Five Times Light Gasped L's Name and One Time He Whispered It
1.
The first time Light gasped L's name, it was because L was choking him. (To be fair, Light had started the fight: swinging a punch at L's face after L implied that Light and Kira had the same taste in socks.) But the fight had surely been escalated by L – L escalated everything, whenever he could – and Light found himself shoved against the nearest wall with L's fingers wrapped around his throat.
His windpipe was being crushed nearly flat, and Light imagined himself to be a fish tossed suddenly to land, with gills on each side of his carotid arteries, flapping open and closed with the desperate instinct to breathe.
"L," Light gasped, using the last few cubic centimeters of air left in his lungs. "L…."
"Light-kun," L had replied, his voice rumbling softly, "you are at my mercy."
Light knew that L wouldn't go so far as to kill him, whether by suffocation or by any other means. L needed him too much. The case would never be solved unless Light confessed – that's how L saw things, at least. L needed Light alive. So Light didn't panic, not at any point. He waited for the inevitable relaxing of L's grip…and ah, there it was. Slight, but distinct.
"Your life is in my hands," L went on, his fingers ever loosening. "How does it feel?"
Finally, L's hand fell away, and Light coughed and coughed. He felt his heartbeat pounding in his ears, fingers and toes tingling with vasoconstriction, vision sharpened by the flood of adrenaline.
"It feels like Tuesday." Light answered. He'd had to wait until the coughing fit had subsided. He had been aiming for a tone of wry humor, but something told him that L had seen deeper. L always saw deeper.
L's lips curled into a mischievous grin, more playful than malicious, with a hint of intrigue. His eyes told Light that Light had his undivided attention.
"It does indeed….we are at least reading the same book now, Light, even if we are not yet on the same page."
2.
The second time he gasped L's name, it was because he was impressed. Light never really stopped being impressed with L, of course. Not really. Not from the very first moment of their acquaintance. So you could say it was more of a state of being than an emotion. But still, somehow, Light still has it in him to be stunned and mesmerized with L's genius, L's daring, L's peculiar brand of personality, when they show themselves in particularly vivid moments.
"L, you can't possibly be taking another case," Light had said one morning over breakfast. The investigation team is doing god-knows-what in another room (certainly not solving the case for themselves).
"I assure you, Raito-kun, it is quite possible. There is only so long that I can throw myself against the same wall without getting through. When that point has been reached, I call upon other walls to fulfill my masochism for me." L licked dark chocolate mousse from his spoon and grinned at Light across the table. He had a laptop to his right, occasionally typing or clicking or scrolling. "And view the ensuing hiatus as an opportunity for the main wall to crumble a bit on its own."
"But you've solved twenty-three side cases already so far! At this rate, Kira isn't your main wall….it's your obsessive need to solve as many crimes as you can!"
"Light," L said, eye contact crackling with electric potential. "Kira is, and always will be, my main everything."
L didn't let go of his gaze, and Light knew that he knew, and he knew that L knew that he knew. And Light couldn't hate him for it, couldn't blame him for his certainty, even if he didn't yet have the proof to back it up. When you know, you know.
"Well…as long as you keep your focus on whatever threat to humanity is greatest at the time, I suppose I can't argue." Light said, his tone making a bit of a show of being conciliatory. "Just don't lose sight of that, while you're working on that other thing."
L tapped his laptop mouse once more, then folded the screen down on itself. "It is no matter, Raito-kun. I am through with that particular wall."
"What made you suddenly decide to give it up?" asked Light.
"I haven't given it up," L protested. "I've solved it."
"What, while we were talking? Just now?"
L did nothing but nod, and finish his chocolate mousse.
"L," Light gasped.
3.
The third time he gasped L's name, it was an accident. Light never gasped anyone's name during this…never even thought of an individual person's face or body. People were dull, and dull never got Light anywhere. Without choice or conscious realization, Light had grown accustomed to simply holding ideas in his head: vague images of what two people (two men) might do together, how eager they would be to perform the acts together, and how strong the desire for it would have built in them by the time they were actually doing it.
But between one vague image and the next, Light found that the two people behind his closed eyes were actually ones that he knew personally. One was himself (which was odd enough on its own…Light had never had even the remotest desire to touch another person in such a way). The other was tall and lean, dark-haired and dark-eyed, with a mind that raced faster than a bullet from a shotgun.
Always so precise, Light…he was saying, in between throaty chuckles and wet, sucking kisses. No…always so controlled. But not with me…never with me. You try to control yourself with me, but somehow, you always fail. Why is that, I wonder?
A frustrated, pleading moan from Light.
Is it because I'm the other half of you? Do you….feel the truth of it when you're with me? Are you like this with anyone else?
Then the invasion, without preparation or time to adjust, and (in his head) Light screamed with the wanting of more, yes, show me, harder, faster, deeper, deeper, deeper…
Panting, and ragged, harsh breaths. Puffs of warm air against Light's neck; a low, needy growl underneath it to go with a particularly vicious thrust.
You show me…say my name, Light...let me hear it…confess…say my name…confess.
Light was sweaty with his exertions, alone in his bed, lights out and the sounds of midnight cradling his sighs.
The sounds of midnight protecting and multiplying his single, torn-from-the-throat gasp.
"L!"
4.
Light had to give L one thing: he didn't do anything by halves.
They were pouring over Yotsuba personnel files, the handcuff pulled almost taut between them. They sit at a desk with manila folders stacked thirty high between them. Occasionally, one of them will toss aside a folder and reach for a new one to speed-read.
"Light," L asked, out of the blue. "Do you believe in the Red String of Fate?
Light blinked several times in quick succession. He couldn't ignore the possibility that L was asking in an attempt to trap him into yet another philosophical mind game…but the question felt sincere.
"There's no way to know whether or not Fate itself exists," he answered. "Since the idea of the Red String is a subtopic…I'd have no way of knowing one way or another."
L drank from his teacup. "But believing and knowing are two entirely different things. If you had to say whether or not you believed in the Red String…what would you say?"
"I would say…that I didn't know. It's possible. That's…the best answer I could give."
L nodded.
A few minutes passed in silence. Then, Light asked, "What about you, Ryuzaki? Do you believe in it?"
"Oh yes. Undoubtedly," responded L, without hesitation.
"What makes you so confident?"
"I've experienced it firsthand," he said simply. Before Light had a chance to question this stunning admission, L continued on. "I confess I wonder, though, at times, if that red string is actually not a string at all. I wonder if it is made of metal." He rolled his chair closer to Light's, and the handcuffs swayed gently between them. "Do you think that's possible?"
Light's heart pounded. "L," he breathed. The word came out in a single sharp gasp that was so quiet that he wondered if L heard it. "Are you asking me what I think you're asking me?"
L shrugged elegantly. "That would depend on what you think I'm asking."
This is where my life changes, Light thought to himself. For better or worse. This is where everything is decided.
Light rolled his chair toward L, until the armrests of it touched the armrests of L's own. "I do think it's possible, L," he said. His eyes were carefully trained on the pages in front of him, but his peripheral vision was spectacular, and he could see L's profile clearly. Those cheekbones were like chiseled ivory.
L didn't comment on his omission of the 'Ryuzaki' alias.
When they said their goodnights to the rest of the task force that evening, they remained close enough to brush each other's knuckles. And the next morning (for the first time), they were late leaving their shared room.
5.
"Here…let me," L said, so unnervingly calm. They both knew what the future held; Light couldn't understand L's tranquility at all. "It's the least I can do to atone for my sins. I can give you a massage as well…I'm actually pretty good at this."
He took one of Light's soaked feet in his hands and began to dry it off with the utmost care. He was so careful as to be reverential.
Light couldn't bring himself to meet those black eyes. He turned his gaze sharply to one side before answering, "do what you want."
"Alright," L had said, still so composed.
First, the massage was gentle. It was more about simple contact than anything. "You're soaked," Light told him, immediately appalled at the transparent gentleness in his voice. He dried L's hair as best he could from such an angle.
Then L's touch became more sure. Light felt the strength of L's hands in each press and squeeze, until the pressure of his kneading became too great to bear silently. "L," Light gasped, surprised and overcome.
"It'll be lonely, won't it?" L asked. "You and I will be parting ways soon."
Of course Light knew that…of course he knew it would be lonely. He didn't do it for himself, didn't L understand that? Why would he say such a thing? Surely after all this time, after all the moments they've spent together and all the intimacy they've managed to exchange in this mockery of a courtship…surely L understood that Light was doing what had to be done. The world was bigger than Light's loneliness, or L's loneliness, or their secret, aching, passionate longing for one another.
But Light couldn't bring himself to be angry. All he could manage to feel was the crushing weight of all the days and months and years they'd never share together, pressing down on his chest and threatening to swallow him whole.
And One Time He Whispered It
The pain is easier to manage than he expected. His determination and rage give him most of the adrenaline he needs to bear it. The hormone is coursing through his veins and arteries, flooding his blood and his blood-soaked clothes, too.
The yelling and cursing do him no good, of course. Light wonders if he's losing his sanity now or if it abandoned him years ago, when he broke the only chance he had at happiness.
Sensing defeat and unwilling to give it the satisfaction of watching his demise, Light flees the warehouse.
He runs through back alleys and along chain-linked fences, amid the wreckage and waste of industry. He wants to be alone. The world has gotten the best of him, and the worst, and surely it isn't selfish to want to die with a bit of peace? Surely the world can give him that much, at least?
He chooses another warehouse, like the one he escaped, to be his deathbed. The difference is that this one is abandoned (like his soul). Lying on the stairs will keep his chest elevated and give his lungs their best chance of expanding properly for as long as he has left. Some part of him still has the instinct to survive, even if the rest of him has accepted that this is the end.
The blood loss is making him dizzy. Everything in his field of vision swims and shakes. Colors seem more vibrant. In the back of his mind, he hears the saddest melody begin to take shape.
A human form coalesces in front of him, still, where everything else is spinning. He instantly recognizes him…how could he not? Still so broad-shouldered. Still standing with that quiet pride of his. Still so beautiful.
Light doesn't want to be alone anymore. If it is his mind dying off and playing desperate tricks on him, so be it. Let it be one final proof of the love Light always felt.
And if it is not his mind's doing…if it is the man's spirit or his reincarnated form….would it be so out of character for him to be there when Light needs him most?
The name…just one syllable, but enough to encompass Light's whole world. It's his dying breath, and no louder than a whisper.
"L."