is it?” Time was still, and all fell into quiet gracefulness as the two men seemed to pondered Light’s very question. Light, though, probably already knew the answer to this puzzle, this confusing and hellish maze that he wanted so desperately to solve and escape from. And Matsuda, too, held that twinkling look of hope and reassurance in his eyes, despite himself (he was still very angry with Light, but after all, Matsuda knew something that Light was just beginning to figure out - and he wanted to help him ).

“You’re right, Light. . . but you. . . you only have one more chance, y-you see. . .” Matsuda answered, curling his fingers into his palms then unraveling them several times, out of nervousness. “So don’t you dare screw this up.”

And when Light blinked his eyes for a mere fraction of a second, and opened them again - Matsuda was gone. Shortly after, a small tray of nauseating food was brought to Light. He refused to even try a morsel of the food, being that the smell was putrid. Instead, he took generous sips of the water that was provided, which was dirty, but still better than nothing.

Then, the third call was soon made.

“Please dial seven, and try again.”

“This number cannot be reached - please dial seven, and try again.”

“Please dial seven, and -”

“This number canno-”

“-ry again.”

“Please dial seven, and try aga-” Light dialed the number once more automatically, but cursed for the sixth time, chucking the phone furiously and sending it crashing against the tattered wall. His hope was faltering all over again, and his desperation only fueled itself. It was like one lit candle overpowering the other in a dark room - Light’s mind.

His hair was jet black, and messy. . .

“Please enjoy the music while your call gets connected.”

The robotic voice fell on deaf ears. Light was in another world of his own, thinking, remembering, and daydreaming. He thought hard for an attempt to collect any more memories, or fibers of recognition of the person he wished would just pick up the damn phone.

The muffled jingle emitting from the phone sounded a bit similar to the one that Near had whistled the day before, but Light payed it no mind, because as his eyes grew wide and the goosebumps prickled along his arms rapidly, he was getting closer and closer to his desired answer each second.

(Light was almost to the highest floor of the building now. He could hear faint voices from below him. They were jubilant and held strong familiarity, as they seemed to be cheering him on and encouraging him to keep climbing.)

Light’s fingers curled around the bars, his back facing the phone that was discarded on his bed. He wanted to scream for help.

He was Japan’s, no - the  world’s greatest detective.

The music from the phone kept going.

He and Near worked together.

The music then slowed down.

He hated cell phones.

The music stopped.

His name. . . his name was. . .

A small beep cut the music short, and Light dared to keep his mouth closed. His muscles were tensed, and his heart was beating under his skin quickly, as if it wanted out of the body that held it captive right then and there.

And from the phone that sat on the bed, still untouched after many minutes that were heavy with tension, a collected and unmistakably life-saving voice sounded quietly, like a favorite song to Light’s ears.

“Hello, Light.”

His name was L. L, Lawliet.

(Light reached the top of the building, after what felt like an eternity. And when he did, there was yet another building, the roof level with the very one he was standing upon. As Light overlooked the vast concrete, he spotted another figure on the opposing skyscraper. Jet black hair, a white sweatshirt, and blue jeans adorned his figure, which was all the while hunched over some, both hands in his pockets.)

If millions of planets and universes alike - and time itself - could stop, it would all have been in that moment.

And although Light knew this, the world of his own, the one that seemed to grow so dark and bland, surely stopped. Because Light Yagami was no longer the only one dwelling in that world of his. Someone else had managed to finally ease their way into it, and Light was perfectly content with that.

The brunette retracted his shaky fingers, letting them slowly fall to his sides.

“L?” He said meekly, gazing at the small cellular device that seemed to stare right back at him. “Light.” The other voice, which fortunately belonged to Lawliet, greeted softly once more.

Light could paint the perfect picture in his head - Lawliet’s thumb in his mouth, and the phone pricked lightly in between his index finger and the other thumb, and it was held a generous few inches away from his ear.

“It’s really you. . . isn’t it?” He asked, hearing Lawliet breathe and hum softly from the speaker. His mind was at ease, once again. Lawliet chuckled almost monotonously, the quality of the speaker causing his voice to become slightly broken up in the static.

“Indeed, Light. I am here, this is me. I exist, but in a different way than you.” The deceased candy lover replied thoughtfully.

And once again, the brunette broke into a cry.

Light didn’t really know how to feel after shedding a few tears, at which Lawliet retorted fondly,  “The Light Yagami who managed to push through a fight for justice whilst holding the ability to slay the world’s greatest detective? Is that Light Crying? Rest easy now Light. . . you’ll be fine.”

But Light, rather, couldn’t quite put his finger on what he was feeling. He wanted to feel angry at Lawliet, but he also wanted to feel nothing but kindness towards him. He wanted to cry more and weep like he did with his father, but he also wanted to shout for joy and find Lawliet somewhere, where it is that he was, and give him a hug. But he also wanted to hang up in shame, for he remembered why it was that Lawliet had died, and how he did, and when. And Light also wanted to stay on the phone with him for hours on end, whether it be in silence or not, either would have been fine for Light.

And silence it was, once Light didn’t know how to reply to the other. It wasn’t an awkward silence, not at all. You could say it was a comfortable, thoughtful, moment of peace. It gave the both of them time to think a little, no matter how busy their brains constantly were already.

That’s what made them alike, in a sense.

I wonder where L is right about now. . . I wonder where everyone is. They must be still be answering calls by now, or perhaps  -

“We’re all waiting for you, you know.” Lawliet spoke calmly, the wistful distance in his voice hinting to Light that he must be gazing off somewhere, overlooking beautiful flowers and people and clouds beyond what he could ever imagine.

Light knew Lawliet could not read his own thoughts, but he believed with all his heart that he was still as smart and brilliant as he used to be - maybe even more, now.

“Are you talking about Heaven, L?” Light asked, like a curious child, the phone now in his hand, with the speaker turned on. He heard the rustling of clothes and movement on the other line, guessing that Lawliet was shifting into a more comfortable position. Hands on knees, eyes challenging whatever might be in front of him. . .

Lawliet hummed. “If that’s where I was right now, then yes, I suppose I would be talking about Heaven, wouldn’t I? Ah, but, that’s not where I am.”

Light could have chuckled then, but he was taken aback by Lawliet’s response. It confused him quite a lot.

“L. . . just where are you, then?” Light mused over the thought. Surely, Lawliet was too smart to be rotting in the fiery depths of Hell, and obviously, given the previous response, he was not sitting at the right hand side in Heaven.

“I assume you’ve figured out the loophole by now, have you not?” Lawliet replied, his voice muffled due to his thumb grazing his teeth, Light guessed. Said brunette took a moment to stop and think, considering Lawliet’s question. Indeed, Light’s brain had finally clicked once he finished his phone call with Kiyomi, and ended up seeing Matsuda, who disappeared right before his eyes.  

Of course - he really did have one more chance. Light mulled it over in his head.

So then. . . another lifetime, starting at whatever desired age, with everyone I knew, with all of the past mistakes I made wiped clean. . .

“. . . I just have to make a decision, right, L?” He said, and Lawliet hummed in approval.

“You are correct, Light. Now, before I propose something to you, I’d like to inform you about something else, if you don’t mind.”

“And what’s that?” Light was growing impatient. Lawliet fell silent for a moment, then responded flatly, “Misa and Mikami are dead.”

Light almost dropped the phone, his breath hitching in his throat - it almost choked him. He had wondered why Misa didn’t further come by to visit, even if he didn’t mind much ; He figured she would just keep pushing herself back into Light’s life - but it seems she managed to back right out of it. Mikami, on the other hand. . . Was it suicide? Were both of them suicides?

“I know what you’re thinking, and as you could have guessed, Misa committed suicide. She jumped off of a bridge, maid costume and all. Mikami died of natural causes in the room just one floor above you, tragically.” Lawliet explained without skipping a beat, leaving Light in shock.

“But as you know, Light, you could see them again, if you made the right decision. Now, this is where my proposal comes in.”

Light was officially on edge, his mind throbbing and bursting outcomes with this newfound route of escape. He listened in, hanging desperately on every word Lawliet uttered, thinking to himself how absolutely laughable it was to be speaking with someone who was once his enemy. (But what would Light consider him, now?)

“Say you fall asleep tonight, which there’s an eighty-six-percent chance you will, given the circumstances. If you decide right now, Light, that you want another chance, and you want to be set free out of your cage, then you will pass on in your sleep after falling into a dream, only to wake up to something different - Tell me, Light, what have your dreams been like lately? Are they vivid?”

With no hesitations, Light answered smoothly.

“Yes. . . very.”

“Is it the same recurring dream, every night?”

“Yes.”

“When did you first have this dream, hm?”

“The night after Near won.”

Lawliet continued on.

“Now, if you decide you don’t want to live on, and that you would rather rot in this cage with no chance of fixing anything ever again, you will have that same dream. . . only to wake up to the walls of your cell, again. And also keep in mind, that everyone you called, or anyone else that you knew will be able to start over with you, if you make the decision to pass on. They will no longer be trapped between Heaven and Hell. It would not just be beneficial to you, is what I’m saying.”

It all seemed too unreal to Light, too easy, almost. But, he knew he could trust the man on the other line. If there was anyone who wasn’t exactly trustworthy during that phone call, it probably would have been Light himself. And considering that, the caged bird decided that this is what he wanted - to have another chance at a normal, prosperous life. Ah, how he could almost feel the freedom seeping its way into those damned bars that confined him, and how he could practically hear the voices of his parents calling his name.

“Well, Light? What might your decision be? Though, I feel I might already know the answer. . .” Lawliet trailed off, awaiting Light’s response.

“I think that I do want to start over, L. Please.” He said softly.

He knew there was a graceful smile on Lawliet’s lips.

“I’ll see you soon then, Light.”

And when the raven-haired detective hung up, Light felt the peaceful weight of sleep falling onto his body, and he gladly welcomed it in.

-

A perfect skyscraper, glinting and standing tall and proud in an open field of flowers. It was the only one there ; the only building Light could visibly see. But it was breathtaking.

Light knew he was dreaming.

A few more buildings and gorgeous skyscrapers seemed to sprout from the flowered ground, one of them looking similar to Light’s old home. He stood, bewildered. He was alone, but at peace.

A soothing voice spoke to Light, telling him that each building, and each flower, represented the people he knew and the memories he made.

Light’s observing eyes travelled along yet another skyscraper he hadn’t seen before. This one in particular was a little dingier compared to the rest, but still held a mysterious significance - all of them did. But another attracted his eye, one much shinier. So, he proceeded to climb it.

And did Light only continue to crawl on, grasping anything on the side of the building that he could. He was careful with his footwork - balancing his heels on the protruding ledges and window-sills with caution.

Light was almost to the highest floor of the building now. He could hear faint voices from below him. They were jubilant and held strong familiarity, as they seemed to be cheering him on and encouraging him to keep climbing.

This was the same dream he’d had repeatedly, every night since his battle ended.

But, something changed. The end of the dream was different from what it usually was.

Light reached the top of the building, after what felt like an eternity. And when he did, he lost his footing and tumbled all the way down, landing gently in the flowers that hugged his body like a warm ocean.

He fell unconscious, but his daze didn’t last long. When his eyes fluttered open, he was pleased to see none other than Lawliet, bending down and offering the fallen one a generous hand.

“You’re okay, Light. Now, follow me.”

He helped the brunette to his feet, and hand-in-hand, the two of them disappeared in the field of flowers, heading straight for the setting sun.

-

A gentle warmness pooled on Light’s eyelids, and cascaded across his cheekbones and forehead. He was on the brink of dreaming, and waking up to reality, which he did after a few last minutes of rest.

The sun melted into one with the amber and honey in his eyes, and he couldn’t help but squint at the impact. He slowly tossed his hand over the side of his face, shielding himself before he became blind.

That’s when it hit him.

I’m no longer in prison.

He didn’t jerk straight up out of bed, but instead, turned his gaze so that it met an oakwood door that was just a few feet away. He recognized it as his bedroom door.

He suddenly became aware of the cotton-like sensation underneath him, and he was relieved to see that he was in the comfort of his own bed, as well.

His own closet, his own desk. His own papers, his own backpack, his own lamp. His own window. It was all there, welcoming him back warmly. And Light, he sure loved it.

He willed himself into getting up out of bed, mapping the carpet of his whole room with his feet. He must have walked around seven times. He bent down, his hands melting into the lush tan rug that he hadn’t felt in so long. Light buried his face into the material, smiling.

He was finally home.

Lifting his head up, the beautiful aroma of bacon and eggs and coffee hitting Light’s nose, his mouth watered. He hadn’t had a proper meal in a while. So he got to his feet, and headed downstairs, his heart throbbing in his chest for so many different reasons.

“Sayu, please, don’t touch tha-”

“Hey mom.”

Light’s mother stopped, turning her head and meeting her beloved son’s eyes. She gazed for a long time, before a teary smile graced her motherly face. She immediately rushed to Light with open arms, Sayu proceeding to do the same.

The three of them fell to ground as they all embraced each other warmly, Sayu laughing happily through her tears, and their mother sobbing with her arms around Light’s neck.

“You made it, Light. You made it. Thank you.” She whispered, her voice cracking with each word.

“I knew you’d say yes, I knew it!” Sayu exclaimed, overjoyed to finally see her brother again.

Light smiled through it all, taking in the nostalgic emotion that flooded his senses. His heart, his mind, his body, and his soul - they all now knew what it felt like to be set free.

Light surprised his father at work, before school began. (He discovered that he was back at Daikoku Private Academy, which didn’t falter his happiness, since he only finished his first term of college anyhow.)

Everyone, including Soichiro, was so overjoyed and passionate towards Light, that his father made them stop whatever they were doing so they could greet Light and welcome him back. A few men that were working patted Light on the back with a smile, others that didn’t know who he was too well, waved at him.

Light couldn’t be there for long, but as he turned on his heel to open the door, his father put a hand on his shoulder and, with tears glossing his eyes, whispered, “I’m proud of you, son.”

At school, things really were no different, except several students crowding Light and asking him many, many questions. Usually, Light would have felt rather annoyed at the attention, and ignored everyone to just walk away in silence. But this time, he made it a solid point to interact with them, flashing charming smiles at everyone - and this time, they were real smiles.

And there he found himself, sitting in his usual seat next to the window in the back of the class ; Listening to the instructor, jotting down valuable notes, his chin rested in the crook of his palm.

He often pinched his own skin, to remind himself that it was not a dream, but real life.

The movements of the people around him seemed to fall slow, as well as the rustling leaves outside of the window he was seated next to. He could no longer hear his instructor talking. He couldn’t hear anything - because when his head cautiously moved to glance through the stained glass that was mere inches away from his face, that’s when he saw it - a black notebook, falling with grace from the sky.

He found himself in the courtyard, once school ended.

He picked up the book in his hands. Everything about it riddled his body with goosebumps, everything from the weight, to the cover, as well as the memories that it struck inside of him. Light knew better, he did. But he opened the first page anyway, barely folding the corners first before anything else.

In familiar, spider-like hand-writing, it read, “Thanks for always keeping me entertained.”

Light’s smirk melted into a smile, and he set the book back down in the grass with care. He knew a certain shinigami would come by to get it later.

Only as he shoved his hands in his pockets, walking to the train station, did his phone ring. He glanced at the caller ID - L, Lawliet. He answered quickly, holding the device to his ear before saying, “Hello, L.”

“Please, do call me Lawliet, if you will.” The other responded. Light smiled, watching the train pass on by. “I suppose you’ve had an eventful day, hm?” Light chuckled at that, shifting so all of his weight was on his right foot.

“Indeed I have. . . Lawliet.”

“Say, Light, let’s meet over coffee and cake. Sound good?” He suggested, a hint of childish excitement lacing his tone.

“Of course.” Light answered.

And so it was decided. Light took the next train that was heading into town, leaning his head against the window he sat at. The late afternoon sun reached his eyelids again, and he closed his eyes until he arrived at his destination.

He was walking now, down a thin sidewalk with his book tucked under his arm, his bag slung over his shoulder. He reached his hand out next to him, his fingers gliding along the tall, vast fence as he walked along silently. A slow approach to the cafe was all it took, and there he found him, Light’s first friend, sitting crouched outside at a small table for two. Once Lawliet spotted Light, he raised a lanky arm and waved, a closed-eyed smile upon his pale face. Light waved back, and walked over, greeting him kindly and pulling out a chair for him to sit in.

And as they chatted so fondly and so normally - not as enemies, but friends - with stars in their eyes and cake in their mouths, Light forgot about justice. He forgot about it all. No longer did the passion, the deadly drive to become a god flood his mind and his beating heart. No longer was he afraid, or angry, or regretful.

Light looked around himself, taking in the setting sun and the accompaniment of a companion in front of him. He began to see the world’s beauty, piece by piece, little by little.

It took him long enough.

-

“You were given this life as your own, but you share it with other people. It’s not that complex. You can either live like there’s no tomorrow, with few regrets, while being good to people and doing your best, or you can experience none of that at all. But you’re stronger than that. I know you are.” - Unknown