Chapter Text
“Back again?” Light mumbles to himself, spitting his toothpaste into the sink. “I thought you were done.”
L stares back at him, expressionless as he had been for the majority of the time Light had known him.
He says nothing.
Light rinses out his mouth and turns to L. Out of the corner of his eye, he realizes the other isn’t in the mirror.
“Ryuzaki, you’ve run your course. Now, please, leave me alone.”
L lifts a playful eyebrow, bringing his thumb to his lip. “Light,” he whines, pulling out the ‘i, “why are you being so hostile? You were never this way before.”
Light feels like he’s going to be sick. “Do you want me to admit it? Want to know, that it? You want to hear it, then you’ll go away? Fine. I’m Kira. I always have been. You were right! From the very start. But you’re.. you’re..”
He struggles to avoid saying the obvious, searching for a more polite way to put it. His gaze trails away and his fingers curl slightly. L seems unfazed and tips his head. “I am..?”
Light’s gaze flickers and he glances up to stare this horrible marionette down. His fingers clench into fists.
“You’re dead, okay?! You’ve been dead for a day. Leave me alone.” He draws in a shuddering breath, forcing his voice level and face expressionless. He’s not really upset, just frustrated. He finally got rid of L, and now he’s fucking hallucinating his least favourite person. Light hates him more than Misa, wants to run at him and tear off his skin.
However, logically, he does not like the idea of scratching at a wall quite pathetically; and as much as he may wish, L is simply.. not there.
L just cocks his head slightly. His fingers drift from his mouth to his pocket. “Okay, Kira.” He says it with a deadpan voice, but Light knows he is sneering on the inside.
Light pulls himself together and makes sure he looks at least partially adequate before leaving his room. He glances at the door across from his: L’s. He turns away and walks down the winding halls and stairs of the Task Force Headquarters. He reaches the main hall and heads for his new spot.
His heart picks up a little as he slides into L’s chair, at L’s desk, in front of L’s laptop. Soichiro, Matsuda, and Aizawa are sitting at their own places already, Mogi having called in sick. Light opens the laptop and begins work, though he isn’t doing much. Just piecing together random evidence, for now.
“Hey, you’re sitting in my seat, yknow.”
Light practically jumps out of his skin. He turns around. L, slouched as always, is leaning against a table. He looks tired, more so than normal. Light wants to brush his hair for him.
“You’re worse than that damn shinigami,” Light mutters. Speaking of, he hadn’t told Ryuk about this yet.
“Hmm? Did you say something, Light?” Soichiro glances up from his work.
Light shakes his head. “No, Dad. I just thought I heard something is all.” He swivels back to face the desk.
“Come on, Light, you can’t just ignore me if you’re going to sit in my spot. Why are you doing this?” Light bites back a bitter reply that stings his mouth with barbs. I should be asking the same of you.
Light’s grip on his mouse tenses and he has to force himself to relax a little before he breaks something. He hunches his back, not out of acting like L, but because he’s tensing his shoulders so hard he naturally caves in. He turns inward and focuses on his work, focus laser-sharp as to not let anything else in.
Later that night, Light is preparing for bed and remembers that he hasn’t told Ryuk anything yet. Might as well. That asshole of a shinigami probably already knows something is up.
“Hey. Ryuk.”
“Yeeeeees, Light-o? You got something you wanna tell me?”
Light scoffs. “I guess. It’s just that..”
Light flops onto his bed, sprawling out on top of the covers. “I dunno. It’s-“
Light sits up and is face to face with L. He yelps and scrambles back. L’s expression shifts to one portraying slight amusement.
“R-Ryuzaki..! Can you-“ Light groans and tosses a pointed look to a very confused Ryuk.
“It’s just that.. well.. he isn’t really going away, even though he’s gone.” Light admits in a mutter, staring up at L.
“Why would I ever leave your side, Light? We were chained together.”
Light bares his teeth at L.
“So, you’re being haunted, huh, Light-o?”
He cackles with that stupid hyuk.
Hyuk. Hyuk. Hyuk.
Light has two people he wants to punch.
“He’s not a ghost. Er, you aren’t, are you, Ryuzaki?”
L peers back at Light through a mess of hair. “How would I know? Maybe you’re a ghost.”
Light sort of wishes he was. Wishes he had died instead of L. Not to save the other, he’s glad to have L gone, but in this scenario it’s sort of like he never died anyway. Light can’t die, though, he has to be the God of his new world, he just has to.
Light sort of wants to brush L’s hair again. It doesn’t look tangled, just messy. And as soon as the thought happens, Light snatches the idea out of his head like a frog with a fly. And it’s gone. As it should be.
L is gone with it.
Suddenly left feeling extremely drained, Light sits back down on his bed and promptly tries to sleep. He can barely manage, but he thinks he feels cold fingers thread in between his as he suddenly loses consciousness.
Light brushes his teeth, does his work, goes to bed, all with no sign of L today. As he’s lying under the covers, eyes wide open to stare at the ceiling, he thinks that he sort of wanted L to appear today. Which is stupid, he reminds himself. So he turns over at the exact same moment as an overwhelming scent of sugar reaches him.
Light pulls off his covers and falls out of his bed. He hits the floor with a loud crash and stumbles back until he’s against the wall. L, sitting cross-legged on his bed, tips his head.
“Ryuzaki..!” Light croaks out once he’s caught his breath. He puts a hand on his chest to feel the thump-thump-thump of his racing heart. He breathes in time with his heartbeat until it’s slowed sufficiently.
Light can’t bring himself to look up for a few minutes, until those minutes suddenly turn to jolting awake with a horrible knot in his neck.
Sunlight is filtering in through the curtains of his room. Light fell asleep. He stands and rubs his neck tenderly, it hurts like hell. He trudges over to the bathroom as though he’s walking through mud and looks in the mirror.
This time, there is no L to cause an extra reflection in the mirror. Light takes a deep breath and brushes his teeth. He paces the room, half-expecting L to appear at any moment, but by the time the toothpaste is back in the cabinet nothing has happened, so Light goes to work.
None of them have had breakfast yet, so Light decides to head out to get them something from a bakery. He’s standing in line, people-watching the tables, when he spies a black tousle of hair slouched in the corner. Light is seething, simultaneously pin-pricked with thrill and complete disdain for the simulation his own mind has created.
L glances up and waves at Light. Light has to strain not to wave back, so he turns to face the front of the line.
“Hey, Light.” Is all he says. The person in front of Light takes their bag and walks out of the store. Light steps forward, and as he hears the bells at the front door jingle, L disappears.
Light’s probably on his fifth ‘huh’? When he finally catches what Matsuda said. Thank god that man is too silly to actually stop after the first few times. He’s thanking Light for buying the Task Force breakfast. Light just nods and says no problem and slinks away to his room.
Surprise, surprise; L is there. He’s both doing a puzzle on the coffee table in front of Light’s TV and eating meticulously decorated chocolates at an inhuman pace. “Hey, Light,” he says without looking up. “You’re back. I made coffee.”
Something so primal, so mortifying that it’s nauseating, rises up in Light and he has to keep himself from running to the bathroom. “Ryuzaki, what are you doing?”
L brings a thumb to his lip, that stupid habit that Light absolutely despises. “Well, I’m doing this crossword, but it’s amazingly easy.” He smiles slightly and looks up at Light, who is staring at him, trying to maintain some kind of annoyed expression. Light kneels down in front of L, trying to figure out what to do now.
He tugs on L’s shoulder sleeve. It feels like fabric, and L does not disappear. He leans towards Light, actually. “What is it?” Light jumps backwards. He didn’t really expect to hallucinate the feel of L, too.
“Uh.. nothing, I suppose.” Then: “you made me.. what?”
“I made you coffee.” L restates simply. “It’s on the desk.” Light doesn’t have a desk in his room, but he turns to face the window anyways. L tugs on his shoulder sleeve, probably as a way to tease him back, so Light turns around and there is no newspaper on the table and there is no chocolate and there is no detective with the black hair.
“Snap out of it,” he mutters, staring into the mirror again. He glares at his reflection, staring himself down. Please come back and leave and never return war in his mind. He doesn’t know which one is more honorable. Which one is Kira and which one is Light, because yes, he is slowly realizing there is a distinction.
“Hey, Light-o, it seems like L is really bothering you, huh?”
Light grits his teeth and simply nods. “Yes, he’s getting on my nerves. At least I have eliminated the real one,” he states, keeping his voice level. Inwardly, he seethes.
“Almost as bad as me?” Ryuk teases, then tosses an apple in his mouth.
“Worse. Anyway, I’ll be heading to bed soon, so please be quiet.”
Light does his nighttime ritual and slides under his covers, shaking. He flicks off the light switch with trembling hands and closes his eyes.
Much to his surprise, he actually manages a bit of sleep. He turns around in his sleep and wakes up face-to-face with the person he’d actually least like to see as the first thing he wakes up to. He doesn’t make any sound, but he jumps and pulls back in his bed. L seems unaffected.
“Were you having a nightmare, Light? You were squirming a lot. Didn’t sound very happy, either.”
Light reaches into his memory. Come to think of it, he had having a dream, but it was not a nightmare. Far from it. He was reliving his proudest moment, the few minutes that marked L’s death. The warmth falling into Light’s and colliding with his own, the warmth fading.
“I was,” he lies, just to see what will happen. L reaches forward and gently strokes the side of Light’s cheek and then Light’s eyes snap wide open to sunlight beaming in through his window. It’s open. Light doesn’t remember leaving it so.
He can’t stand much more of this. Questions with no answers. Barks with no bite.
The next time he sees L, two days have passed since the nightmare incident. Light had almost, almost, missed him. He’s walking in the hall and he feels a pinkie hook his own and tug his hand to the side. He glances with a cutting glare to whoever is there, and it’s predictably L.
He keeps his voice level and quiet as to not alarm anybody else- he’s in the main area of work for the Task Force, after all- but he lashes out.
“What?! What is it? You can’t just disappear for so long and then return by doing-“
L grabs his hand and sews their hands into a beautiful knot. It’s like L’s slim fingers had a slot carved into Light’s all for themselves. As they continue walking toward the cafeteria area - Light is on lunch break - L and Light start swinging their arms a little bit.
“..by doing- that.”
L says nothing. He looks straight ahead and keeps walking, so Light does this too.
Nobody else is taking their break right now, thank god, so Light takes a sandwich out of the fridge and slides onto a seat. L slides in next to him, having somehow procured a vaguely gelatinous pudding of some sort. As long as L stays there, because of the way they’re sitting- Light against the wall and L on the seat closest to the opening of the booth- Light registers, he cannot leave. They’re still holding hands, so Light - he has no idea way - clings onto L with his right and picks up the sandwich with his left.
As Light’s taking a bite, L closes his eyes and leans toward Light. His head falls onto Light’s shoulder with a soft bump, and he sort of nestles there. Light chews and swallows and then, soft like he’s trying not to scare away a bird he’s studying, addresses a question to L:
“Your pudding is untouched. Are you going to have it?”
L shakes his head, but it’s so slight he could have been adjusting the angle in which he was leaning on L.
Light, still facing his sandwich and calmly eating, lets L rest there. Eventually the grip on his hand loosens and L sits up off of Light’s shoulder like something has startled him, so Light turns to see what’s wrong and L was never there and L died 6 days ago, remember. And why did you let him stay? And his hair smelled like sugar and it was feathery soft. And get out of my head, and L is his enemy. Light calmly finishes his break and gets back to work.
Light doesn’t see L the rest of that day or during the morning of the seventh day of L’s death, and Light is worried that L is going to disappear on him again. He falls asleep and everything, refusing to miss the detective he had gotten used to sleeping next to.
When he wakes up, he’s in an unfamiliar bed. Scrambling to get his bearings, he sits up and looks around. On top of all of the covers, sitting with his distinct knees-up slouch, is L, doing something on his laptop. Light swallows back bile building in his throat and cautiously calls out- his voice is soft since he’s pretty sure it’s the middle of the night- “Ryuzaki..?”
He sounds like a child calling to its parents after a nightmare. It’s humiliating.
L turns to look at Light and tips his head. “Light? You usually sleep through these nights. Is something the matter?”
His eyes stare searchingly into Light’s. L reminds Light of an owl. He squirms under the view and breaks the eye contact, subconsciously feeling submissive with the aversion of his gaze. L frowns at him slightly.
“What’s wrong? Did my laptop wake you up? I can turn off the brightness, if you’d like.” L seems almost.. apologetic.
“No. I’ll just go back to sleep,” Light mutters through bared teeth. L nods. Maybe if he can just fall back asleep, he’ll wake up and everything will be normal again. What even is normal?
“Well, good night, then,” L finalizes, and then he leans over and plants a soft kiss on Light’s lips.
It’s very gentle, and the touch is akin to the sensation of trying not to frighten a caged animal. His lips leave the faint taste of sugar on Light’s, and he turns back to his laptop like nothing happened. Light rakes his nails through the sheets, dragging himself sideways with enough force that he falls out of the bed.
He crawls to the door, the pitch-black of the room leaving him to rely on touch to find the walls and the hinge of the doorframe. He opens the door, stands up, and nearly trips as he stumbles out of the room. He’s in the Task Force headquarters, and he’s just come out of L’s room. What the hell was he doing there? His own room- the one he’d fallen asleep in- was across from L’s, the one they’d shared while cuffed together down the hall. Light slips into the room he’s slept in alone for the past few weeks and, with trembling hands, picks up a few more many mints than could be comfortable and throws them in his mouth. An intensely acrid taste of mint floods his senses and leaves his nose burning and eyes watering.
He gasps for air, but the mints do nothing to push out the flavor of L. The flavor of guilt. Light bites down into his tongue until the flavors of his own blood, copper-tinged and warm, cannot even block out the taste of death, of a sudden end.
Light wanders through the building, up and down the stairs, the halls. Mint and blood and guilt and death.
Barely functional, the dark hallways blurring and bending before his eyes, time seems to speed and slow eccentrically. He isn’t sure when he’d woken up earlier that night or how long it’d been since, and he has a very vague idea even of where he is. He’s either currently opening the door to his or L’s room right now.
He stumbles into the bathroom. The fact that it’s on the west wall and not the east tells him he’s in L’s room, but he can barely string more than a few coherent words together to form a vicious mockery of a thought.
He leans over the toilet and vomits before he knows what’s happening. He hunches over the bowl and heaves until nothing is coming up and he’s sore to the bone. He slowly realizes somebody is rubbing slow circles into his back, and when he smells L and feels him pull Light’s flickering warmth into his own, he throws up again. L is murmuring very comforting things that sound like sweet nothings to Light.
“Shh. It’s okay. You’re okay. What happened? Hush. You’ll be alright. Can I get you a glass of water?”
Light shifts on his knees and leans into L. Light clutches L’s shirt and realizes he’s crying into it. Dark spots spread into the detective’s white long-sleeved and Light sniffs and chokes into L’s arms. Suddenly, the warmth is gone, but it’s quickly replaced. L brings a cool glass to Light’s lips and tips it up slightly so that Light can drink from his position half-cradled in L’s lap. He can’t say for certain if he lays there for a while, gradually drifting off, or if he’s there for a moment and he snaps into blissful unawareness.
Light comes to folded over himself on his knees with his head against his toilet- in his room, not L’s - and with a splitting headache that could kill. His breath tastes and smells horrible and his back, sloped uncomfortably, pulses with soreness only matched by his abdomen. He sits up and feels and hears about a thousand joints through his whole body pop. He’s got about a hundred knots in his muscles.
Light winces, the gentle daylight of the dawn akin to a floodlight to his sensitive eyes. It infuriates his headache. He stands on shaking limbs and closes the bathroom door. He glances into the mirror. His hair is unkempt, and he has an imprint on the skin of his forehead from sleeping against the toilet. He turns on the shower and washes himself multiple times over. He wraps himself in his favourite towel on the rack and sits down on the lip of the bathtub, brushing his teeth four times.
He can barely think. He’s struggling to process what happened with L last night, so he moves on and ignores it and pretends it didn’t happen like he always does.
He takes the day off under the guise of not feeling well. Actually, it’s not really a guise; he has a splitting headache that’s sort of making him wish he had a heart attack. He just tells Soichiro that he has a headache and a fever and Matsuda brings him some tea. He spends the day in bed, walking the line between waking and sleeping so that he feels like he’s falling through a void for hours on end. He prefers it when he’s asleep, because when he can think, he can remember, and the kiss he shared with L last night likes to break through into the forefront of Light’s mind until all he can think about is the silky-soft lips against his own and he falls back into sleep.
He wakes up at 9pm with a tray of cold soup next to him. He takes a sip and decides he isn’t hungry. The next time he wakes, daylight is soaking into every corner of his room. It’s 11. He slept in quite a bit. He lays there, listless and unmoving, until he hears a soft knock at his door. The headache is almost gone. It’s a little less than a migraine now. “Come in,” Light calls, and the door creaks open and Soichiro steps into his room.
Light can barely make out specific words, but he gets the idea of what his dad is saying, so when Soichiro communicates “are you still sick? Can you keep working?” Light responds with a tangle of words that probably sound sufficiently enough like “I’m fine now, just needed some rest and extra sleep, I’ll be in the main hall in a minute” that Soichiro nods and leaves Light alone. He gets ready and, as he’s walking out of his room, he catches a glimpse of L’s door opposite of his. It’s slightly ajar.