notes/warnings
+ please note the fic rating is now M.
+ warning for more or less explicit sex.
+ warning for language, bad writing, and all the usual stuff.
Consequences
"I have no idea what you are talking about," L replies, as calmly as possible.
L needs to find out how much Rae knows, and how much Rae has inferred. Rae might simply be testing an unfounded suspicion. L steels his expression. He cannot afford to give anything away.
How did this happen?
How did this go wrong?
L lifts his head, lets himself look Rae in the eye.
Red. Still red. Whatever happens, he must keep those eyes red.
"Really?" Rae snarls. "Maybe Mail can explain it to you? He explained it to Raye so well."
No. No. This undertaking was supposed to be watertight. The emails were believable, the evidence was destroyed, and L's every action was perfectly planned.
What have you done, Mail? L thinks, frantically.
Raye's sudden attitude change is beginning to make a whole lot more sense. But if Mail said something, and Rae overheard it, then L needs to work out what exactly Rae knows. He needs to do damage control. This day must end with Rae hating L as much as ever. Somehow.
Rae cannot be debilitated, Rae cannot get hurt.
L doesn't flinch, and he doesn't turn to Mail. He doesn't do anything that might give Rae proof.
"What do you think Mail said?" he asks, sounding only vaguely interested.
"That he created the emails himself," Rae hisses, accusingly. "At your instruction. Oh, and that they were made specifically because you wanted me to hate you."
No, L thinks, mentally scrabbling for some sort of answer, something that will make everything okay, something that will reinstate the status quo.
"Fuck," Mail mutters, essentially confirming everything, stupid stupid stupid.
"You were listening in," Raye yells, angrily. "I thought you'd already left."
"Why wouldn't I listen?" Rae demands. "Why would I trust any of you, when L is trying…when I thought L was trying…when…"
Mail and Raye are both looking askance at L. L ignores them both, his mind in overdrive. What can he do? What if he goes along with this for now, pretends to be nice, and then sets it up to look like part of an even greater plot to kill Rae?
Except…there's no way to do that. And if L creates more evidence, Rae is certain to investigate it thoroughly, now.
He only had one chance. He knew that at the very beginning.
There are no second chances.
"I don't know what my colleagues have been up to," he says, weakly. "But I assure you that I am definitely trying to kill you. I don't think there's any point in keeping that information a secret."
It's not going to work. He knows it's not going to work. And yet, it can't not work. Rae is…his Rae, his darling Rae. Rae can't get sick again; those eyes cannot go murky and brown. L has to save his Shinigami, somehow.
Please Rae. Please believe me. You are clever. You know this is what you need to believe, even if it isn't true.
Please, Rae.
Please.
"I don't believe you," Rae whispers. "This makes far too much sense. And the phone company has records of you calling Mail, and instructing him. And saying that you…you…"
Fuck. No. No. L admitted things in that conversation. Things that Rae was never, ever supposed to hear.
No.
"I'm sorry," Mail says, contritely. "If I had realised this thing would try to investigate, I would have deleted the evidence when you told me to."
And that's it. That's the confession Rae was waiting for, and there is nothing L can do to retract those words. Mail has…Mail has undone everything. Ruined everything.
I should have left you to rot in a jail cell, L thinks, viciously, so angry, so angry. I should have let you die, over and over, a thousand different empty worlds.
"You," he says, quietly, furiously. "You were supposed to…"
He catches himself, mid-sentence. He can't. He can't do this. He can't give Rae so much as a single syllable.
How do I fix this? How do I fix this how do I fix this?
I can't fix this.
I can't not fix this.
"Get out," he orders, shaking with frustration, with fury, with defeat. "Both of you, get out. You've done enough."
"Are you kidding?" Raye snaps. "Your Shinigami is trying to kill you."
"He's right," Mail says. "It's okay. We can leave."
And oh, L will never, ever be able to forgive him for what he's done. Mail might be his most precious employee, but Rae is his charge, his responsibility.
The love of his fucking life, and damnit, they were so close. Three more weeks, and Rae could have walked free. L wants to kill something with his bare hands. He wants to cry and cry and never stop.
Raye and Mail leave quickly, closing the door behind them.
"You lied to me," Rae says, savagely. "You…you set this up!"
L shakes his head.
"No," he manages. "No. I didn't. I don't know what's going on, but I didn't se-"
Rae moves quickly, throwing open the glass doors and dragging L onto the balcony. It extends one long, bony arm, dangling L over the edge like a scruffed kitten.
L gazes downwards. The street is a long way away. A dozen stories down, in fact. He'll die for certain, if Rae drops him.
"Do not," Rae growls, "lie to me."
L lifts his head, slowly. Rae's eyes are still red, still red, and doesn't that mean L is in with a chance? As long as the eyes are red, there's the possibility he might say or do something to keep them that way.
Think think think.
Rae must walk away from this in the end. No matter what, Rae must be okay.
"Answer me, you bastard!" Rae says, damningly. "Don't you dare ignore me, not after…not after everything!"
"What do you want me to say?" L asks, miserably.
"When you spoke to Mail, you told him you did this to protect me," Rae says, suddenly sounding uncertain. "Was that true?"
L just shakes his head. He cannot answer that, not honestly. He must never answer that honestly.
Please, he thinks. Please.
The world is crumbling.
The world – that was previously so secure and perfect, that made so much sense, finally, now, in this second life – is coming undone.
It started unraveling six weeks ago, when Rae pressed itself against the door to Mail's office and listened to all the insane, incredible things Mail had to say. And even then, Rae was convinced Mail's words would be proven to be lies.
There was just no way, after everything, that L could be trying to protect Rae. It made too much sense for L to be a monster, a demon, and evildoer, lurking in the dark. It made sense that L's affection was false, that their whole, vaguely-defined, infinitely important relationship was a lie.
And then there were the emails and the phone call and Rae keeps expecting to wake up, to find that all of this is untrue. But Rae never sleeps. Its eyes and ears do not lie. Its senses are perfect, and this is real.
L is a liar. L is a liar and a fraud and those alone are sins, are crimes. Those alone are enough to make him a bad person. Rae was deceived. L got the better of Rae, L almost won. If not for Mail and circumstances and a lot of luck, L could have won this whole stupid war. This war over…
…over what? Rae's health?
"Do it," L says, softly.
The world is falling. Everything is…
No. Everything is fine. L is still evil. L manipulated Rae, and Rae can hate him forever. Rae never should have let this happen. Rae never should have accepted anything, without investigating for itself.
Everything is fine.
"Do what?" Rae sneers. "Speak, or I'll drop you."
L lifts one hand, his fingertips grazing Rae's forearm. His touch is light, ticklish and warm. Rae cannot bear it, cannot stand it, after everything.
I hated you I cared for you I hated you I hated you I hated you.
Now what? What the fuck is happening? The world isn't…the world is unstable.
No. Everything is fine. Rae has come too far, now. Everything will be fine.
"You would only threaten that if you could drop me without consequence," L infers. "So…do it. Be rid of me, if you can get away with it. I'm your only weakness. If you kill me, you will be safe."
Rae shakes its head. The world is sloughing, coming apart in great chunks. L is the enemy, always the enemy.
Such a small enemy. So human. So soft. Desperately trying to defend Rae at the cost of his own fucking life.
Oh.
Hell.
Everything comes sharply into focus. L has placed Rae's life ahead of his own.
"Come on," he goads. "Rae. Rae! Just let go."
L has…
The world is…
Rae is spinning, madly, impossibly. Nothing is okay.
"No!" it replies, sharply, abject denial. "No. No."
L cares and Rae cannot escape that. All the evidence points towards it. It is a fact, ironclad, inescapable, ploughing up the universe like so much straw.
L would die, rather than hurt Rae, and that is huge. That should be every sort of victory, but Rae sustains damage instantaneously. The numbers above L's head vanish, from Rae's sight, from Rae's memory. The world is crumbling. The ground underneath Rae opens up and Rae falls and falls and falls, screaming and clawing at the air.
Nothing happens. For several long minutes, Rae does not move, does not drop L, does not say a thing. And L. L hopes. L prays, even, to the god of hell, to every god he can think of. He prays for Rae to survive, to be okay, to loathe him, to be safe, whatever it takes.
His Rae. His thing. That he has tried so hard to save.
And then he stops hoping, stops praying, because Rae's eyes go brown. As brown as mud, as the coffee stain on L's well-worn shirt.
"No," L says, quietly, shaking his head in horror. "No. No. Rae. Don't."
I can make you hate me. If you just give me a chance, I can make you hate me again.
Why won't you let me save you?
"Don't," Rae says, furiously. "After everything you've done. Fuck you, you monster."
It throws him, then. It throws him with a strange little half turn, so he goes barreling back into the office and slams into the wall instead of tumbling to his death.
He should have died. He wants. He wants Rae to be okay. No price is too high as long as Rae is okay.
This is what love feels like.
It's why Misa was incapable of independent thought, why Rem lacked agency. This feeling is consuming, dwarfing everything. Guilt and anger and shame, because how could he have failed at this, this most important task.
L falls to the floor with a thud, and stays there.
"Why did you pry?" he asks, sadly. "Why couldn't you have just accepted things?"
"Why didn't you tell me what you were doing?" Rae spits.
"Because it wouldn't have worked," L replies. "And how am I supposed to protect you now? I cannot fool you again."
Rae is upon him in a split second, hands on his wrists, pinning them against the wall, above his head.
"You like me," it says, shakily. An accusation. A question.
Rae is so close. So close, and L desperately, desperately wants to touch it. Now that he can. Now that there will be no consequences, because everything is already ruined.
He's not above this. He wants to be, but he's not.
Rae drags a finger across L's wrist, possibly accidental, possibly out of anger. L twitches.
"Of course," he says, in defeat.
Rae doesn't say anything for a moment. It seems to be thinking, trying to process, judging him.
"Fuck you," it says, finally.
And in one swift movement, it lets him go and disappears through the wall, leaving L entirely alone. L curls up, puts his forehead on his knee, and folds his arms over his own head.
Everything is destroyed, and it is all his fault.
"This is my fault, isn't it?" Raye asks, sadly. "If the Shinigami hadn't manipulated me, you would never have had to say anything out loud."
"I don't see how this is your fault," Mail counters, with a little shrug. "I don't really see how this involves you at all."
Raye gives a little half-nod, unsure of how to respond. Mail is the one who didn't delete the evidence, and L is the one who concocted the lie in the first place. Everyone is to blame.
"This will be better for L," he says, slowly. "Right? I mean, Rae won't hate L, so it probably won't be trying to kill him any more. But Rae will…Rae will be hurt. That's how it works, isn't it?"
"I don't care about the Shinigami," Mail says, flippantly.
Right. Mail cares about L, vaguely, and nobody else. But Raye is worried about everyone. Things are happening, now, and he isn't sure how everything will end. The uncertainty is almost painful.
"And you're sure Rae won't hurt L?" he asks, suddenly nervous. "That's why you said it was okay for us to leave, right?"
"L told us to leave," Mail deadpans. "Besides, what could we possibly do against a god of fuckin' death?"
Raye chews on his lower lip.
"That's actually not very reassuring," he says, morbidly.
His life was a lot easier before the Kira case. Before he knew about monsters and skeletons and other worlds. Back when everything could be killed with a trusty gun and a sure aim.
Mail turns back to his computer, a signal that the conversation is over. Still so self-centered, even when everything is falling apart. And the worst thing is; he's right. There isn't anything they can do. Rae could drop dead right in front of them. Rae could murder L right in front of them. And they'd be forced to stand and watch, like idiots, like animals.
Raye is really sick and tired of this stupid second world.
Ten minutes later, L comes storming into the room, letting the door slam behind him. Raye has never seen him look so angry.
Or so exhausted. Raye is pretty certain that he's developing bags under the bags under his eyes, and that shouldn't be physically possible.
"Mail," L says, vehemently.
Mail doesn't react straight away, and L grabs the back of his chair and turns it, violently, so that Mail is forced to face him.
"L," Mail monotones.
L clutches at the air, impossibly frustrated.
"What did you do that for?" he demands. "You didn't have to apologise, not then and there, and certain not in front of Rae!"
Hearing L yell is one of the most disconcerting things in the world. His appearance is always so sleepy and soft. He looks like he shouldn't be capable of making such a loud noise.
Mail rolls his eyes.
"The plan was already fuckin' ruined," he says, irritably. "Rae knew everything before it even entered the room."
"Had you not confirmed it, I might have still had a chance," L argues loudly, slamming his hand against the desk.
Mail stares at him.
"You're actually trying to fuckin' blame this on me, aren't you?" he says, in disbelief.
"It is your fault!"
"It is not my fault," Mail counters. "It was a long shot, and it failed."
And it's really fucking creepy, the way their roles have been reversed. The way Mail is talking like a reasonable adult and L is screaming and damn near out of his mind.
"You didn't do as you were told!" L hisses. "You deliberately ignored my orders!"
"I agreed to help you with a plan that might endanger your life and chose to put aside an insurance policy," Mail tells him.
His words seem to sap L's strength, because L suddenly sags, like he's been hit in the stomach.
"Why?" he asks, desperately.
"Are you seriously asking him why he cares more for you than he does the skeleton?" Raye asks.
Snap out of it, L. You can't go crazy.
This whole situation is already crazy enough as it is.
"What if Rae dies?" L asks, swiping a hand over his face. "What if it is reduced to nothing?"
"Then you did the best you could," Mail tells him, dismissively. "If you're going to cry, go somewhere else. I'm still trying to catch a hacker, and I don't have any sympathy for you."
"You don't have to be such a fucking asshole," Raye snaps. L looks like he might break in half at any moment.
"Rae is here and Rae is alive and Rae could be with you right now," Mail says, still addressing L. "And yet you're in here, fuckin' shouting at me. Why should I feel sympathy for you?"
Adult or not, Mail is still as single-minded as ever. Rae isn't L's version of Mello. Rae isn't even human, and Mail shouldn't be drawing parallels between the two of them.
L shakes his head, violently.
"No," he says, sharply. "No. How dare you. No!"
"Will the debilitation thing really kill Rae in three weeks?" Raye wonders out loud, trying to diffuse the situation. "I mean, after that it will leave you, right? There's a chance it might not really be harmed at all."
"I don't know," L shouts at him, and that's the bottom line, isn't it? That's why L is scared. "I don't know what will happen."
A year ago, Raye would have agreed. Things that were unknown and things that were unpredictable; those were the most frightening things in his world.
But then, he lost Naomi. And realized that real things, finite things, known things can be the worst of all.
In the absence of absolute knowledge, there is hope. L ought to know that.
"I don't believe you can lie to the Shinigami again," Raye says, reasonably. "And I don't see any value in getting angry at Mail."
He doesn't need the two of them getting into a fistfight, on top of everything else.
L looks anguished. He hesitates halfway between Raye and Mail's chair, like he's still contemplating pursuing the argument with Mail.
Only it's not an argument. It's just L, venting, like he has no idea what to do with himself. In a way, Raye can sympathise with Mail. Rae isn't dead, may never be dead. As far as Raye can see, what's happened is far from terrible.
"I think you should go," he says, in the most authoritative voice he can muster. "Try and come up with another way to help Rae, if you can. But also, I think you should get some sleep."
L looks filthy, and exhausted. His skin is unusually sallow, even for him. And his white shirt is horribly stretched, and stained brown in several places.
Raye wonders what the Shinigami said to him. He wonders if they'll be able to work together again. If they might become friends.
"Or you could work," Mail pipes up, unhelpfully. "I'm pretty close to pinpointing the internet service provider for this hacker."
Not saving Rae shouldn't be such a huge, important deal. It shouldn't matter to L the way Grace mattered and Matsuda mattered and Naomi mattered. It's just a monster, at the end of the day. It's not even the same species as him, and Raye wonders how L managed to get so attached to it.
"Shut up," L says, his voice cracking loudly over the last syllable. "I can't. I've only got twenty-one days. I can't."
He pushes one hand over his eye, broken and pathetic. And Raye wants to help his boss – really, he does – but he has absolutely no idea what to do.
"That's the fourth murder this month," Matthews reports, unnecessarily. "The Chief Executive of GroupCo Limited. If this keeps up, the entire stock market is going to crumble."
Detective Inspector Charlotte King swats at him, irritably. She knows, damnit. She's been chasing the CEO-killer for weeks. She knows.
"Thank you for pointing that out," she replies, icily polite. "Do you have any recommendations on how I might catch this murderer?"
Matthews blanches.
"He doesn't leave any evidence," he points out, backing away and holding up his hands. He's useless, really. He should never have made it to the rank of Deputy. Nepotism. The Chief is his uncle. Charlotte tries to have as little to do with him as possible.
"Everyone leaves evidence," she says, determinedly. "Sooner or later, he'll make a mistake."
Later isn't good enough, though. People are being killed. People are panicking. Matthews might be worried about the well-to-do stockholders, but Charlotte is worried about everyone.
This whole city. This is her city. She's already died for it once.
"We need to call in L," Matthews tells her. "Chief's orders."
Charlotte rolls her eyes. She's prepared for this, too. She's asked around, looked at figures, done her research.
"Negative," she replies, bringing up a neat little graph on her computer screen. Matthews likes graphs. "Look here. In the past month, L has solved fifteen internationally-recognised cases. But this detective – Buzz – has solved twenty-seven."
"You make a convincing argument," Matthews says, nervously. "But the Chief is pretty attached to L."
"L is clearly on the decline," Charlotte replies, neatly hitting print. "Take this to your uncle. Tell him that Buzz is the way to go."
She can't take a risk on a tired old detective. This is her city, and she needs the best there is.
Eventually, L leaves. He leaves when he grows sick of being ignored, of Raye's half-hearted attempts to start conversation. He hates both of his teammates, right now. He hates them for not caring enough, for not taking this seriously, for not valuing Rae the way he does. And he knows that such thought patterns are irrational, unfair, and destructive.
But he doesn't care. His Shinigami. His Shinigami.
L wanders out into the hall, aimless and pointless and desperate to do something. He feels an awful, directionless sense of urgency. Like there's something that he desperately needs to do – and then maybe he'll be able to breathe again and think again and plan how to restore Rae, somehow, again – but the nature of the thing evades him. He feels both wired and disconnected, a bundle of guilt and sadness and loss and desperate rage.
Rae was his charge. Rae was someone he was desperate to protect; and up until recently, confident that he could save. He came so close, so close, three weeks, so goddamn close. And worse. This is worse than anyone else he's ever lost, because even in the beginning, even before they were friends, even back when Rae was his personal tormentor and enemy, Rae was always a constant in L's life. Constantly present, constantly the same.
Rae should never have started to change. Should never have been put in danger. And now they're almost out of time, and L still has no idea what the change means, or whether Rae is a person in hell, or what he's supposed to do. He has no leads, and no way of finding out.
No, wait. Near. Near indicated that he was suspicious of the hell god, too.
But L has no way of contacting Near. Near didn't leave him a number. And even if L could contact him, what good would that do? Near would expressly refuse to help a Shinigami. He's not capable of compassion, and he's unlikely to listen to reason.
Mello would help, if he were here. Mello would understand what it means to love a Shinigami, even if he himself could not empathise.
Near doesn't understand love at all.
And that is the only thing left. The only card he holds to his chest. Rae does not know exactly how L feels. Not quite.
I love you.
Why did you have to do this?
L picks his way down the hall. It's getting dark outside. He wonders if he can sleep off this horrible, destructive feeling.
None of this is Rae's fault. L miscalculated. He underestimated Rae and he trusted Mail. He should have done things differently.
Someone he loves will suffer because he should have done things differently. How many times has this scenario repeated itself, now? Should have told Mello he was the favourite. Should have left Matsuda handcuffed to the desk. Should have found Grace sooner. Should have never believed Takada had changed.
So many people. So many mistakes.
Only Rae is different from the others. Rae can never come back. It will not go to hell. It will not go to some other world. It will vanish, from the universe, from L's life.
If Rae vanishes, L wants to vanish with it. L wants, god, L wants everything. He wants to lay down his life to make this right. He wants to carry Rae's death note forever. He wants them to be one, somehow, no matter what it costs him.
Being in love is terrifying.
And this is so bad. L is toxic to Rae. Maybe he's even the boy from Rae's nightmares. Maybe Rae has foreseen its own end.
No.
No!
If Rae is destined to perish, then L will change that destiny. Somehow. He'll stay with Rae, every second of every day. He'll fight the hell-god if she comes. He'll do whatever it takes.
He loves Rae more than Mello. More than Mail and Matsuda and Naomi. Maybe more than all of them put together. He never knew he was capable of so much selfless, illogical emotion.
Maybe that's enough.
But if love were enough to save someone, then Mello never would have gone to hell.
There are no answers. L can think and hope and reason and despair and never come up with a solution. He's just going around in circles.
Someone shoves him facefirst into the wall, puts pressure on his back and pins him there.
"Rae," L chokes.
"Fuck you," Rae hisses.
L tries to think of something to say. Something neutral, something that won't belie or restrict any possible future plans to make Rae hate him.
He can't think. He feels too big for his skin. He feels like he's back in that observation vehicle, with Rae all over him, holding him down. But he can't think about that. He can't enjoy the sensation. He's too busy hating himself.
Rae doesn't speak. They stay like that for over a minute, and then it releases him and disappears without another word.
L gives up. He goes to his room, locks the door, and pulls the covers over his head.
Rae deserves a better detective than him. A better partner than him. Everything that L wants to be, Rae deserves better.
Maybe Rae will see reason, and choose someone else. Maybe Rae will stop caring for him on its own, in time.
L falls into a deep, dreamless sleep, still clinging to that thought.
Rae is shaken, held under the sway of a thousand different emotions.
Anger/denial/relief/shock/fury/hatred/want.
Everything used to be so easy. Should have been so easy. Especially now, when things are like this. In this body. In this thing that is called Rae, that is new and not old. In this thing that is completely capable of ruling the world.
Winning should have been easy.
But the world is spinning. Dissolving. Coming apart in great chunks. Rae feels as if its mind has been torn in two, divided and cast asunder, exposing all the little, barely-existent, inconvenient feelings that Rae has never needed, never had a use for, never been capable of.
L held down, shirt almost see-through, the curve of his back.
This is how it feels to go mad.
Rae glances at the clock. It's after eleven. Two floors up and one room to the left, L will be sleeping. Rae knows he'll be sleeping, because Rae knows his schedule, knows the hangdog look he gets when he's exhausted, knows the holes in his jeans and exactly how much dirt is under every fingernail.
Rae has spent half its life following L, cataloguing L. This isn't a new thing. It's a new development of an old thing. An impossible new development, the way a motor vehicle might suddenly sprout a forked tongue. Infuriating. L should never have crept out of his box. He should never have changed. He should have stayed the same, arrogant, evil, dislikeable asshole that he always was.
That he tried so hard to pretend to be, for Rae.
Rae's thoughts are treacherous. Every so often they turn saccharine and gentle, delivered like a punch to the gut, a kick to the face. Rae wants to stop. Rae cannot stop. It keeps playing, over and over, like an ancient record.
L is.
L is.
L is.
Defies categorization.
L is.
I did it.
L is.
No, no, no! It wasn't me!
L is…sleeping.
IT WASN'T MY FAULT!
It doesn't matter, does it? The past is irrelevant. Rae is Rae. It can almost hear L breathing from here. Slow and regular and unconscious. Vulnerable.
Rae should kill him. Rae should…defend…
L lied. L lied and struggled and suffered and did everything he could to guard Rae from what he believed to be a terrible fate. But Rae is fine. This is fine. This blindness, this debilitation. This is nothing.
This is nothing, because.
L still has to use the notebook. It's laughable, how he hasn't even figured out why. There's barely anyone left that he cares about, it shouldn't be that fucking difficult.
Maybe he was too busy trying to protect me?
Another example of L being utterly wrong. Rae will win and Rae will be king and Rae will have everything. Perfect, perfect, beautiful world. Rae will have everything, because it deserves everything.
L is part of everything, Rae realizes, with a not-entirely-unpleasant lurch. The consequences of today stretch on forever, annulling all that darkness. Annulling all those days where Rae felt betrayed and degraded and alone. All those days when Rae was furious. This isn't about beating L. This is about winning L, which is so much better, because it lasts forever.
Rae's condition is irrelevant, because Rae can be king and claim the thumb-sucking, doll-eyed human trophy.
The world is starting to come together, remade, anew. Different. Prettier. Shining. No matter how Rae feels, Rae is safe, because L loves to the point of infatuation. To the point of obliterating his own self defence, his own will to live. He's like Misa. Like Rem.
So it's okay. It's okay that Rae feels different. Softer. Slightly less whole. It's okay, because this is still a competition and L fell first, and Rae can use him to cushion the fall. It's okay, because L has already been won, and Rae doesn't have to sacrifice a thing.
Wow.
This is so good. This is better than good. This is being dealt a handful of aces. This is everything, exactly as it should be, better than Rae could possibly have envisaged.
Winning will be easy.
Rae is winning.
When L wakes up, the sun is still low in the sky. The room is cool.
I want cereal for breakfast, he thinks, muzzily. Something made from corn. With sugar. And honey. And maple syrup.
For a few seconds, he thinks only of that, shifting slowly under the covers, his mind pleasantly blank. And then he remembers. Rae knows. Rae knows. His plan has failed and everything is ruined.
All he wanted was for Rae to be safe.
L can never have the things he wants.
Well. It's not as if he doesn't desire a world where Rae doesn't hate him. It's not as if he's adverse to Rae looking at him without loathing, to maybe being able to talk to Rae again, to solve cases together, oh god.
It's not as if he's adverse to Rae shoving him up against walls.
In the absence of being able to protect Rae, he might as well…
No. No, no, no. He can't. He can't be complacent. He can't give up. He has to stop Rae from getting any more attached to him. He has to minimize the damage, and he has to devote every free moment in his life to trying to find a way to make Rae hate him again.
He can't give up. Rae is worth too much.
This thing that tormented him and blamed him and hated him and cared for him and still, even now, supports Light over him. This thing is worth too much.
L swipes the hair out of his eye. He still feels awkward; antsy and tense. Wound too tight, waiting to snap. He should get up. He should go for a run, maybe. Or immerse himself in the hacker case. Or pick a fight with Mail, because god knows L isn't done with him yet.
I did everything for you, and this is how you repay me?
He wants to go and talk to Rae, and gauge just how furious Rae is right now. His stomach goes strange and fluttery at the mere thought of it, like he's some socially-normal thirteen-year-old with a crush. And, if he's honest with himself, he wants to see those brown eyes again, just once. He wants…more.
L's hand spasms involuntarily, making the sheet pucker under his fingers.
And okay. He could try that. He needs to try something, after all. He can't even think straight, the way he is, now.
L reaches down, fingers ghosting over his abdomen, sliding beneath the elastic of his underwear. He's done this maybe twice before in his entire life. He's never had needs. When he was younger, his lack of sex drive was just one more facet of being an emotionally-deficient, super-rational sleuth. Just another unnecessary thing he'd discarded, like regular bathing, and shoes.
And friends.
He always used to be desensitized. Numb to the touch. Apathetic to affection. He used to consider himself more evolved than other humans, because he'd risen above any need for basic, animalistic comfort.
Then he met Rae.
He wants Rae's hands on him, all the time. He wants Rae's fingers. He wants.
L shakes his head, hard. He can't let himself get carried away. This is a purely mechanical venture. He needs to get this done quickly so that he can devote himself to planning ways to restore Rae.
Faster.
He doesn't particularly like the feeling of skin on skin. It's sort of disgusting, his hand is going to get dirty, and he hates anything that requires him to use a fist. Especially like this, over and over.
And over.
He hates this tenseness, building up under his skin, static electricity. He doesn't normally do this, but he needs to hurry anyway. He's bored here, not quite able to think straight, his brain just slightly more stupid than it was before he started.
This had better work.
But that's the story of his life, recently. Desperately flailing for answers, forced to employ dubious methods that are likely to end up nothing more than a waste of time. He's past his used-by-date, sad old detective with his hand in his pants.
"Mail wants to speak to you," Rae announces irritably, walking unannounced through the wall. "You need to…what are you doing?"
L rolls his eye, but doesn't stop. He's almost done. He thinks he's almost done, anyway. He's not actually very good at this.
"What are you doing?" Rae asks again, this time sounding genuinely curious. It occurs to L that maybe he ought to be ashamed. He's technically covered calf-to-chin by the blankets, but his actions must be fairly obvious. Rae's eyes are the colour of dark chocolate. L meets them and never wants to look away.
He could stop, but he's aiming to be an asshole. 'Masturbating-is-more-important-than-talking-to-you' seems to be a fairly legitimate strategy to make Rae hate him again. It seems like the sort of egotistical, hedonistic, self-centered attitude that Light might have had, and Light is the most detestable person L knows.
He really does not want to be thinking about Light at a time like this.
Rae approaches the end of the bed, and tilts its head.
"I thought you didn't do things like this," it says, voice carefully neutral, expression carefully blank.
"Can you just go away?" L demands, but his voice sounds too-high and choked. "Come back in ten minutes."
He could stop, but he really doesn't want to, now that Rae is here.
The Shinigami closes a hand over L's left ankle, the movement slow and intense and deliberate. And then L does stop, distracted and bewildered and-
Don't ever let me go.
"Sure, I could do that," Rae says, and its voice sounds odd, too. Like it's battling the urge to…to growl, or something. It rubs one finger up the middle of L's foot, and L feels it like ten thousand volts applied directly to his spinal nerves. "Or I could stay. I could stay and you could keep going."
L closes his eyes, briefly, trying to preserve the moment. He can't think. He can't process. If Rae stays, if Rae keeps touching him, if he...
L is burning up. He wants to keep going, but he's not sure he's actually capable of operating his own fingers and hands at this point. He's blind and tumbling. He thinks maybe he wanted this all along, maybe from that very first day that Rae appeared behind him, reflected in the mirror. Maybe it was always headed here, to this moment.
If he does this…
Rae swipes at his foot again, and L has to battle the urge to curl into a delirious little ball. His feet are sensitive, apparently, and Rae knows. Rae knows things about him that he doesn't know himself. Rae is drowning out everything else in L's life, L's best friend and soul-mate, the center of the universe.
L needs to save Rae, somehow.
L needs…
"Okay," L gasps, stupidly, because he physically cannot say anything else. Because he wants to maintain some ridiculous pretense that his brain is still functioning normally. Because he wants Rae more than anything else in his life. "Yeah. Okay."
It takes a while, because L keeps losing track of what he's meant to be doing. Rae keeps stroking his foot, over and over, dragging him steadily towards the edge without even doing anything indecent.
Indecent.
He's never wanted anything like this before. It washes over him in waves; pleasure and pressure and want and burn and okay.
He's safe here. He wants this to go on forever. He needs this to end, very very soon. He can't control his own fucking body, and that ought to be terrifying, but Rae is here and L is fine.
"Faster," Rae tells him, voice low and authoritative. "Geeze, how can anyone be this bad at jerking off?"
I haven't had much practice, L wants to say, but what comes out is 'nghh', so he goes with that instead. It pretty much articulates how he feels, anyway.
He still needs to figure out a way to restore Rae. He still needs to oh fuck touch me like that again.
Rae has his foot. His foot. Rae should not be capable of doing this much to him.
Rae could probably do this much to him just by standing quietly in the same room. Rae makes L feel crazy with a glance, with a single gesture.
"Faster," Rae says – Rae commands – and it sounds like it's actually amused at all of this.
"Can't go faster," L grits. "I'll explode."
"The point," Rae says, and smirks, and oh fuck, there's the fucking edge. L is white-hot, everywhere. He's not actually sure he's going to survive this. He's going to die, right here, right now. He's going to die of good.
But he moves his hand faster anyway, even though he can't stand it, because Rae told him to.
Is this going to hurt, he wonders, vaguely.
"If you don't know how this feels, I'm not going to tell you," Rae informs him, so apparently L said that out loud. "Go. Faster."
Breathing is starting to seem extraneous, so L holds his breath. Rae pushes its thumb against the base of his toes, and why does L have so many nerve endings in his feet? What's the use of that, other than…other than…other than…
The thought solidifies and freezes in L's head, cycling, over and over. He can't. He can't. He is actually going to die of sex.
Rae meets his flustered, unfocused gaze and caresses the arch of his foot, and L feels it like a fucking freight train to the groin, everything careering into brightamazinggodgodgodfuck.
L spends a good three minutes blearily trying to work out whether he's conscious or not, and whether he's ever going to be able to move again. He thinks all his limbs might be permanently broken, but he feels liquid and comfortable and good, like. Like he needed that.
He doesn't understand his own body any more. He doesn't understand, but god, he wants to do that again. Later. After his brain re-solidifies.
Rae is still touching his foot. Lightly, now, like it's considering tickling him again. Like it is actually trying to drive him insane. The sensation is overwhelming.
God no stop stop stop I can't.
I want to crawl inside your chest and stay there forever.
It belatedly occurs to him that he's not actually under the blankets any more. Rae must have moved them, at some point, when L was too distracted to even notice. L is too exhausted and satiated to care. Rae watches everything he does. This is simply the logical progression of their relationship.
This was inevitable.
L clutches weakly at the pillowcase. He's still tingling. Still floating half a foot above the mattress. Rae lets go of his ankle – finally, finally – walks to the head of the bed, and grabs him by the chin.
"You," it says, sternly. "You are mine, now."
This wasn't part of the plan. L had a plan, and it didn't involve having – holy hell – having sex with Rae. L has to save Rae, somehow.
Rae obviously isn't scared, though. Rae doesn't seem at all concerned by its eyes, or the state of its wings. Rae is pursuing him, offering him everything he ever wanted.
L is pretty sure he's not capable of lying, right now.
"Yes," he says, quietly, covering Rae's hand with his own. "Yes. Yes."
He would have probably gone on saying yes forever, but his voice gives out, and he can do nothing but hang on.
"Good," Rae says, sounding insufferably smug, like the cat who got into the cream and the butter and the milk and the whole trawlerful of salmon. "Don't you forget."
tbc
a/n:
+ hopefully this bit wasn't as painful to read as it was to write.
+ still no promises about when the next chapter will be posted. /unreliable writer.
+ thank you so much for taking the time to read. I really appreciate it.