#lightsturtleneck

As he was walking down the street, he noticed a bright brown-colored head that struck up his attention. He seemed to be done with some professional duties and normally that would be enough, but he noticed something peculiar: No lifespan. He looked again to check what he saw, and it hit him. That was God and his name was Light Yagami.

~

“Takada-san, I recently heard on the news that you overtook Miho Sato’s number one spot on a new national popularity poll. This spokeswoman position is doing you some good on your popularity with Kira worshipers.” Light said casually to Takada, taking a small sip of his tea after his statement.

“Don’t remind me,” Kiyomi scoffed. “Sato is a good friend of mine and I feel awful that she is number two before me.” However, the truth was, Kiyomi didn’t know Miho Sato that well, and even if she did, she wouldn’t feel bad that she was at the top, even for something as meaningless as a popularity poll.

“Modest as always, you haven’t changed one bit, popularity contests were always beneath you, I remember that from our early college days.” Light said playfully.

“Being on top is great, sure, but second place is not a place to be when you are barely trying.” She seemed very distracted out of a sudden.

Light faked a laugh. “Okay, now you are being patronizing, no one likes to be number two.”

“I know you think you are right, but that’s how I feel, for me is not that serious.” Kiyomi said tensely as she wrote a message on one of the pieces of paper from the hotel’s notepad. In order to bypass the Task Force’s surveillance and continue communicating with Takada, Light convinced them that Kira might be mindful of cameras in hotel rooms and finding them would get them killed and he at least settled for audio surveillance. This was a positively outcome for him because he can give Takada messages to Mikami and fool the Task Force at the same time.

T contacted me last night.

He said he knows who you are.

Light blinked in confusion but remained calm on the inside. What lead Mikami to desperately seek him out? He understood that his devotion for Kira was boundless, but this was too risky. Was it sheer coincidence, pure luck, or an obsession to find his God among the crowd? And he dared speak to Takada out of turn, there had to be some limits to his unpredictability. Mikami, Light thought. What are you planning to do with this information? Please don’t try to find me, you are aware you are being observed, this might put us in danger if you act too rashly.

“Light, what’s on your mind? I hope I’m not boring you with my small talk.” Takada’s voice interrupted his internal struggle. He looked deeply into her face and noticed that her tone did not match her expression. While her words implied an airy self-deprecation that was natural for coyness, her frown and tense lips said it all: She was concerned about his lack of participation, to a certain extent, but she knew it had nothing to do with her. She wrote him another note.

Are you thinking about T?

He let out a barely audible chuckle. She knew him so well already in such a short amount of time, he was impressed.

“Sorry, Takada-san, I was just admiring how beautiful you look today. Sometimes I can’t believe that I’m spending my time with the most desired woman in the country.” Light said as smooth as possible for the microphones to hear.

Kiyomi was taken aback for a few seconds–a faint blush covering her cheeks—but she recovered rather quick and coughed on her fist in her characteristic Takada manner. “Complimenting me will get you nowhere, you know this already.” Despite her words, Kiyomi couldn’t help but have a wide grin on her face, most likely to throw him off. “Don’t get mushy on me, save that for another occasion when we go on a proper date together.” She passed him one more note.

You are so full of shit.

Light rolled his eyes. He had no patience to appease Takada, she should be mindful that her displeasure is too miniscule compared to the real concern at hand. Light wrote back to Takada on another note, his penmanship practically bleeding with ink as he roughly pressed his pen against the piece of paper.

Contact T again and specifically tell him to forget about what he saw. Make it clear that disobeying me leads to consequences.

However, if I kill Mikami, Light began his train of thought. Then I’ll have to look for another person to fill his role, and at this point, it is too late in the game to change my mind. It would look suspicious if Mikami died while I’m still suspected of being Kira, it may leave the impression that I know him on a personal level. For his own good, he must listen to me.

And in truth, Light did not want anyone else to replace Mikami. He had proven himself to be a great judge of justice, a very intelligent man, and the right amount of passionate. Despite that, he also proved himself to be rather frustrating with his devotion. He wasn’t sure if he should be annoyed or … flattered.

Light and Kiyomi continued their staged conversation for as long as it could last, but Mikami never left Light’s mind even on his way back home.

~

Despite the awkward circumstances on Misa’s absence in their residence, he quietly appreciated the lack of affection she would usually give when he returned from work. Sure, he now had to cook for himself, but that was barely a disadvantage. The kitchen was filled with several bottles of wine that Misa purchased to deal with Light’s occupied schedule, and he wrinkle his nose as he remembered dealing with her drunken foolishness previous nights ago. It was past one in the morning and while Light felt physically tired, he didn’t have the energy to go to bed just yet. Just one, Light thought to himself as he poured his own glass of wine. This had been a rather stressful week, he deserved to take it easy for at least one hour. After finishing his last drops of wine, he took a seat on one the loveseats and allowed himself to relax. Before he knew it, his tiredness caught with him and he passed out on his seat.

~

He wasn’t sure what time it was before he heard the knock on his door startled him back to consciousness, but once he saw his watch confirming said question, a sense of dread washed over him. No sane person would be up at this hour, specially demanding a coherent answer, Light already feared the worst. Light walked towards the door and checked the peephole to see if the person behind the door was a deranged criminal. Instead, Teru Mikami stood up before him as he opened the door, hoping it was his imagination playing tricks on him.

“Can I help you?” Light raised one eyebrow.

“God,” Mikami breathed as he bowed down in front of him. “I knew this was the right address, I had to confirm it with my own eyes.”

Interesting, Mikami didn’t give up on his pursuit despite being told not to. Unless, Takada did not get the chance when he asked her to do so. Whichever the truth was, Mikami was here and the sight of him sparked something inside of him that was unfamiliar with him.

“Go inside and don’t make a sound when you do,” Light whispered at him. “You have no idea how upset I feel right now.”

~

He said what he said, and yet, he welcomed Mikami as if he were a regular guest. Light took another glance at Mikami and a small twitch of satisfaction crossed his lips. Somehow, despite the time of the day, his hair was still kempt as if he did not partake any brisk activities, his olive suit had no wrinkles on sight, and his face was refreshed. He either went to bed too early or never slept at all; either way, Mikami looked decent.

“So, you know what I looked like, very well,” Light shrugged as he asked Mikami to sit across from him. “The mystery has been solved. What can I do for you?”

“You are already doing enough for me, God,” Mikami said seriously. “You are using me to give justice onto the world and I’m so grateful.”

Apparently not grateful enough to let me enjoy some anonymity.

“Did someone follow you? You understand that someone from the SPK is watching your every move, right? You being here is putting us both in danger.”

“I’m aware that the SPK member has been following me, but I was able to avoid him. He is following my schedule, and this is not part of it. I made sure he was nowhere in sight.”

He had to give him some credit, he was smart enough to act carefully on his impulse, but it was still too risky.

“Teru Mikami, did I or did I not, ask you to not seek me out?” Light said between clenched teeth.

“I know, but I couldn’t stay away,” Mikami replied adoringly. “I had to meet my God, I had to hear Kira’s voice. And now that I have done just that, I want more of you, to do with me as you please.”

Light pinched the bridge of his nose, annoyance rising within him. Do with him as he pleased? That sounded rather sexual, but it was unlikely that was the intent if Mikami’s firm position on his seat was anything to go by. And yet, as his eyes glanced slowly down his face and his neck, lust traveled down the pit of his lower abdomen and the idea to have Mikami in such a manner entertained his mind.

Light and Mikami conversed more casually, pretending that such statement was never uttered. Light asked him questions about the fake notebook and if he wrote any names down as he should. After Mikami confirmed that every order he had received was complied, Light nodded and then a silence fell. It was not awkward silence, surprisingly enough, but the type of silence that filled the emptiness they were both feeling before they were face to face. Maybe it was the glass of wine making him more assertive than before, but Light cleared his throat and grabbed a brand-new glass to give on the table.

“I still have some wine, if you want any. Would you?”

“I may have to say no, I don’t drink, ever.” Mikami replied.

“Hmm? I thought you said you wouldn’t deny me anything.” Light was not the least bit upset, he just wanted to check if Mikami could ever be provoked. “You just denied your God for the second time in less than 24 hours, you are threading on thin ice, Teru Mikami.”

“Excuse me?” Mikami’s eyed widen in surprise. “I already apologized for coming to see you.”

“And I forgive you,” Light’s voice suddenly dropped with sultriness. “But I don’t think you haven’t done that for yourself.”

Mikami raised one eyebrow. “Are you asking me … if I forgive myself?”

“Have you ever seen a confessional booth, Teru Mikami?” Light rotated his empty glass between his fingers. “The sinner usually gets on their knees, clasps their hands on a prayer, and begs for forgiveness as the priest listens intently. In many religions, they call it penance.”

Mikami nodded intently. “I see. What does it have to do with me?”

“Everything,” Light stood up and cupped Mikami’s face between his hands. “You commit a sin against your God, knowing that you did wrong, and then apologize. I love your commitment, but it’s not enough. Get on your knees.”

“What?” Mikami was appalled.

“Tsk, tsk, what did I tell you about denying me?” Light’s words slurred. “Get on your knees.”

Because he didn’t want to argue with his God, Mikami did as he was told and pressed his knees against the carpet. What did God planned to do with him?

Light untied his tie sloppily and wrapped both of Mikami’s wrists around it. “Now you’ll be praying for me for the duration of this.”

Mikami wanted to oppose this, but he was thrilled at the same time. He was sorry and he wanted to prove to Kira the validity of his penance. He would do as he said, no questions asked.

Light unbuckled his pants and dropped them down his knees, revealing a very apparent erection poking inside his underwear. The anticipation was overwhelming Mikami so much that his forehead had a thin layer of sweat. He wanted to touch Kira, submit to him, but he was not allowed to touch him yet.

Once the underwear was below, Light took a hold of his member and stroked himself in front of Mikami, intentionally teasing him for not allowing him to do it for him. After a couple of moments passed, Light forwarded himself on Mikami’s face and gingerly rubbed his tip against his lips, acknowledging that he needed his mouth to please himself.

Mikami eagerly took him in, tasting every inch of Kira with his tongue, allowing him to thrust further into his mouth. No other feeling could compare to this sweet submission, Mikami did not want this to end, he couldn’t get enough. This was Kira’s body, this was his way to show his love; even as tears rolled down his eyes, he was blissfully content.

His God moaned, and that motivated him to keep going, adoring the altar between Kira’s hips, the ultimate proof of his devotion. It was unfortunate that he couldn’t worship his altar with his own tied hands, but he at least Kira was giving him the greatest gift he could ever ask. This is his body, this is his love, God thinks I’m worthy.

As Light was approaching his orgasm, he held on to Mikami’s long hair tightly and the finesse he was practicing earlier was longer there, and the room was filled with repeated moans and Mikami’s throaty efforts. Light moaned one last time before he spilled all over Mikami, allowing him to take every drop before removing himself.

The once refined Teru Mikami was soiled mess, his face was unkempt and sweaty, it was quite the sight that made Light Yagami want to take him fully into him, but there was no fun in continue spoiling his disciple.

“So,” Light pulled up his pants, pretending that the act the occurred mere minutes ago was a distance memory. “Do you forgive yourself?”

“Yes, oh, God, yes,” Mikami panted, still out of breath from his efforts. “Thank you.”

“There is no need to thank me,” Light untied his tie from Mikami’s wrists. “I should be the one thanking you. As long as you keep this between us, no harm will be done.”

Mikami nodded. “I understand.”

Lazily pushing his weight onto the lever handle of a white, wooden door with a room number plastered on the front. It swings open, thumping against the springed door stop above the wall’s molding. Stepping inside, he hooks the base of the door with his foot, kicking it backward to slam it shut, all the while his hands remain in his jeans pockets. A paper flutters a few inches across the floor in the wake of it. Looming above it are stacks consisting of more papers and an endless amount of books crowded around one of the room’s desks, itself weighed down by even more textbooks and study material. At it sat a blonde boy, engrossed in his study process. He didn’t spare a glance at his roommate’s clumsy entrance. Pausing to observe the blonde boy, he lightly kissed his teeth before walking over to his bed on the other side of the room, flopping down on it, and letting out an unreasonably loud and melodramatic sigh. 

…

When he receives no response, he sharply inhales with intent to let out an even louder one— but is interrupted before he makes it any further. 

“What?” The other boy snaps at him. 

”Turning from your precious study time for little-ol’me? I’m ho-“

“Cut the shit, Matt. What do you want to tell me? Or did you just come here to bother me out of boredom?”

He shifts on the bed, now lying on his stomach with his folded arms propping his head up. “A little bit of both.” He admits. The blonde kid turns just enough for his furrowed brow to be visible from the bed. Huffing, Matt continues, “Ms. Davison confiscated my Game Boy Advance,“ he pouts. 

“Then go play on the GameCube in the common area.” He rolls his eyes at the minuscule inconvenience he’s been dragged into dealing with. ”It’s the middle of the day,” Matt whines, “if I go out, there’s gonna be other people. I don’t want to interact with anyone right now.”

“Rich, considering all you’ve done about it is come bother me so you can have someone to bitch and complain to.”

“You’re an exception and you know it.” Mello doesn’t refute, instead wearing a soft smirk at the words, although his vision remains focused on the rough equations in his notebook. 

Matt relaxes and looks to the other half of the room, neat save for school supplies stacked on the floor and chocolate wrappers pouring from the mini trash can the orphanage provided them. A stark contrast to the clutter that littered the foot of the bed Matt rested on, clothes draped on the bed frame, empty chip bags across the floor, crumbs that had fallen from them, and the only school supplies dumped to the side of the nightstand. Compounded with the messy bed sheets, the only organized corner of Matt’s side of the room was his desk, holding his computer and other electronics, and his tightly nestled bookshelf, which stored a handful of minimally worn textbooks alongside various DVD and game cases. 

“I’m starting to realize why you’re so mad at Near all the time. I swear he could do an entire papier-mache project in the middle of a class and the teachers won’t say shit. I’m honestly kind of jealous.”  

“Yeah…” Mello grinds his teeth as he spits the word out to restrain himself from going further at the name of his rival, “You know they only do that because they think you’re not applying yourself, right?” 

“Which is bullshit.”

Mello stops his pen for the first time since Matt entered the room. He leans back, twisting around to stare at his friend. He catches Matt’s attention, now looking up innocently from his spot on the bed. Mello’s eyebrows raised, now tucked behind his bangs, as Matt blinked back. 

“You’re joking?”

“Uh, no?“

Mello turns back around, plopping his hands on the edge of the desk, pen still in hand, creating a click sound alongside the loud thumps. Huffing, he locks his arms and leans back in his chair. He speaks under his breath, “Jesus Christ.”

Matt flounders to sit up. “What?” he shouts.

“We are in the same history class.”

“And?”

Mello swipes a book from beneath one of the shallow piles of papers on his desk. “This is our textbook.” It’s lined with colorful sticky notes protruding from the pages. He drops it, the hardcover smacking the wood of the desk. “Where’s your copy?”

Matt cringes and glances at his bookshelf, where the said textbook graces the top shelf, still covered in its shrink wrap.

“Thought so,” Mello sits back down, returning to his work, irritation pinching his face. “Unlike you, I’ve got work. So go find someone else to cry to.”

Matt shuffles and swings his legs off the bed. He perches his heels on the metal frame poking out from beneath the mattress, looking down out of habit, despite not having his Game Boy anymore. ”What’s the score?”

Mello grips his pen tightly, “Four points. I got a ninety-five; he beat me by four points in the last exam,” He mumbles. 

He glances back at Matt again. His stiff anger relaxes, and his voice changes to a stern but softer tone, “Stop doing that.”

Matt’s head shoots up, initially confused. Following Mello’s gaze, his eyes land on his fingers. He’d been picking at his cuticles again. The ring finger of his left hand was lightly bleeding. Matt had been staring straight at his hands before and still didn’t notice he had relapsed on the habit, completely zoned out while focusing on Mello’s words. 

“Sorry,” Matt rubs his nail beds against his jeans, wiping the small amount of blood and soothing lingering irritation. He stands, lightly bouncing his leg. “Maybe I’ll go play on the GameCube after all…”

“Don’t say sorry.”

He pauses before the door… then turns and smiles at his friend. “Good luck with your studying, you’ve got this,” he punctuates with a wide grin. 

Mello continues to stare at the door, even after Matt leaves. 

As the day progresses, the common room is flooded with traffic from other children, then abandoned, then flooded again, and then abandoned once more. The cycle repeats with spikes and lulls in the room’s occupation, fluctuating as evening approaches. The only constant was a boy on the couch, completely negligent of the environment around him and unresponsive to any attempts to speak with him. 

Footsteps approached, unbeknownst to Matt, still fixated on the screen. The loud clicks of his controller buttons echo in the now nearly empty room as he carefully makes his way across the platforms featured by his console. They get smaller and further apart as his character ascended; a particularly steep jump preceded the level exit. Delicately flicking the joystick back and forth, dancing along the ledge until an opportune moment strikes—

“Arg!”

Matt’s focus is shattered by his body jerking forward, causing his controller to slip from his hands. A deep and unbearable screech claws across the tile. His reflexes kick in as he slaps his hands together on the controller, catching it mid-air and barely keeping it from hitting the floor. 

“Get up.”

Turning as the panic cools off, Matt sees Mello standing above him. He looks around the room, desperately searching for any context that would make Mello’s presence make sense. “Uhh, what? Aren’t you supposed to be studying for that exam?” 

Mello scowls, “Shut it and take my help.”

“Your help?”

Matt realizes Mello is carrying something in his left hand as he tosses a small cellphone with an LED screen. “Your Game Boy is still in the teacher’s lounge, right? Why sulk on the couch when you can just take it back?” 

Matt huffs, shoulders slouching and head lolling back, “Dude, I tried. There’s no way to get in there without being caught.” 

Mello smirks and begins strutting toward the hall, “I’ve got it covered.” 

Staring into the back of his head, the other boy paused, befuddled by Mello’s behavior. He shook the feeling off and rushed to catch up. Jogging through the shallows of the hallway, he finds Mello progressing to its end, slowing his usual stride for him. Riffing under the rim of his baggy shirt, Mello pulls a bar coated in tinfoil from the waist of his pants. He tears the foil from it, revealing chocolate underneath, balling it up and tucking it into his back pocket. Digging his teeth in, the bar snaps, sound bouncing through the hallway. Smiling softly at his friend’s idiosyncrasies, Matt quickens his pace, now walking shoulder to shoulder. Albeit lopsidedly, as Mello had yet to finish going through his growth spurts, leaving Matt half a foot and some change taller. 

Nearing the bend of the hall, Mello cuts Matt off by jutting his arm in front of Matt’s chest, forcing him to skid to a stop. Crossing in front, Mello wraps his fingers around the chipped drywall at the corner of the hallway, leaning into it and peaking past, cautiously waiting. Unable to see in the direction the other was monitoring, Matt rests his hands in his jean pockets, stepping back and closing his eyes. He holds an aloof posture but listens closely, hoping to make up for his lack of a view with his ears. 

“What time is it?”

Matt peeks an eye open. Remembering the phone in his hand, he pulls it up, looking at its screen, “Hm, 7:01.”

Mello clicks his tongue and releases an aggressive huff. “It should be any second now…”

Both eyes now open, he gapes and plants his feet firmly to the ground, “Dude, what are we trying to do here?” his question falls on deaf ears as Mello continues staring down the remaining length of the hall.

Dropping his shoulders, Matt moves away from the wall, “Mello, what-“

Mello throws himself around, spinning on his heel so fast that a loud screech would have given them away if he weren’t barefoot. He roughly grabs Matt’s arm, yanking him around. Disoriented Matt dizzily stumbles along as Mello drags them back down the hall, pivoting halfway and diving into the boys’ bathroom. Matt uses the tentative grasp he has on his surroundings to narrowly avoid falling over when they suddenly stop. Leaning his forearm on the wall, the one that Mello didn’t currently have in his grasp, he swayed, shaking off the newfound disorientation. Squeezing his eyes shut with a minute tip of his chin down, he rapidly blinks. Bringing himself back to the space around him, his eyes catch the harsh fluorescent lighting pouring through his bangs. “Dude,” the word reverberates loudly across the room due to the bathroom’s acoustics. He flinches and continues at a subdued volume, “You’ve gotta’ explain what’s happening, I’m seriously losing the plot. How does playing hide and seek get me my Game Boy back?”

Mello glares at him, muttering through gritted teeth, “It’s the teachers.” Taken aback, Matt stops the conversation, focusing on his hearing once again. Sure enough, the clack of multiple pairs of shoes and a dull but frenzied dialogue played from the hall. Confusion grips his face, “What’s going on? That sounded like half the teachers here.”

“And the other half are probably all there already.”

Glancing back at his friend, he catches a wicked grin, melting any of the boy’s prior frustration. Despite Matt’s excessive doubts on their current plan of action, he relaxes; Mello’s confidence leagues more contagious than it ought to be. 

Matt chuckles, “So?”

“We can’t get into staff-only areas with so many teachers; we’ll get caught.” 

“No shit, but why the hell are they ditching?” 

He brings the chocolate to his lips, maintaining his smile throughout, “I managed to… arrange a profitable scenario for us.”

“Huh?” 

“You familiar with that obnoxious kid who got called to the office for vandalizing a classroom?”

“Uh,” Matt sheepishly sinks back, aware how oblivious he tended to be when it came to the world around him, “nope.”

“Of course,” Mello rolls his eyes, “well, it happened. I snatched his backpack while him and a bunch of others were playing football. Dug through it and found twenty quid.”

Matt whistles, “Damn, and here I thought we were the only ones stealing from teachers.”  

Mello’s smile lightly broadened at the quip, “I took the cash and then dumped the bag by someone else’s belongings. The staff call the games off at around 6:45 so that everyone has time to pack up and be inside by our 7:00 pm curfew. Incidentally, fifteen minutes is just enough time for news about a fight breaking out to reach the adults around the school.”

Matt’s eyes widen, enraptured by the scheme, “No shit… so what from here?”

“We need to be quick.” His smile fades to a focused pinch, “The lounge is probably still locked, but at least one of the teachers had to have left their keys in the commotion. We need to find one of those key rings and take a photo of it, that way we can leave it in the exact same position as we found it when we’re done.” Matt’s fingers graze over the cell phone in his hand.

“The rest is pretty straightforward. Get in, find the console, and get out. I can stand guard while you’re looking for it.” 

A bright grin grows on Matt’s face, eyes shining with admiration at his friend’s brilliance. He takes a moment to soak in the scene. Upon catching the stare, Mello flounders and looks away, red blotches giving away his embarrassment. He locks his eyes to the bathroom tile, unable to respond, and finally lets go of Matt’s right sleeve. Noticing Mello’s freezing, Matt shakes off his trance, though still smiling. 

“Come on. Let’s do this while we still have the time.” Quickly recollecting himself, Mello nods in agreement, and the two jog through the halls with a new bounce to their gait, soon reaching the corner of the building dedicated to classrooms. Not bothering with locked doors, they enter each open room, glance at the front desks for discarded items, and leave when none are spotted. That is, until Matt spots a burgundy purse lying on a signature rolling chair. Jumping over to it, he peeks inside, careful not to disturb it. Once he sees a glimmer of light reflecting from inside, he whips the cell out of his pocket and documents the purse’s position. Opening it, he repeats this with its contents, then yanks the keys and speeds out to alert Mello of his findings. They rushed to the teachers’ lounge Matt had been stalking around earlier that day. Testing each key until they find the correct one, they finally gain access to the lounge. While they call the room a lounge for lack of a better term, it really functioned more like a shared office. Desks and stations with computers filled the center of the room; some were clean, but the majority were littered with papers, sticky notes, and various other office supplies. Cabinets lined the walls, most not much cleaner than the desks. Matt had been in trouble enough times to know where confiscated items were usually kept. Making his way across the room, he slides a bin off a shelf above his head, careful not to reflexively drop it at the weight. Lowering it as softly as possible, it falls to the counter with a deep thud and rattle. As he skims the objects it held, he grew increasingly concerned at the lack of any handheld console inside, reasoning it should be at the top of the pile, considering how recently it was taken. He begins digging through, remaining empty-handed. He hears scolding from the entrance, “Just grab it already, Matt!” Mello stresses, eyes still scanning outside of the room. “I’m trying! It’s not where it’s supposed to be.” Matt drums his fingers on the bin’s edge, combing through his memories to find a location it might be. A  potential answer dawns on him. He returns the bin then quickly circles around the room, staring down each desk for indications of who they might belong to. He skids to a stop when he sees one with a vacation photo featuring his teacher and her husband pinned to its cubicle-esque divider. Sliding each drawer open, letting the end of each track slam against its wheels. At the bottom drawer, he strikes gold. The exact handheld they’ve been looking for was wedged between comic books, toy guns, and MP3 players. Grabbing it, he proudly lifts it above his head. Closing every drawer, he makes a dash for the entrance. “Got it!”

Mello nodded strongly, “Finally.” Matt makes his way out briskly, then waits impatiently as Mello relocks the door. The moment a solid click is heard, they rip the key out, bringing it back to the classroom. Peering through a doorway to see the burgundy bag exactly how he left it, Matt goes to the chair, kneeling in front of it, and whipping out the phone to reference how it was previously placed. Mello leaned over his shoulder, checking his work as he put the original scene back together. Stuffing the keys back into their designated spot, Matt catches a flare of blonde move from the corner of his eye. Turning back, he looks up to Mello, attention glued to something in the distance that Matt is not yet aware of. “Did you hear that?”

Stilling his movements to prevent any unintentional noise, he joins Mello’s search. Until he catches it. 

“Damn,” Mello hisses, “they’re already in the hall, they’ll see it if we close the door.”

A pair of heels snapped rhythmically down the hall, coupled with exasperated mumbling.

“Who is it?”

“Ngh!” Mello’s caught off guard, “ it sounds like… Miss Pryce. Why the fuck does it matter? We need to buy time,” He stresses. 

Before fully closing the purse, Matt pulls out a different flip phone that was buried in the purse’s contents. Navigating its menus, the clicks grow louder and louder. “Matt, what the hell are y-“ Matt jolts up and wraps his hand across Mello’s mouth, cutting him off. Hitting one last button, a dial plays- but is quickly cut off by a distant ringtone. Footsteps stop at its sudden appearance. The dial soon stops in tandem with the halting of the ringer. “What can I do for you?” is played by garbled cheap speakers, immediately after a similar question echoes from the hall. Matt lets go of Mello, the other’s face painted somewhere between fury and befuddlement, eyes nearly popping from his head. Cupping his hand around the phone’s mic, Matt brings his mouth close, “Hey, Miss P.”  Silence falls for a moment. “Who is this? Why do you have Bradly’s phone?” 

Maintaining an uninvested tone, he responds, “Hmm, Matt. I found this phone on the floor earlier. Figured you’d know whose it was.”

A sigh flows through the speaker, “Of course, can you bring it to my classroom, I’ll return it to her.”

“Uhh. Aren’t I supposed to stay in my room past curfew?”

“Why are you calling now if you’re still in your room? Could you not have just done this when you found it?” Frustration engulfed the comment.

“Don’t know, forgot, I guess.”

Her response is delayed, Matt crosses his fingers, hoping his excuse didn’t give them away. Finally, “Fine, I’ll stop by your room to pick it up. Please have it ready immediately.”

“No problem mam’.” 

Matt ends the call before she has an opportunity to respond. A curt sigh is released just outside the door, and footsteps begin once again, this time fading from earshot. 

Mello finally cools down from his previous freak out, “You are so lucky all of the teachers know how goddamn lazy you are.”

Matt smirks and tilts his head, winking in Mello’s direction. Shaking his bangs, Mello grins warmly, “Put the purse back, we can hop through the window and rush back to our room before she gets there.”

“On it.”

…

Slamming the door, Matt closed his eyes, and his head leaned back, bumping the piece of wood. It stops to lie just above his shoulder blades, already spread out against it. 

“So?”

He peeks an eye open to meet Mello’s gaze. Sat on his bed with an inquisitive eyebrow raised and an unreasonably relaxed posture, given what they had just been through. 

“She bought it.” 

Mello smirks as he shifts back, stretching his arms above his head and flopping over onto his pillow. “I envy your reputation sometimes, Matt.” 

“Oh, please,” he braces his elbows and launches himself off the door, “you could pull the same thing off if you wanted to.”

“You really think the teachers would believe me if I just ‘forgot’?”

“No, but they’re too scared of you to call you out on it.” 

“Tsk.” He dismisses it, but Matt knows the comment bolstered his ego. Matt slowly struts to his side of the room, eventually falling back to the edge of his bed. Digging into his jean pocket, he retrieves the console they’d spent the evening getting back. He runs his fingers across its smooth screen, sliding down, and they reach its bottom swiftly snapping the left-most switch into a new confirmation. The console powers on rainbow lettering flashing across the screen before action-packed low resolution tunes erupt from it. Tilting the Game Boy Advance, he’s halted by lamp light illuminating the immediate area. It shines on his console, making the non-backlit screen brighten with color. Following the light, he notices Mello retracting his hand from his lamp’s metal chain. “Thanks.”

“Better than you keeping me awake all night with the overhead lights.” He stands to flip the light switch on the other side of the room. “I mean for the whole thing. I know you’re busy with studying and important stuff.” 

“Anytime, Matt.” he sits back down on his own bed. “That’s what partners are for, isn’t it?” 

Matt snorts at the name, a familiar title he’d given the two of them years back. A reminder that whenever they got in trouble for a scheme at Wammy’s, it was always together. 

“Yeah, it is.” 

… 

Chatter from other children and layered footsteps fill the halls of Wammy’s as students flood out of their classrooms. An orange tint begins to slowly color the white tiles, affirming the clock above their heads, using its hands to display the time 6:45 pm. Buried among the crowd is Matt, too engulfed with the Game Boy in his hands to pay mind to the riot being caused around him. His muscle memory guides him along, taking turns along with the rapidly thinning herd of children. Pulling open his door, he shuts it behind him without breaking eye contact with his game console. He’s interrupted when the door fully closes, cutting off any light reaching the room beyond the faint sunset from the window. The darkness wipes any visibility from his gamescreen, forcing him to look up and find a solution in the space around him. He turns, reaching the light switch on habit, but stops when a difference in the room registers in his peripheral vision. Even in the dark of the room, he could feel the absence of certain belongings. It had been cleaned, even from Matt’s side of the room, but it wasn’t the only piece missing. Books and notes, boxes of stored chocolate, black clothing hanging from the laundry basket, trays of previously written papers, all of it was gone. He tossed the console on the now-empty desk, rushing to Mello’s side of the room and crouching to inspect it all in more detail. Sure enough, all that was usually under the bed or in the nightstand drawers was missing. All of it was vacant. Reeling at the discovery, Matt leaned back on the balls of his feet, balancing himself with the pads of his right fingers touching the floor. 

Is he… What happened? Why would he just gut the place? He can’t be… I just saw him this morning, and nothing was different; he couldn’t have. Okay. Wait. What’s the last place I know he was? In mid-afternoon, he was in Roger’s office. I heard one of the others gossiping about him being in trouble again. I assumed they were just spreading rumors, but if they’re not and he actually did do something severe enough, is that why? Did he get kicked out? No, there’s no way, if he did something serious like that, I would know. Either it would be something he did today, and I would have heard about it, or he would have told me. Can I ask Roger? Will he tell me?

He fully falls to the floor, legs pulled out from under him and tangled as his heels hit the ground. Not able to conjure the strength for it anymore. He takes deep breaths, slowing his thoughts to solve the situation. 

His eyes shoot open, an epiphany having made its way to him.

Near. They were saying Near got in trouble, too. 

A glance at the clock above their nightstands tells him it’s now 7:01 pm. Everyone should be in their rooms. He jumps up, but as he exits, his hand lingers on the handle once more. He walks to Mello’s desk and swipes his Game Boy, safely tucking it in his pocket, then finally leaves the dorm. He proceeds cautiously, aware that any sighting of an adult would mean getting sent back with no answers. Tiptoeing over, he finds himself in front of a door, room 108 written on its plaque. There’s no obvious indicator of who the room belongs to, but Matt had been here so long he knew. He timidly knocked on the door, careful not to alert the rooms around it. Staring at his hands, he waits patiently, aware of Near’s sluggishness, particularly when standing. The torn cuticles had finally begun to heal since his foray into the teacher’s lounge with Mello. He has his handheld now, after all, he doesn’t need bad habits to busy his hands. 

The clunk of a dead bolt sliding from its place draws him back. The door creaks open to reveal a short-statured boy, draped in white pajamas and looking to him with eyes partially obscured by messy bangs and a slight downward tilt of his head. He doesn’t look at all surprised by Matt’s appearance. From the sliver that Matt could see, his room contained a large series of trays and tunnels, all designed to transport and roll the metal marbles currently resting at its base. The structure only left a narrow space for Near to climb onto his bed, which was leveled lower than most of the bed frames at Wammy’s. The space left from a lack of any roommate must have been taken up with bins of his toys or even more space for his marble slide. Slowly blinking, Near stares at him for a moment. The boys sit in awkward silence, prolonged by the social aptitude both of them lack. Neither had ever been good at striking up a conversation. 

“What can I help you with?” Near started.

“You and Mello were called to Roger’s office earlier, yeah?” Matt speaks through a knot in his throat, swallowing to force his Adam’s apple back in place. Near continued to stare at him, obviously aware of the rhetorical question. “What- what for?”

Near averts his eyes down to his feet. As he shuffles them, he also reaches up to wrap a lock of hair around his index finger. “We received updates on the state of the Kira case.” Matt straightened his posture, attention now fully held by Near. “And… what changed?” Matt responded.

Near flicks his eyes back up to Matt before returning them to the floor. 

“L is dead.”

He whispers it, so quietly Matt questioned whether he had truly heard him right at first. 

His best friend is suddenly gone, and now he learns of his idol, their idol, being defeated. The facts that made up his reality were breaking under the weight of this information. Between just those two changes, his entire view has become tilted. “So, then… Where did Mello go?”

Near shrugs, shoulders falling limp after. Although most would write it off as indifference, the abnormal squint of his eyes tells Matt he does care, that he is worried. Although pitiful when it comes to general social cues, Matt can notice when a difference appears, be it expressions or object organization; he has a shockingly keen eye when he wants to. Near typically isn’t one for change; any difference is concerning with him. “Upon being instructed to work with me, he announced he was leaving the orphanage. I’m presuming by your presence here that he’s already gone, but I have no idea of his whereabouts.” He ducks his head lower, fully covering his eyes with his hair, “I’m sorry.” 

Matt leans on the door frame, expending too much energy to hold himself upright, and processes the news. 

So he really is gone…

“…Thanks, Near. Have a good night.”

Near looks back up, then nods. Matt clumsily pushes himself from the door frame. He waltzes back to his room. Near’s eyes follow him until he turns the corner and disappears.

Shutting himself back in his and Mello’s dorm room. Or just his dorm room now, he supposes. He sinks to the floor, exhausted. He lays his head on his arms, folded, and left to rest on his propped-up knees. While relaxing himself he ends up peeking through his arms. Through them, he can see Mello’s trash can, it had yet to be taken out. Crawling over to it, he peers over the lip. Among the many reflective chocolate wrappers, a duller sheet is visible. Reaching in, he fetches it out of the bin. It’s a stapled pile of printer paper. Unfolding it, Matt can see it’s an exam, the one Mello was studying for the day they got back his Game Boy. A red circle at the top highlights the final score of the exam. 

“An 86%.”

Twisting to reach his back pocket, he takes out his Game Boy, this time delicately clutching it with both hands. 

“You gave up study time for this, didn’t you?”

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath through his nose. Opening them back up, now relaxed, a wave of determination comes to him. He smirks, turning his head until he can see the trash bin in his peripheral view. 

“It’s gonna take a lot more than that to keep me away, Mello.”

——————-

Chapter 2: December 19th, 2008

The roar of an engine blared, drowning out the crunch of broken asphalt below the wheels on its worn motorbike. Chipped and scratched paint decorated its sides, suggesting a long history; its filter was relatively fresh, but the metal casing for it was cloudy. The surprisingly well-secured license plate had been dented and scraped, plucked from a junkyard, it had been thrown in after the original owner had noticed its expiration date. Any reflectiveness came from a sloppily applied coat of clear paint, designed to obscure its numbers from would-be photographers. 

Despite the generous size of the road, headlights from other vehicles were sparse, contributing to the pitch black of the surrounding area. The motorist braces themself and swerves towards the road’s edge, neglecting any use of turn signals. Just as they spot a decrepit road quickly approaching, the bike is whipped to its side, skidding and sharply turning before booking it off the highway and down the detour. The path lacked guidelines, unlike the previous one, forcing the motorist to use distant street lights to identify direction. Slowing themself upon reaching the lit parking lot, they lower their feet and scrape them across the ground. Swinging off, they nudge down their bike’s stand and only then turn the ignition off with the twist of a key. The street lights flicker, giving away how close to death each one was. Given their distance from the main road, it seemed a miracle they were even getting power. 

Stomping around to the other side of the motorcycle, they grab their helmet and yank it off, flippantly dropping it to the ground in favor of dedicating all attention to a beeping device strapped to the motorcycle’s handle. Growling, he leaned over it carefully, inspecting the blinking red dot and rudimentary map on its screen, blonde hair spilling over his shoulders. 

“Arg!”

Jerking upright again, he takes a step back. His fists ball, the tension inching its way up his arms. Teeth clench and muffle angry grunts. 

“Damn it!” He yells, no restraint deemed necessary for such a seemingly abandoned area. Leaning in once again, he fiddles with the screen, flipping back and forth between various menus. “There’s no way this is correct, so why the fuck did this junk lead me here?” 

He types in an address, one different from before, yet entering it results in the same destination, the exact parking lot he’s standing in. 

Riling himself up, he grasps and tears the navigation system from its perch, raising his arm, he pitches it towards the ground. It tumbles down the floor and its plastic coat chips, but the device remains functional. Preparing to finally do it in he raises his boot.

“Hey.”

The voice echoes throughout the lot. Freezing, he realizes his lack of diligence in checking his surroundings, too upset to be observant when he arrived. 

“If your GPS is acting up, I have one of my own, ya know?” A stifled snicker lay under the stranger’s words. 

He twists his neck in the direction of the taunts to catch a glance. A boy leans against his car, only slightly visible from his position at the edge of the lot. The boy shuffles and then tucks his hand into a pocket. The motorist subtly starts to slide his hand to his waist, prepared to make it out of the situation by any means necessary. He flinches, a victim of his own heavy trigger finger, as the boy’s hand drags something out of it. A brief ring of metal is heard, again and again. He hears it once more, this time in sync with a dim flame. The boy lights a cigarette; his face is illuminated by the lighter. The inattentive posture, extraneous goggles, and shaggy hair ignited a strong sense of recognition. While he was taller and his previously dyed hair had grown out with stark, naturally colored roots, it was obvious who he was. 

Matt…

Now unconcerned with his own safety and in disbelief at the situation, Mello pulls his hand from his holster. He swings his body around to confront him.” How-“ he starts in bewilderment, but stills as he sees the grin creeping up his friend’s face. Shooting a glance back at the faulty GPS, his expression sours, and he turns back to Matt.

“You could’ve just called, you know,” he grunts. Matt’s smile drops, he grabs his cigarette from his lips, huffing smoke out, “With what number? You didn’t exactly leave me one.”

“If you can tamper with my GPS signal, there is no way in hell you don’t have my burner.” Mello advances with each word. “You mean burners?” Matt retorts. 

Mello grits his teeth, “Case in point.”

“Like you would have listened. It’s not my first time trying to get in contact with you,“ he rolls his eyes, “but you know that, don’t you?” 

“I don’t have time for your bullshit, Matt.” 

A frown tugs at Matt’s face, his posture straightens as he backs off from the car, face morphing to a pout along with a cartoonish sigh. “You’ve gotta make this harder than it has to be.”

Mello raises an eyebrow, taping the toe of his boot impatiently. “Tsk, what do you plan on doing about it?” 

“I don’t have to do anything.”

“Excuse me?”

“Unless you’ve got a backup, that GPS ain’t gonna do you much good. You’ve got somewhere to be, yeah? Can’t imagine the LA mafia would be cool with you asking for directions from the gas station clerk.” 

“Shh!” Mello hisses through his teeth, “can you not announce confidential shit out loud?”

Matt rolls his eyes. “We’re in an abandoned parking lot, dude, you can cool the spy thriller nonsense.” 

Mello bashfully pulls away and bites his cheek, making eye contact with the asphalt. Considering the situation, Matt was right; they’re so far into the highway that he wouldn’t be able to find another map or GPS system in time. Going along with whatever  Matt’s dubious plan was likely the only way he could get to the meetup spot on time. 

“Fine.” He spats under his breath. For as apathetic and lazy as the boy was, he could also be obnoxiously clever when he wanted to.

A smile stretches across Matt’s face. Without turning around, he backs up to grab the door handle. Popping open the door, the car’s internal lights flash on, illuminating the immediate area around them with a warm hue. Swinging it open and swerving around it, Matt plops himself on the edge of the driver’s seat. He leans down, hand gripping the steering wheel for balance as he sifts through the junk on his floor.

As he does, Mello looks across the items in his passenger seat and the cab. Wires were draped across the back seat to unfamiliar electronics, leading across the center console and into his passenger seat. Each was either secured to an outlet adapter or hooked up to the laptop sitting there. Energy drink tins littered the front floorboards, and although Mello couldn’t see the cab’s floor from where he was standing, they presumably occupied that area as well. Wrappers from fast food joints were stuffed in various locations, and the upper cup holder in the door was sprinkled with ashes and snuffed cigarette buds. Had it been anyone else’s car, Mello would have reeled with disgust, but even after being apart for years, he’s still desensitized to Matt’s brand of messiness. 

“Ah ha.”

Matt tugs an item up, untangling it and raising it above his head in victory, light crumbs falling off of it. Mello furrows his brow incredulously, unimpressed at the sight before him. Matt’s eyes narrow from a wry grin. He turns and plugs it into the laptop using an adapter cord. It’s curiously already attached to a pair of antennas. ”This,” Matt begins powering the laptop on, “is a KVM, a ‘kernel-based virtual machine’, it’s been running for about a week straight. No power cycles, no resets.” Scoffing at Matt’s eagerness to show off his tech, Mello considers the acronym. 

I can’t tell what makes it ‘kernel-based,’ whatever the hell that means. A virtual machine, though… I have to guess he’s using it to keep whatever he’s doing off the main portion of his laptop. Why would he bother maintaining a separate operating system to do that? Did he seriously do something to get the police on his tail already?

After waiting for boot up and entering the necessary passwords, Matt launched the virtual machine, revealing an incredibly barebones system. Mello leaned in, squinting as he tried to parse the words on screen, “… what is this?”

”My contributions to the case.” Matt propped his elbow up and leaned back in an aloof posture, though the position did offer Mello more space to read closely.

Skimming his eyes across the text as Mello absorbed the content and respective timestamps of what he was reading, his eyes latched onto one particular character. 

N.

His eyes widen, and a light gasp escapes his lips. “Near…” he clenches his fists. “This is all of Near’s correspondence.” Matt nodded, laissez-faire to Mello’s reaction. “Was able to track down their communication methods and intercept the messages so they get delivered to this machine,” he points to the KVM, “too. Of course, I can only get info when the system is online, so anything sent prior to me setting this up a month or so ago, along with any messages that happen to get sent when the system is down, are basically unattainable.”

Mello drags the laptop by its screen and scrolls through the reams of back-and-forth conversation. “He’s planning on going to the US president?” Peaking over to see what Mello was reacting to, he replies, “There’s more about his reasoning, around 5:15, December third, I think.” True to his word, a message at exactly 5:15 from what appears to be Roger’s emails. Mello leans back, considering what to do with the information given to him. Matt patiently waits, tapping rhythmically on the car seat leather.

While still staring into nothing, Mello speaks as he puts the pieces together himself. “Approaching the US government because of a lack of manpower… he must be hoping to get the FBI to work with him. I can’t see him functioning without a team under him, so that makes sense. If he wants a minimum on the amount of evidence collected from his independent investigation before approaching them about it, that means he likely won’t be assembling a team for a while, 6 months, maybe a year or more.” He snaps a piece off his chocolate. “We have some time.”  His eyes widen as a smile slowly spreads to his face. “This tracking isn’t going to mean much when he begins working with them in person, and I could never be present to keep an eye on his investigation, but someone else can.” 

Matt tilts his head fondly. “What’s the plan, boss?” 

Mello walks to the other side of the car, harshly pulling the door open and falling into the passenger seat. The equipment left there is shoved to the side, Mello puts a heel on the dashboard, and once again digs his teeth into his chocolate bar. “We need to set up a spy for when Near’s team is formed in the United States. We can either find an existing government agent and draw them to work with us, or we can sneak one of our people into a government agent position. The first would likely be more foolproof; a long-time employee is more likely to be given access to a secret organization to begin with, but it’s more difficult to accomplish, and loyalty is less assured. However, six months is just barely enough time to get someone with the preexisting qualifications into an agent position; if that’s successful, they’ll be much more reliable.” He chuckles to himself. “Either way, having Near do some of our work for us will be incredibly useful. And I can keep an eye on him in case he gets ahead of me.” His face contorts in anger. “He’s not going to win.” 

Matt’s light laugh draws him from his focus. “Glad my hard work wasn’t for nothing.” Mello looks to Matt, now properly out of his thoughts. Tracing up and down Matt’s figure, he soaks in his presence, reminded of how comfortable he is around him compared to others. “Why did you do it?” Mello speaks softly

Matt turns to look at him, confused, “What do ya’ mean?” 

“Oh, please.” Mello straightens his slouch as he drags his heel back to the car floor, thumping against the carpet-covered plastic, “You hate doing work, there’s no way you would have gone through with this without an incentive.“ 

Matt shifts his gaze to the steering wheel. “I miss being partners.” A subdued shock reaches Mello’s face. “I was upset when you took off, sure, but I always said to myself that it was whatever. ‘Cause we’ll meet up again eventually. But when it was finally the right time to get back in contact with you, you never let me. Lo and behold, I find out it’s because you’re working on the Kira case, which I guess I should have puzzled out on my own.” 

Mello’s mouth thins into a tense line as Matt leans backwards and stretches his arms. “So, I assumed you were doing this for one of three reasons: to keep confidential information secret, prevent me from getting involved for my own benefit, or to keep me from distracting you.” Mello lowers his head and bites his tongue, avoiding looking in Matt’s direction with tensed shoulders. Unbeknownst to Matt, all three were on the money. “So, I figured if I wanna be your partner again, I should take care of all those concerns for you.” 

“How have you taken care of even a single one of those? Going off of this stunt, you still lack any self-preservation instinct a normal person would have.”

“You don’t have to worry about those problems because it’s already too late! I’ve got access to confidential information on both your and Near’s end. I’ve already illegally cracked into secure databases, plus I’m carpooling you to your criminal organization meeting, and I’m providing useful information so I can help you instead of distracting you. Every problem accounted for.” 

Mello turns around and gawks at Matt. 

“What the hell?” Mello shouts.

Matt just continues grinning, “It looks like you’ll have to let me on board now.”

“This isn’t some fucking joke, Matt-“

“I’m not joking.” His face turns uncharacteristically stern. Mello reels back in surprise. “I promised to be in your corner till the end, and I’m going to make good on that. That’s what I’m choosing to do with my life.” 

A quiet moment passes. Mello relaxes in his seat, almost limp as he stares down at his gloved hands. After a weak sigh, he conjures up the will to answer, “Yeah, okay… together. Let’s get going.” Matt loosens up, exhaustion peaking through the wrinkles under his eyes. “I’ve got bungee cables in the trunk, so you want to tie up the bike?”

“Nah, it’s an old piece of junk anyway.” 

Matt shrugs and starts the ignition to his car; both boys tuck their legs inside and shut the car doors. Matt backs out of the parking lot. Mello shifts his feet to push away brown paper bags from various fast food chains, trying to make room for his legs. Mello scolds him, “Remind me to clean this car soon, I have no idea how you function like this.”

Matt chuckles, “Gladly.” 

“…Thank you, Matt.”

He remembered several times when waiting had been the key to his success, when victory meant hours spent crouching behind a screen watching the slightest change in attitude. A treacherous whisper of his mind whispered the name of Light Yagami. L promptly ignored it.

A patient person, thus.

Therefore, not very quick to lose control over his nerves.

That is why his smile didn’t tighten on his lips, his eyelids didn’t twitch and he didn’t take a breath intended to bring down his tension. None of that. No. And anyone who would say otherwise would be an odious liar.

“I thought Light-kun had given up his idea of murdering me in cold blood. I note this betrayal with real disappointment. When you confessed to me that you had changed and no longer wanted to crush the hearts of criminals between your chips-covered fingers, I thought your madness was over. Sadly, I realise that this is not the case. I am on the verge of death, Light-kun, and my death will be blamed on you. I hope you’re happy with yourself.”

“Shut up and chop.”

“Your coldness hurts me.”

“No, that’s just the impact of the weather. And the current temperature of -10 degrees. And probably the fact that you’re not wearing gloves when I insisted for twenty minutes that you put them on.”

“The analogy is completely unfounded. There is no correlation between the temperature and the state of my heart. Who is hurt, I emphasize. Broken into a thousand shards of glass. Crumbled. Set on fire.”

“Oh damn it, L, it is you I’m going to set on fire if you don’t stop complaining!”

Light straightened up suddenly, throwing his axe vigorously into the snow - ruffled hair, long caramel-coloured strands sticking to the soaked face, reddened by irritation and effort. Two eyes that shot him with force - even made him check to see if he had not just taken two bullets. The tip of his nose was reddened by the cold, gleaming on his face. L was taken by a sudden urge to cross the few steps that separated them and to kiss this angry face, to make the frown that was spoiling the beauty of the face disappear.

Who did he think he was fooling? As if the beauty of the other could be spoiled by something as trivial as irritation. On the contrary, seeing irises inflamed with anger aroused a tingling in his stomach that he refused to identify.

L crossed his arms on his chest, his own axe falling to the ground.

“The muscles of my upper body are less developed than those of my lower body, Light-kun. It’s a torture” he complained, sulking expression on his face. “And I’m not the one who decreed that it was imperative to chop down our own tree. Watari was quite willing to give us one. With all the characteristics you were looking for.”

Light rolled her eyes. Passed a hand through his hair, dislodging some snow dust.

“It’s a tradition,” he insisted. “You can understand, you’re the one who insisted on coming to spend Christmas at the Wammy House. Saying that it was an obligation and that you wouldn’t neglect it.”

“The Wammy has a perfectly satisfactory tree.”

“L !”

“I love you too.”

Pushed sigh with a mixture of exasperation and affection. He shook his head, caused flakes to rain down. The cold crept up his neck, down his sleeves, over his ankles - came to lay his frozen hand on him and mark his territory. Even though his hands were in his pockets and a heavy scarf was wrapped around his neck as if to strangle him, he felt the icy air pressing his lips to his skin. He shivered - they might have to amputate his toes. Terrible notion, how could he slide them over Light’s warm skin at night? He deliberately omitted the fact that this act was always followed by a yelp from Light, a startled awakening and usually a punch that would make him fall out of bed.

Light was particularly susceptible.

“But I am cold.” A real complaint, camouflaged in a childish mumble. Annoyed. He had followed Light willy-nilly in the winter cold, had rushed into the forest with him, but they had been sawing the tree trunk down for more than forty minutes - or almost - without the damn tree ever collapsing. L would have almost scribbled Abies balsamea in the Death Note by pure spirit of revenge. “I’m about to lose my fingers.”

“That’s a shame.”

“ Be careful, Light-kun forgot what empathy is all about again.”

Light shook his head once more - shaking in a canine manner - before taking a few steps forward, axe forsaken, and a slight, almost amused grin on his lips. He almost retreated backwards by reflex, preferred to take his hands out of his pockets and hold them out to Light, and was immediately assaulted by a warm and perhaps at least a bit empathetic mass.

Lips pressed against the icy skin on his neck - he shivered upon the contact, tightened his grip around Light. Light smiled against his neck, put another kiss on it, his own hands wrapped around L’s waist. “So you’re looking for a cure against the frost?”

Ecstatic nod, ready to close his eyes and-

PAF!

The universe fell under a cloud of white, an icy envelope wrapped around him like a predator, leaving him in shock. A snow avalanche, creeping into his neck, waist, ears, wrists, ankles - even swallowing a handful of it, his eyelashes covered with frosted crystals. Time froze for a moment, leaving him lying on the ground, too shocked to reflect on Light’s betrayal - the only indication of his survival testified by the regular blinking of his eyelids.

A simply awful laugh tore his eardrums. Those that came from the back of the throat, resounded like thirty bulls charging towards him, reflecting all the petty amusement and cunning of his host. L felt betrayed.

What seemed like an eternity later, he stood up slowly, one elbow leaning against the snow.

Threw an absolutely polar glance at Light.

“Did anyone ever told you you had a goat’s laugh?”

The hiccups of laughter redoubled.

L touched the snow next to him, leaned a second elbow to stand up. “I hope you know that I never leave a blow unanswered, Light-kun, you’ve just signed your death warrant.”

Tears were now streaming down Light’s face. Tears of laughter, for sure, which would soon turn into tears of suffering if he was allowed to give his opinion. He stood up on his legs hesitantly - shaking himself to make the snow fall, making it slide further down his neck. L restrained a relatively virile yelp, stood there for a few seconds - a perfect representation of a forest gremlin. Or the Yeti. Covered with snow as he was, the resemblance must have been striking.

His resolution taken, he bent down, gathered the snow into a compact ball and rushed towards Light - taking him by surprise. The other stumbled back, tripped over the handle of L’s axe, flapped his hands like a chick thrown from the nest before tipping over on his backside. In a second, L was on top of him - drove the snowball into his coat’s neckline.

Light shrieked - grabbing L’s hands to stop him from continuing. L pulled to get out of the grip, lost his balance for a few seconds-

Collapsed next to Light.

A few seconds passed in total silence, only the sound of their breaths breaking the silence before they exchanged a glance - L felt his lips stretch in spite of himself, resisted valiantly before giving in and joining Light in his burst of laughter. Breathless, they tried to catch their breath, each new glance at the other finishing them off again.

Light eventually cut himself as best he could, stretching out one arm to wrap it around L.

“I may have a goat’s laughter but I can still stand on my feet. Do you want a cane, old man?”

Slap addressed with a mixture of annoyance and amusement. L was covered in snow, infiltrated down to every pore of his skin, had just tried to cut down a pine tree for a good forty minutes and had just been tackled like a feverish rugby player on the ground. In short, he was soaked, exhausted and probably in hypoglycemia

From an objective point of view, therefore, he was absolutely not responsible for his own actions.

That is why he smiled slightly at Light Yagami, interlaced their fingers with his left hand - the one where Light was wearing his wedding ring - and quickly kissed him on the cheek. Slipped his other hand through the melted caramel-coloured hair - and it reminded him of the caramel-filled cookies waiting for them in their kitchen, what a wonderful idea - by tightening his fingers on the strands.

And slammed Light Yagami’s head roughly into the snow.

Justice was always delivering its judgment.

Later, when they returned to the Wammy House, the fire crackling in the fireplace and their hands wrapped around a nice hot chocolate, L put his cup on the table and climbed up to sit next to Light.

“The children told me that they love the tree initiative. They have even started to decorate it” grinned Light with a satisfied smirk. That of the cat who had devoured the canary and had just blamed the dog.

L gave him one of his own smiles.

“Maybe I could make it up to you in some special way…”

“Perhaps you could…”

He leaned over to Light- interrupted suddenly by a shrill ringing of the telephone. Annoyed grimace, device grabbed with fingertips to refuse the call, turning off the object and throwing it across the raised eyebrow of Light, who split into a new smile before putting down his cup and swinging L onto the couch.

Ah. A thought crossed his mind as Light’s lips rested on his skin-

    This time, L approached her, slipping something into her pocket as she ‘begged’ Light to take her back. She was playing a part. She is a very good actress. The paper that Misa pulls out of her pocket when she’s on the train reads “tonight. 10:30. Don’t be late.”

    She’s 15 minutes late. L is not pleased and Watari is nowhere to be found. “Where’s old man Watari? He’s not chaperoning? We might do pervy things!” L rolled his eyes and led her to the elevator. 

    “I sent him to get specialty chocolates earlier today, but accidentally changed his ticket time from 9 am to 9 pm. He won’t be back until tomorrow, I’m sure. We can do all sorts of pervy things, if pervy things are what you came here for.” Misa considered this. She thought herself to be a good judge of character, and Ryuzaki didn’t seem to be lying…

    “What makes you think that’s what I came here for?” L grinned, a small thing that made his whole face seem softer and younger. 

    “Well, for one the fact that you came at all, and for another last time.” Misa felt herself get wet at the memory. She had opted for no panties since she had taken a cab and hoped that Ryuzaki would like the surprise. Misa wondered when she had started to care about what Ryuzaki thought of her outfits. She opted for no response and leaned in for a kiss. Ryuzaki was surprised that she was so forward with her intentions: in his experience, Kira hid from the obvious truth as often as they could. Nonetheless, he broached the gap and met her for a kiss. 

    He maneuvered their bodies and pushed Misa gently against the wall, sliding his hands into her hair and deepening the kiss. Misa moaned into his mouth and L took that as a sign to tug a little harder. She gasped and L moved down to place open-mouthed kisses on her neck. Her hands tangled in his hair, and it was surprisingly soft. While Ryuzaki’s mouth was busy, his hands found something to do. They snaked up the front of Misa’s blouse, the sheer fabric bunching up and revealing her pale stomach. Ryuzaki squeezed her boob through her bra, the lace delicate under his fingers. She let out a soft sigh. Misa enjoyed attention but if she wanted this to go any further then she would have to take matters into her own hands. 

She moved one of her hands out of Ryuzaki’s hair and gently trailed it down his chest and his pants. To her surprise and delight he was already turned on. She smiled and teased. “Is that a gun in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?” He groaned and bit her neck. 

“You might not believe this but I’ve heard that one before.” She laughed clear as a bell. “But yes, I am happy to see you.” She tugged at the hem of his t-shirt, and he tugged it over his head. He urged her to do the same. Quickly, they were topless, Misa clad on in her red, lacy bra and pleated skirt, L in his jeans. “Can I take this off you?” Ryuzaki asked, ever the gentleman. 

    “Of course, I wore just so you could take it off.” He laughed at that, and unclasped it more deftly than Misa expected. He leaned down and took one of her nipples into his mouth. He rolled the nub between his teeth, then sucked on it gently. If Misa had been wearing panties they would’ve been soaked. He toyed with the other using his nimble fingers. Misa decided it was time to speed things up a little bit. She gently pushed Ryuzaki onto the bed, watching him fall down with a quiet thump. “I have a surprise for you.” She lifted her skirt and watched Ryuzaki’s eyes go straight to her pussy, which pulsed in anticipation. “No panties! Ta-da!” Ryuzaki deftly stripped out of his jeans, not taking his eyes off of his ‘surprise’ if he could help it. Without a word he motioned for her to come closer. 

    “Do I have permission to eat you out then fuck you silly?” he asked, and when he said it, it didn’t sound ridiculous, it sounded like someone on the edge of letting go. Misa whimpered and nodded her yes. He pulled her towards him and laid her out on the bed, making sure she was comfortable before digging in. He licked up her labia, drinking up all of the moisture that had collected there during their foreplay. He parted her lips with a low groan in the back of his throat at the sight. The deep pink folds of her cunt were something beautiful to behold and Ryuzaki put his whole face into it. He licked up and down slowly, hesitating over her clit. He got the idea when she shoved his face into it. Slipping a finger into her to begin prepping her, he sucked on her clit, alternating behind hard and soft sucks, then resumed his licking up and down her whole pussy. She groaned in frustration as apparently she had been close. 

    “Ryuzakiiiiii I was so close.” she whined, voice heavy with lust. “Make me cum and then you can fuck me just please let me cum.” He grinned and sucked hard and her back arched off of the bed and her whole body spasmed as she let out a high pitched shriek. Ryuzaki knew better than to let off her clit right away, and sucked softly to ease her through her aftershocks. He was astonishingly hard. 

“It’s my turn now, no?” He asked, devilish smirk on his face. She nodded, her eyes glassy. “Misa, I need a verbal answer.” 

“Yes yes yes please PLEASE fuck me Ryuzaki!” Misa, moaned voice slightly hoarse. He smiled and pushed in a second finger. His hand was soaked with her cum by the time he decided that she was ready. Misa was already on another plane of existence. After getting some more verbal consent, he pushed in. Ryuzaki let her adjust on the tip for a moment, her face blissed out and smiling he pushed in further. She was so tight and so wet it was easy to bring himself to the brink. Before he knew it he was pounding into Misa’s tight pussy, shaking the bed and drawing out loud ‘oh oh oh’s’ from Misa. Her face was twisted in pleasure and she gripped the sheets. Ryuzaki reached down and thumbed over her clit as he drew closer to the brink. Misa’s cries got louder and she clenched tightly around him.