Simulation

by Ma Chat

For the fanfic50 LJ community. Fifty tales of Beyond Birthday and L, from sorrow to love and the things that may have been. Theme 3; alone. It was only in the morning that L saw him.

2. Pieces Away

Title: Pieces Away

Prompt: # 2 - Nothing

Rating: PG

Word Count: 284

Summary: It was always nothing.

Notes: Prompt 2 complete. This was kind of really confusing, and that was sort of intentional. Next time I'll try to write something less vague, I promise.

- - - -

It was always nothing. The lips against L's, nothing, the hands on his thighs sliding upward, inch by inch, just nothing. L could tell himself this forever, squeeze his eyes shut and pretend that none of it was real, make believe that everything was just a terrible dream that he never wanted to wake up from. He loved it so much that it hurt.

And he wanted them to go away, those hands, wanted to push them back and shout and cry for all the things that had been nothing. He would say things, too, sometimes, tell the man that was always rendered hollow and anything but nothingness (because he was everything, every sickening detail of L's days that made him scream until his throat was raw and pull his hair until his knuckles were swollen) all of these things, try and give some sort of signal that he knew it was not real.

Those hands would not slink back, despite his efforts, and L wondered if it was all in vain, everything he had tried to do, tried to stop. Beyond Birthday was always there, always, always touching, always making him feel things that he knew were nothing, even if that man could make it seem as though he mattered.

The kisses were not there, they were nothing, too; L locked them away and prayed for the burn of his lips to fade, for the warmth of his skin to melt away so that the heat would not escape. He would seal it away and give it no choice but to be nothing with the other things.

So he tried; really, he did, and even in that failure he knew that when he visited the next day, it would still be nothing. The scene would be the same, those hands, tearing him inside out and making him feel whole and incomplete, and he was positive that when he left it would still just be nothing.

(And he would wish for sleep that night and think that maybe it was something, after all.)