A/N: Jeez, yeah, I'm back. Here's that one-shot I said I would post. I'm hoping quantity, not quality, will win out, okay? Haha. Anyways, this is
IMPORTANT. Light is seemingly out of character in this, but only so if you don't know my reasoning behind it. Okay, think back a bit. This takes place during the Yostuba Arc, more commonly known to us fangirls by the 'Handcuff Arc'. What I'm thinking is this: Imagine, just for a second, that you have been accused of murdering thousands of pefople. Your own father has given his consent that you should be lock away. Oh, and you have been locked away, for about two months. Your freedom's been ripped away in front of your wide, innocent eyes. And then, and then, your father, the person you idolize, one of the few people you trust, has just tried to execute you. For a minute, for what seemed like an eternity, you thought you were going to die. Die. At your father's hands! And, worse,
For something you didn't do.
There's no way someone is mentally strong enough, even someone with Light's IQ, to withstand that sort of emotional torture without some form of breakdown. So, I wrote it. And Light clings to L because he's the only thing there is to cling to. Stockholm Syndrome ftw, yus? Anyways, please read, sorry for boring you with the long AN.
Disclaimer: Still not that awesome.
Çrooked
A stark red 3:18 flashed in the total darkness, and the one of the room's (prison's) occupants jerked awake in a cold sweat, eyes wide and hands shaking, shivers running up and down his spine like so many elephants. Light Yagami blinked rapidly, as if his latest vision was merely dirt on his retinas, as if he could wash away the memory with enough passes of his eyelids. His breath caught, and a terrified shudder racked his whole body, a cold setting so deep in his bones he feared that he would never be able to feel warmth again.
A pair of identical black mirror-mirror eyes sought out the teen (looking for Light- wasn't that ironic?). The pupils had expanded so far in response to the almost complete darkness that it seemed as though their owner had no colored irises at all (but Light knew better, knew the truth that the man handcuffed to him simply had black eyes, black eyes to match his black—no, nonexistent heart).
The eighteen year old frowned at that thought, though, momentarily distfracted. How was Kira to kill L, then, if the man had no heart to attack?
"Light-kun? Are you quite all right?" the world's top detective (no, top three, remember?) asked, reaching a hand out to the younger male with concern. (But it was fake, fake concern, fake friendship, fake like the mask he wore everyday, the mask Light couldn't be bothered with right now, because something was just not right.)
And, with his heart (he had one, didn't he?) supplying the answer,Light, his sepia eyes closed and his perfect brown hair not so perfect anymore, breathed deep, and replied in a way not even he knew the meaning of.
"A crooked man,
Walked a crooked street,
With his crooked hands,
And his crooked feet."
Black eyebrows— usually hidden hide-away-safe behind equally black hair— furrowed, showing an emotion rarely felt. L tugged his right hand slightly, the one with the cuff, hoping to gain a reaction from the boy (hoping, absurdly, he knew, because L dealt in percentages and logic and had seen desperation and withdrawal before, knew its affects all too well). "Pardon, Light-kun? Does this somehow relate to your recent nightmare? Did it involve Kira?"
L (or Ryuuzaki, or Ryuuga, or Deneuve Eraldo Coil Edward Forest Dratni Klovetch—what did it matter? What is in a name? Oh, but L was no rose, no no no) was startled into bemusement once more as Light gave him a reply.
"He committed crooked crimes,
And played with crooked fire.
He spoke in wretched, crooked lines
And took with crooked desire."
This time, in the silence that followed, L kept quiet, waiting, wondering if his number one suspect (at least you won in that regard, Light-kun; haven't you always been first?) had finally cracked, cracked and turned crooked, just like the rhyme's nameless man (but no, no, Light was stronger than that, stronger, just as strong as L, right? But then, who's to say the world's greatest detective wasn't split down the middle as well?).
"Then this crooked man,
Amidst his crooked art,
Was struck by a straight someone,
Who broke his crooked heart.
But now the straight someone
Was a crooked man
That walked a crooked street
With his crooked hands
And his crooked feet."
And, with all of the ended momentum of a train stopping, Light took a shuddering breath and collapsed against the detective, burying sculpted features in rumpled white cotton.
Tentatively, tensed at the feeling of his personal space being encroached upon, L wrapped lanky arms around his only rival and only friend. (And the thought wasn't as comical as the man had intended it, if only because the names given were completely true.)
"Light-kun," L murmured softly in his even, monotone voice (because if Light was light, and all the colors of the rainbow, then L was black black black, the color of the absence of color), "needs to tell me more than a child's nursery rhyme if I am to comfort him properly."
No, no, L should have known things were not that easy; hell, nothing with Light was easy. The confused, frightened teen just repeated the song (and broke his crooked heart).
And then, L understood, thought he understood, if only a little. It was clearly a defensive tactic, one that focused on something familiar and simple instead of a troubling event. Still… something about the situation, some small, unidentified thing, made it seem far more complicated than that, more complex, more… crooked.
The 24-year old sighed as the boy (definitely not a man yet, no, not yet) in his arms finished his eighth rendition of 'The Crooked Man'. "Light-kun should stop now. He is acting like a broken record."
This statement, this seemingly irrelevant statement, earned a response. Light's eyes snapped open like a camera lens to reveal bloodshot chocolate, and he pushed his hands against L's chest to shove himself away. "No! No, you're wrong!"
Light glared fiercely as he scrambled backwards, crab-like, as far away from L as he could manage with the cuffs on. "I thought you, of all people, Ryuuzaki, would understand! I'm not broken! I'm not! Don't say that… don't… no, no, I'm not broken…"
The teenager broke down, strangled sobs bursting like hiccups from his constricted chest, revealing, for the first time since his incarceration, his humanity.
And then, as quick as it had come, that brief glimpse into Light's soul (and it was refreshing, to know he had one) was gone, replaced with sheer, unrestricted rage, affirming that yes, this was an emotional breakdown, that whatever Light had seen in his dream (nightmare) was horrifying enough to stab through the student's usual stone façade and cause a river of pent up feelings to flood out.
Light shifted into a crouching position, then used his legs as a spring and shot forward on top of his prison guard, his keeper, his rival, his friend. Off guard, l had scarcely enough time to keep them from tumbling off the bed, let alone perform a counter attack. Fortunately, it wasn't needed. His energy spent, Light collapsed, falling haggardly across his captor.
"I'm scared, L," Light whispered softly, his voice cracking, and L listened all the more carefully for it and the discard of his alias. "There are times… there are times in the past few months for which I can't remember anything… huge blanks in my memory, like someone stabbed it full of holes."
The distraught teen rolled off of L, but the dark-haired detective reached over to place pianist fingers on the suspect's arm, squeezing lightly in a signal for the younger male to continue.
"Usually, well… you of all people should know that I have an exceptional memory, arrogance aside. But now… there are places I know I've gone to, people I know I've seen, but I don't remember. Naomi Misora…" Light stopped briefly when he felt L tense, but plowed on anyway. "I remember meeting her, talking to her, but what… what… was I thinking at the time? Doing? It was so important… and I can't remember."
Light knew he was crossing a thickly drawn line, would practically feel his Kira percentage rising (18 percent, Light-kun) through his constant link (clink clink clink) to the detective.
"My dreams… they're awful, L. They… I… I'm not crazy, am I, L? I'm not… I'm not broken, right?" Light turned pleading, beseeching eyes to his only equal (desperate, for once, for what he wanted to hear and not the truth).
And L smiled his Mona Lisa half-smile (we are more alike than you know, Light-kun), rolling over to face the teen, and yanked both the hand on Light's arm and the one with the handcuff, pulling the startled genius closer to him. Tilting his head downward, L connected their foreheads as depthless onyx locked with earth brown (like twin black holes sucking in the Light). "No, Light-kun," L murmured, his breath hot and warm against Light's face. "You are not broken. Bent and twisted, perhaps, but never broken."
And slowly, gently, L bent forward, pressing his lips to Light's own quivering ones. Light's eyes widening, shocked, before fluttering closed. The teen wrapped his arms around L's neck as the other brought them to a sitting position. Dexterous fingers tangling in ebony hair, Light felt slight hands running shivers down his sides, up and down, up and down, and such repetition was calming in a situation where all rational thought had long since ceased to exist.
Light broke the kiss on a gasp, back arching when he felt fingernails dig into his hips. "L…what are you…I…"
But no, no, that was thinking, and there wasn't room for that now, no, not now. So L silenced the younger with a quick brush of a kiss, muttering, "Don't…don't think, not yet," against warm lips, running his tongue along Light's bottom lips, coaxing the boy's mouth open.
Light was all too willing to comply, and bid his already doubted sanity a fond farewell as L's sweet taste assaulted his tongue. A split moment (eternity) later, and Light realized that he had his own experience at kissing, had his own knowledge, and the second L let up on his attack, Light's hands twisted in messy hair, and he forcefully slowed the kiss down, leaning his weight on L to push the detective backwards and trusting the bed to catch them as they fell.
Light grinned as he was flipped around, staring up at burning black eyes (alight with a fire hot enough to have burned through the precious ice), and licked his lips. Bent and twisted… yes, but only as long as L was just as bent and twisted as he.
End Note: Thanks for reading through all the way! More to come! And remember to review, please! As always,
Love,
Misfit