A/N: I'm just going to mention that this is unbeta'd, written at 3 AM for venting purposes, etc. (so as to ascribe blame elsewhere than my own possible incompetency if it's rushed or constructed strangely, lol.) Oh yes, and I do not own anything. Warnings: extreme multilayer irony (possibly overdone) and angst, angst, angst. Here is L's inner conflict.
IV. AMBIVALENCE
L didn't know what had made Kira so cruel.
"You're a beautiful person," Kira would say, close enough to make the black hair shudder with his breathing. Until the fateful November 5th, the words were a daily ritual.
…Those whispers in L's ears in the nearly imperceptible windows of time when L looked away from the screen, those chilling compliments as L paused to stir his coffee… It was torture—subtle and malicious, metastasizing.
'Mocking me…'
It wasn't leering sarcasm, no—that was too "base" for Kira. Just his act of boyish ingenuity and camaraderie was enough to push L near the edge. The nerve, for him to be simulating innocence at this point, when L's gut senses screamed of Raito's guilt! The humiliation, to know the truth at simple eye contact, but have "incomplete evidence" shoved in his face! The frustration, to have to play along as that insufferable bastard flaunted pseudo-friendships and feigned first love!
There was nothing else to call it except "cruelty." Terrible, unwarranted cruelty. Kira—forcing his hand in this terrible dance. The pretense made him want to crawl out of his skin. The investigation team was now just an audience for this macabre bal masqué, this nauseating tragedy. That stupid, unwitting crowd (dazzled and contented with the masks and the sequins) could not see his descent into madness as they naively searched for a different culprit. A culprit that wouldn't break their hearts with betrayal, a culprit that wouldn't hit so close to home.
His reasoning was starting to crumble. L was certain he'd go insane. He could taste his end approaching. Only his ears could pick out the death wishes in Kira's murmured sweet nothings.
"You're a beautiful person."
It would play like a record, in that impeccably genuine voice, quietly but persistently in his wakeful state. In L's small lapses into sleep, that sweet voice would amplify viciously.
It hurt. The words spurred an ache in his chest—a feeling he had long pushed aside, resurfacing. Because he wasn't "beautiful." Not in the way of aesthetics (though that had never really concerned him anyway), nor in the way of personality. He already admitted to selfishness, arrogance, immaturity… Beauty? It was a joke.
'He's just toying with you before he kills you,' his intelligence kept telling him. 'He's the type that likes to play with his food.'
But he couldn't stop himself from wanting to believe. It was so tempting… Would he feel less pain if he let himself be flattered? Let his judgment cloud and his heart race? He wanted to be content with just the masks and the sequins, to be blind and stupid and bet everything on that damned "genuine" voice…
'That would be indulgent…' But if decisive ignorance would save him pain, did he care what happened to the world? Did he care about upholding his ideals?
An answer at the eye of the matter.
On November 5th, he could have saved his life with selfishness. Could have deceived himself and everyone else like a coward, could have made himself not a threat to Kira. Could have clung to existence and gaudy illusions.
But, as Raito stood in the grass, looking at that face finally at rest in the black coffin, he said genuinely, as always:
"You're a beautiful person."
And he let his tears fall.
FIN