Redeemer

When the second day passed them by and Light had still managed to keep himself effectively away, avoiding Mello at all costs unless under somewhat social circumstances where it did not truly matter, it began to bother him. L had risen to Mello’s challenge the previous night with a quiz slightly above the usual level of difficulty. Subtle enough not to seem like an affront, but challenging enough that even though Mello could have called him on it, he refused to do so and answered every question meticulously and sent it back with a vengeance. Figuratively so. He might have cursed once or twice while hitting the appropriate button.

The evening was breezy, but the summer’s heat was in the air. His recent adoption of dress shirts had been swapped out for trademark vests and sleeveless button downs, which Mello managed to pull off impeccably. He’d shoved open the windows some hours prior, letting in the sweet air and leaned against the sill now, half perched on a chair he’d dragged over some time prior. A book sat propped up against the polished wood, a bowl sat in his lap. Strawberries. A second bowl sat on the sill—dipping chocolate and Mello chewed slowly, savoring the contrast of the two flavors, licking the melted cocoa off his fingers before flipping the page.

Somehow he had managed to get to the end of the chapter before allowing his gaze to trail toward the gardens. Light was avoiding him, two whole days without seeking Mello out, two days without prodding at him in any way shape or form. It was a bit unnerving, but Mello supposed there was a good reason. Kira had slipped. Years of self control and practiced speeches… and he had slipped. Of course, Mello could have sought Light out of his own accord, but Light had made it a habit of hiding in L’s shadow lately. It worked better than secluding himself somewhere. Mello muttered, frustrated and returned to the pages, hoping to get some more out of the way before his mind became so utterly obsessed with the dilemma he would go and do something stupid.

* * *

The melody was delicate and soft, like a love poem, the first few notes forced out like a nervous lover, quickly surrendering to a rainfall of musical scales, and Light’s fingers looked so beautiful against the ivory keys that L was practically hanging over his shoulder, drooling on them. Well, not quite drooling, but his thumb had smudged his lip sideways, and his eyes were round and very much fixed on the way Light played—as though he’d been waiting quite impatiently for that moment. Light of course sensed it, and played to perfection because it was L hanging over him, enthralled. And any time Kira could enthrall L, it was well worth the effort—and the showmanship.

All the doors in the music room were open, the air circulating, swishing the curtains into a fragile dance, sliding into the hall where Mello had used the excuse of low chocolate sauce to take a break and refill. He was passing the music room as the song ended, and Light reached up, arching back to pull L down into a soft and sultry kiss, no matter how distracted the detective had been moments prior…

Definitely not the time to interrupt. Mello carried on, locating the sauce and refilling the bowl.

It was an hour later when something else popped up as an excuse to again leave the study and roam the hall. The piano has been playing at an off and on constant, and each pause made Mello’s ears unconsciously perk and wonder somewhere outside himself. For the past ten minutes it had been quiet and when Mello crossed the hall, the music room door was closed.

Light had certainly glued himself to L’s side these past 48 hours, and seemed to be pretending, outside of meal times, that no one else was actually in the house aside from the detective. Seemed they were quite engaged with each other all of a sudden—and if Mello opened the door, he was pretty sure he’d see them tangled passionately on the couch, or over the piano bench, or on the floor—whatever suited them because at this point, the question was becoming just who was the bigger exhibitionist after all… Light? Or L? Though with the door closed they were at least attempting some modicum of discretion, nevertheless—as far as Mello knew, Light was avoiding him, and L was testing him, and they both seemed to be doing it in exactly the same way…

And it was starting to piss Mello off.

* * *

After an undetermined amount of time, L shuffled passed the study door toward the kitchen. His other passion was calling, and he was answering—undoubtedly off in search of the best forms of sugar the villa pastry chef had to offer today. It didn’t seem that Light had followed, which meant L was by himself in the kitchen and Light was by himself in the music room—possibly napping after a quaint afternoon of lazy (or not so lazy) lovemaking, and if Mello felt like having it out with either one of them, this was his shot. Just a question of who…

In an instant, Mello felt like he was back at Wammy’s House, peeking out of the study’s door. He glanced one way and then the other, contemplating, quickly doing the math. L sounded busy in the kitchen. He could hear the opening and closing of cabinets and the fridge as L was doubtlessly working on piling up a tray-worth of pastries to bring back to the music room. At last green eyes turned the opposite way and Mello just about sprinted down the hall toward the music room. He managed to half-skid to a halt before slamming headfirst into the doors, composing himself all the while pulling it open to peer inside.

Light, as half expected, was lounging on the Victorian couch, lazy sunlight awash against his golden skin, soft shaggy fall of long auburn hair draped across one shoulder and swaying over the side of the brocade upholstery. He was dressed in worn designer jeans and a basic black tee, which was hitched up over his stomach, pulled by the sleepy arm thrown over his face to block the brightness. The jeans were slung low, so his hip was exposed—but that was also due to the dead-give-away open fly, which revealed just enough to settle the fact that he was once again, not wearing any underwear. This was most definitely, a post-coital nap—a wonder he wasn’t fully naked, though the clothes-in-disarray effect was actually more effective at the moment…

“I’ll keep this short since I doubt I’ll have any longer than five minutes before L returns and you fall back into the protection of his shadow.” Mello was satisfied by the fact that Light was jolted fully awake by the unexpected sound of his familiar voice. Good. He grinned. Bastard. “You trying to accomplish anything by all of this or is it just mere stupid coincidence?”

Auburn brows knit irritably, and Light only rose up enough to be on his elbows. “What the fuck are you talking about?” He hissed; far more defensive than he probably would have been had Mello perhaps approached the subject with a little more decorum himself.

It was several paces past decorum. Mello had been driving himself too mad over the last several hours for there to be decorum. Ha. Fuck that. But he did have the conscience to raise a hand in silent apology, bowing his head ever slightly as he took a step into the music room. “You’ve been going out of your way to stay out of mine. Forgive me if it’s presumptuous of me to find that odd.”

“It’s beyond presumptuous,” Light retorted, and his English was starting to sound flawless, as though he’d been working on it with L. “You have a lot of bloody work to do and shouldn’t be looking for distractions as you so obviously are. What do you want Mello? A fuck? I’m sorry, but I’m busy.”

Mello actually laughed. It was bitter. “No, I’d been hoping for something a bit less complicated,” he scoffed. “Good response, however. Sounds practiced. Get a few drinks in me and I might’ve actually considered believing it.”

“Piss off,” Light shot back. “You come barging in here demanding what then?” His hair shifted over one eye and he raked it back—and he was still way too fucking beautiful even when Mello was beginning to feel like throttling him.

Throttling him actually sounded like a marvelous plan indeed. Good to know Light still had that effect on him. It made the world spin just a tad bit slower. Yes, he and Light could still argue furiously like this. Good! Mello opened his mouth to comment but as a smile crept across his lips, closed it, shaking his head. “You know, you’re right. I have better shit to do than allow you to become an even bigger bleeding annoyance than you already are. I appreciate the moment of clarity.”

If there was something in reach to throw, Light would have thrown it right at Mello’s head, instead he just looked absolutely furious. “You’re bloody fucking right you have better things to do,” he sneered, and then that evil glint cast slyly into his gaze, and the fury alleviated. “After all,” he muttered haughtily, “I’ve seen your test scores.”

The transition was slow at first, and then it slammed hard across those features. There was really no appropriate response to a comment like that – it hit far too close to home, sore spots that had been locked away for over five years and suddenly that hardened skin, that jaded mentality and fuck you all attitude meant nothing. Mello spared no words, equally wishing for something to throw. Instead he settled for slamming the door shut behind him with enough force to rattle the glass. Thankfully it did not break. But he did nearly run headfirst into L as he stormed furiously down the hall, not bothering with an explanation, he stalked through the kitchen and seek solace in the gardens. There was little to destroy outside.

L stood where he was in the hallway for a moment. Didn’t take a genius to know when Kira had reared his ugly head—though what he had said to make Mello that angry, well it must have taken a certain talent, and L frowned, popping a random strawberry into his mouth. Damn. And things had been going so well.

“What did you do?” L said rather dully, setting the tray of sweets down on the glass coffee table.

“Nothing,” Light muttered irritably, having turned on his side to curl inwards against the couch, his back to his lover.

L stirred his tea. “Well, whatever you did, you probably just set yourself back about a month or two worth of progress.”

Light said nothing, and L sighed. “Don’t make me go to the surveillance tapes to find out,” he mumbled.

“He pissed me off,” was Light’s sole explanation…for that moment…until L sat on the couch, leaned over him and whispered something into his ear the tapes wouldn’t pick up….

* * *

“Mello,” and L was standing on the top step above the fountain that Mello was sprawled in front of, barely seeing it he was still so angry. The blonde heard him, but didn’t acknowledge his presence. L let it slide. “Mello, I know what he told you, and it isn’t true.”

Only the slight twitch of a brow announced the fact that Mello was indeed aware that L was there to begin with. “I don’t fucking care what he thinks,” he snarled and for once he let the harsh words hang there without a follow-up apology. It had never mattered, but they had all done it to humor L—manners and all—but just then and there, Mello did not particularly feel like humoring anyone. He wanted not to care. He truly did, because he remembered this feeling all too much and detested it more than anything in the world. It was so easily covered up now a days, so easily set aside. But it still remained. He knew it, L knew it. Anyone who had known him ten – six years prior knew it well. Fucking bastard. Fuck him!

“I’m not going to argue with you,” L muttered. “No one but myself has seen any of your work, and it’s going to stay that way. He only said what he did to hurt you—you should know that by now. I won’t defend his behavior—handle it as you see fit. However, if the two of you were as antagonistic as you used to be, scenarios like this and worse would be common occurrence. He knows you’re studying his subjects, he’s gleaned that you’re being compared with him, and thus far he hasn’t taken any active steps to sabotage you—which is something you should have been prepared for from the beginning. It’s something I expected of him, instead, he’s avoiding you for other reasons. But like I said—handle it as you see fit.”

“I was prepared for it,” Mello managed to grit out only part of the sentence before forcing himself to loosen the hell up. Perhaps therein lay the problem. He had been prepared for the endless distractions, for possible sabotage, for anything that could make him trip just enough to get a less than perfect score. But it had not happened. His distractions had thus far been his own doing and dealt with accordingly. Again was too complicated. What was he most annoyed about? The lack of attempted sabotage or the fact that Light was outright avoiding him for unexplainable causes? Or rather, easily explainable causes neither wanted to talk about. Goddamnit. Mello bit his bottom lip, narrowing his eyes and anxiously tapping his heel.

L waited, but there was truly not a lot more he could say just then. “For what it’s worth,” he mumbled, “Light is probably going to continue to take personal jabs at you to push you away because he has yet to sort himself out. You either take them to heart, or you see them for what they are.”

“You’re protecting him,” Mello volleyed back—he hadn’t intended to say it, but it spilled out because a moment ago when he believed Light was telling the truth he was blaming L just as much for flashing his test scores around.

“Protecting him from what?” L said dully.

What was the argument then? “You know what I’m referring to,” Mello replied, trying to take his tone down just a notch. He wasn’t facing the detective on purpose, because he knew the moment he did, his retorts would just die on his tongue.

“Is he avoiding you, Mello?” L said after a moment. “Yes, he is. Is he hiding? Seems so. Is that part of the reason he’s glued to my side as though we’re still chained together? I don’t doubt it. Do I feel much like pushing him away? No, not particularly—why should I? You know what I feel for him, you better than anyone,” L paused, not really wanting to delve much more into his side of things. “My advice? Let this one play out. Try to force it one way or another and there’s going to be more melodramatics than anyone really wants to deal with. In the meantime, decide what it is you’re looking for out of it all.”

Ha. Therein lay the problem. Because just as much as Light had yet to sort himself out, Mello was not doing much better and instead of taking the silence as a blessing, he was driving himself mad with it. Damnit. So of course he had reacted wrongly, of course he had lashed out and taken things more seriously than he probably would have had under different circumstances. The situation was fucked all around. But he did not have to tell L this. So what was left? Pick up the pieces and return to the daily routine? Sure. Easily said, but not so easily done when this whole thing grated on him to the point of combustible annoyance.

"Sorry," Mello apologized gruffly, fingers fisting as though admitting his momentary defeat - his weakness – which took that much more out of him. But typically, Mello did not elaborate as to what the apology had been for - for the outburst, for overreacting, for believing even for a second that L would betray him in such a way. That was the worst. By having bought into Light's distasteful jab, he had in essence believed L capable of such a thing when he knew better than that. Mello sighed irritably and pushed long bangs from his eyes. It had been a long fucking week.

* * *

It wasn’t often L was wrong. Usually if he was wrong about something, he was wrong about it in a big life-affecting way, so he tended not to be wrong. Luckily, this wasn’t big and life-affecting, but it was wrong nonetheless, and that was the thought that crossed Mello’s mind when Light unexpectedly ambushed him in the hallway an hour or so later.

Mello turned and he was there and the blonde’s expression clamped shut and narrowed and waited, and Kira was strikingly very un-Kira at that moment.

“I’m sorry,” Light said, his tone low and humble and apologetic. Try as he might to pull it apart, Mello couldn’t help but feel it was more genuine than not. “I was out of line with what I said—there’s no excuse, and I’m sorry.” Ironically, Light was having a difficult time meeting Mello’s gaze. He risked a glance despite himself, found Mello’s expression still rather hardened, no matter how much his brain was now reeling, and Light’s gaze shrunk.

There were two routes with this one, accept his apology or not, and Mello was angry, angry because he was still smarting from the remark and the sentiments it had unearthed, angry because he felt as much as he did in that moment, because the way Light looked honest and truly apologetic was something he wanted to believe but was having inherent problems with—when had Kira ever apologized and meant it? He thought maybe there was a time, but it hadn’t sounded this way—this was for Mello and Mello only, and Light stood there looking as though he was in fear of judgment.

“Thanks,” Mello muttered grimly, moving past his penitent lover and back toward the study, “I have work to do.”

He grit out that rather blunt exit note, and cursed himself inwardly because that seemed like a moment he shouldn’t have just let slide through his fingers—and yet Light had to know that he couldn’t get away with just hurting people the way he did. He had to learn that particular lesson…question was—would he? Or would he feel burned and only lash out in some other way? And how much did it take for him to come up with that level of sincerity? Was it L’s influence? Or his own? And should Mello be stepping into the study and closing the door behind him without once looking back? He wasn’t sure—but he did it anyway.

Much to Light's luck - or lack there of - Linda was making her way along the hall at that precise moment, carrying an armful of books and laptop and sketch pad which were all being totes outside since the weather too nice to spend the day locked indoors. Thankfully, she had been far enough away not to overhear the exchange, but she paused nevertheless, catching the uncharacteristic look on Light's face. It was controlled in an instant, but it had been there all the same. Linda frowned, puzzled and peered up at him. "Everything all right?" she asked, shooting a glimpse past Kira toward the firmly shut study door.

It took Light a moment to snap into form. “Nothing I can’t handle,” he said smoothly—but not as smooth as usual, there was a slight tremor there, and Light detected it just a hairline quicker than Linda did—aptly changing the subject at that moment before she could call him on it: “Here, let me get the door for you,” he said, crossing the short distance to open the glass to the veranda, he grabbed a few of her books as well, like the perfect gentleman, following her outside to set them down on the table.

“Delving into B, huh?” He said—his tone was still off, which was odd for him, because in the short time Linda had known him, (and the longer time he’d been Kira) he had a track record of being a perfect actor at every and any instant, on demand. His persona wasn’t so dominating at that moment however, and Linda straightened, looking at him, and Light didn’t meet her gaze—another oddity.

“Do you want to talk?” she offered.

“I’m afraid I know as much about B as you do,” Light answered; knowing full well she wasn’t referring to B.

“I didn’t mean that,” Linda said softly. “I just meant in general, you seem,” she hesitated because the word that sprung first to mind wasn’t a word she would have readily attributed to Kira. “…sad.”

Light blinked, sort of the way L did when he was put on the spot. “Sad?”

Linda caught herself before she backpedaled. Politeness would have had her retract the observation to make it easier for him; but that was not why L hired her, was it? “Yeah,” she confirmed. “It’s in your eyes.”

The statement had him at a loss, because Kira was always so good at keeping everything but what he wanted from his eyes. Linda watched him consider pulling over any number of facades, but in the end, he didn’t. He opted for the simple way around: “I’ll be okay,” he said. “I actually have some work to do—helping L with a case…I’ll see you later.”

He turned to leave, because if he stayed any longer, she probably would have seen him crack.

Linda watched him depart, hand alighting on the back of the nearby chair as a small frown crept across her lips. And so a new facet of Light had just been revealed to her, although Linda was not so foolish as to believe that it had been done for her satisfaction, quite the contrary. She had come at just the right – or wrong moment to see him like this. So… vulnerable.

Kira… vulnerable. The two just did not go hand in hand, but then again there was nothing of that dangerous persona reflected in Light’s amber eyes. No hint of danger, of the overpowering personality Linda had come to know and expected to see. It was curiosity that made her wonder what had happened, but also… worry. It was unlikely that anyone save Light himself had the answers, however. Perhaps L would have some input, but Linda did not dare pry. It was not her business. Forcefully putting that haunted look from her mind, she returned to her work.

* * *

Dinner was … an interesting event. For the most part quiet as neither Light nor Mello seemed very keen on speaking up that evening. Light was reserved and Mello had little problems in finishing his meal – without a hurry – and excusing himself once coffee had been served and promptly downed. Work to do. It was a good excuse, but there was, of course, more to it than that. Were anyone to check, he had indeed returned to his study and even more surprising, he was bent over a particularly thick text, zoning on the foreign words as the cursor blinked impatiently mere inches away on the dimly lit screen. He had not only caught up with the last couple of day’s scattered schedule, he’d pushed himself to gain a few hours to spare.

But no one had followed. In fact, his peers looked up, puzzled as he exited the dining room. Considering it was always L who vacated his seat first, it was not a common sight to see the blonde flee from the table that quickly. Linda’s eyes flickered toward Light despite herself, thinking that perhaps it had something to do with their row earlier that afternoon, but try as she might, she could not read him that easily.

It was however, obvious to her that L indeed knew exactly what was going on because the detective had been uncharacteristically reserved that evening as well. He hadn’t played any mind games with anyone, didn’t put anyone on the spot, didn’t trade barbs with Kira—in fact, he’d left Kira quite respectfully alone, and aside from posing a legitimate question to him once or twice while discussing a case with Dr. Gregory, L made no attempts to push his buttons.

Light remained dutifully quiet, and was still, for the most part, avoiding eye contact with everyone, and especially so after Mello left. Matt’s gaze shot to him. But shot away just as quickly, as though the notion that Kira had pissed off Mello was a simple place to stop, but why Kira was so quiet rather than boasting his victory was too complex to follow.

L’s gaze followed Mello from the room, but he made no comment and went right back to peeling apart the layers of his pastry and placing them on his tongue one by one. It was, ironically, only moments after that that his phone rang. L fished the cell out of his back pocket with two buttery fingers, glanced at the number and answered in Japanese, proceeding to sound as though he were taking orders at a restaurant. It was code speak, of course, but sounded rather silly. Only people hired and given direct permission by L were ever able to call him on his cell phone, and it wasn’t a normal occurrence, especially at dinner; but L made no sign that it was anything out of the ordinary.

“Matt,” he said, after hanging up, “I’m expecting an email through server 120, would you be so kind as to retrieve it for me?”

That meant now rather than later, and the redhead was up from the table without question, moving off from the dining room, coming back several minutes later with a laptop since L neglected to follow him. He set the Mac in front of the detective, email apparently received, and unencrypted and L licked his fingers, waiving off the strangeness of this display.

“Unrelated case,” he muttered, realizing everyone was staring at him intently as he went about decoding the email in a matter of seconds. His eyes scanned the screen and went from vaguely disinterested to incredibly intense, perhaps more intense than half the people in present company had ever seen them. His whole demeanor darkened, and he seemed suddenly angry, if not downright bristling, and without another word, he slammed the macbook closed, stood up in his chair, and promptly exited the room.

Awkward silence followed. Linda shot a look at Matt, who held up his hands indicating that he had no idea what it had been about. “I didn’t bloody read it.” That would have just been a foolish thing to do. Besides, coded and all. So naturally, the questioning attention swept back over to Light, who seemed just as perplexed by L’s sudden departure. No answers there either. Damnit. What in the bloody hell was going on?!

Add insult to injury and just as the lot of them were rising at last to return to their previous positions, Mello popped in the doorway, clearly unaware of L’s display several minutes prior. He eyed the laptop curiously but said nothing, his gaze shooting directly to both Matt and Linda. He leaned against the doorframe, not so much as bothering to sweep over to them and called, “I’ve got my phone on me, so call if you need me.”

Linda lifted a brow and Matt blinked. “Where are you going?”

“I’ll be on the grounds,” was all he told them before tapping the doorframe and promptly disappearing into the hallway. Outside the sun was only now beginning to set. They were gaining daylight with each passing day.

“Has everyone just gone bloody mad around here without me knowing?” Matt commented to no one in particular, lifting the laptop off the table.

“I’ve got just a couple more things to get through and I’ll join you,” Linda told him. “Don’t think I can take any more of B’s deranged psychosis in one day.”

She stopped because strangely enough she had the oddest sense they were ignoring Light. He was suddenly the quiet genius who had no friends among them—at least at that moment, with L inexplicably off in a huff and Mello obviously not speaking to him. Linda was sure she was overdramatizing it and Light himself thought no such thing, nevertheless, she and Matt had formed their own little party just then, and she sensed Light felt suddenly alone and abandoned.

Odd. Just odd.

She reacted before she attributed any rationale to the moment. “Light?” He looked up, his thoughts a million miles away, and Matt stopped in the doorway because he knew that tone of voice—Linda had used that tone often in their youth—whenever she invited Near to play.

“Do you want to join us?”

If Matt had been smoking, the cigarette would have been on the floor as his mouth dropped. Light looked equally surprised, and actually had to pull himself together to answer politely, “No…uh…thank you, though.” That vulnerability still lingered, and that was the most troubling part.

Linda did not look convinced but let it go, nodding briefly and oddest still, flashed him a small smile. “You know where to find us if you change your mind…” It was the least she could do. That vulnerability was bothering the hell out of her. It was just so unlike him that Linda simply did not know how to go about it. What was the right thing to do in this situation? She lingered a moment longer tossing a last glimpse over her shoulder, before following Matt out into the hallway.

The incredulous look he shot her said it all. Linda flushed and shrugged. “What? I feel bad. Can’t figure out what the hell is going on…”

“Sometimes it’s best not to.”

“You only say that because you don’t like him.”

“Not in the slightest, but that isn’t the reason. To figure out what the hell just came over all of them today simply takes more effort than I’m willing to invest.”

Linda scoffed. “Typical.”

* * *

Light stood there and watched after them a moment.

“Are you feeling well?” And that was Dr. Gregory. One more person expressing genuine concern for his wellbeing was probably going to make his head fall off, and Light turned to the elder man, slightly wide-eyed that he’d even asked.

“Do I look that bad?” He managed.

The doctor placed a pipe between his teeth. “It’s not that you look necessarily bad, Yagami,” and whether for comedic effect or actual curiosity, he pressed a hand to Light’s forehead to take his temperature. “But your demeanor is way off—you’re quiet and almost pleasantly tolerable.”

Light frowned slightly, but let it go.

“My advice, get some sleep—of the uninterrupted variety,” the doctor said wryly before leaving the room.

* * *

The small house was quaint despite its luxury. It might have had something to do with its seclusion, hidden away by lush gardens and tall trees. Mello had not intended to return so soon, but the change of scenery had called to him. The need to be somewhere else, to remain undisturbed. And of course, there was also the wonderful and unexpected distraction of a cello. His current lifestyle hardly allowed for such distractions.

It was refreshing.

Each note emptied out the frustration and annoyance he’d built up through the length of the afternoon. Each pluck of the strings and sweep of the bow allowing him to forget the mundane irritations in favor of releasing what words he could not – or would not – say though the rise and fall of the melody. It was all coming back to him – the classics as well as his own take on more conservative pieces; the less commonplace creations he had devised, translations of heavier songs that somehow, he had managed to translate into such an esteemed instrument.

L had always appreciated Mello’s ingenuity in this particular subject. It had been encouraging at the time when barely any taller than the cello himself, Mello had poured his soul into concertos that would doubtlessly still be remembered at Wammy’s today. Yet, the longer he played, the less aggression came through as his mind tumbled back treacherously to the day’s events. And above all to the defeated look in Light’s eyes. Why was it there? It was so very out of place, so very blasphemous a thing to see. He wanted nothing more than to wipe it away and yet, it was a lesson wasn’t it? Had that not been the intention of his earlier harsh words? Truth be told, however, Mello had never expected it to go this far. He had never expected it to truly make a difference.

* * *

L had the same look on his face he’d left with at dinner, or perhaps it was even more intense than that, as he crouched in front of the row of laptops, scrutinizing the screens, randomly listening on a headset and mumbling in Japanese.

Light leaned in the doorway and had he been feeling himself, he would have already been a nuisance to the detective, badgering and baiting to understand just what it was that was going on. He wanted to ask, and L sensed him hovering, at least Light thought he did—but it was several minutes before the detective even addressed him.

“Do you need something, Light?” He asked, eyes not leaving the screen, and his tone was thin to the trained ear.

“I was thinking of lying down,” Light replied.

L’s eyes flickered up to him, there was no patience in his uncharacteristically knotted brow. “I’m going to be busy all night,” he said. “I’m afraid I’ll bother you.” He meant ‘go away.’

Light’s jaw tightened.

“You may want to sleep in one of the guest rooms tonight,” L said.

“There aren’t any guestrooms,” Light muttered.

“There’s a guest house, then,” L replied, and Light’s brow twisted.

“What?”

“On the eastern edge of the property, several meters into the woods—it’s a servant’s quarters, it’s fully furnished, you’ll sleep like a baby there.”

Light frowned, he frowned deeply, but L had tuned him out at that moment and Light understood just when he wasn’t wanted…

* * *

The snap of chocolate sounded louder than usual in the otherwise unoccupied house. Mello was leaning heavily against the back of the high backed chair, cello still firmly in place between his legs, left hand upon its neck, bowstring resting across his lap. He had his eyes closed, thinking inwardly of one too many things at once. Another snap of chocolate. He let it melt against his tongue. It stained his lips. His laptop sat at his feet, screen lifted but only his abstract background looked back at him. Across the keys two pages lay scattered, musical notation penciled in with meticulous care. His shirt had been flung across the back of another chair, its zippered front getting in the way. Plus he wasn’t about to risk scratching the polished finish.

He never heard the hushed approach once the chocolate was traded in for the maple bowstring. A square sat between his teeth, melting against his lips. He was watching the strings at first, noting the proper placement of his fingers with each slice of the bow but as the melody progressed, pale lashes fell against his cheeks and brows knit in utmost concentration.

* * *

The deep rich melody of the cello was audible even from outside the house, and Light was as drawn to it as he was aggravated that L had sent him somewhere that was already occupied. At this point nothing did sound better than sleep, even if the sun still hadn’t gone down, even if there were better, more productive things he could have been doing to distract himself, he felt truly and utterly listless—most of that day—and apparently everyone was noticing.

But the melody had character, had a verve of its own that immediately spoke of it being live and not a recording, the acoustics echoing through the tall rooms and out the open windows, and Light was pretty certain no servants played that way. And it wasn’t L. And it wasn’t Matt or Linda or Doctor Gregory, and that was what drew him at last to the window to peer in unnoticed and see Mello there, shirtless, hunched over the grand instrument in the high-back chair, leather-clad legs hugging that sultry polished maple, gloved hands orchestrating that bow to divine perfection.

The sight was…intoxicating.

God yes, Mello was mad at him, seemed he’d almost completely and utterly shoved him off that day, unloaded the weight of their affair, of his mind, of the whole business and was freer for it—and maybe that’s what was hurting Light deep down inside. Hurting in a way he wasn’t used to, wasn’t familiar with, didn’t know how to handle; because he was dismissed and abandoned and he felt it more keenly than he ever expected to. His fault, yes, but his brain hadn’t gone so far as to examine his own nature—didn’t want to touch a Pandora’s box that was itself, poison.

Light passed before the windows, and Mello’s eyes were closed, his passion in his playing, he had no idea he was there, didn’t hear his soft footsteps cross the threshold of the unlocked door to hide there in the foyer vestibule, just out of sight—just to listen…he only wanted to listen.

The cello entered through him the moment he was closer to it, the deep vibrato of the strings chasing into his veins—the piece itself unrecognizable, Mello’s own—it sounded like him, a darker edge surrounding a lofty aspiration—a higher calling struggling with its own flaws, bittersweet and ultimately willing to sacrifice everything, life, heart, love—but the tempo was driving, passionate, strong and fierce, it echoed of perseverance of a knowing hurdle toward tragedy or victory, inlaid with that pervasive sadness that hid behind all things.

Light was moved, the music stole his breath, the figure playing it stole his heart, and he had to steady himself against the wall because that day had taken its toll on him—that week had taken its toll on him…his whole life had taken its toll, and Light closed his eyes, the strings lifting toward a sharp and crying climax that made him feel like he was falling, or dying, or just needed to be saved…and he didn’t even feel the tears on his face, because by that point, he was already gone…

He was not the only one moved by those last couple of minutes of striking climax. The chocolate long gone, Mello bit his lower lip, riding the feeling – the unabashed emotion that flooded the house and its surroundings with each bittersweet sweep of the bow, each striking note that grew higher in the end, digits adding an extra trepidation to the emotionally charged chords. He found tears stinging his own eyes by the time he lowered the bow, releasing a breath he did not realize he’d been holding. Forehead rested against smooth maple, still unaware of the presence that had come upon him, that witnessed the performance just out of sight.

“Shit…” he whispered faintly under his breath and swept a hand through unruly bangs, pausing halfway to pinch the bridge of his nose because he’d been caught off guard by his own melody. Caught off guard by the feelings and passion it had unearthed. Whatever traces of anger and frustration he had come here with had been simply wiped away, leaving him grasping at something more. At something that made sense, at something less complex than the knot in his throat and what it may have meant. Anger was simple, he’d enjoyed it for a good majority of his life. It was safe and understood. This… this pushed boundaries he had not been ready to face.

That was about when Mello lifted his teary gaze and saw the shadow there first, because it moved, gave way to the familiar, lithe silhouette and the mysterious way Light seemed to have just appeared, almost conjured by the notes themselves—and in the instant Mello wanted to wonder how he’d come to find him, he shoved the rational thoughts away, because Light’s face was bare and naked and just as bloody teary as his own…

Silence. Mello was shocked to see him there, to find himself discovered in such a way but there was more to it than that. The rawness upon Light’s face was the most striking. Whatever words had been exchanged between them earlier, they did not matter now. He did not remember rising, but suddenly he had unfolded from his spot, cello left to rest against the seat so that Mello could cross the short distance between them. He noted Light’s slight backward shuffle as he approached; his determined stalk nothing short of intimidating even now. Especially now.

No blows connected, no heated words. Hands fell to either side of Light’s neck and without warning, chocolate tainted lips covered his own; the gesture heated, demanding, but also alive with a sense of utter desperation... All reason and rationality tossed to the wind in that instant. There was no room for it here, no room for anything other than the too-complicated strings of their relationship, whatever it may be.

Mello’s hands were strong, swept up the sides of Light’s face into his hair, capturing him close to kiss him closer, and taste his tears. And Light seemed ready to break there in Mello’s arms, because any sense of the games they were so used to playing were chased right out of the room, and Light was wrapped around him tightly, clinging with a bitter sense of desperation that made Mello realize he’d expected to be chased away. Oh God, and why did that send such a pain through him to understand that?

“I’m sorry—I’m so sorry,” Light breathed, as Mello kissed him fiercely, his lips, his face, his eyes—crushing him so close, gloved hand cradling the back of his head other arm constricting around his waist so he couldn’t flee even if he wanted to.

“I want you here,” Mello gasped, “I need you here with me—I need you more than I can ever dare to admit.”

Light only seemed to tear up more at that confession, and Mello felt the tremor there in his body, the sorrow, all that goddamn sorrow he’d brought upon all of them had finally found its way into him at last and it was wracking him completely.

Mello sought Light’s lips, tasted the salt, hugged him tightly and half lifted him off the floor to turn him and put him in the direction of the bedroom doorway—all without breaking the kiss, even as he backed Light up into that room where the bed was draped in white and bathed in a most ethereal glow, he continued to kiss him until Light was literally gasping for air, but not letting go for an instant. And there was nothing more Mello wanted at that moment then to make Light a part of him, to draw him in and keep him safe and make him know there was more to life goddamnit—there was more to life and love than he ever gave the world credit for.

It was with a much different sort of frenzy from their usual fare that Mello ripped the stark white covering from the bed, tossing it to rumple on the hardwood floor several feet away, before pushing Light down onto the edge of the mattress, a black leather clad knee digging at his side as Mello pawed above him. He broke the kiss only to clamp his teeth around his leather gloves, yanking each off with deft practice so he could tangle his fingers into lengthy, silky tresses, black painted nails trailing lightly along Light’s scalp, and he felt Light tremble against him, his own grip desperate against the blonde's back.

They fell into each other—or rather, Mello fell against him, climbing up onto the mattress, straddling Light's waist. His kisses were heated but moved with the sort of affection not before enjoyed between them; his attention trailing down Light's throat, along the curve of his jaw, to the sensitive spot behind his ear, to the earlobe itself where Mello sucked and nipped.

It was not long before Mello's hands were grappling with the buttons of Light's shirt, pushing it from his shoulders, immediately kissing them the moment they were bared. He flung the shirt aside and pushed his lover down against the comforter. They sank into it as Mello leaned over, mouth still mapping kisses along Light’s body. He slid his hand into the loosening denim around Light’s waist, grabbing the sharp curve of his hip to pull him closer into his embrace and Light arched against him as they kissed deeply and passionately, hands tangling in Mello’s flaxen hair, arms wrapped around his shoulders, as though he would be lost if he let go. And this had gone beyond endearing a long time ago, Light’s too-visible pain and vulnerability jabbing at all the tender places in Mello, and as much as he wanted to lavish the affection he felt in spades just then, he couldn’t bring himself to let his lover go even for the length of time it would take to tickle and tease.

Hold on to me, Mello thought, I’ve got you. And if this was where life could stop and stand still, there would be no Kira, there would be no judgment, no Death Note, no war between Kira and L, no deal with Ryuk, no need for an heir, no pain and insurmountable suffering on the road ahead—there would only be this, indefinable—because Mello still couldn’t accept the word he knew described the way he held Light at that moment, the way Light’s tears tasted on his lips and made his chest tighten and constrict and hurt like bloody hell.

I want to save you—and did he say it? Did he speak it in this spark of surrendering passion when the words might only fall away later forgotten? Yes, goddamnit, yes—because this was where things could change.

“I want to save you,” he breathed against Light’s ear—Mello’s actions had said as much all this time; had been building toward this goal on top of the foundation L had already laid, but no one had said it this way and meant it this way—Mello was certain—because Light went rigid in his arms, his grip tightening almost painfully around Mello’s body and he buried his head in Mello’s neck, trying to fight the sobs but they came anyway, deep and shuddering…

There was no room for cliche, no point in telling him all would be well in the end. They both knew better than that, but that did not mean Mello let go in the slightest, leaning heavily against Light's trembling body as he held him there and felt the warmth of tears and his gasping breath against his neck. "I've got you..." he whispered and was rewarded with a barely hushed sob that tightened a fist around his heart and clung there. To see Light like this was unforgiving; that it had gotten this far, that Light had carried this burden of the last several weeks on his shoulders to the point that he could do little else other than crumble beneath the weight of it all.

Mello pressed a kiss against Light's temple, drawing it out. "I don't want to see you like this," he caught himself saying and then decided after the fact that it didn't matter. Let it be said. They'd already come too far to turn back now.

But this was the humanity they’d been prodding for all this time, wasn’t it? The breaking down of that vast apathetic wall Kira had built around himself, and this now—this was a result of all they had put him through, a result of L’s incessant wearing away at his defenses, a result of Mello’s surprising rupture of barriers that had long since atrophied—they’d done this, they’d brought him down to this—Kira would not have succumbed had he been left to his own devices to operate as cruelly and coldly as he’d done before. This was their side teetering on the apex of a transcendental victory of the war begun years ago—but Mello didn’t care; because what he held in his arms was not a self-proclaimed god, not a rampant murderer or vessel of justice—it was utterly and distinctly human and he wanted to keep it that way. But the tears jarred him all the same, because he didn’t want to destroy Light—not Light… he truly didn’t want to see him like this.

And so Mello held him tighter, felt Light’s heart pounding against his chest.

“I need you,” Light breathed at last, and that was the response to Mello’s concern; because talking was wasted now. They’d disbanded with the games, with the history, with the antagonism—they’d thrown it aside—what was left was as raw and bare as either of them could get.

“I need you, please,” and Light’s words were hot against Mello’s skin, made him shudder, and the plea was not like any he’d uttered in the past—this wasn’t sex, this was something else…and they both knew it.

As if there had ever been a need to plead with him for such a thing. Mello nodded wordlessly, pressing a kiss to his lips, followed by a second because once again he found it nearly impossible to break away from him. He had always found Light intoxicating in one way or another, but here, laying in his arms clinging so tightly with the sorrow washing out of him in waves, Mello wanted nothing more than to kiss away that suffocating sadness and save him from the world and in essence, from himself. But he would not deny him. Not now. And thus, with a final lingering kiss, broke away just enough to trail soft affections against bare skin, pushing himself to at last tug off Light’s jeans. And, of course, as per his nature, Mello made a show of it: fingers trailing slowly along Light’s body as it pried off the fitted denim, lifting one leg and then the other and bestowing a fleeting kiss upon each bare foot.

Mello offered him a small smile as he leaned back down over Light's gloriously nude body, unable to keep himself from trailing a hand along his side. Wishing to touch him more so than simply tease him, but the brief squirm that followed was worth it all the same. Another kiss was stolen. He could not get enough and judging by the way Light's hand immediately tangled into his hair, he was not the only one whose breath stilled at each kiss shared.

Even when Mello rose to his knees to tug the belt from his pants, the unlaced leather loosening, Light was up on his knees at that same moment, clinging to him—their lips still locked fervently, and Mello wanted to laugh that he was not going to manage to get naked this way, but the chuckle died before it reached his tongue, he was too swept up in pulling Light’s lithe, golden body tightly against him; feeling that gorgeous warm skin in his arms, the sway of his back, the curve of his side; if Mello could devour him then and there to make sure they’d never part, he would have.

But he had to coax Light back down to the bed, leaning over him as he wrestled to peel the leather off his own hips and writhe out of it into the warm, waiting cradle of Light’s thighs, and all without breaking for barely a breath or two.

Light wound around him, lips breathlessly joining with Mello's, and his ardent display of needy passion seemed to be speaking on a multiplicity of levels Mello couldn’t even begin to decode, but it didn’t matter, he understood—he knew he did—settling his weight against Light’s body, Light's long legs wrapping over his hips as Mello shifted against him, arms wound tight about his lover—and that first, slow push inside was as agonizing as it was divine. Light whimpered, head dropping back against the pillow for just that moment to feel it, Mello filling him, deep inside him—warmth and passion flushing through to his fingertips.

Mello pressed his forehead to Light’s throat, squeezing his eyes shut, holding him so strongly—and it had never quite felt like this before—all the kink, all the games, all the wild foreplay, and it had never felt like this when he entered him, so all encompassing, transcending that earthly sensation of sex to reach for the heart—Mello grit his jaw, and they were pressed so tightly to each other, so inside one another, that he couldn’t tell where he ended and Light began. He felt like he was falling, a rapid uncontrollable plummet down a bottomless abyss, and he sought Light’s lips with his own, to anchor himself, or to fall together—it was likely the latter—as slowly Mello forced himself to move, to begin that slow cadence of his hips, thrusting inside Light… making love to him… perhaps truly for the first time...

Later there would be questions, an endless string of them to plague his mind with what had happened and what was to come, but none of it mattered; to hell with the consequences, to hell with the damnable factor in all of this. There was only the two of them now, locked together more intimately it seemed than ever before, gasping sharply with desire and the need for more—what—neither actually knew. Just… more. Light’s grip was crushing and before long, trembling against Mello’s back, against his sides. And while many times before he had put on a glorious show for the blonde’s benefit, there was none of the sort this time around. There was no need because the honesty of his reactions spoke louder than whatever erotic display he could produce.

So rather than throw his head back in wanton pleasure, he clung to his younger lover in desperation, as if any amount of distance was too much, as if to envelop him completely for the sake of pleasure and protection he had to offer. Mello held onto him, the rhythmic sway of his hips deepening once it became easier to do so, but perhaps for once there was no pain involved. No torture, no kink and by god, it felt formidable. His head swam and his breath was hot and ragged against Light’s ear. “Light…” he gasped softly, fingers tangling firmly into the comforter beside his lover’s head, allowing him better leverage, which ripped shivers down the length of his spine in seconds.

He said the name unconsciously, so often he’d called him ‘Kira’ in the past, in the throes of passion, titillating to think that the God of a New World was supine beneath him and being fucked senseless—but that was not the name that tumbled breathless from Mello’s lips in that moment, and Light almost sobbed in response. It cut to the core, peeled everything away and nailed it right to the board. His fingers tightened in Mello’s shoulders, against his back, his breathing erratic and flushed and so fervently honest, and when Mello deepened his angle he heard the effect in the sharp keening catch in Light’s throat.

Straining with the influx of new pleasure, Light groaned and unexpectedly gasped: “…Mihael…”

Once upon a time Mello would have shot him on sight for uttering such a thing, just then Mello nearly stilled, taken aback by the name that sounded practically foreign uttered in such a way upon his lips. A million different things could have crossed his mind at that moment, every little idiosyncrasy of allowing him to get away with it but… what in the bloody hell did it even matter anymore? Light himself had always been the greatest threat and even that had been minimized significantly over the last several weeks. There were no secrets to be kept, no identities to hide. No misconceptions. There never had been any.

And although Mello hesitated, he did not stop, the surprise wearing thin with the sound of Light’s gasping and the thundering of his own heart as if ready to rupture. It might as well have. "Du machst mich verrückt," he gasped sharply, the words falling rapidly from his lips so that he barely realized he’d flawlessly switched on him. "Du bringst mich in Rage und ich will doch nichts mehr als dich weiter zu halten...-Gott!" Mello groaned through gritted teeth, resting his forehead against his lover’s chest as he felt himself beginning to tumble out of control into that promised surge of overwhelming pleasure. But he could control it, at least a short while longer. He would see Light through the end first and foremost. He would make sure to make him crumble beneath the onslaught of sensation, only then allowing himself that sweet release.

Light’s gasping had turned to heaving the closer Mello drove him to climax, and if ever their embrace was bone-crushing it was in those moments just at his release—his whole body strained as the pleasure wracked him hard, and he stifled his normal erotic display, riding out the numbing waves of intense sensation as it ground through him, the extreme nature of feeling in the strength of his grip on Mello’s body, and the almost-agonized grit in Light’s voice, in his breathing before the world just spun away—wringing him out and spending the last of him in Mello’s arms… “Ich liebe dich,” Light breathed—I love you—panting hard, still unable to let go as Mello had yet to spill his own pleasure… it didn’t matter, Light didn’t want to let go of his lover in any regard at that moment…

Mello shuddered against him, stifling his cries against the crook of Light’s neck. And suddenly it was too much. The warm press of his body, the delicious friction of each mind-numbing thrust deep within him, the crushing hold with which he was kept in place yet allowed just enough room to maneuver, the raspy, German words that spilled from lush, kiss-bruised lips. Mello’s mind was whirling and he had yet to begin catching up. And then absolute clarity in the explosion of white behind his eyes and the waves of ecstasy that followed, leaving him shuddering and panting against his lover.

Mello was light-headed when he came back to himself, senses crawling in from the content buzz of feeling and passion to allow him to listen to the calming of Light’s breath, the slowing of his thundering heart. Outside, the sun sank beneath the horizon, leaving behind only wistful rays in its absence and the stark glow of a full moon developing against an indigo sky.

And this is where the awkwardness came. Too many things said, too many confessions uttered.

Yet… Mello waited for it only to be disappointed – or perhaps not so – when nothing of the sort crept up to spoil the moment. In fact, when Mello dared to steal a breathless kiss from Light’s chapped lips, there was no dreaded awkwardness in its wake. He exhaled, thanking God and bowed his head; pale lashes fluttering shut as he rested his forehead against Light’s own. There was nothing to say. Not just yet.

They’d barely moved—Mello still inside him—and Light cradled Mello against his body, gaze on the ceiling, mind floating somewhere nearby, his fingers working slow and soothing in Mello’s hair, against his scalp. There was no sense that Light was waiting for Mello to say something, there was no hint he had any intention of retracting what he’d so passionately murmured in those final moments—in fact, quite the contrary as he pressed his lips lovingly to Mello’s temple and kissed him deeply.

Mello felt his whole body sigh at that, settling heavily on top of Light’s own, his gaze just lingering on nothing in particular—the shadows of night perhaps grazing across the white-washed walls. It was too much to look at after awhile, and Mello’s eyes closed without him realizing, his mind tumbling off into a deep and satisfied sleep tucked warmly in Light’s arms…