After running up the flight of stairs Light stopped, he pushed open the door slowly, revealing a pile of sand with a black notebook imbedded in the top. He looked at the scene before walking to the mound and picking up the book, the book he had killed so many with, the notebook which had started the legend of Kira.
He inspected the cover, the cover he had seen so many times before, flicking through the pages to the last entry, he saw the scribbled, scratchy handwritten of the deceased shinigami, Rem, who died to save the one he loved, the brunette almost laughed at the irony.
He smiled, a fond, loving smile.
He remembered those coal eyes, his raven hair, and the white shirt that covered his lithe upper body and flat stomach, his deceivingly strong lithe body. The way he stood, his shoulders forward with his hands in his pockets. The jeans he wore, the way he sat, his love for sweet delicacies, his gentle touch, his way of holding things, his hate for mobile phones.
The way his body fitted perfectly to Light's arms, against his chest, holding him as he died. He had ordered his friend's death and he didn't regret it. But he did grieve. O how he mourned, those few seconds when climbing the stairs felt like a lifetime, he realised the great magnitude of his crime, he had killed his best friend, the one who he loved, he knew it was necessary, he wanted, needed to create his perfect world.
Light had ordered L's death, Ryuzaki's death, he knew if he was just told the name he would never be able to write it down, he would rather take the death penalty himself then kill his best friend personally, so he asked Rem to do it, he could say the word and the shinigami would execute the young sleuth, but he couldn't have brought himself to do the deed in person.
He looked at the words scrawled across the page and smiled once more, before hiding the black book in his jacket, and murmuring to himself "I knew he would have a beautiful name."
It was the last time he ever smiled.
His ability to love died with the one he loved.
As he left a grim determination was plastered to his face, a resolve to create his prefect world, his utopia, no matter what it took.