#shipoholic

They meet on rooftops. The one in the suit and tie stands straight-backed as the wind pummels him. His hair and clothes do not move, or dampen when it rains. The one in the dingy coat, once green, now the colour of mud, hunches into the gale. Water runs down his face and out of his sleeves. It seems stronger around him, as if the sky is punishing him. When their meeting has concluded, they disappear, one sucked into the air, the other the ground. They leave behind a lightning scorch mark and a pile of wet ash on the concrete.

They meet in cafes. Nobody serves them, but the golden-skinned man sips black coffee while the pale one stuffs sugar packets up his sleeves. When they’re done, one melts into the air like mist, leaving a neat stack of napkins and his half of the table gleaming clean. The other vanishes in a pop. The electric light above his chair blows out, but no-one sees.

They meet at the back of lecture halls. One picks up a textbook by the corner and reads it suspended sideways in the air. His long grey finger traces the letters and obliterates them, oily blackness coating the page. The student he took it from doesn’t look at him. When they’ve gone, she picks it back up and stares with glazed eyes at the smears on the page.

—

This time, to be cruel, Light has them meet in a church.

—

L’s skin begins to peel as soon as he materialises next to Light in the pew. Light doesn’t look up, but his form is an illusion and his Eyes see everything in the room. They see the ghoulish pallor L chooses to cloak himself in blackening and flaking off onto his seat. The priest will have to sweep it up later.

L doesn’t speak. He rummages in his horrid little coat and extracts a paper bag. L opens it with disintegrating fingertips, and pulls out a wine gum.

“No thank you,” Light says, before L can offer. His sweet-munching is an annoying human affectation.

L pops the sweet in his mouth, then takes another two. “So. What brings you here.” Another wine gum is tucked into his cheek, like a squirrel. “Besides it being your natural habitat, I suppose.”

Light gives his most pleasant smile. “Atmosphere.”

“Ah.” L slurps on his mouthful of sweets. “Maybe we can make this a short one? I’m not sure how long this body will hold together.”

“If you will insist on walking around in a meat suit…”

“I do. I find it gives me insight into my work.”

“What insight is it providing now?”

L pauses his sucking. He looks at Light with his wide, blank eyes.

“Sweets are delicious, and having your skin fall off is unpleasant.”

Light doesn’t sigh, but he suspects he would if he, like L, had opted for a body that breathed. “Fascinating. Very well, let’s keep this short. What did you want to discuss?”

L digs out three sweets from the bag that have stuck together and slips them between his lips. Through the bulging shape of his tongue behind the skin, Light gathers he is shifting the entire half-chewed mass to one side of his mouth.

“Murder.”

Light blinks.

“Well, my side is against it,” he says.

“That’s the interesting part.”

Light does sigh at this. It’s an unsettling sensation, drawing incense-soured air into his mouth, releasing it like a smoker.

“To take a human life is an abomination. It is not ‘interesting’.”

“These ones are.”

The rest of the bag is tipped into L’s open mouth. Light sees the insides blistering before L closes his lips and resumes his loud chewing.

L says, through his stuffed-full mouth: “They weren’t committed by humans.”

For a moment, the church falls silent.

Light shakes his head as if to dislodge water from his ears. The usual background hum comes back.

“That’s nonsense. I would have heard about it.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t pick up on it yourself. Your observation and intellect are the equals of mine.”

“How could a murder - no, multiple murders - have been committed by one of your side without all of us being aware?”

“Who said it was my side?”

Light’s hand flies out and grips L’s arm. He twists just slightly, digs in a bit too hard. Bones light up through the back, knuckles shine white against his golden skin. L’s arm is long and thin under the weatherbeaten coat.

“You’re in bad shape already. Watch yourself before you blaspheme in a church.”

L’s eyes are coals, sitting dormant and dull in his pale face. But there is something in them, a spark threatening to light.

“Very well. I’ll continue my story on neutral turf. You’ll want to hear it, so don’t hide from me. Same time tomorrow? I’ll pick the place.”

He clambers down from the pew, shaking ash onto the wood floor.

“Wait,” Light says.

L steps into the nave, but goes no further. He gazes up at Light, a skinny, sloped figure in too-large clothes. Every part of him where skin is visible is now a horrorshow. Light doesn’t care, L can just go crawling back to Hell and bargain for a new body.

“Tell me now. You can choose another location, but we’ll go there immediately. I don’t have time to spend an extra day on you.”

L shrugs. “If you insist. Follow me.” He begins to trek up the centre of the church to the front doors.

Light follows. He passes the priest on the way, a tall, broad man. On impulse, Light ducks into the man’s shadow, leans close and places a hand on his shoulder. The priest falls still. A look of peaceful wonderment overtakes his features. Light whispers in his ear, a couple of basic rites. The priest rocks in place. His breath catches. His mouth forms a quivering smile, even as tears gush down the crags of his face. He dips his head and makes a sign of the cross with shaking hands, before falling into a reverent mumbled prayer.

Light glides to where L is waiting by the doors. L’s blank bug eyes are taking in the scene. Light smiles. It’s a smile for himself, but it doesn’t matter if L sees it.

“Very moving. Shall we?” L puts his hand on the door.

Light gives a final look back at the priest. Still in a reverie, the man is drifting down the aisle, praying feverishly.

Suddenly, he stops. He has reached the pew where Light and L were sitting. Light watches the man’s wrinkled hand reach over and pick something up. He holds it in the air, bushy white eyebrows scrunching together. It is L’s packet of wine gums.

Light clearly hears the man snap, “Jesus, not again.”

L coughs. “Oh dear. Anyway…” He pushes the door open.

Light aims a heavenly glare at his back. Sadly, no thunderbolt appears to incinerate him.

—

When they’re outside, L turns and grabs Light by the hand.

Light jumps. The sensation of a raw, flaking palm sliding into his own is not pleasant. He opens his mouth to protest, but already L is tugging him forward and the world around them is blurring as if it, and they, are being sucked down a funnel.

Light’s feet hit the floor and he shakes himself loose of L. They’re in a hotel room, it seems - the lamps are off, the TV is a black monolith on the desk. It’s still night. The open curtains let in a little light from office blocks.

Light stares at his palm. He expects to see charred flesh-marks, but there is only a faint outline of L’s slim hand, each long finger imprinted on Light’s palm in a wrap-around pattern. Light rubs over the marks, feeling somehow defiled all the same.

When he looks up, L is a mirror of him. One pale hand splays in mid air, turning over gently and then back. Light gets a jolt when he sees the marred skin is back to normal. L is studying it like a lab specimen.

“That went better than expected.”

L’s voice is a murmur. It’s the part of him that is least tainted with affected humanity. It makes Light shiver.

Light’s defences are down and he gets no warning when L suddenly crowds him and grips his head, one healed hand and one still burned black. Light has no time to yell before his mouth is smothered with the taste of ash. Something pulls out of him, a scream or a curse, but it gets lost inside the dark wet pressure that he now realises is L’s mouth, L’s kiss. Fury rises up inside him like a knife. He grabs L’s shoulders, summons heavenly power into his arms and shoves.

Pure white light sparks from their bodies. Every window in the buildings outside flickers and goes dark. Their hotel room is plunged into blackness. L sprawls back and Light wipes his mouth.

“Don’t ever touch me again,” he hisses.

L’s face glows pale in the dark. Light realises that it is smooth and unmarked.

“What did you take from me?” Light would throttle him if it wasn’t taboo.

“It is your fault I’m in this situation.” L sits on the end of the bed. His eyes are twin moons in the dark. “I’m going to need you to heal the rest of me.”

“What did you take?” Light looks around wildly for a mirror. He scrubs his mouth hard with the hand L did not grab.

“Nothing permanent. A bit of life force. You have plenty to spare, and it will replenish naturally. If you’re concerned about your appearance, don’t be. You’ll look like yourself, perhaps a little hungover, that’s all.”

Light stares at the figure crouched on the bed. “Tell me about the murders. If I decide you’re worth the effort, I’ll consider healing the rest of you.” He has no intention of doing so. Hopefully L knows nothing of value and he can use this as a pretext to refuse.

L bites the tip of his healed thumb. “I’m not handing over my one bargaining chip. Would you really prefer to hear this from somebody else? What if that very enthusiastic colleague of yours got the news before you did? Mikami, I believe…”

Light’s eyes narrow. This is grossly childish manipulation on L’s part. Mikami is not a threat, for all he considers himself Light’s rival.

“…Very well, I suppose I’ll have to trust you.” L tucks his feet up on the bed. He folds into his usual crouch, more like a gargoyle than ever in the dark. “Approximately one-hundred humans have suffered unscheduled heart attacks in the past week. All have died.”

Light bursts out laughing. The sound is slightly mad, and he lets it go on longer than he should. “So they’ve been murdered via natural causes? Remarkable. You know that we cannot see a human’s cause of death ahead of time. How have you determined that these heart attacks were unscheduled?”

“The victims had a few things in common. Most were middle-aged or younger. Below the expected age for heart failure.”

“Which, given that there are only a hundred of them, is not statistically remarkable.”

“And all of them departed the mortal world with a peculiar expression.”

Light pauses. “Humans often look most peculiar at the moment of death. It is a sensation beyond what they can handle. Fortunately they don’t have to handle it for very long.”

“It is common for a human’s face to freeze in a manner that I gather is distressing for the still-living, yes. These humans died with a look of overpowering wonderment.”

An alarm-bell goes off in Light’s head. He grits his teeth. “…That is also not unheard of. Brain chemicals do odd things when the brain is shutting down.”

“And they were all… good people.”

“…Pardon?”

“Mostly good. But not too good. That was the interesting part.”

Light folds his arms. He resists the urge to pace. “L, I’m going to need you to stop talking nonsense.”

L tilts his dark head to the side. Light feels pinned down under the weight of his outsized unblinking stare. “They were good, but they contained the potential to slide into bad. Upon their deaths, they will have gone to heaven. Had they been allowed to live out their natural lifespan… perhaps not.” L bites the tip of his healed thumb. “Lucky for them, in a way.”

“And from these broad coincidences, affecting a mere one hundred people on the entire planet, you have put together a theory of supernatural murder.” Light smiles. Good, L has nothing. “Clearly you are accusing my side of committing atrocities, sinning against God for the sake of an extra hundred souls. As if any of us would take the risk. Or be capable of that degree of moral decay. Your problem, L, is that you treat us as two sides in a chess game. In truth, you are bastardised versions of us. We are not like you, and we do not act as you do. But if you want to humiliate yourself, I recommend taking this theory higher up. Sorry - it’s lower down for you, isn’t it?”

L stares up at him, finger in his mouth.

“You talk too much, Light,” he says, mildly.

He hops back down onto the hotel carpet and draws himself up to his proper height. Without the slouching, he is a match for Light. He raises his hands, both ghoulishly skinny with thin, flexible wrists. The charred one flutters in the air; it’s the healthy one he uses to draw Light closer. Light has a moment, this time, to realise what is happening before their mouths meet.

He suspects that more kissing is not essential for L’s healing, but L seems to want it and Light is feeling generous after having it confirmed that L knows nothing dangerous. Now that he’s back in control, he can feel the flow of energy from himself to L, a harmless warmth. He pours lifeforce into L’s mouth, enjoying the way L grips him tightly. Yes, this is good. L needing him.

L’s clothes have to come off for the rest of it. Light ascertains quickly that his human form includes a sexual response function. Light hadn’t bothered with one; it had seemed unlikely he would need it. He feels a small tug of regret, watching L squirm on the mattress. He tells himself it is worth it to stay in command of this encounter. Besides, this way he isn’t breaking the taboo against angel and demon fornication.

Light uses his hands on the ruined parts of L’s body, then adds his mouth when things are proceeding too slowly. L makes it to completion twice by the time he is finished. Light helps him directly the third time. Just because he can, he pours a little angelic bliss into L, to make the final throes that much sweeter. The noises L makes are surprisingly pleasing to the ear. Light watches his shudders die away until he is limp and panting.

Light disentangles himself, stands and straightens his cuffs. He feels well, despite having just siphoned his life force into a demon. He spares a glance at the bed. L looks far less accusatory with his huge eyes half-lidded. He seems healthier than normal, better rested, his skin less grey. Light smirks. He must be good.

“I hope that was enough to tide you over.” Light runs his fingers through his hair. It feels like it usually does, sleek and soft.

“Mmmm. Thank you, Light. That was a unique experience.” L rolls out of bed, a bit slower and more wobbly than usual. He drifts over to his pile of clothes and begins pulling the horrible rags back on.

Light supposes this is it. For now. Obviously he’ll be watching L closely, see if he needs to intervene if L is thinking of making an investigation out of his stupid hunch. Maybe it’ll be worth making this type of encounter a regular thing. L might be distracted. Better still, addicted. Angels have driven themselves to ruin, overindulging in their own bliss. Demons could be just as corruptible.

“By the way,” L calls over. He has pulled on his baggy jeans, but his torso is still bare. With his back turned, Light can count the notches in his spine. “Is that how you killed them?”

Light freezes.

“It’s surprisingly perverted. I assume you gave them a stronger dose than me.” L shucks on his shapeless white shirt. “No, my mistake, it wouldn’t have been sexual. It would have been more like that priest back in the church. Yes? You needed them to come to Jesus before their deaths.”

Light’s hands have balled into fists. Maybe he could take L out from here. Pump him full of heaven’s light and watch him burn alive.

“Oh well. I suppose I can’t prove anything.” L turns around, swathed in his mangy coat once again. He is smiling. He takes a step forward and peers into Light’s face. His blank eyes are shining with something like triumph.

“Well, goodbye Light. Until next time. Thanks for the life force. Maybe someday I can return the favour.”

“Get back to Hell,” Light spits.

L’s smile widens. “I might see you there.”

He vanishes. A strong smell of ash is left behind.

Light clutches his head and howls, a horrible long note that vibrates every object in the room.