Disclaimer: The Maiden of Autumn owns nothing.

There was a sense of surrealism to this whole thing.

It was just…

He couldn't think, not now. He could only act, and even then, he felt numb, as if it were not him controlling his body. It was some horrible mockery of Light Yagami, some puppet being controlled and yanked around by strings that were not under his control.

It was not him that rose the next morning and quietly dressed, stealthily slipping around his room and packing what few items he would need. It surely couldn't have been him that wrote down a brief farewell note, leaving what little personal cash he had for his family, though he knew they would be well taken care of long after he was gone.

It was why he was doing this, after all.

It was that horrid, niggling thought that taunted him, making him perfectly aware of the fact that this was him, that this wasn't a dream that he could wake up from with a harsh pinch of his fingers. It was a nightmare that was quickly and horribly becoming his reality.

His fingers shook as he placed a paperweight lying on the desk on top of the paper to prevent any stray gusts of wind from stealing it away, as well as a note for Misa that he had penned late last night, bidding her farewell. He knew that she would get it- his parents would make sure of that.

Then, he slowly straightened and took out a two rings from his pocket. One was small and silver; the other was gold and had his school's crest on it. The silver one had been the ring he was going to give Misa when he asked her to marry him- which was going to be soon, as soon as Light graduated. The other was the ring his parents had bought for him, a proud display that their son was a student at Colombia University.

With slightly shaking hands, he set them gently on top of the two pieces of paper, hesitating for a moment before he withdrew his hand, clenching it into a fist.

Is this the only thing that I'll leave behind?

Is this the last thing they'll remember about me…?

Slowly, Light raised his head to look up, giving the room a last look, remembering everything that had taken place in here. It was full of warm memories, of his mother cooking their meals with love and care, of chasing Sayu around when they were both little, only to receive a tender scolding from their mother as she shooed them out with some sort of treat, and the smell of his father's hot green tea brewing every morning.

Closing his eyes, Light forced himself to turn away, almost stumbling out of the kitchen and to the front door. He slipped his shoes on with haste, before the panic and shock that was welling within his heart made him turn back around and run back to his room, burrow under the covers and tell himself that this was all just a bad dream-

No, I don't want to do this. I can't… This… No…

But Light had never been weak. He had never allowed himself to be weak.

He had never been able to turn down a duty-

And it was with this thought in his mind that he finished tying his shoes, straightened, and slipped out the door, closing it quietly and leaving behind his home, his warm memories, and everything that was familiar and safe.

It was still somewhat dark out, as the sun was just barely peeping over the rise of the buildings, both old and new, that made up the New York cityscape. The sunrise that morning was a golden, bloody red, a horrid reminder of where he was inevitably heading to. Every step he took only drew him closer, and unable to stomach the sight of the crimson color, Light closed his eyes, allowing memory to work in his favor as he tread the familiar path from his house to Jonathan's.

His wandering ways took him past the street where Misa was, and he paused in front of it momentarily, amber eyes staring blankly down the quiet street. Every fiber of him knew a deep longing to go and see the girl that he had come to care for so deeply. His hand reached into his right pocket to fiddle with the silver ring that he would soon be presenting as a declaration of his intent to marry her, before his fingers met with only fabric and he remembered that he had left it behind.

His eyes slipped shut and his fists clenched within his pockets as at that moment, his heart and mind battled over his desires- to go home as he wanted to, or to finish what he had put into motion. To go and see Misa one last time, to kiss her and revel in the feel of holding her small, warm body close, or leave her in blissful ignorance until she discovered he was gone…

His eyelids trembled with the intensity of his longings, before they snapped open and he let out a shuddering breath. It took every ounce of willpower he possessed to turn away, to leave that street behind and keep forcing his feet to rise and fall, rise and fall as they carried him towards Jonathan's house.

Light made his way down the still mostly-abandoned streets, amber eyes gazing over the buildings that he had come to know so well. His feet thudded upon the sidewalk, and he could almost imagine the sound of a thousand other feet marching with him as he walked almost mechanically towards his destination.

It took less time than he thought, or perhaps, it was that odd warping of time, having it speed up when you were dreading something and seemed to deliver you to your final, feared destination that much faster. Whatever it was, it seemed that naught but a minute had passed before he was standing at the front door of Jonathan's home.

Taking a deep breath, Light raised his hand to grasp the knocker and rap it gently against the door- no doubt, Jonathan's father would have been expecting him.

The door opened as soon as Light stepped away, only proving his suspicions. His eyes were wide as the large form of Jonathan's father quickly stepped out into the open, a coat clutched round his shoulders to ward off the chill. He closed the door behind him with a soft click, then turned to Light.

There was, on Jonathan's father's face, an expression of both relief and reluctance- and Light didn't know which one sickened his stomach more- relief that his son was not going to war, or the reluctance to take the chance Light was offering him with nothing but relief. That slight hesitance should not have been there- the man should have been grasping at this chance like a lifeline, not seeming to second-guess it as his expression suggested.

He knew the man had never been one for small talk, something Light had always appreciated, and especially more now. He didn't know if he'd be able to deal with trivial pleasantries, not now. Not like this.

Letting out a deep breath, Light asked, "Sir. The notice?"

The man blinked, before he shook his head and nodded. "Yes," he confirmed as he reached into his pocket. There was the sound of paper rustling, and then he drew out the piece of paper that Jonathan had shown him just the last afternoon. He regarded it blankly, mind taking him back to when Jonathan had shoved it into his face for further perusal.

He had taken the draft notice from Jonathan willingly yesterday-was it really only yesterday?- but now… now it was being offered to him, once more…

Just as it had been handed to Jonathan, it was now being offered to him.

That their positions were now reversed only was a horrible, dreadful irony.

The draft notice was proffered to him, and he could only look at it blankly, knowing that the moment he took it, there was no way to change the course he had suddenly been set upon. The black words were barely visible from the way it drooped, deceptively harmlessly, in the man's large hand.

And for a moment, Light marveled that two little words on a piece of paper had such a profound effect on his life. Light hesitantly reached out to take a hold of it, resisting the urge to turn and run, to get the hell away I don't want this goddamnit!

Steadying himself with a shaky breath, he snatched it out of the man's hands, feeling an undeniable knot forming in his stomach, threatening to rise to his throat. The paper felt as if it was burning in his fingers, feeling that damming slip of paper and Light, unable to bear touching such a revolting thing any longer, quickly stuffed it into his pocket.

He then raised his head, meeting the man's eyes for the first time that morning. Reading the silent question within Light's amber eyes, the man cleared his throat and told Light, "The first payment will be deposited into your parent's account at the bank this morning. I am assuming all payments for your mother's treatment are withdrawn automatically- I will be very discreet, so have no fear that they will know of our arrangement."

That was all that was left. His parents would be alright- though Light, everyone, knew that pancreatic cancer was a terminal illness with no cure. Other forms of cancer had had reports of being cured, through one fashion or the other, but never the cancer his mother suffered from. But he could ignore that, couldn't he? They all could- if only for the vain hope that some sort of miracle would take place and Sachiko would be alright.

Either way, by doing this, Light knew that he was giving her more time, another chance. He had done what he could.

But now…

There was nothing else.

Nothing else but to carry out the promise that he had made. There was no running now, no matter how much Light wanted to get out of this. The time for that had long come and long gone, and he had chosen to accept the draft notice that he could feel almost burning a hole in his pocket.

Teeth gritting against all the words he wanted to say, the denials that threatened to spew forth, Light turned without another word and made to leave, not bothering to say farewell. He didn't know… if he had to say goodbye now…

He might break.

"Light."

At the bottom of the steps, Light froze at the sound of his name, draft notice clutched tightly in his hand. His eyes squeezed shut against the burning sensation that had suddenly overtaken them. Here, at this moment, just about to leave…

It struck him, then, that Jonathan would have been here. This very moment, his friend would be in his spot, and Light… Light would be asleep, mourning for his friend's departure but still home and safe, not going to war. It would be Jonathan here, saying farewell…

And for a moment, a flash of hatred for his friend went through his being as the draft notice in his hand crinkled, his hand clenching tightly at the thought.

Jonathan's father still remained at the door, silent, waiting for Light to turn, to talk, to do something else other than just freeze to acknowledge that he had been heard.

Please don't stop me don't say anything I don't think I could stand it just let me go before-

"Yes?" Light murmured after a moment, swallowing tightly. He couldn't look, couldn't move. Had no desire to, only felt the need to keep walking, to keep going before the gear in his back that kept him mechanically going wound down, forcing him to a halt before someone wound it back up for him.

He knew that Jonathan's father wanted him to turn around, to meet his eyes. But he remained frozen, afraid that if he moved in any way, he would crack and crumble, like the fragile, porcelain china dolls that Misa adored collecting.

Let me go before I break. Let me have that.

There was a heavy, strained silence, as Light stood on the front steps, feeling the brisk autumn air's chill seep into his bones. It chilled him to the core, rendered him numb, incapable of anything but the near-mechanical beat of his heart thudding in his ears. It was almost as if it had recognized where he was going and was making him conscious of its presence, as if it were saying, here's the evidence that you are alive.

In a way, it was like a clock, ticking down the time that he remained here, in New York, on earth, alive. It was counting down his life's remaining time, an unending countdown that would remain until he drew his last breath.

The thudding that resounded in Light's ears masked the heavy footsteps that drew closer, until Light felt a large hand rest lightly on his shoulder. It jarred him, shook him, though he was sure that no sign showed outwardly.

"Good luck, Light."

The words, so softly said in the man's deep voice, laced with a caring and concern that was so like his own parent's threatened to make him shatter, more so than anything else yet. It reminded him that that sort of care was something he'd leave long behind, out of place in the war-ravaged land he was being sent to.

It filled him with a wave of longing that he quickly and effectively tamped down, before that wave threatened to overflow and break the dam of himself that he had been desperately holding together. He inclined his head ever so slightly to acknowledge the man's words, and then, before anything else could be said or done, he stumbled away, leaving Jonathan's father and his friend far behind.

An hour and a half later, Light paused in the middle of the New York Harbor, where there was a line of young men, in the same uniform he had been issued at the draft office getting ushered through a break in a metal fence. He paused for a moment, contemplating what he should do, before he simply stepped into line behind a few other men.

He was glad that the uniform had been given to him before coming here. After leaving Jonathan's house, he had went straight to the draft office, where the instructions on the back of the notice said to go for his uniform and gear to be issued. They had not asked for names, simply taken one look at the draft notice Light had pulled out of his pocket and shown them, and a scant hour later, he was outfitted in the United States' army uniform, along with the standard pack with basic necessities that were issued to all recruits.

After that, he had been told to go to the docks for processing and boarding- the first wave, which Light was part of, was being shipped out that morning.

He had nodded numbly to that, barely feeling the weight of the pack upon his shoulders, the tight leather of the new boots upon his feet, the helmet strapped to his pack that was bumping against the side of his thigh with every step, or the rough cotton of the strange uniform that now adorned his body. For once, he paid no mind, took no pride in how he appeared- such trivial things were pushed far to the back of his mind.

The line moved slowly, but it seemed fast for Light, whose very heart and mind were rebelling against this. Every step he took towards that ship was a step further away from his home, and he wanted nothing more than to turn and run away, anywhere but here. But that was impossible now, and as if in a dream, he looked up, eyes wandering over the towering ships that were docked in the harbor.

He could see the crowds of other soldiers decked in the same uniform as he, lining up to have their names taken and get onto one of the other three battleships docked in the area. He marveled at how many people war truly required- and was also sickened at the thought that many of these men would most likely not be returning on these ships the way they went- alive.

A sudden sharp pain in his side made Light snap to attention as he was jostled from behind. He looked up, seeing that a soldier with a clipboard was waiting, gesturing impatiently at him with boredom and annoyance written his blonde-scruffed face.

Heart so high in his throat that he worried it would choke him, Light exhaled slowly in an effort to still his fluttering heart.

There's no going back God why can't I go back and run away from this- no, no, no, Light you can't do this because-

Shaking off his thoughts, for now was not a good time to succumb to the panic welling within his heart, Light forced out his own version of the words that he had heard the drafted soldier in front of him utter. He was glad for the direction, in this instant, because if he had not known what to say, he would have stood there like a sheep who knew not what to do.

"Light Yagami reporting," he choked out, with only the slightest, almost indistinct waver in his voice.

The soldier nodded and held out his hand impatiently, flexing his fingers, even as his eyes remained firmly upon the sheet of paper with names of the drafted soldiers upon it. "Draft notice?"

Silently, Light handed the slip of paper to the awaiting soldier. Snatching it from Light's slightly-shaking hands, his dark green eyes flicked over it, turning it over once before nodding sharply. He raised the clip on the board and slipped the piece of paper under it. Light could see that there were also many other identical slips of paper under it as well- his simply got carelessly lost among many others.

The soldier then snapped the clip back down and running a finger along the paper, he muttered Light's last name, obviously searching for "Yagami."

Light experienced a moment of panic as he realized that the soldier would be finding no evidence of that name. Would he be exposed as an imposter?

But Light didn't have time to panic long as the solider, his dark blonde brows furrowing, flipped the paper to the other side, scanning through the names there. Obviously confused now, he repeated the motion, going back to the front page, and then flipping to the back in succession.

After a moment, he looked up, eyes narrowed in a blend of suspicion and confusion."…Hold on," the soldier said gruffly. "No one by the name of Light Yagami was ever issued a draft notice."

Swallowing, Light forced a look of bewilderment onto his face. Panic flashed through him, thrumming in his veins, but he tamped it down, reigning his control in and holding onto it with a steely, if not slightly shaky hand. "I'm sure that there must be a mistake, then," Light replied with self-assuredness. He tried his hardest to sound confident, as if he was not here in another's place, as if he had been the one to have been issued that draft notice.

The soldier's expression bled to one of unsurely, and he flicked his eyes down to the sheet, and then Light before he shook his head decisively. "I'm sure there wasn't. Stay here." The soldier gestured with a hand for Light to stay, already turning to scan the area for a senior officer to ask as to what he should do.

And Light knew that if he managed to find a senior officer, this façade would all be over- and he could not allow that to happen. The officer could pull Light aside, check his records and confirm that he was never chosen in the draft. He would be exposed as a fraud, and while Light knew that going to war in someone else's place was a crime, he had no clue how severe. Still, he could be assured that nothing good would come for either him or Jonathan, or their families, for that matter, if they found out that he was here in Jonathan's place.

That thought made his fingers twitch in apprehension and urged him to speak up, to distract the soldier from his search and buy him some time, to stall while he thought of a way to force the soldier to let him through and take no more notice.

"That's not really necessary, is it?" Light asked, the sound of his voice successfully regaining the soldier's attention as dark green eyes landed on his face. He fought to keep the desperation out of his voice as he earnestly asked, "Do you think I'm willingly here? How else would I have gotten a draft notice?"

"I don't know…." The soldier looked down at the sheet of drafted soldiers, brows furrowing in consternation. It was obvious that he was torn between asking a superior what to do and risk getting scolded for wasting time, or simply letting Light through and chance getting taken to fault for a mistake.

However, Light needed to get through- his family and friend's life depended on him getting onto that ship in Jonathan's place successfully.

"Look," Light said cajolingly, gaining the soldier's attention once more. "Just let me through, alright? I'm certain no one's watching who's coming in too closely- just those that are leaving and those who have yet to come. Even if I wasn't supposed to be here, do you think the Army would protest one more soldier?" Light said in an attempt to be persuasive. His mother as well as Misa had always said he had a way with words and people, and right now, Light prayed that they were right.

It seemed like this time around, luck was in his favor. The soldier sighed and pinched the bride of his nose between two fingers, waving Light ahead with the other.. "…I suppose not," the soldier said, peering down at his clipboard with the names listed. "Right, then. Carry on."

The pressure of getting the rest of the drafted soldiers checked and onto the ship must have been great, for the soldier to disregard the possible repercussions. And for this, Light was grateful.

"Thank you," Light nodded. Heart leaping so high in his throat that he felt as if he were about to choke- but if I choke I can't go to war and is that a good or bad thing I don't know if I can do this but goddamn I have to and there's nothing I can do- he turned away and made to take that first damning step through the break in the iron fencing.

However, he was halted by a gloved hand clasping his elbow, effectively halting him in his tracks. Turning, Light fought to keep the flash of panic that had suddenly overtaken him as he heard the soldier who had taken his name down say, "Wait."

Forcing a calm note that he certainly did not feel into his voice, Light quirked a brow and gave a, "Hm?"

What's wrong I pulled it off perfectly no no no let me go through goddamnit-

"Who?"

This was asked with a certain note in the soldier's voice, accompanied by an understanding glint in his dark green eyes. This understanding sent a certain shock through Light, before he recovered himself and inclined his head to show that he knew what the soldier was asking.

"…Jonathan Anson," Light whispered.

The soldier's eyes scrutinized Light's face, seeing the sincere look of regret and reassignment on his forcibly held-together face, before he withdrew his hand, turning away. "Very good, soldier," he murmured. "Continue on."

Swallowing harshly, Light forced himself to turn around and continue, but not before tilting his head back for a second glance. He saw the soldier pulling a roll of white tape out of his pocket, ripping off a piece and sticking it onto the paper.

That was all he saw before he was jabbed harshly in the back, with a grunt of, "Yer holdin' up the line, mate."

Composing himself, Light shook his head and continued on, following the other newly-drafted soldiers to a small building set up near the battleship which, Light knew with a sinking sense of certainty, that they would shortly be boarding.

He kept moving forwards slowly as he took in the gleaming iron of the ship, eyes flicking over the crates of blood, prosthetics, spare uniforms and boots, food, ammunition and weapons that were being loaded onto the ship.

But even so, his mind kept replaying the scene of the soldier ripping off that piece of tape and placing it onto a spot near the top, where, as an "A," Jonathan's name surely would have been.

When the secretaries were copying down the records of today, making brand-new, pristine records of the men shipped off on this day and this certain ship, they wouldn't even think twice about seeing a blot of white-out tape and a new name. Not all men who became soldiers had had a chance for higher education, and it was why secretaries were needed- to create accurate, perfect records for the military files.

They wouldn't assume that there had been an illegal change in the draft. They would simply assume that there had been a spelling error with one of the soldier's names and it had been fixed before the record was sent in to be re-typed.

No one would know that Light Yagami was here in Jonathan Anson's place.

It was as if Jonathan had never been drafted.

Light paused just a moment at the beginning of the ramp leading up to the large, ironclad warship. There was something that made him turn his head and look back, amber eyes flicking over the horizon. He saw the towering skyscrapers and the iron skeletons of buildings that were under construction. He saw the distant, small dots of automobiles puttering down the shoddy roads of the dock, saw deckhands loading crates onto ships and the general hustle and bustle of a just-awakening New York City.

He smelt the brine and general fishy, foul odor of the harbor, inhaling deeply. He felt the smoggy-tinted air brushing over his cheeks and threading into his hair, lacing it with the dirty smell of New York City.

It smelled like home, like everything he had known. He had complained of the dirtiness before, but now, he wished nothing more than to never leave the city, with everything it came with, for the better or worse, behind. It made a swell of longing rise within his chest, and he savored the smell of the city, the chilled breeze that cut through him, and the feel of the city that was unmistakably home.

He did this, packing away the memory and holding tight to it within his mind, because-

This might be the last time I ever feel this.

An undefinable emotion welled within his heart at that thought, longing traced with sadness that threatened the return of the burning of unshed tears in the corner of his eyes.

Turning before the threat became reality, Light closed his eyes and took that first, damning step onto the ramp leading up to the deck of the ship, swallowing down the lump that had risen in his throat, threatening to choke him. His eyes burned, and though he told himself harshly it was simply the smog that forever surrounded New York City, it was futile to say otherwise.

But he had always considered it a shame for someone such as him to cry. It was a lapse in control, a sign of a lack of manliness and so he held it in, even as the thought that this might be his last time in New York, in seeing the landscape that had been his home since he was born threatened to warp the burn into tears.

But Light had always prided himself on his excellent control and so he fought it back, turning away, even as a last, lingering thought remained, no matter how much his screaming, writhing mind longed to bat it away. It stayed with him as he was crowded onto the deck. It remained as, if in a daze, he watched the last of the soldiers file in, and it refused to be banished as the lines tethering and anchoring the ship to the docks were cast away, the anchor raised and the great engine of the battleship began to groan.

And it was only as the ship, with a great groan, pulled away from the dock, that Light allowed his eyes to close and the thought to fully come out- for there was no more chance for it to break the last threads of his willpower and run home, to his house, to his friends, where all was warm and familiar and safe.

It was with dazed, almost confused eyes that Light Yagami looked upon the cityscape of New York, growing smaller with each knot gained and each passing minute, and finally allowed the thought to surface.

…I might never come back.

"Hello!"

The greeting, said in a bright, cheery voice, spoken in familiar Japanese, of all things, made Light jerk his head up, eyes wide. The sun was right in his eyes, making him narrow them into illuminated slivers. The spot he had eventually taken up on the deck, among the crates of newly-made, American supplies was a sunny one. Sitting here in the sunlight was an attempt to ward off the chill that he couldn't seem to shake off, no matter how warm the sun was on his skin, soaking into his uniform.

The warm position, however, also put the sunlight right into his eyes, nearly blinding him as he blinked, attempting to focus his gaze upon the person that had approached him. Spots danced in front of his eyes, but as they faded, Light could see a man, about his height. He had short black hair, though it was cut stylishly, and his almond-shaped brown eyes were brown and very warm and inviting. He was smiling, and straight white teeth gleamed healthily against naturally tan skin.

"I'm Matsuda Touta!" The newly-introduced Matsuda said brightly, eyes sparkling with goodwill. Light thought it seemed off, given the setting that they were in, but he wasn't going to complain, not one bit. It was such a welcoming sight, those warm eyes, that suddenly, the ship that they were on did not seem so dark and gloomy, and the fear weighing him down seeming to lessen a little bit.

However, Light said absolutely nothing in response to the man's words, still somewhat shocked by the sight of a fellow Japanese countryman. It was as good as a godsend in his eyes, someone that was somewhat familiar in tongue and mannerisms, if not in person itself.

Matsuda's eyebrows raised at Light's continued silence, his smile wavering as uncertainty overtook him. Light was still staring at him blankly, and there was no way that he could have known that Light was simply shocked by his appearance. He mistook it as lack of understanding, and fearing that he had made a mistake, Matsuda dropped his hand, instead using it to scratch the back of his head as he said uncertainly, "Oh, I'm sorry… are you not…"

Matsuda cocked his head, narrowing his eyes to regard Light carefully. He certainly looked Japanese… the coloring was odd, but his features were certainly Asian, at least. He didn't think that the boy he had approached was Chinese… unless he had not been taught the tongue…

His English was not very good, and he couldn't think of how to say the words needed in English. Wracking his mind, Matsuda finally, in very accented English, pieced together a question. It was not exactly what he wanted to say, but it conveyed the meaning almost as well.

"Are you not Japanese?" Mastuda asked, and the words served to snap Light out of his stupor.

Realizing that he had almost made a horrid blunder and risked driving the man away, Light blinked, hastily shaking his head. In Japanese, he quickly said, "No, no! I am, it's just…"

He gave a rueful smile, pleased to see that relief and good cheer had once more graced Matsuda's face. "It's been awhile since I've heard anyone other than my family speak Japanese. It was a bit of a shock," Light told him as explanation for his behavior. As he spoke, he leant down to pick up the heavy pack he had slipped off of his shoulders, scooting over a bit on the crate he had been perched upon. It left an empty space on the crate next to him, a silent invitation for Matsuda to sit next to him.

The man did with a grateful smile, setting his army-issued pack down with a near-painful "thump." Light winced in sympathy, knowing how heavy the packs were. It was almost ridiculous, but then again, he figured that carrying practically one's whole lifeline on their backs was not going to be a light burden by any means.

But Matsuda seemed to more than appreciate the gesture, and he gave off a feel of companionability as he settled onto the crate. He leant back against the one stacked right behind him and stretching out his long legs to make himself more comfortable. Rubbing the back of his neck, Matsuda glanced at Light out of the corner of his eyes, assessing him. Light allowed this scrutiny, bearing it until Matsuda rolled his shoulders, tilted his head to the side, and asked, "What is your name?"

Light sat forwards, pulling up his heavily-boot clad feet up on the crate, settling his arms on his knees and chin on his forearms. It was a comfortable position, and amicably, Light replied, savoring the feel of the Japanese language on his tongue, "I'm Light."

He ignored the raised eyebrow and incredulous look he got from his newfound companion, wincing a bit as he realized how his name sounded sans surname.

It always sounded a bit ridiculous. Simply Light. Ha.

Lightbulb, sunshine, ray of light, everyone who always thought they were so funny with their puns.

Wonder if they know..

Well…

This light's probably going to flicker and go out soon.

Smiling ruefully, he leaned his head back, tilting it to look at Matsuda as he clarified, "Light Yagami."

"Ah." Nodding, Matsuda leaned forwards, propping an elbow upon his knee and chin in hand. He regarded Light with a scrutinous look, before he said, with a hint of amusement in his voice, "You must be a very bright boy."

The teasing did not bother Light a bit; in fact, it caused an almost unquellable urge to laugh within him. It bubbled up in his chest, right on the verge of bursting into full laughter. But, he tamped it down, only chuckling a bit as he shifted to free a hand, gesturing at their situation, of uniformed men milling about the ironclad warship, headed off to fight perhaps one of the bloodiest wars to that date.

"…Actually, this Light is probably a bit more on the dim side for signing up to do this," Light returned, reaching up to tap his temple. His voice held a note of forced cheer to it, both at the horrible play on his name and for the true dismalness of the situation.

No sane man would sign up for this. No sane man would offer to go to war as I have.

But then…what does that say about me?

As if realizing the utter irony of the situation and words, Matsuda gave a rueful little smile. He leaned back, shaking his head in dark humor. "Truer words have never been spoken, Lightbulb."

And though Light hated the puns and plays that could be done on his name, rather than bristling at the teasing, he instead offered a small smile at the companionable man that had taken up a seat next to him.

And when Matsuda offered one back, Light fell silent, simply savoring the fact that he had found a compatriot. It was nice, to have something familiar, even if it was only that ethnicity, to latch onto.

He shifted to rest his back on the crate, crossing his arms lazily over his stomach and propping his feet up. There was a certain sense of laziness in the air, as if at that moment, they were not going off to war, as if the peaceful idyllicness of the situation would simply remain forever.

…Light sort of wanted to freeze this moment, to be able to keep it with him as a memory to help keep his heart warm during the dismal times. However, it was just a fleeting fancy, a stray thought that he knew was ridiculous, and so he dismissed it with the faintest strain of remorse and longing.

Instead, he leant his head back, breathing out deeply in a calming sigh, and then breathing in once more. He felt his lungs expand, could taste and smell the salt of the ocean air on his lips and in his nose, feel the sunlight warming his cheeks that were chilled from the damp air.

Just for the moment, the numb chill dissipated, driven away by the sun on his cheeks and cheerful presence of the man at his side.

His mind wandered idly as his eyes slipped shut, simply taking in the brief moment of peace and break from the unsurety and fear that had been eating at him constantly.

…If he really were a candle, he'd most likely long be snuffed out, either from the dampness of the air or the spray that occasionally washed up against the railing of the ship. The sea was a dangerous place for a light to be, especially one whose destination was in the midst of war. This light might just be snuffed out before it ever returned back to where it had been originally lit.

But… if I can burn a little bit longer, just a while longer… I think… that would be alright.

…I'll take whatever I can get.