A/N: When writing this chapter I was inspired by the beautiful music of American pianist Dustin O'Halloran. I recommend it to everyone who likes piano solos; you surely can find it somewhere on youtube.

I have to do some work for a change now, so I probably won't have any time for writing till middle of September. But maybe, who knows, some reviews would motivate me to start sooner? Oh, and I thank to the three people who reviewed. You're my heroes!


Chapter III – Statues and Living Things

As Raito drove up the hill, the white building of the sanatorium appeared in his view. His visits had become a habit now; not in a sense of going here every Sunday, but there were times when he suddenly felt the urge to come, so he dropped everything he was doing, got in his car and drove away; and this usually happened about twice a week.

"I'm afraid that you can't see your friend right now. Doctor Morino is examining him," a young brunette told Raito with an apologetic smile. Raito returned her smile, giving her a scrutinizing look. She really was young, Raito thought, barely more than twenty or twenty-one. She had warm brown eyes and chestnut hair encircling a pleasant heart-shaped face, which was often betraying even her innermost emotions.

She bore his gaze for one long moment, trying not to stare back at him, painfully conscious of his attractiveness, before she felt herself blushing and hastily turned to leave.

"Is there some place I can wait for him?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I should have told you," she answered in a hurry, unsuccessfully trying to hide her embarrassment. "There is a visitor lounge on this floor. I'll take you there."

Raito's smile widened, as he allowed himself to be led into the lounge. It was a nice light room with large windows, furnished with comfortable cushioned beige armchairs and small white lacquered coffee tables. The windows gave view to the part of the garden he hadn't seen before. Its dominating feature was a white marble fountain that stood in a small paved circle surrounded by benches.

There was a couple of paintings on the wall; nothing extraordinary, Raito noted, but luckily it also wasn't those pathetic children pictures you get to see in some clinics, like me and mommy and our doggie that I dunno if I ever get to see again coz I'm here all alone in this ugly hospital, having nothing better to do than drawing crappy pictures. Oh God, it wasn't even in a children's ward, Raito thought with contempt, remembering the time he came to see his father after his stroke.

"May I offer you a cup of coffee?" The nurse asked him, turning his attention back to the present.

"Only if you get one as well… Fujimi-san," Raito answered courteously, having read her name out of her name badge.

Haruka Fujimi felt she was beginning to blush again. This would not go, she decided and this time managed to cover her embarrassment with a laugh.

"But I have patients to attend; the staff nurse would be beside herself if she found me slacking off," she objected, but the tone her voice betrayed that it wouldn't take much to persuade her.

That was indeed the case; before long they were both comfortably seated, drinking freshly brew coffee.

"It's sweet of you to care so much about your friend." Haruka was first to break the silence, "you're the only one now who visits him. His grandfather used to, but he's been taken ill of late."

If Raito was surprised by this piece of information, he didn't let it show.

"What about his family?" he asked. "It may seem strange that it's me who is asking you, but he never speaks of them. He only mentioned his grandfather once or twice. And Lawliett is, well, I don't know how to put it, but I somehow cannot bring myself to ask him about certain things directly. It's like I am afraid it would affect him, which doesn't make much sense really, because he acts as if nothing ever got through to him …"

Raito was now speaking more to himself than to the nurse, but she didn't seem to mind.

"I see what you mean," she said earnestly, "he seems to be in a world of his own. It must be hard to follow him there."

Raito now regarded her with a new found respect. He could observe that there was already certain wisdom hidden by girly awkwardness in this woman.

Their conversation continued revolving around L, getting more confidential by the minute. This was certainly Raito's strong point - when he wanted he could easily win anyone's trust and people would tell him things they would never dream of disclosing to a stranger.

He already suspected his friend of having a difficult past, yet the things he learnt now took him by surprise.

Mr. Wammy wasn't Lawliett's true grandfather, Haruka said, he had adopted him as his grandson a few years ago. He would have adopted him as his son, but the law rendered it impossible with his parents both alive.

Haruka didn't know much about them, only that they probably weren't the best of parents because Lawliett ran away from them in the age of fifteen and a lived on the streets. It was there when he became a drug addict and eventually ruined his health. Then Mr. Wammy discovered him and his talent and decided to save him. But his case was a difficult one and required long convalescence.

The nurse stopped here and took a sip of her now cold coffee and observed the strong impression her narrative had made on her companion. Raito too had completely forgotten his beverage and was watching her with an expression of shock mingled with a trace of sadness.

"But I must tell you," she continued hastily, feeling bad for making someone sad, "that his conditions have been improving. He eats more, although it's unfortunately hardly anything substantial, with him having such a sweet tooth. He has been even walking by himself a little."

"I would almost say," she said with a smile, "that the improvement began when you started to visit him. Well, I would certainly feel better if I had a friend like you who would visit me so often," she finished light-heartedly.

This drew a small smile from Raito. He put down his cup and rose from his armchair. His eyes trailed out the window and were captured by the gentle streams of water gleaming in the sunlight.

Raito noticed that the fountain had a small statue one its top, but couldn't tell what it represented. A bird, perhaps, he thought, what a curious choice.

"It's beautiful," he commented.

"Oh, that's all thanks to Mr. Wammy. He donates us vast sums of money every month, I mean in addition to the regular charges. This donation paid for the reconstruction of the garden, including the fountain. Doctor Morino said he is the most generous benefactor our sanatorium has ever had- speaking of Dr. Morino, the examination is probably over by now," she said and escorted Raito to L's room.

…

"Do you care to go to the fountain?"

"If Raito-kun wishes so. Thank you for not saying my fountain. The staff here has developed an uncanny habit of doing that," L said with a small scowl.

"I'll remember that," Raito promised.

They went on, talking about various subjects that interested them. Raito usually enjoyed their discussions very much, but he found himself distracted today. He couldn't get those disturbing images from his mind; this man who at times seemed so out of this world as a dirty street junkie doing anything to get his dose- it was somehow painful.

He realized that L had just asked him something, but didn't hear the actual words.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention. What did you say?"

"I suggested that we could stop here, if you don't mind. I want to try to walk there," L said, moving his hand in the direction of the fountain which was now about twenty steps from them.

Raito's eyes lit up.

"Oh, sure. Come on, I'll give you a hand."

L took the offered hand and Raito held it very carefully, as though it was made of glass, helping the other man to stand up. Raito watched his crouched, sickly posture and felt an unfamiliar tightness squeezing his throat.

L got hold of his arm and made a tentative step. Then the other and one more. Two, three, four steps. Then he swayed a little and strengthened his grip. Raito automatically moved his other hand on the poet's back, moving his body closer to his.

L's head was slightly touching his shoulder and Raito could feel his quickened breath. Raito thought that they could stand like this forever, warm and breathing sculpture with two beating hearts. Then the poet looked away.

"Look," he said, raising his hand and laying it on the tree beside them. Raito watched the white hand with long skinny fingers lie placidly on the rough dark brown bark before he noticed the thing L had referred too. It was a small black beetle with shiny wing-cases; it ran across the bark and when it reached the hand it crawled onto it, settling itself between the knuckles.

Raito saw the fascination with which L followed the tiniest movement of its stringy legs and felt an absurd pang of jealousy. He had a sudden vision that with all his good looks, social skills and achievements he couldn't elicit such admiration from this wide-eyed creature as this insignificant beetle that didn't do anything but exist. Raito felt a violent urge to shed it off and step on it.

Suddenly the beetle left its temporary nest and ran up L's hand, hiding under his long white sleeve. Raito's hands moved by themselves, rolling the sleeve up. The beetle flew away in the very next instant, but Raito continued to roll the sleeve past L's elbow, staring at the pale skin of the other's forearm with badly concealed perplexity. The delicate map of blue veins seemed as perfect as a pattern of a butterfly's wing.

L's eyes met his.

"I see that you're wondering why you can't see any scars. It's been some time now, they are healed," he said and then added with a wan smile:

"I think that I'm putting walking off on some other day."

Raito brought the wheelchair, feeling slightly ashamed for no reason. They continued to the fountain. There was no one sitting on the benches; sun was hidden by a curtain of clouds and the day grew colder, no longer drawing the patients outside.

The statue on the top was, as Raito could now see, indeed a bird. The water that gleamed even without the sunrays, this time giving an impression of coolness, flew from under its wings so it looked as a liquid air was upholding it in its position, like it was on the point of mounting – but still it stays here, forever frozen in this motion -

"Just for your information," L resumed their previous conversation, "Some people have very feeble veins on their forearm, so soon they are forced to shoot the drug in other places," he spoke in a voice as indifferent as if he was discussing the matter out of purely scientific interest.

"Such as, for example, their ankles, necks and sometimes even eyes."

Raito felt a violent shiver running through him. Black eyes stared back at him seemingly as impassively as before, but at this moment he felt this gaze with piercing intensity.

Now he saw it wasn't innocence that attracted him to this man – yes, he had already admitted to himself that mere friendship no longer satisfied him – but something else. Only he couldn't name it.

He couldn't bear L's gaze and resumed his usual place behind the wheelchair. His eyes now stared at the back of L's head. Raito swallowed. That was certainly not the best choice, because now his eyes were inevitably drawn to the lustrous, unblemished skin of L's neck.

His vision was getting blurry as he was leaning forward and before he knew it he was touching that white skin with his lips, kissing it gently yet passionately like a worshipper might kiss a statue of a saint.

"What are you doing?" a calm voice asked him.

"Nothing you wouldn't like," Raito whispered.

L didn't object, but he also didn't give any sign of assent. Raito continued to place fleeting kisses on the nape of his neck, while the poet sat there perfectly still. He didn't say a word, nor did he make any of those little noises people sometimes tend to do when touched in this way; no, he was calm and silent. But that didn't mean that he was reproaching; his body wasn't stiff, but pliant in Raito's hands. These hands soon followed the lips, caressing L's shoulders before slowly sliding down his torso.

Raito felt a slight tremor running under his touch, like an electric impulse. It made him rise to approach the other man from the front to see what was in his eyes, wanting to see himself there, his own image held with fascination-

But he was stopped when a hand grasped his own and the touch was strangely semblant to the one before, when L held onto him to keep from falling, and it made Raito think of a man drowning in the sea that was nothing more than a mass of grey coldness stretching from horizon to horizon.

"Raito," L finally spoke and his voice was now unfamiliarly hesitant, "you shouldn't be doing this. I… I feel cold. Drive me back, please."

"As you wish," Raito mumbled and felt his shame going back, mixed with disappointment and something else, soft and unnamable.

His eyes were roaming through the garden, not finding any solace in the gifts of nature. It rather made him think of a cheerless simile; like this place, his life too was falsely unrestricted and free, swaying to this direction or that, but in the end there were always dull brick walls that left him trapped and powerless.

The worst of all was the conduct of other human beings – their unpredictability he praised, admired and it inspired his works, but it became unbearable at times. Like in this moment. He felt clueless and even inferior, as though he was facing a creature of some indefinable higher status, an ethereal existence – even after the prosaic revelations he had made.

"I want to ask you," Raito said, breaking the awkward silence that stretched between them, "how did you know that I knew, when I was- I mean, when that beetle-"

"Fujimi-san likes to talk about personal affairs of others," L replied mildly, "she tells me all kinds of things when she attends to me. When the two of you entered my room you exchanged a secret glance that was mixed with guilt on Fujimi-san's part. Well, it's not hard to see what happened. But can you please tell me what exactly she said?"

Raito told him.

"The information you've got is incorrect. I had been living on the streets for a given period of time when I left home, but I didn't take to drugs then. It was after Mr. Wammy adopted me. Finding myself living in abundance caught me off guard; when you have everything you dream of fulfilled so abruptly and not even by your own doing, it leaves you empty. Or at least that is what happened to me, Raito-kun. What do you think?"

"I'm glad that you have found another way of filling the emptiness," Raito replied, uneasy.

They approached the linden road. There were no sunrays to play with leaves; the trees seemed to cringe somehow under the heavy cloudy sky.

"You mean my poetry?" L asked with a blank expression.

"Of course."

"Then you're mistaken again. Actually I had been writing since I was a child. I have long ago stopped to dream that it would help me; I just write it to try to help the others."

Raito felt his throat tighten again. His usual eloquence left him completely. The only thing he could do was to caress the cold white hand with his fingertips, ever so slightly, as though little beetles were running over it.

TBC