#b's

His eyes close and he sips his tea, and realizes in a moment of clarity that it’s been even longer since he had allowed anyone to step in and take over the lingering loneliness that had hung over him ever since the death of L. He tries not to think of those final moments, that final night when everything seemed to change in an instant. He had never intended to fall in love with the detective, but it had happened all the same. Without his memories, his innocence had felt so genuine and yet it had been the perfect ploy to throw L off his guard. There was a time before his memories had returned that he can now perfectly recall, the constant surveillance of those wary eyes, cataloguing every action and intent with undisguised suspicion. Without his memories, he had been adamant to the constant accusations, and it came as a complete and utter shock the first time that in the middle of a fight that he had grasped L’s face with unabashed volition and pressed their lips together. L had quickly shoved him off, angry and panting like a wounded animal, only moments before knocking him back to the floor and roughly kissing him back. There had been a brief interlude where Light had been unable to move, completely enraptured with the brutal strength the detective used to hold him down, and the buzzy astringent flavor of warm black tea gliding across his tongue; right before L jolted up with sudden agitation and slapped him unceremoniously. Light felt the immediate tension of the handcuff around his wrist as L quickly jumped off him and retreated, only stopping once he realized that they were still connected by the chain. His face had betrayed a look of guilt as he turned those critical eyes away for what felt like the first time and Light found his footing and an immediate apology on his tongue. L’s head snapped back around with such force and authority that Light immediately stopped talking, the burning assertion in L’s eyes silencing him as he simply held up one finger and stated,

“I could never love Kira.”

This statement, however, did not stop further incidents. Light had begun to relish every opportunity that he could create to cause tension with high hopes of the inevitable kiss here and there, and the peppery taste of tea; sometimes fruity and herbal, and other times subtle and sweet but always present and never yielding. L refused to be dominated and Light refused to relent, so their nights often ended with both exhausted and entangled, the young man often waking to find L silently watching over him.

One night changed everything.

Once his memories had been restored, Light found himself affronted and angry and confused as to what his true intentions were anymore. The suspicious gaze that had started to lift was firmly back in place on L’s face, and he took all measure to avoid him once the chain was removed. His plans were in motion, everything was set in place, but none of that had prepared him for the intense inclination to seek L out, and finding him standing alone on the rooftop, drenched head to toe. He calls out to him, but L seems unable to hear him. He comes closer, and the words that L says next shake him to the core,

“Tell me, Light, from the moment you were born, has there ever been a point where you’ve actually told the truth?

Shaking and shivering, thoroughly soaked and cold to the touch, they grapple more than embrace as L struggled to be free only for a moment before he had relented to Light’s insistence to hold him still.  He tastes it then, the bitter warmth of coffee and the angry curses against his lips until L quiets down, and they both depart from the rooftop, unable to escape their fates. Light knows what will happen, and it plays over and over again in his mind until it happens, the screens going black and catching L as he fell, the last cup of coffee on his desk unfinished and cold.

Mikami finally arrives and sits down next to him. Teru only drinks Yamazaki single malt whiskey and ordered for both of them, because if there was anything the diligent prosecutor proved to be, it was resolutely consistent. It was his unerring adherence to strict habits that had given Yagami pause from the moment he had first observed him and his unquestioning devotion. This was both something that bothered Light as much as it made him feel secure. Teru possessed a quality that Light had found both endearing in its efficiency as well as slightly threatening in how capable Teru was in his unwavering need for retribution. Their nights often ended like this, and Light enjoyed the way that Mikami-kun would drink his whiskey neat, with a gilded ease that oozed both a fanatical obsession with perfection; his tapered fingers giving no clues at all as to how many names they had judged in flawless, precise columns as they lifted to touch his face. There were times when Light imagined that he could still smell the scent of ink, but Teru was nothing short of impeccably dressed, fingernails neatly scrubbed and scented with clean smelling soap. Light appreciated how the attorney took his time to seduce him, brushing his lips gently with his thumb and staring into his eyes with devout adoration, right before he felt the immediate press of his mouth against his, warm and heady with need. Teru Mikami’s choice of liquor suited him, dark, smoky and complex, the smooth aroma of Mizunara Japanese oak tainting his mind with a pleasant intoxication. They spend the night together, and sometime in the early morning they depart their separate ways.