.
You wait for him on the stairs. The students dance on the edge of your eyes until you see him, you blink to rid of the tunnel of him and you.
You should kill him.
You need to kill him.
You check your wristwatch and feel it tick. There's still time.
"Good morning Ryuga"
You smile, he tries.
"Good morning Light"
.
ii.
It's ephemeral, this crush.
It's a need to posses. To conquer. Power hunger.
You put your hand on top of his and count the seconds in a blink.
He doesn't believe you.
"You're my first friend Light"
You don't believe him.
But you want to.
It's a matter of time.
.
iii.
"Kira is a killer."
It sound likes infamy. It befouls your solace of this world, this rotten, rotten world.
Only the words come out of your mouth. You stagger on your axis.
You wonder just when you started giving half truths instead of half lies.
He looks at you as he voices your exact words.
You don't respond, not now.
.
iiii.
You kiss him.
He shivers, his grip on your shirt tight.
You kiss his eye lids, he breaths out.
You move your hands to his shoulders, make the tremors stop.
He palms your chest, it's soothing.
You kiss his cheeks, you were supposed to convince him.
When you kiss his lips he kisses you back.
He's quiet, you can't stand it. You kiss him deep until you purge the words out of him. They're sour.
.
iiiii.
"I can make you breakfast"
You make Belgian waffles, chocolate syrup, and fresh blueberries.
He kisses you this time.
.
iiiiii.
You take him on the same table, the same day.
You're steady, your murmur, he doesn't close his eyes when he kisses you.
His legs wrap around you but his hand pushes at your shoulder, the other clasps to the table, to ground him.
Words fall from your tongue, your words for once, they belong to him now.
He catches them and stores them, not now Light, he says, arches his back and meets you in the middle of a trust.
Your hands slip, his skin is sleek with sweat, he glows.
His hands on your hair, his cheek on your chest.
You watch him, he's a paradox, he's impossible but God knows you will try.
"Oh God" he moans,
Your run his fingers on the knots on his back and count against his skin, he closes his eyes and hums.
He takes your hand in his, over his chest, his heart beats 40 times before you come, deep and warm.
You take his hand on yours, over his member, he's so close you don't even have time.
He licks his fingers, you help him.
.
iiiiiii.
You volunteer; you might be killing and wish to stop.
When you're apart you have nightmares.
When Ryuk leaves, L is not there.
When you have nightmares, you scream, you forget how to breath, you hear his voice.
He speaks of murder, he reads the news for you, he tells you a riddle, tells you, you know the answer.
You tell him you forgot.
It's silent, you don't know days from years.
You ask him for the date, he gives you a question.
You stop talking, he starts coming.
.
iiiiiiii.
He waits for you on the main room.
You don't know how many floors you went up, your cell was deep and cold and you're still weak from sitting on the floor for so many days.
Fifty, your dad says in a similar state.
You sway on your feet and feel a part of you has been ripped, a gaping hole where memories and a strong drive carved the tips of your fingers with black ink.
The numbers of the elevator swirl into a bright spot and the clang of the handcuffs takes you back to his face.
He looks confused, you feel lost.
You're not a killer and he looks disappointed at you.
.
iiiiiiiii.
Your wrist is cool when he snaps a brand new set of handcuffs on you.
You can almost feel his pulse point with the shinny links until it reaches yours.
They tangle, it hurts.
"Don't think about elephants" you tell him, or notebooks you don't say, but he sees.
Misa knows nothing, he doesn't need her anymore.
You know nothing and he keeps you close.
"You should be happy" he tells you over the sound of chains.
"In due time" you answer, he doesn't ask.
.
iiiiiiiiii.
The original sin.
It began with a touch under the table.
A time skip later and they're sprawled over the blankets, a broken language that was supposed to go on stolen kisses taste so much better.
A kiss that began with a monolithic entropy, a lie and an interest.
When he starts kissing you, it's off the clock so he won't get in trouble with your dad, and you laughed at his jokes.
He smirks, so you pinned him from his wrists and explain to him, just how are you going to fuck him and why. You palm him through his jeans and it's a promise.
He pulls at your shirt and you hook your fingers to his jeans.
You loomed above him, naked, panting, he urges you closer with his legs.
You prepare him with two fingers, saliva and kisses all over him when he hisses in pain.
"Discomfort" he tries to sooth you, but you take extra time until he is languid and writhing, his toes curl over your shoulder but you don't see this. You kiss his ankle where it hooks over your shoulder.
.
iiiiiiiiiii.
You enter him, he's so hot inside you might be searing.
Your moans escape you, he follows the bones of your face, admiring, he follows your pulse down your chest.
He tells you to go faster and you do. He trusts you not to hurt him, and it's all you've ever asked.
"Trust me"
You don't say what you really want. The cardinal rule, the only one he put.
Don't say it Light, don't you dare say you love me.
You obey until you know how to translate emotion.
"We yearn for catharsis" he's in a mood, you drink his profile until your eyes burn.
"Comes with reconciliation"
You don't build on the buried, you start on new grounds, you don't lie to him anymore.
"You've changed."
He starts believing you.
You put a blanket on his shoulders and an arm on his waist.
You are half there.
.
iiiiiiiiiii.
Your world lurches, you're spinning, you're dreaming.
The weight of his hands on you stops the world from crumbling, stops everything.
You float in a limbo where it's just you and him.
You're fevered, hazed, he wakes you from nightmares with a hand on your forehead, a frown on his, he feeds you sugar pills and ice cubes and you tell him you love him.
"I know"
You dream again, with his lips, the dips between his ribs and noises he makes when you nuzzle his neck.
You're not sure if it was all a dream.
He is tangible, visceral, he's unaffected by time and lies, you anchor yourself to him.
"That is a terrible idea Light" he has too many cracks, but he's resilient. But for how long he doesn't say.
You check the clock again. He kisses your nose and urges you to sleep.
.
iiiiiiiiiiiii.
You stare at the city below.
You think of the people who look so small from where you are.
You feel small, and you feel like you missed something.
He calls your name, it's two hours later, you're keeping track.
"For what?" for death, the wind takes his words far away from you.
"I don't know" you do, you don't, you know it belongs to you and him.
"Do you think we'll ever know the truth?"
You're not dying, you won't kill him. There will be a day that you will, or a day you'll both forget.
"I don't know"
We can stay like this for much longer.
.
iiiiiiiiiiiiii.
You stand on skyscrapers.
On different lights.
Your eyes look red, and his face looks blue.
It's awful you think. You hold out your hand and wait for him to jump.
This is not a confrontation, he says.
I love you, you respond.
.
iiiiiiiiiiiiiii.
The ticking is loud.
The rain is cold.
He hears bells, his words are stringy, his reasoning is failing.
"It will be lonely, won't it?"
Your heart stops.
You asked him to trust you.
"We'll be parting ways soon"
You told him you loved him. You didn't when he needn't.
"I love you"
You're soaked, his skin is cold, his lips a pale bruise, and your hug brings no warmth.
"Not now, don't do this now" he says as he hugs you back, warps his arms around you so tight you think you might become one.
It's October 27th and tomorrow you will catch Kira. Maybe then will be your time.
.
iiiiiiiiiiiiiiii.
Higuchi screams and it tears at your throat.
Eyes frantic he searches only to find his face again and again reflected at him, how mad he looks, how hopeless.
Your father arrests him, on his knees, against the hood of his shiny red car, in the streetlight it looks like a blood stain.
It's a notebook you hear, L sits next to you and he doesn't know. But you do. You feel a pang and a pull and when they bring the notebook inside the helicopter L's lithe fingers shake, or your vision shakes with desire, you are drawn to it but you shake your head and clasp your sweaty palms together. You look like you're in pain and you are.
The notebook is black tar, covered in dry leaves and foul dirt, maggots crawling between pages, pulsing between your ears, you hear the angry flutter of wings, longer than life, the raspy sound of laughter straight from nightmares. You don't see this but you know it.
You lock a secret inside of you, it's the last truth you bury.
It haunts you.
.
iiiiiiiiiiiiiiii.
L apologizes for mistreating you, the case is over and you can go home.
He mistrusts you still and it hurts the most.
Nighttime air agrees with you so much. You're vain, you like the moon streak that illuminates your room, it makes you alive and well and now, you want it all. You want L. You want him to take you far away. You dream that night.
"Dream a little bigger Light"
The next morning he says goodbye with a plane ticket in his hand.
You can't read it and it doesn't matter.
"We'll become old man one day, filled with regret and waiting for death. Or you can believe me"
.
iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii.
"Why is it so important to wait?"
He is down the hallway, you strain to hear even when the words are only for you, the plane waits.
"In time, we'll be together"
You check your wristwatch and say goodbye.
.
iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii.
You think of him when it rains.
You think of the curve of his spine, the color of his eyes, the conflicts of his mind, the terror and then the relief when he lived to see the case end.
When it rains, you think of his caffeine breaths, the cleverness of his snide comments, his deadpan jokes, the softness of his skin and well…
When you're in private, you think of the taste of sweaty skin, heated and soft, his tongue on your navel, his hands on your length, sleek with saliva.
It's years later when you have nothing but your hand and memories.
You think often, of running your tongue along the lines of his inner thighs, of the strangled moans you took out from him, you think of the closeness of your fingers inside of him, invading him from the inside out, the way his voice failed him, you never took your eyes from him and neither did he.
You take yourself in hand and remember the tight heat of him, the way your trusts faltered when he squeezed his inner muscles, he laughed when you almost came that first time, you increased your pace and he didn't laugh again.
The pale touch of him on your collarbone, the wet kisses down your jaw line onto the columns of your neck, the weight of his head on your chest, his taunt body displayed only for you.
You make damn well use of memories.
The trust of your hand follows the sound of his voice, when you're done, you button your pants and hear the long echo of a promise.
.
iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii.
Sometimes you see him in dreams.
Back in the old headquarters. He crouches in his chair and you sit in yours.
Side by side, ghosted conversations of tennis, murder, apples, murder, and cake mostly.
He stops, and the look of him again smears on your brain.
He tells you to wait for him.
You wake up smiling.
.
iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii.
You take a day off of work.
It's raining today.
You take your raincoat but no umbrella.
You watched the drops sluicing down from your shoulders. Your hair flattens and you breaths are salty.
You hear the morning news from a screen above you. The noise and the closeness of the people walking by don't bother you.
Then you see him on a newsstand.
Or just a sliver of him. But you'd recognize the angles and mathematics of his plain of existence in every life you live.
You follow the cock of his head, the way his long hair caress his neck the way your lips used to.
His overcoat swallows him whole and he's wearing a hat. His spine is not as bend and his face is not as sunken as in your dreams.
"Hello stranger"
Hello dreamer.
He smiles, he doesn't look back.
His hair is dripping on the paper, blank ink running in rivulets. You check the date, it's 6 years after. You check your wristwatch, just in time.
"I've been waiting..."
You talk but he waits. He turns and he looks the same but different, better.
Less stress, his skin is just marvelous.
"To grow old with regret?"
His face is crammed with untold stories; you want to hear them all from his lips to yours.
"To be young again"
Artificial lights slants his features.
You want him on your bed, on your home, on your breakfast table. He'll make coffee and you'll fight with him over ice cream for breakfast and he will win every time.
"Remember something for me, something you once knew, convince me this is real and we'll be young together again. I've waited long enough"
His mouth is cloaked with wistful melancholy; longing for the years you lost, missing all the seconds you weren't together.
His mouth twist in a secret half smile as he leans against you.
You take his hand and lead him all the way down to your life, your fingers laced with his.
.
iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii.
You take him to your home.
He had a suitcase on your door waiting for him already.
"I'm sorry it took so long"
You don't care, time meant nothing when he wasn't there.
You took him inside, he talked, of the places he's been to, the things he's seen, and you can see him, wild and untamed and relearning what is cruel and deceive, until he is sure.
You take him to your bed and make love to him for the rest of the day. Until neither of you know a place and a time that isn't now.
.