A/N: As much as I would love to be able to call L my own, he is not. Death Note belongs to its respective owner. Anne, however, is my own imagination at work.
Anne closed the bedroom door behind her and breathed deeply for the first time in a long while. She closed her red-rimmed eyes and after a few moments, walked over to the dresser and pulled a box of matches from one of the drawers. With a practiced manner, she carefully lit the dozen or so candles placed about the room, retracing a path she could have done blind and deaf.
The room was dark and cool, a quiet exile from the daily life of the orphanage. Painted in a deep brown with dark furniture to match, it was furnished with soft greens in the blanket sheets, pillows, and curtains. There was a lamp on the nightstand, but Anne had always preferred the warmth of candlelight, comforted by the flickering shadows that played in circles on the ceiling. The window next to the bed was always open so the curtains would wave in the breeze and she could watch them as she fell asleep.
Once the room was aglow with the light of a dozen tiny flames, Anne blew out the match with an unsteady breath. She hadn't meant to break down in front of Roger, but his questions poked at her already bruised heart until it seemed to burst inside of her and all her excruciating wounds were reopened.
Roger looked at her pitifully. "What do you want, Anne? What would've made his death less painful to you?"
Anne shuddered, her sobs racking her body. "I…I w-want him to know…that he was l-loved…so much."
The older man sighed regretfully, realizing there was nothing he could for her grief. Ultimately, despite all his condolences, she needed acknowledgement and comfort from a friend that was no longer alive. There was no substitution.
"I'm sure he knows," he said softly. "Love isn't something you have to dictate to someone for them to understand."
"B-but he deserves to be told," Anne cried, her face twisted in more pain than she could bear. "Because no one else did. And…and no one should have to l-leave this earth without…"
Her words faded, drowned out by her anguished weeping. Roger, lost for words, watched over her and fought back a bitter stinging in his eyes.
Standing at the foot of the bed, Anne slid off her pencil skirt, shivering as the cool night breeze penetrated her black tights. She started to unbutton her collared blouse, but suddenly dropped her hands and fell onto the bed, so exhausted she could've cried again if she had any tears to spare.
Was she destined to be this way forever? Forever haunted by his dark eyes, catching glimpses of his hunched shoulders walking away from her, never to return? How many times she had told herself this must stop, and still found herself wearing a black veil, numb to the world he had left behind.
For a long time Anne listened to her mourning heart, until the sound of the fluttering curtains quieted its cries and she slipped into darkness.
A furious gust of wind howled through the window, blowing the curtains up to the ceiling and extinguishing a few nearby candles with a soft "whoosh." Startled from her sleep, Anne curled up into a tight ball, tensing against the icy chill that flooded the room. Too tired and stubborn to bother crawling beneath the blankets, she waited until the gale blew itself out before unfurling her knees from her chest.
The drapes fluttered back down to their respective posts on either side of the window and the room was quiet once more. The arctic cold hovered and Anne could feel her skin erupt into tiny mountain ranges of prickly goose bumps. Barely conscious, she didn't bother to question how such a wintry wind was possible in the midst of August.
Frowning, she roughly pulled the blankets up around her legs and craned her head back into the depths of her pillow. She had to go back to sleep. If she spent one more night sleepless night staring at the walls of her bedroom, wrestling with this ongoing game of tug-of-war between her mind and body, she'd go insane for sure.
Her eyes drifted open once, and she recognized the soft orange glow of candles in the room, save for the dark spot in the middle of her vision. She blinked. Again a dark silhouette reappeared at the end of her bed, framed by the candlelight.
Anne gasped a lungful of bitter cold air.
She sat up slowly, afraid that the pair of eyes staring back at her would vanish if she moved too quickly. They were dark, bottomless, and watched her cautious movements impassively from behind a tousled curtain of black bangs. Her breath caught as she recognized more and more of the picture before her; a long-sleeved white shirt clinging to rounded shoulders, baggy jeans that nearly covered his bare feet, slender, pale hands resting atop his knees.
Her thoughts stolen from her, she could only stare, ignoring the sharp sting in her starving lungs. Details that had been lost to her over the years were suddenly freshly painted again; the dark, striking shadows beneath his eyes, his pale, almost angelic skin, and the way the neckline on his shirt showed the crevices of his collarbone.
He returned her gaze, sitting perfectly poised in his favorite hunched position, as though he were patiently waiting for something, some unknown cue.
"L."
The faintest of smiles graced his lips. Anne's throat knotted painfully and she cursed the tears that began to blur her vision of him. She hurriedly blinked them away, letting them trail down her face and drip off her chin.
He reached out and brushed his cold fingers against her cheek.
No more crying, Anne. Enough tears have been shed on my behalf.
His lips didn't move and there was no true voice, but she could see the words in his eyes as if they were written plainly in white ink.
"It's so hard…" she whimpered. He lowered his hand.
It's even harder to watch.
Anne struggled to find words; words that she had rehearsed for him had he still been alive, and now that he sat here on her bed with her, where nowhere within her being.
She lifted her hand out to his face, then hesitated. He didn't move. His dark eyes watched her conflicting emotions play out across her tear-stained face. With her trembling hand, Anne felt his skin, relieved that his jaw was tangible and the touch was real. True to life, his skin was smooth, if a bit cool.
L let her trace her hand across his cheek, outline his jaw and eventually entangle her fingers in the silky dark hair that covered his ears. She was surprised when he leaned his head into her hand.
"I love you, Lawliet." She had been dying to say these words for years, and now, they seemed meager and weak. Nothing could convey the feeling of her heart exploding in her chest. "I love you."
He looked deeply into her eyes, his cheek still nuzzled in the palm of her hand.
I know.
Anne slowly withdrew her hand, realizing his face was growing sharper in the dim candlelight as he leaned forward. His spindly arms on either side of her, he knelt down on all fours and tenderly brought his lips to hers.
The kiss stole all conscious thought away from her. Suddenly her universe consisted of his bangs tickling her forehead, her heart beating wildly only inches away from his, the graceful brush of his mouth. Even if she purely imagined it, she thought she could taste the sugary residue of a cookie on his lips.
L pulled away and opened his eyes to look at her, a profound wonder glistening within his gaze.
It's ironic, isn't it?
Anne almost laughed. "What?"
I always knew. But you…you don't. You'd spend your entire life worrying about my heart, without ever thinking of your own.
She didn't know what to say. She found herself lost in his embrace again, with this lips gently pressed against her forehead.
"It didn't matter," she said, her warm breath pooling into his neck. "It didn't matter if you loved me back or not. As long as you didn't feel alone…or unwanted."
I was never alone. I always kept you very close.
He placed her hand on his chest, where his heart would've been. Anne felt tears welling up again, yet this time they didn't sting or strike pain in the back of her throat.
Clutching his white shirt, she watched dazedly as it wrinkled beneath her knuckles. Love isn't something you have to dictate to someone for them to understand.
The sheets rustled softly as he laid her back on the pillows. At first Anne tightened her grip on his shirt, afraid he was going to leave here there, but he allowed himself to be pulled down with her. Through his clothes, she could feel the frailness she had seen when he was alive; his pelvis was narrow and bony, his curved shoulders bent forward to meet hers, lean muscles rippled across his ribcage.
He kissed her again and she wrapped her arms around his back, wanting to meld into his skin and disappear into him. As her hands slowly crawled up into his black hair, they stopped, distracted by the sensation of his tongue tracing her lips. She went very still. L slowed his kiss, letting her absorb the feeling. His delicate hands trailed down her sides, his thumbs rubbing over the hollow concave of her stomach, where he could feel her body pulsing.
"Lawliet…" she barely whispered.
His mouth slipped away and glided across her cheek. He stopped at her jaw line, kissed it, moved to the side of her neck, and kissed. Anne whimpered. Tightening her grip around his thin shoulders, she hugged him close, breathing in the scent of cake frosting and strawberries. Just as her idle lips began to ache for his, L reached up to kiss her forehead. His throat only inches from her face, she enveloped her lips around his soft skin, her breath staggering as she painted his Adam's apple with her tongue.
When he couldn't stand it anymore, L brought his face back to hers and hungrily kissed her, a newfound liveliness in his touch. Something cold and wet plopped onto Anne's cheek. He was crying.
She smiled against his mouth. A single tear dripped from the corner of her eye; the last one she ever shed.
A/N: One of the SAPPIEST things I've ever written. I know. Keep that in mind when reviewing ^_^