A/N: This chapter is going to take a quick break from Light's story and get into the head of the most infamous bandit in the west. Yup, BB!
Also, in the "Beyon' Bertday" chapter, I had changed his ages, but I didn't save them and then I posted it...So he's about 10 years older than Light.

Rated M for yaoi.

Just as I expected. Lawliet, my L, was challenging me. How clever, L; Lind L. Tailor. But, I was always a step ahead of him. It was why I hired Higuchi to track him down: To see if he had decoys all across the country. And he did. According to Higuchi, people called Tailor Lawliet when he was young. Of course, this was a false fact that L had planted.

Lind L. Tailor: Age 20. Born and raised in a small town; his parents died when he was 15. At 19, he raped and murdered a woman out of cold blood. He was to be hanged, but he was let go if he promised to tell people his name was 'L' and that he was called Lawliet when he was young.

My cunning L, using a criminal who should have been dead for your own advantage. Tailor was placed to see if I would go after L; it was a challenge and, by having Higuchi kill him, I accepted it. What other choice did I have? My L's face haunts my dreams and forms anything pleasant into a nightmare. This addiction, this yearning was too strong to resist. I paid Higuchi well and sent him off.

L had been testing me since he left, seeing how far I would poke my head out so he could snap it in half. But, I wouldn't fall for his tricks. I knew him well for quite some time, after all.

Three years ago, I was headed back to my house when I my horse nearly trampled over a boy in the middle of the desert. He was covered in blood; the smell of the salty delicacy pierced my nose. The sun was peaking up from the horizon. The boy, who was curled on the dirt, stared up at me with a void gaze. From just his appearance, I could tell he had been awake all night. The blood was dried on his cheeks and his fingers and pants were stained. His large, wide eyes had heavy bags underneath them

"Boy, what are you doing out here at this time?" I asked. "Don't you know there are crazy people around here?"

"Do you have water?" was all he replied as he pushed himself to his feet.

His knees wobbled and he collapsed again. I hopped off my horse and wrapped his arm around my shoulder. He gratefully accepted the canteen I offered him, taking a long drink. When he finished the container, he oddly lay against my chest and closed his eyes. He smelt of blood and sweat. I didn't ask him whose blood it was or why it covered him, frankly, I didn't care. It intrigued me to see a hollow teenager blanketed with blood.

Why did I help the boy? The truth was he reminded me of myself; physically and psychologically. I recognized the emptiness that lurked in his eyes; his indifference towards death; the desperation for affection as he cuddled his cool body against mine; the blood he had bathed in. Plus, he would die relatively soon.

Lawliet; 5 years, 214 days, 13 hours, 42 minutes and 20 seconds.

"Would you like to come to my home and sleep in an actual bed?"

"Yes."

He didn't speak for three days after that. If I asked him a question he would simply nod or shake his head. And if it wasn't a 'yes' or 'no' question, he would just ignore it. His delicate body usually crouched in a strange position, with his knees at his chest. Most of the time, I would have to force myself not to cradle him and bring him to my bedroom. He was young, but A. had taught me age didn't matter; only desire did. Besides, I could see in his empty eyes that whatever had happened to him made him fragile and easy to mold.

"Boy," I had to refer to Lawliet as this because he had never actually told me his name. "Would you like some jam?"

Steadily, the boy opened his mouth. I braced myself to hear his cool, ragged voice again. But no words came out. Instad, he just shook his head. I shrugged, more for me.

"Bu-but do you have anything sugary?" he suddenly asked.

His voice sent shivers down my spine. "Not here, but I will get some on my next trip out," I promised.

My yearning for him was originally pure lust. Maybe I sought in him what A. found in me. With A. dead, I was left with no one. I had to fend for myself, teach myself how to fulfill the blood lust that burned through my veins. A. taught me not to kill on a whim, but observe. With my unique eyes, observing was a bit of a hobby. When he died, I decided I would only kill those who were close to death. It was a good choice, too; it gave me a strict sense of morals that I could obey.

"My name's L, by the way," the boy suddenly said.

"L?"

"Yes."

He was smart. My identity was the only thing that had protected me all these years from being caught. No one could connect the name "Beyond Birthday" with my face; another trick A. had taught me. Most bandits kept their original names, but they all got caught sooner or later. I figured they did it for the fame and the respect; they got the hanging they deserved.

"Can I tell you a secret?" I asked him.

Lawliet blinked at me, but finally said sure.

"I know your name is Lawliet."

At first, his eyes filled with panic, but as I explained my unique eyes to him, they began to shine with wonder.

"When will I die?" he asked. I told him

He stuck his thumb into his lip and stared absentmindedly at the floor. "That's soon."

I shook my head solemnly, hiding the excitement that rose in my chest as I thought about killing him when his time was low. He shrugged his shoulders and continued to stare at the floor.

Two weeks passed and we'd grown comfortable with each other. He relied on me for everything, allowing me to control him how I pleased. Whatever will power he had had before I found him in the middle of the desert had completely evaporated. He would let me manipulate him any way I pleased, pointing out when I was trying to trick him, but he would do what I wanted. One day, I told him about A. Kinan.

"I know the man who killed him," he muttered. "He was Light's father."

My ears perked up. A boiling desire for revenge burned in my chest. "Whose Light?"

"No one," he answered calmly.

The first time he allowed me to touch him, he also allowed me to take his innocence. It was a cold night and the wind howled out the window, rattling the frame to get in. Normally, he slept on the floor, but that night, he immediately went to my bed. I restrained myself from touching his body, until he took my hands and placed them on his bare chest. For a moment, we lay in silence as I felt his heart begin to beat faster.

The connection was evident. I grabbed his chin and roughly pushed my lips on his. He didn't fight back and, after a few seconds, he kissed me back. His lips were sweet and I longed to feel the inside of his mouth. I forced my tongue into his mouth. Soft moans escaped his mouth as I dragged my tongue along the palate of his mouth. I embraced him, pulling his body towards me. His body was limp, but it was easily to hold him. After moments of hesitation, he finally accepted my embrace and wrapped his own arms around my torso. His fingers traced my spine and I immediately felt myself grow from his touch.

His skin was warm and soft. My hands rummaged all through his body, until I got to his pants. As I slipped my hand in, grasping him firmly, he gasped. His large eyes strangely lit up; it was the first time I had seen any reaction from him. I yanked his pants off and tossed him onto his stomach on the bed. He lay there silently, bracing himself. I wet myself with my saliva and positioned myself. I heard him whimper, but it only made me want him more.

I shoved myself into him. He only grunted, digging his fingers into the pillow. He felt so good, so tight. When A. was alive, I had only received, so it was a sweet relief to thrust into the boy as hard as I wanted. I pounded into him; he never made much noise. Ecstasy burned in every inch of my body. I was building myself up and, when I felt as if I were ready to burst, I drove myself deeply into him one more time, pouring myself into him. I pulled out and flipped him over, kissing him roughly. He didn't object to not receiving his own pleasure, he just lay there in silence.

Thinking about it now it tormenting. The way he used to stare at the ceiling after I fucked him; how he would never make a louder noise than a grunt; how he would never look at me while I pounded into him. He always matched me intellectually, knowing exactly what I wanted. But, one day he decided he was too good for our chaotic lifestyle. What I had imprinted to him had faded. He didn't want me anymore. He had wrote a note.

I clutched the piece of paper, that's contents I had memorized.

Dear BB,
This isn't what I was meant for. Don't try to find me.
-L

Of course I would try to find him. What else did I have to do? I didn't want to find him and kill him because I resented. No, it was because his time was running short. Besides, everything that happened between us was all fun and games, and I would soon be triumphant.