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10, 9, 8, 7-
A sharp knock at the door grabbed Light's attention. He sighed, but kept his eyes firmly shut.
"Light?" Misa's muffled voice was laced with concern, "Are you sure you're o-'
"Yes, Misa, I'm fine," his hands gripped the sink even harder, turning his knuckles ghost white, "You can leave." Light made sure to taint his words with annoyance.
With no guilt at his own malice, he heard Misa sigh through the door, then the sounds of her footsteps growing fainter as she gave up trying to comfort what was supposed to be the love of her life.
Light found her presence annoying at best; often avoiding coming home to escape the never-ending onslaught of unwanted affection. In fact, he often thought about getting rid of her at night. With Rem out of the picture, the idea was as tempting to him as the apple was for Eve.
Oh how he longed to live in peace. A nice house on the outskirts of the city, able to reign the world —alone, he told himself— without anyone getting in his way. Unfortunately for him, he needed the eyes, and his life was far too valuable to be cut in half. He simply would not allow himself to die like a dog at the hands of those who opposed him. Misa was a valuable asset, whether he liked it or not.
Snapping out of the reverie, Light tried his hardest to focus on the cool porcelain beneath his fingers, or the light hum of the running water. He opened his eyes again, staring at the water trickling down the plug, exhaling deeply, cupped some in his shaky hands and gently doused his face.
For a moment, this seemed to calm his anxiety.
"You really should be getting some sleep, Light," At the sound of his name, his head flew quick as a flash to look in the mirror, eyes widening in sheer horror. "You look terrible."
Light's heart stopped.
There he stood, reflected in the mirror clear as day. Dark eyes filled with a hint of playfulness and a smile tugging at those pale lips Light knew all too well. He looked just like he did when he was alive.
And yet, when Light whipped around, L was gone.
"Why are you here?" It was barely a whisper; a desperate plea through gritted teeth. He had seen him before. He follows him; he lurks around every corner, down every corridor.
Light wanted it to stop.
Turning back to the mirror, the sight of L's small smile caused affection to bubble up from deep within him. He pushed it back down.
"I'm not here, Light. You and I both know that I've been dead for quite some time, probably about..." L tilted his head, frowning as he thought.
"Five years, two months, and seventeen days."
A look of shock crossed L's face, as Light tried to steady his spinning head. His breath started to quicken; he felt sick.
"Well, Light," he laid a hand on his shoulder, and Light swore that he felt— just for a moment— the warmth and comfort of L's touch that he longed for. 'What's done, is done. There's no going back now."
And he knew it.
All the images of L's funeral, of his corpse buried in the dirt, and his final breath in Light's gentle embrace.The first time they met and the curiosity it sparked, L’s little smile when he said they were friends. The tennis match. Their countless days chained together. And the one time they kissed.
They rushed through his mind like a tsunami. Wave after wave of torture and grief.
He felt his eyes start to sting.
Light couldn't believe he had laughed at first – thinking he had won, celebrating what seemed like a victory. Now, after more than five years, he realised that he was responsible for the greatest mistake of his life.
L let out a small laugh.
“Oh, so you regret it now, do you?” His voice was as calm as ever, but that did nothing to reassure Light anymore. “I must admit, Light, I didn't expect this.”
“Expect what?”
“For you to show remorse. For you to care.”
“Really?” Light asked, his voice cracking.
Slowly, he turned around; this time, he could see L stood behind him. He was now leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his skin was pale and sickly looking, like it had been coated in wax. To his horror, Light could see some of the decomposition of L’s body. Creeping up his neck were grotesque spots of festering flesh. Light decided not to focus on it, for the sake of his stomach.
He looked back up to L’s dark —and noticeably angry— eyes that raged like a storm over the ocean.
L pushed himself off the wall, walking forward to where Light stood; he didn't stop until he was just inches away. He clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes, which Light found rather unsettling.
“What do you mean ‘really’? You're Kira,” L stared incredulously, voice raised. “A cold-blooded killer. You don't get to feel bad for what you did to me and Watari.”
Light swallowed hard.
“That doesn’t mean I didn’t care.”
He could practically feel the judgement boring into his skin.
“Did you care when you were laughing over my grave? Or when you masquerade as me while knowing you are deceiving everyone around you?”
Light didn’t respond.
He couldn’t respond. What could he say?
L laughed and this time, when he spoke, he wasn’t angry; he was dejected, “You lie to everybody, Light. Including yourself, it seems.”
For the first time in a while, Light looked deeply into L’s eyes and noticed how empty they looked. He reached out to caress L’s cheek. It was deathly cold.
“What about-” Light’s voice caught in his throat, “what about when...”
“When we kissed?” Sighing, L cupped his hand over Light’s, hesitating as he moved it from his face, “That wasn’t supposed to happen, Light.”
He didn’t hold the tears back anymore.
Gently, L wiped them away, which only made Light’s heart ache worse.
To his horror, L’s skin was deteriorating before his eyes. Dark tendrils of rot worked their way up onto his face, turning his skin grey. Light followed the trail down to see L’s flesh had been stripped away completely in some places, revealing bone.
Light wanted it to stop.
“I wish we could have met a different way.”
Light longed to go back in time. To change fate.
Maybe then he could have a chance at his ideal life. Maybe then he wouldn't have to live with the guilt. Maybe he could finally be happy.
“This is the only way we could’ve met.”
L practically whispered that last sentence, his voice full of pain.
Although he didn’t want to admit it, he knew deep down that L was right. This really was the only way they could’ve met.
By delivering the fatal blow to L, he had done the same to himself.