The first visitation
It is nearly four years past since L Lawliet's death. His grave may be unattended but there is a subtler place of tribute to his memory, upon clean, precisely ruled lines, the two single words: his name. Now and again Light turns to that place where the name is written. It is his own little compulsion. He smiles smoothly but he does not enjoy it; something in him is sick. He does it almost every day for a time, always in private, if Misa, his little dearest darling, happens home, he hides his attention. His mouth runs dry and he feels the sickness in his stomach, the one that his mind will not recognize.
It is almost three months since Light last read the note when it first begins. He is clean, he is calm, he is in control. There has been nothing wrong in his world. Everything has been in order. Everything is in neat little lines on white pages. Then the breathing begins.
Light hears it when he lies in bed. He lies in the pitch-black darkness and listens to it. It is loud and clear. He lies still and counts the sounds; he dissects the tones of the woman who lies beside him easily. He forces his own vocalizations right down, bringing his breathing down to silence. And he can still hear it. He moves his hand up to cover his mouth, to be sure, a desperate action so carefully executed. He still hears it. He counts again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again. Even though the sound is so familiar to him, a sound that he'd recognize anywhere. It stirs in him those strong memories of that lucid confinement. He lies still and counts again and again and again and again. And he still counts three. He still hears three people breathing in that room.
Then he feels it. He feels it. HE FEELS IT. He feels it on his neck. The breath moves the little hairs to tickle at the sensitive skin. He really feels it. He lies there in the dark, trying to stifle his heartbeat, while the shock of this truth, this tangible truth, paralyses him. He lies still and just feels it; the breath on his neck.
Then there is a little dip in the covers. Then Light actually feels the sheets move, of their own accord, slowly and surely across his bare arms.
He shudders violently, shocked at his own body's reactions. He turns ever so slightly and with his innards aching he curls his fingers around the sheet and pulls it up again. He lies still. There is only this room. There is only the silence and Light Yagami cannot bear to move. He closes his eyes tightly, he tells himself, he tells the world, he pretends that he is asleep. But then he hears it loud, right in his ear, the warm disturbance wet at the curve of his ear; the breathing. The rough, regular breathing. Right there in his ear.
It moves away but he can feel it just there by his face and he can still hear it. He lies there for hours; wide-awake with his eyes shut tight, his body still. The breathing doesn't cease and Light doesn't know what is more frightening, the continuance or if it should stop suddenly and be gone.
The morning comes cold and dry, illuminating an empty room and Light Yagami lies still, eyes wide open for a little while longer before carefully he lifts himself off of the mattress and leaves the room, Misa still lying peacefully asleep on the other side of the bed.
In the bathroom Light runs water into the sink and he rubs his face. He pushes his fingers into his mouth and bites, he tightens his fingers around his hair and pulls, he digs his nails into his scalp and then scratches like he wants to tear his skin off. Then he cries. He sobs with his hands covering his face, he feels the tears burn and the cries rattle in his throat. He cries in desperation, misery and fear.
The running water masks the sounds he makes. He washes everything away. He greets a bouncing morning Misa with silence, with pure, smooth quiet. He dresses in front of the mirror, straightening his tie whilst the girl chatters away and then he leaves for Investigation headquarters; to chase his own tail.
That day was long and quiet and dry and normal. That evening he sat with Misa while she watched her favourite shows, he rested his arm around her and sat in silence beside her. Every night became the same though. Every night.