There are probably 100332784578257879 versions of this sequence on the site, so no prizes here for originality. But, it was raining, and I whatthehell'd and wrote this thingymanjigo.
This is canon (for a change) and there is gently implied LxLight in between the lines, that kinda thing.
Don't own Death Note and its friends.
The wet clings to him like a small child, a cold thirst that reaches in between his eyes and his ears and his jeans and his torso and his hair. It is indeed the gargoyles that stand on rainy days, black beasts that tower before churches, bells that rock back in time.
Honesty weeps for company, knowing failure before opening its eyes to stare at it in the face.
Light Yagami.
"What are you doing out here, Ryuzaki?"
"Nothing in particular, its just the bells..."
The two men stand as solid forces between the sheets of rain. Its heavy, like their tension.
"You try not to get involved in relationships. If its something that shouldn't be, you shouldn't get involved in the first place. I know that best."
The hum of their voices is low, words hanging before being beaten down by droplets upon droplets.
"But, you're the same as me."
It is a mingled brew of apathy and need, a driving force that causes him to feel utter hopelessness and indifference at once. The other man doesn't understand the magnitude of his words. You and me should never be in the same sentence without the appropriate amount of hostility.
Yet, here he is, relating a teenager to him, an unseen mystery, an icon, an ominous caricature of the law? This... teenager has even the temerity to approach him?
L lets the rain wash away feelings. They pool in the cracks in the cement. Figures. He's put millions of dollars worth into the building, and there's already cracks.
"Have you ever uttered a single true word since you were born?"
L doesn't expect Light to answer honestly. That would be too much to ask. He knows.
The replies he gets are chosen and worded, robotic, small barbs attached: "Don't say such useless things."
Does he... actually say useless things?
Pride was a forgotten accessory to his uniform of blue and white, fading in the shades of grey that seemed to wash from the skies and into the investigation room.
He spills more casual compliments, weak things swatted away by unappreciative hands and uncomfortable lips.
Light seems to realise how deep its getting, and L's toes sink further into the ground. L had been talking about his relationships. L had been talking about himself, as a person. Light rejects it, he can't handle it, he can't cope with it, its too much.
L's narrative slowly gets worse.
-
The stairs are bitterly icy, and L sees a rare opportunity for warmth. His humanity is golden today, contrasting sharply with the whistling wind and roaring thunder, dark and hormonal. The trees on the sidewalk hush and whisper, pointing thin fingers in scandalous blether.
Pale knuckles graze skin, a foreign sensation to God's feet. The wind hesitates in anticipation, will the oppression end?
God's eyes are vigilant, but as the clock-hands wriggle into late, they soften into honey, sticky and runny, eyes that weep under the knife that slices. The Dealer of Dates and Names, he is merciful, he reminds himself, its why he chooses to offer a little to the humanity presented to him.
Turquoise footsteps paint a sea, L's sea.
The water, indecisive on the tip of his spike, shudders. God takes it gently, because its not time to give up yet.
Extradite the unworthy.
Yes, God can't give in. He is married to his justice, and infidelity is unthinkable, undo-able.
...And yet, there is comfort in the uncertainty, away from the definite truth morning and night brings. Thornless safety offered in the clinks of chain and thought. Comfort with L.
Below God, he hates the hem of his jeans, rough against soft skin.
This world divides the two of us. The solitude you find from hiding. I'll find you.
Its a shared promise, unknown to the so-called intelligence. L's cell-phone buzzes, bureaucrats at the ready, a ring away. One look; hearts hollow and eyes metaphorical; shiny, white, deep.
The small things that sink into old sores.
Black shapes blurring in the corner of the eye-socket, and L is gone.
-
God's eyes are burning, screaming with impatience. And when L falls, the world falls with him, and Light is getting progressively monster. Its hideous, benign banished in the stretch of cheek, eyes slits.
Kira.
God watches the darkness come, leaving his smile, an ugly stain. He chants silently, God will remember you: Your under-eye schemes. Every critique that catches in your fringe, pulling you further down. Beautiful in design, shocking in person. I understand now, L.
Its perfect, the transition, that is; a scream and Light's tears slip off, disguarded socks.
-
L is the rain, Light is the sun, and half-way between, colour happens.
Light turns a blind eye, once he's gone, and his sky is cloudless, perfect. There is no threat of storm, and paradise is glittering in the horizon: tainted and temporary. Because justice is gone, and what's left is just as ugly as the time before Kira's birth, a solemn place.
L's rain, Light's sun:
Beauty between the two.
I hope I got everything correct... It was a little muddled at the start, but hopefully it straightened itself out somewhat.
Thankyou for reading! xD