L x Light

BY : Genevieve
Category: Death Note > General
Dragon prints: 5254
Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.



 While no more than a year or so had passed since the last
time L visited, it seemed to Mello like ages.

L never slept. That’s how it seemed, anyway, and when finally, late
one night, uninvited and out of bounds, Mello walked in deliberately in
a gesture of the most humble and desperate defiance, he all but held his
breath to see him asleep.

Lying down, no less.

It was irresistible, and, the living blaze of fire he was, Mello fell
to his knees before the mattress, yellow locks cascading across the older
boy’s lap.

He never forgot, he never forgot the rigid surface of L’s bony knuckles,
knobs and joints and delicate white skin sliding cool and hard against
the tremulous membranes at Mello’s lips, it was pure infatuation, devastating
and overwhelming and hopelessly alive.

“You should be in bed, Mello-kun.”

The slender digits traveled lightly through Mello’s cascade of hair
with gentle affection, and it was all the boy could do to hold back from
grabbing the hand and kissing his fingers.

“J—just tonight.”

He was never so humble. Indeed, this was the rare and important exception
and, in fact, the very reason for his rigid pride.

He had never wanted anything so much.

He had never admired anyone so much.

His entire life was directed for the very purpose of following in L’s
footsteps – should he be so lucky.

It was rare that he had L to himself like this. A single word of encouragement,
a single reaffirming gesture and Mello was smitten, glowing with confidence
and genuine enjoyment, and in his heart he liked to believe that he really
did stand apart, that he really will surpass Near in the race to win L’s
approval.

“Okay then,” L replied, “climb in.”

Blue eyes opened wide in gratitude as Mello nodded quickly, sliding
his delicate limbs onto the bed.

He wasn’t going to sleep.

He didn’t want to waste this.

He forced himself to stay awake that night, staring at L’s sleeping
form beside him, and he could care less whether he got in trouble for this
later. It would be entirely worth it, and when L was decidedly asleep,
Mello leaned in and kissed him, hard and full and desperate, and he thought
he never wanted to possess anything so badly.

* * *

More so than any case before it, the Kira investigation is entirely
risky to L and the others. Indeed, he would have died along with police
chief Yagami and the rest of the task force had the notebook not been rendered
useless against him.

If L were to die, there is to be a successor.

This was a mutual decision between L and Watari, and this was the reason
for the murderous competition between potential candidates.

There was no reason, however, for there to be only one successor, and
this is why mortal enemies Mello and Near were assigned a project together.

More accurately, the mortal enemy was Mello – Near, to his perpetual
aggravation, was unnervingly unaffected and effortlessly ahead. For Mello,
this went beyond the need to follow L and into the very desire to be unique
to him: to follow through on the mutual understanding and unspoken connection
he so passionately believed they could achieve.

L was everything he wanted to become and everything that, with jealous
possession, he desperately wished to have.

Dry and cerebral, Near did not succumb to the chaotic force of the living,
breathing combustion that was Mello, and instead pinned him down with viciously
silent, poignant words at every advance.

L is mine, the older boy would grit his teeth and think, and
while truly, he has no idea as to the goings-on of the secret investigation,
he finds himself almost envious of Kira for having attention from L that
he, himself, never had.

L is incredible, Mello knows this—far be it from him to need their help.
But, God! What Mello would do for the opportunity to give help.

At fourteen, he is deceptively powerful, comprised slender and delicate,
all skin and bones. He is intense and serious and admirably controlled
considering the world exploding within him.

Come the lightning, crackle fire, this world melts for circumstance.

He nevertheless does not give in to distraction during work, and remains
remarkably focused throughout.

Almost.

Near is maddeningly composed, white and blank and without emotion almost
as a challenging taunt laced with unspoken arrogance.

Mello used to want to hit him, and Mello used to hit him, and he used
to make him promise and swear that he won’t say a thing, but it made things
worse because it was never satisfying and, by default, it left Near triumphant
and righteous.

So then Mello took to hitting everything else, walls and pillows and
ultimately his friend Matt, who, far from protesting, seemed strangely
grateful for the attention so seldom bestowed on him.

“Mello, I—“

“Don’t.”

It wasn’t right, he knew, and he forced himself to hold back, and all
it did was make him more enraged with frustration, and that’s how he lived.

“This isn’t right.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I have to study now.”

“But—“

“And you have to study, too.”

* * *

Light watches L from the bed, warm and dry and covered but still bound
and without hope of release anytime soon.

There on the desk is the sterile bag containing disintegrated remains
of a page from the third book. Light doesn’t fully understand this, but
he understands and reasons enough to know that he must somehow get to the
powder before L touches it.

On the other side of the desk is a stack of papers in a neatly prepared
file, something of undoubted importance as L tends to it in the midst of
his investigation of the extract.

“Ryuuzaki,” comes the word in the softest and most composed of voices,
“I want to see my family.”

At the desk, the older boy stops working and he seems deep in thought
as he turns his face upward along the wall to the front,

“I’m sorry, Light-kun, but it’s too dangerous right now.”

“I see,” it comes calm and obedient.

What are you trying to do, Yagami?

Up until now, Light was bound almost entirely by choice. Without doubt
and whether or not he fully understands this, he is now attempting to prevent
L from getting to the book before him.

How does this work, L wonders, will he merely need to touch it? This
can’t be enough, because ongoing cutaneous contact did not seem to awaken
Light.

Indeed, as a source of particular gradient alone, the powder activates
only olfaction without the full vascular effect that requires the entire
book. That is, it can be used merely as an activator of emotional memory
and not a means of possessing the book or perceiving the works with which
it is associated.

So even when L touches and even samples it, it does nothing.

I might need Light then, he muses, keeping this in mind as a
last resort.

With his free hand, he reaches for the file on the other side of the
desk, big eyes trained with quiet focus as he reads.

They work well together after all. But it isn’t without its price.

The real reason behind this mess isn’t Light or Higuchi or Misa. The
root of the problem lies in the fact that, for whatever reason and by whatever
means, instruments of unparalleled chaos and destruction were introduced
into the population.

Is there truly a way, L wonders, to ascertain that this sort of thing
is put to a halt?

There is, reads the report, assuming that rules so meticulously planned
and painstakingly inscribed were formulated by someone, for some reason.

* * *

Absent blue eyes gaze up vacuously, the alternating sequence of light
and shadow from the ceiling fan reflecting motion in their glossy surface,
and, right arm tucked behind his head, Mello lies tense and still.

I hope he thinks it’s good.

“You’re worried about the project.”

“I’m not worried.”

“You’re all tense.”

“I—shut up.”

Soft red locks sweep across his narrow waist, light and feathery, and
Mello is too uptight to care—which is why, to Matt’s absolute appreciation,
he is allowed this tonight.

“Can I take this off?”

“Whatever.”

“Cool.”

 

To be continued...




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