desolation
Light was looking up through the willow-catkin mist, hands clasped behind his head. 'I feel old.'
'But you still act like a child,' said Lawliet, crouched down and drawing wavering lines in the ash with someone's misplaced rib.
Light tilted his head to look at him. 'Let's become the rulers of this world.'
Lawliet's eyes were wide and dark, and the lips pressed against the side of his thumb tilted slightly upwards. 'It is difficult, sometimes, to tell whether Kira is joking or delusional.'
'You'd be the only one to be able to figure it out, L,' said Light, unclasping his fingers and lowering his arms, spreading them. 'Come on.' He smiled, eyes empty. 'I'll be your mystery, and you can be my adversary.'
Wild black hair was tilted out of serene black eyes. 'And the dead did not rest,' murmured Lawliet; quietly, thoughtfully, like he was quoting something he'd once read and had not, at the time, understood.
Light's grin was sardonic. 'No rest for the wicked, L.'