Raito forgot what he looked like.
And for him, this was the worst torture oblivion had given.
Raito sighed, and opened his eyes. He hadn't done so in a while, because it had no effect anyway. He saw nothing. When he was alive, he had expected something else. Raito knew he wouldn't go to heaven or hell, because neither existed. People were equal in death. The light at the end of the tunnel was nothing but the flash you saw before you entered "Mu". Nothingness. That's what that death god told him. What was his name again? It had started with an R. Or had it? He wasn't sure. Was it even a male? It didn't matter. He didn't go to heaven or hell, that was for sure. But he really expected to see something else than just dark. What had he expected? He wasn't sure. There was even a period where he thought he'd become a death god, but he told himself that wouldn't be the case. And it wasn't.
It had been several hundred years until he'd drawn his last breath; at least, that's what he thought it had been. He'd lost track of time.
Yagami Raito never thought how boring oblivion could be. In the beginning, it wasn't so bad. He'd spend days upon days reflecting upon his actions, asking himself where he went wrong, and how he could have avoided those mistakes. That didn't last long. Slowly but surely, certain memories began to disappear. At first, they were minor details, and he didn't pay them much attention. However, when he forgot the name of that coworker, the stupid one who almost died at the hands of that other guy who was in that company he forgot, Raito started panicking, and his days-were they even days? He wasn't sure- were no longer filled with reflecting on his life, but desperately clinging on to that one thing, that which he had to remember, he had to, or he would go even more insane than he was already. He needed to remember that fake name, the look, the sugar, the handcuffs, the insecurities, the fight.
The touch.
The kiss.
His face.
Right now, he could remember a lot of those things. Some of those memories were more vague than the others. For example, he couldn't remember which hand the cuffs were linked to, nor who was kicking. Was it Raito or... him?
One thing remained clear. His name was Ryuuzaki. Not really, of course, but to him it was. And it was useless.
So he lay in the darkness, thinking. Sometimes he felt the sensation of soft, sugary lips upon his again, or the shudder of a touch in private places, and those were rather happy times. But one thing haunted him.
Raito forgot what L looked like.
And for him, that was the worst torture oblivion had given.
