(a/n) I'm trash and this fic is trash and I apologize in advance to anyone who has the misfortune to read it. Ok, I'm probably exaggerating but still, I wrote this on a fluke so it's probably not very good. Anywho, I hope you enjoy it at least! It was pretty fun to make.
Warnings: very inexplicit sex, like you probably can't even tell that's what's going on because it's buried so deep with metaphors, also gore mention.
"It Looks Like I've Won"
The concrete was wet and the air was thick filled with dense raindrops falling from the atmosphere. The people on the street were faceless, and Light analyzed every aspect of them, judging their weight in his world.
He saw a group of teenagers and studied the delicate threading in a high school girl's blue jeans, and the brightness of the white in another girl's shirt. He was caught off guard by the deep aroma of expensive cologne from a business man passing by. The man lowered his umbrella revealing a head of shaggy black hair, and Light felt his skin crawl.
He was seeing him again.
It was still raining. Light looked out the window of an elegant bakery he and Misa were occupying for their usual 'date night'. Misa was droning on about something he deemed unimportant, and Light would offer re-assuring looks and feed her false compliments at the right moments. And every effort he gave was met with an over-abundance of enthusiasm from the blonde sitting across the table.
The waitress dropped off their food, wearing a fake smile and informing them yet again, of the tip jar residing next to the register up front. When she left Misa, talked about how cute the girl was and how much money she planned on leaving her.
In place of the usual counterfeit smile and nod he would deliver, he just stared blankly at his tray.
It was sugar and syrup and short lived caffeine injected into a gluten filled slice of fried bread, and he knew that it was something L would soon enough sell his soul to obtain.
It was that name again.
He couldn't stop thinking of him.
Thinking, thinking, thinking.
He tried to stop, but he saw him everywhere.
His blood would boil whenever he heard the clinking of a chain, he would scream at shadows and claw at his own hair.
He felt himself being watched by a pair of big black eyes condescending his every action, and what's worse is that he wanted them there. He wanted to be understood again, to have conversations about morality and death with someone of equal intelligence.
He realized it then.
He wasn't being followed by L's ghost, but had created an imaginary friend in his image.
And even when knowing it was all his own design, his own impersonation of L, it still made his bones tense up and the hairs on his back stand still.
No one has the right to stare at him like that, especially not him.
He was better, Kira, was better.
He had won and that was what he kept telling himself over, and over, and over again. Even if he knew it was a lie.
He scoffed at himself realizing that he had become more like Misa with every passing day. Constantly feeding himself lies in order to avoid the truth.
Some nights, he'd fuck Misa and when he did he would claw into her skin, make her bleed from the inside out. He'd rip her heart open and breathe that he loves her into her ear. He'd claw into her deeper, deeper, leaving his mark on her, he would punish her because she deserves it. She is a sinner, a murderer, and this was her retribution. Sometimes, he thinks she enjoys it, and that sickened him even more.
Ryuk watches from the corner of the room and sometimes he pretends it's L, hunched over with his dark bangs hanging over his disdain filled features whispering "You were so much better than this."
But he brushes it off, closes himself down to re-enter his old mundane life with no rival and no equal.
He slowly stops seeing L's ghost.
And with that, he cries.
End.