Long time no see, my dear readers! No, as you can see, I have not abandoned this story, nor have I any intention to do so. Just have patience with me, for the frequency of updates is not up to me to decide. Thanks go to everyone who reviewed. To Rin Cho: Yes, this story basically does have three separate main characters, but I've never said they would all be granted equal POVs and amount of space in this story – and I've never planned to do so. I know that the summary is confusing. I must try think of something better as soon as possible, but I'm just…erm… let's face it – lazy. Anyway, enjoy your chapter!


Chapter V – Nicer Word for Despair

And moths are attracted to the light, and the light consumes them.

When he woke up, first thing he became aware of was the pain piercing his temples.

"Shit," he cursed when he moved to sitting position and the pain worsened. It felt like someone was poking his head with a sharpened stick, trying to bring forward whatever it was that supposedly lived there.

Fuck, how much did I have last night? Raito mused as he stumbled forward, half blind, to the bathroom, where he fumbled for a moment with the drugs on the shelf, until he found the painkillers he needed so desperately.

He took two and drank a glass of water. The sharpened stick was duly withdrawn; its holder probably found what he was looking for and took it away. Consequently, Raito wasn't able to formulate a single coherent thought.

Well, no surprise at, he glanced at the nearest clock, 8:13 AM. Way too early to be alive.

He went to the kitchen corner where he noticed that the coffee-pot was full and poured himself some, first breathing in the delicious smell and then drinking, leisurely and with sheer delight, until the unpleasant taste in his mouth almost disappeared.

As he drank, discontinuous flashes of memories were slowly emerging from the haze hovering over his brain, until they assembled into the whole picture. It wasn't a nice one.

He felt bad when L refused him – but was it really a refusal? – excused himself as soon as possible and went to a bar his acquaintances frequented, as was the case that evening. He was funny, witty and sarcastic, and everyone admired him. Theirs and his own laughter rang so hollow in his ears that he almost felt like crying.

And then she came, the symbolic last drop with her red lips and short black skirt and her crush on him not diminished in the least. Oh, Raito, I miss you so much that I can't sleep at night, oh baby, I need you so- wait a moment, were those her actual words or of one of those dimwitted songs they played all the time, he wondered for a moment, but well, what difference does it make anyway?

Stupid song or stupid ex-girlfriend, whichever of these it was that got him so fed up – or possibly these two combined – he just threw the necessary sum on the table and headed for home.

And here – the picture was once more getting blurry, what was he doing, drinking again? A fresh wave of pain seized his forehead. He should have thought better, being drunk as a lord already, but no, he just had to get one more glass.

He finished his coffee and looked about himself. There was a tray with fresh pastry, producing that kind of inviting smell that lured people into expensive bakeries even after they swore never to set their foot in there again. He happily took a croissant, but this moment of joy disappeared as swiftly as it came, because he was struck by something akin to guilt.

He recalled the overwhelming anger he had felt – he couldn't tell now why exactly – and the blow, and the look on Mikami's face – as though he was apologizing for something. No, Raito realized, somehow amazed, he actually was apologizing. What the hell for?

For being so pathetic, an ugly thought forced itself on him. But really, letting him treat him like that and then bring breakfast in the morning – Raito just didn't find any other way to describe it.

He looked for some kind of reproachful message, but there was none, just as he expected.

He put the croissant down, his appetite gone. Instead his yesterday anger was returning gradually. He was mad at himself and he was mad at Mikami because he had made him act in such a pitiful way, him who detested primitive acts of violence. He grimaced as he stared at his hands.

Then he thought that perhaps he was overreacting, it wasn't as though he killed anyone, it was just a blow, no need for so much fuss, because it

was horrible. They were eventually beating me every day and I- well, it brought me consolation that at least no one else was suffering, that I was enough for them. And I could bear it – I had to, for the sake of…

He stopped there, because he couldn't find the right words.

It was snowing, fine white substance was falling down on them and Raito had a brief, but very vivid vision of God finally noticing the suffering of his people and sending them a great dose of heavenly heroin to make it more bearable.

A single snowdrop fell down on Raito's face and immediately melted into a dribble that touched his upper lip.

No such luck for mortals today, he thought when he licked it away, just snow. He brought himself to look at Teru, who was staring at the distance, with his lips slightly parted and eyebrows knitted close together.

Oh well, here came the pondering look. But no matter how hard he tried, the right words obstinately refused to come out from his mouth. Raito was secretly glad for that, because this situation was hard to handle even as it was now, without calling unpleasant things by their proper names.

The problem was that he could never understand self-sacrifice of this sort. It made him experience mixed feelings of disgust, fatigue and vague sympathy, the last one of these emotions preventing him from sighing aloud.

What was he trying to achieve, telling him all of the sudden and in such a casual way? Did he want him to show some clichéd gesture of sympathy? Here, here, you poor thing, let me pat your back, come on, of course that you can cry on my shoulder. It must've been so dreadful to be bullied at middle school! Raito felt the corners of his mouth starting to twitch uncontrollably.

They stopped in front of the little pond. Rounded, glossy white-and-red fish shapes glided under the surface.

"I wonder what happens to them when it gets colder," Teru suddenly spoke, "if the pond freezes, I mean."

Raito looked around. The park was deserted; it was just them, the carps and pale green grass turning on white.

The dusk was slowly settling in, darkening the shapes of leafless trees with their bare branches swaying slightly, forward and backward, like hands waving monotonic goodbye. One white body cut through the dark green water surface and then it plunged deeper, disappearing from their sight.

What does happen to them indeed? Raito thought, for it was a right question to ask. He gave the man besides him a quizzical look, when he saw him kneel down and pulling something out of his pocket. It was a piece of bread.

The lawyer crumbled it between his fingers, throwing the breadcrumbs into the water. The carps spotted it at once and darted towards the surface, wolfing the crumbs down with amazing speed.

Raito watched, speechlessly, the white hands move above the water, the briskly moving glossy bodies looking as their distorted reflection, and suddenly realized that what he had been told before wasn't confided to him from the need of sympathy, at least not in the sense he had interpreted it at first.

It was…

Raito brought his memory to an abrupt end, vexed and confused.

Why this recollection, which had been buried somewhere deep in his mind for so long, chose this moment to appear, he didn't know. At least that was what he told himself.

But the images in his head were now clear and intertwined.

A beetle on the bark. Fish in the pond. White, green and alive.

What happens to them? What happens to us?

Then it was gone. His eyes fell on his computer and the last missing piece of the puzzle slipped into place, bashing that somewhat disturbing memory away. He started a new work yesterday, after all that built-up tension had given him the spur he needed.

He skimmed through the file in amazement. What, twelve pages? What time did I pack it in, four in the morning? I have no idea… anyhow, let's see what we've got here, Raito thought, absently munching on the croissant that found its way into his mouth after all.

…

When he was approaching Lawliett's room, he met with a tall, grey haired elderly gentleman who gave him a slight nod. He returned the gesture and proceeded to the door. Already with his hand on the handle he heard Dr Morino's voice speaking up to that man. It made him halt for a moment so he could - quite impolitely – listen to their conversation. From what he heard he gathered that Dr Morino was expressing his thanks for a recent donation Mr Wammy made, but the actual meaning was hard to grasp due to a whole flood of honorifics and polite expressions.

Geez, aren't you supposed to use this kind of language only when talking to the Emperor himself? Raito sighed inwardly and entered the room. L moved his head slightly to look at him with his dark eyes. If he was surprised to see him again so soon, he didn't show it.

Raito sat down on a single chair and the room succumbed to silence, disturbed only by light tapping of the rain. The air in the room was hot and sickly sweet. The furniture was covered by the usual disarray - books, papers covered with an impossible spidery handwriting, torn candy wrappings, brown glass bottles with white and yellow pills.

In the middle of all this Lawliett lied on his bed, yes, this time he actually lied on his back, he wasn't half sitting in one of those strange postures he tended to adopt, his hands with bitten nails were lying peacefully on the white linen, his white face was turned to his guest and his eyes with deep dark circles beneath them were not showing any emotion at all.

At first Raito felt a little bit awkward about the silence, but then it and the overall atmosphere of the room slowly started to make him feel dozy, reminding him that he didn't sleep more than a few hours the night before. His eyelids were getting heavy. He was fighting back the urge of walking to the bed and lying down there as well, so he could snuggle his face to that pristine white pillow, no, even better, to those hair that looked so incredibly black on the white linen and that would smell probably as sweet and intoxicating as everything here…

His eyes flickered open. He didn't come here for sleep, for God's sake. It must be the air, he decided, it's too hot. With that he stood up and opened the window, just enough that the fresh air started to flow in the room.

"Was it your grandfather before?" he finally asked with no other purpose than to start a conversation, because it was quite obvious.

L still humored with him an affirmative reply and went to talk about the old man, all the time idly playing with a heart shaped red lollipop. It wasn't the first time Raito saw him with such object, but it never failed him to strike him with its inappropriateness. That was why he couldn't help to watch the lollipop gliding through the poet's fingers, instead of focusing on the actual conversation, giving automatic responses that would easily fool everyone, everyone but L.

Finally the lollipop left L's fingers – only to find its way to his mouth. It was in that moment when Raito suddenly became aware of what the other was saying. His eyes opened wide.

"…so contrary to those gossips, he has never laid a hand on me. What he has for me is a totally different kind of interest."

Raito stared at him in disbelief. Was he still talking about that harmlessly looking old man he had just met? Of course, he said it wasn't true, but the mere existence of such suspicion… the fact that those atrocities could be heard in corridors of this institutions, that people thought of this when they saw his pale, angelic face…

Raito was thinking of that, staring as the heart shaped lollipop was moving in and out Lawliett's mouth with quiet popping sounds, until suddenly he was overcome with a wave of sick desire. On impulse he snatched the lollipop away from the other man and licked it, tracing the places L's tongue had just left. Then he returned it to its owner.

L gave him a slightly exasperated look, carefully laying the candy down on a bedside table.

"You don't concern yourself with hygiene much, do you?"

"Not really," Raito flashed him a smile as he leaned forward. Despite this outward nonchalance he felt as though his heart would break a couple of his ribs if it started to beat any stronger.

He captured the poet's lips, tasting the same sweetness as before, and he immersed down into the abyss, darkly sweet, sick and tinted with a smell of spring rainfall.

Then he felt hands on his shoulders pushing him away, with just a little force, but it was enough; what wasn't expressed clearly enough with that gesture was said with a single syllable that left L's lips.

"No."

Raito felt the anger rising in him again, the bitterness at being refused, the confusion of not knowing why.

"You already said that I shouldn't be doing this – but I won't give up that easily. You must tell me why."

"I must?" L repeated with a faint smile floating on his lips, "well, if you insist – the reason I'm refusing you is not that I'm not attracted to you, quite the contrary, if it helps to soothe your wounded pride, but that I know that one day – and that day might not be so far ahead - you'll regret this."

"I don't know what regret is," Raito blurted out without thinking.

L gave him an unexpectedly stern look.

"Then maybe it is time you get to know," he said with a strange decisiveness.

Raito sat on the edge of the bed, anger mixing with shame. No one in his life had ever made him feel like this. Silence once more stretched out in the room, until it was interrupted by L's sudden question:

"Do you want to go for a walk?"

Raito looked out the window, where it was still drizzling incessantly.

"In the rain?"

L shrugged his shoulders.

"We can take an umbrella," he replied and pointed to the corner of the room.

Raito nodded and automatically reached for the button to call a nurse, but L stopped him.

"No wheelchair today. I will walk by myself, with only you as a support. Just take the umbrella."

It made Raito slightly worried, but he didn't object. He put on his jacket and took the umbrella, which was big, with red and white stripes.

While they were passing through the corridor the poet didn't even lean on Raito, he really was walking by himself, certainly in a strange, limping way, but it was an unbelievable progress, considering the mere few steps he was able to make yesterday.

"The Linden Road," L said simply when they reached the garden and Raito nodded, offering him his arm. L leaned on it in tacit acceptation. They set out to the trees in silence under the murmur of the rain and Raito felt like drowning in that pleasant and disturbing proximity of this little world they came to share, a boat with red and white stripes at the top sailing through the grey ocean.

The vibrant green leaves looked even more beautiful than in the sun as they were glittering with moisture and their fragrance lingered in the air.

When they reached the three tombstones at the wall, L let go of Raito's arm and stepped out from under the umbrella, letting the rain soak him through. He threw his head back with his eyes closed, indifferent to cold wetness trickling down his temples, eyelids and mouth.

"I think I might lie here, too," he spoke.

Raito's eyes trailed to the graves and then returned to the poet.

"I thought you didn't like it here," he said, "that you feel trapped in this place. Why would you want to stay here even after you die?"

"I don't have any wishes concerning the place of my final rest. Come to think of it, I don't have any wishes at all. I just said that it might happen, considering the state of things," L replied indifferently.

"Don't speak of your death as if it should come for you today. And come off that rain, it's not good for your health," Raito said admonishingly and for a brief moment he felt as he had already gone through this situation once, only the roles were now somewhat reversed – L turned his back to him, hands in the pockets, and headed for the summer house that was located on the right side of the road.

Raito followed him there. It was a plain, round shaped construction made of light wood. They never really went there before, because there was absolutely no furniture. Table and benches were to be brought there later, the nurse Fujimi told him when he asked, usually in the beginning of summer when the days grew warmer.

L stood right in the middle of the summer house, his eyes looking out to the rain.

Raito stopped at the entrance, hesitating. The urge to kiss the other man was back, or rather it had never disappeared to begin with.

"I know what you want," L said.

"You want to have my body and you want to dominate my soul, to make it yearn for you, reach out to you, to make it your possession," he was saying in a horrible monotonic voice, while he slowly started to undress.

"It may be that you call it love. Let it be your way. I don't care what happens to me, so do as you please."

Those words fell on Raito like lashing of a leather strap, as he was watching L take off his clothes with a horrified expression. In contrast to that L's face was a mask of an impermeable indifference bordering with contempt.

His fingers, though, were numb and shaking so the whole ordeal took painfully long. Raito didn't do anything to stop him, just watched in astonished horror.

Thousands of words were whirling in his head, but he wasn't allowed to say a single one.

"No, not like this," a pained whisper finally escaped him, "I never wanted it to be like this. I don't want to force you-"

"You are not forcing me," L interrupted him coldly, "I already said you could do whatever you wanted. I don't care what happens to this body."

With that he kneeled down on all four on the meager pile of his own clothing, looking at Raito over his shoulder.

"Give it to me like you would beat a stray dog in the backstreet," he said, his voice suddenly dark and hoarse, "fuck me like you dreamed you would."

"Not like this," Raito repeated, feeling hollow. But his body was betraying him all along, and before he knew it he was already kneeling down and embracing the poet. At last he succeeded in turning him around to face him.

Those intense eyes were now closed and the crescents of dark lashes bored into pale cheeks.

"I don't want to dominate you," he whispered fiercely, "I just want to love you and I want you to love me back." Raito planted a kiss on L's forehead.

L let out a soft, humorless laugh.

"But what is love?" he said, "the last cry of a lark pierced by the iron fence."

Raito's eyes began to sting as he remembered that particular poem.

He kissed the corner of Lawliett's mouth as his treacherous hands started to unbutton his own shirt.

The faint and sweet smile on frozen lips

L arched his back, and his pale, naked and perfect body was shaking ever so slightly.

The drop of blood on the spinning wheel

Raito kissed him hard on the lips, feeling a painful tension building between his legs. The rain steadily beat down on the wooden roof and the world outside was grey, green and smelled of spring.

"A nicer word for despair," L spoke the finishing line. "Now hurry up, Yagami-kun. When I said I don't have any wishes… I lied."

TBC