I feel as though you are my first friend.
Light is eighteen again, working with the early Task Force, staring in awe at the world's greatest detective.
But this time he knows. He knows what he should have done. And he can change it now, can't he?
I'm honored, he says. I'm glad you see me that way. He feels as though he might cry, but he can't. He doesn't.
L gives him a grin. It's pure, honest. He was the kind of person that belonged in the new world.
Light has realized what he's thrown away. And he wants it back again.
Now he has it.
Doesn't he?
Maybe we should play tennis sometime again.
It's just them now. No Task Force, no computers. Kira isn't there, L The Detective isn't even there. The hotel room has peeled away. It's just them.
Light's crying now.
L's grin shifts into something else, something less, something like sadness. Something lost. His eyes distance themselves when he speaks.
I'm afraid that's not possible, he says, his lips still turned up. Sorry.
No, Light says. He has his chance again, his chance to right his wrongs.
Doesn't he?
Farewell, L the Person says. He turns and begins to walk away.
Light shouts his name, but L is gone. He reaches for him, but cries out in pain.
Blood soaks his shoulder and side and hand. Light is sobbing. He is on the floor of his resting place, the concrete's chill seeping into his skin, regretting, regretting.
There is no maybe if I.
The dying man can dream of fixing his mistakes, but nothing can be changed.
L is gone.
Light dies alone.
I do not own Death Note or its characters.
Thanks for reading!