AN: I'm planning on writing another chapter of this from Light's POV. So, this is just a little something to show how I'm NOT dead. Yet :,D
Okay, enjoy~!
Regret
This wasn't love.
This wasn't a moment you could capture in film, let alone within the creation of a memory. This kiss was so surreal, so fake.
He could almost taste the bitterness on his tongue.
Yet such a sensation was so bittersweet, he couldn't help but sigh with pleasure as he was pushed up against a nearby wall, his attacker being rather gentle for someone so cruel. He couldn't have forgotten what the feeling of being touched as so was like, for he had never experienced such a thing before in all his years of living.
Was he being pulled slowly into the hands of death, however? Or was his pride diminishing under the careful eye of desire? No, he couldn't disagree. The desire was what made him submit, the implication of going back to his subconscious void of loneliness pushed aside as fear threatened to invade.
Either way, he knew he was afraid of what the other end would bring. So instead he remained still and numb, rendering himself useless as the brunette kissed his lips even more hungrily.
Even so, wasn't such momentary inaction wrong? Shouldn't he be putting a stop to this…disgusting motive?
He wasn't blind to the hidden motive behind the present motion. This was just a way for the younger man to get beneath his skin, to try and create another wedge to further stimulate the revulsion between them.
Then why was there such an underlying tone of…importance creeping at the edge of his mind? Why did this moment hold such a significant feeling?
I know who you really are.
He had known it all along, and his faith within his own deduction and reasoning had never been wrong. Yet, he knew his feelings of obsession towards the fact that he had wanted the teen to be the elusive mass murderer known as Kira had rapidly declined, the almost empty void left behind from such a state slowly filling with a new kind of emotion instead.
Fear was present again, he knew, because he could feel it in his chest, along with the rapid beating of his fragile heart. It ached more and more with each passing second, and he brought his itching hands up to grip the younger's shirt, an inevitable groan escaping his mouth as the other's tongue made its way inside.
It started as a whisper.
"I hate you…"
The desperation within the voice sent a shiver up his spine, causing his obsidian eyes to flutter.
What was this feeling again…?
"I hate you…I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you…I HATE YOU!"
Of course he wasn't prepared. Or maybe he didn't want to be prepared…Because he hoped the day for devising such a plan would never come.
He remembered feeling grateful, for seeing the regret on the teen's face through the reflection of the blade, and as he fell to the floor in a pool of his own blood, his vision became blurry, but he swore it wasn't from the tears.
"I…I love you…"