Author's Note: I do not and never will own Death Note.
Warning for self harm.
Your breath ghosts over his lips, redolent of peppermint and strawberry cake (your favorite). He opens his eyes, scrunched brows smoothing out when he realizes it's just you.
"What is it, Ryuzaki?" he asks, and your alias grates on you in ways you can't explain, making your teeth hurt in a way the sugar never can.
"It is time for a break, Light-kun," you say simply. The others have long since left or gone to bed, and only the steady tick of the clock has remained to mark the passage of time between the two of you. "You need rest if you are to remain in full possession of your faculties to catch yourself, I mean, Kira."
"I'm not Kira," he insists, fondness laced below the words, because this thrust-and-parry is so familiar, it's haunting.
You set out for your bedroom, trusting to the handcuff chain to pull him behind you. He stumbles, but you don't hesitate. In moments, he catches up with you, grumbling under his breath, but his slouch and the bloodshot cast of his eyes belies the truth in your words. He needs sleep, even if he doesn't know it yet.
So do you, but you know that you won't find it this night. The insomnia has not yet reached the delicate, razor-sharp pinnacle where you can balance, arms flung out and mind finally, blissfully blank. The only other way you can force your eyes to close for more than a few minutes is impossible with Light still shackled to your wrist. He will notice if you scratch ladder lines up your arms, and the thought of him finding you weak is punishment enough. Kira has little need for those who cannot keep up.
It's amazing, you reflect as you wait for Light to be done in the shower, curled up on the floor with your knees huddled against your chest. He is humming something under the spray of water, but you can't quite make it out. You're in love with a mass murderer, and the thought doesn't horrify you like it would have in the past. You know he will try to kill you. You know there is a good chance he will succeed. You knew going into the Kira case that your death was a very real possibility, and you have made peace with the upcoming event, with the sound of the church bells that have tolled in the back of your mind since you were young.
There is a seventy point six percent chance that he loves you too, but you hold no illusions that will stop him. True love conquering all is for fairy tales and you outgrew those a long time ago. You pop a lollipop in your mouth and smile ruefully around it. The funny thing is that you're not sure he's outgrown them yet, no matter the flat sheen in his eyes when he tries to patch over the holes in his memory.
You don't even notice you're scratching your arm until the stinging finally penetrates your daze and you look down, mildly surprised, to discover several long, bleeding scratches trailing down the underside of your forearm, though thankfully not the one that will remain bracelet'ed with the handcuff. Shaking your shirt sleeve down, you hitch yourself to your feet, just in time to treat yourself to the view of Light in only a towel. Your lollipop nearly falls out of your mouth.
"Are you going to take a shower?" Light asks and you hesitate before finally nodding.
"You must stay in the bathroom," you instruct before you realize this means there's a good chance he will see your weakness, displayed in puffy red lines. He doesn't notice as you strip your shirt off, though, painfully aware of how malnourished-looking your own body is. The water is painful, needling down on your skin, but it relaxes you in ways you can't begin to understand. Your shampoo smells like strawberries, and you don't even hiss when the foam slides past your new wounds.
"Ryuzaki," Light starts when you step out, towel wrapped around you like a shield.
"Yes, Light-kun?" you inquire, but you're spared the necessity of a reply when he's suddenly right there, his eyes asking permission, as his mouth slants over yours. He's tentative at first, then more aggressive, his fingers tangling in the sopping mop of your hair, arms resting along the fragile contours of your neck.
"Enough," you finally gasp, your breath ragged and not quite there. He's awkward and blushing, full of mumbled apologies, but you brush them away with shaking fingers as you dress yourself in a new long-sleeved shirt and jeans. The quick movement aggravates your scratches, and tiny pinpricks of red show up on the underside of the fabric, blooming like secret fruit.
"Sleep, Light-kun," you tell him as you re-attach the handcuffs, and the jangle of the chain grounds you. He looks at you, and it feels like his eyes will swallow you whole.
"Sleep," he agrees, and brushes your hair out of your face.