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Friday: 6:57AM - 10:57AM
On the face of it, the only victim here is Light’s pride.
“It's like,” says Ryuk. “A side effect?”
“Of what ,” grits Light.
Ten minutes ago, just downstairs, Light had blurted out that a month or so prior there had been a day on which Ryuzaki had forgotten to shave, and that the memory of his scruff sometimes popped into Light's head at night now that he was sleeping alone again. A resounding silence had followed in which Light’s stomach tried to digest itself.
“It can happen when you regain your memories,” says Ryuk. “It’s not forever.”
“How long?”
“Dunno.”
“Why didn't you tell me this could happen,” Light demands.
“Dunno?” Ryuk says again. “I forgot. It's not like I know everything, hey.”
“That is eminently clear,” snaps Light, followed by, “Sometimes I'm tempted to poke you in the eye like you're a mullet at the fish market.”
“Hey,” says Ryuk, injured.
Light had awoken at 6:57 this morning, three minutes ahead of his alarm. At that time, there had begun an odd churning in his chest which he'd seen fit to ignore. Anxiety, indigestion—any number of things might arise from the internal dissonance he'd felt when he touched the Death Note once more and felt his psyche tried to stitch closed two disparate sides of his ideology. It's not unexpected that he might still be a little off-balance, stuck reconciling three odd months into a lifetime.
Since waking up, he'd been downstairs three hours and forty-two minutes until his outburst. Light checks his watch, wondering how long this whole situation was going to last. As luck would have it, the second hand hits twelve and the intercostal roiling and churning dissipates.
“Well,” says Light, mentally declaring time of death at 10:57AM on Friday, 29 October 2004.
Sunday: 4:21PM - 8:21PM
Friday, 29 October 2004 is promptly scratched out of the ledger. Once dead, a person can never come back to life. Turns out, fucking problems can.
The facts as Light has gathered them, over three days of agonising observation:
- This is not a once-off illness, it is a chronic condition.
- One period of forced honesty lasts exactly four hours.
- The phenomenon occurs once every calendar day.
- They will not be the same four hours every day; that is, the period may begin at 2:33PM one day and 7:13AM the next.
- They will, however, be four consecutive hours; that is, if the period begins at 2:33PM it will continue until 6:33PM.
- The start of a truth period is signalled by a feeling in his chest. This may vary in sensation.
- Go too long without speaking, and the risk increases that something will get blurted out against his will.
- Minor truths ease the pain temporarily. Only major truths can sate it. Nevertheless, relief will never last long so long as the four hours are not up.
- Light can feel a period of honesty start and stop, but can do nothing to alter it.
- L has noticed the change.
Unknown still:
- The condition will last […] days…
Ryuk sees Light looking at him and says “Dunno,” and then drifts uncertainly up to phase his head through the ceiling so Light can’t reach his eye to poke it.
Also:
- Ryuzaki didn't shave this morning.
“Ooooh,” simpers Ryuk, for all intents and purposes still headless. Never before has Light come so close to snapping shut up at dead air.
The jab hasn't gone unnoticed by the task force. Even Aizawa snickers when Ryuzaki baldly scratches his whiskery chin. Only Soichiro bothers coughing to conceal his smile, still bent on protecting his son's dignity.
“Is something wrong, Yagami-kun?” Ryuzaki asks him. “Anything you'd like to confess?”
L cannot simply be playing with him for the sake of it. No, the only explanation is that as careful as Light has been to wire his trap shut, to only spend his compulsive honesty on harmless truths, L has noticed the odd bouts even if he doesn't understand what’s causing it. Ryuzaki has had eight hours of pure truth to work with and today he will have four more. Even as that quick, jumpy brain works to solve the Case of the Uncanny Candour, Light knows L is simultaneously working to exploit it.
Denial will only make him look worse. More foolish, more guilty. Light forces a smile. Today's hours have not yet begun, so the truth is coerced now not by some supernatural compulsion but simply by his will to live, as much his concealing silence is when the compulsion comes on. “You look nice today,” he says.
“If I'd known Light-kun had such proclivities—”
“You don't dress to impress me, though, Ryuzaki.”
“Well, I could,” says L. “Your compliment was so nice, I’d like to hear more.”
“Let's get back on topic,” says Soichiro.
Light shoots him a grateful look. His father thinks he's only protecting his son's injured pride.
L pops his lips off his lollipop with an obnoxious smack . “Are you cold, Light?”
“No, I'm fine,” Light says automatically.
“You have gooseflesh,” L points out. Light curses himself. Today's hours have not yet begun. Now L knows he still has a chance.
“You're hot, right, Light-o? Hot for Ryuz—”
“I'm going to the bathroom,” Light says loudly, like this will do a fucking thing to get rid of his cackling tail, like he might leave the honest voices in his head behind.
Monday: 12:39PM - 4:39PM
The upside to having met someone who can match him for the first time in his life is also, Light reflects, a very obvious downside. So far, L seems to have worked out the following: that there are periods when Light's tendency to honesty is altered; that these periods happen daily; and that Light has little to no control over them. He does not know why, though frankly if L were able to figure out that much he'd deserve the win.
L’s strategy for drawing Light out has been to ask offhand, innocuous questions at random hours. These are questions Light cannot reasonably ignore or risk looking rude or suspicious, and questions with easily verifiable results, like “have you tried this cake” or “do you have the time”. If Light's answer is demonstrably false, L waits, and Light feels the danger sharpen with the stirring in his chest. If Light's answer is true, L closes in, each test question more pointed than the last. The effect that this tactic has is that Light cannot afford to lie for no reason or dodge too many questions, else L will be able to zero in on the real hours, and that could prove disastrous.
The effect that this has is that rather than there being four hours a day in which Light cannot lie, there are at least fifteen.
The more annoying tactic by far is that L will also pepper in the occasional, “Oh, by the way, are you Kira?” which is getting harder and harder to scramble around. Again, Light is not actually compelled to answer anything; it’s only that any answer he gives can't be untrue. To literally any other interrogator this would pose absolutely no challenge for Light, but L’s sharp senses catch a sidestepped answer as easily as they do a false one, and so Light is forced to tread more carefully than he ever has. Too many idle lies and the compulsive truths lose their disguise. For the first time in his life, Light finds himself expelling the honest answer from his throat rather than the best one, even when his heart is calm and his lungs aren't burning. It doesn’t come easily. It feels like trying to free an animal that’s only ever known captivity. Truth is a trial when the hours are off and a helpless instinct when they’re on, meaning Light can never, never relax.
More troubling than anything is the fact that with the formation of a habit, the truth is rising more and more easily to his lips as the days pass. If he isn’t careful, he’ll say something fatally honest when he doesn’t even have to.
“How would you describe your feelings about me right now, Yagami-kun?” Ryuzaki asks.
“Annoyed,” says Light automatically. His chest is perfectly still.
His mind roars: the old Light would have been doing damage control now for a slip like that. But, no—try to fix it, to smooth it over, and L will know he can still lie.
Ryuzaki's eyes are round with delight. “I see,” he says. “Is there anything I can do to put you at ease?”
He’ll have to lean into it. Which to select: a truth, or a lie that sounds like one? Which is which? Light says, “No, it's just the way you are, you can’t help it.”
Ryuzaki nods thoughtfully.
“Sometimes,” he says, “when you tell me something unpleasant, you look like you're struggling not to. Other times you speak easily. I wonder why that is, Light-kun.”
Fuck . Fuck.
Light keeps his face neutral. “I guess it depends how annoying you're being, Ryuzaki,” he says, kicking himself. The effort—the talent, really—to sound natural when he’s lying is only shooting him in the foot, and he should have known. He offers L a cheeky grin. “It's easier to be rude to you when you're pissing me off.”
“I see,” says Ryuzaki, nodding like this makes perfect sense. His black eyes are as unreadable as ever.
Light wonders, how would L fare in his shoes? For a detective, he really isn't overly concerned with the whole truth and nothing but. Light entertains himself briefly with an imaginary Ryuzaki who couldn't use his cheap little tricks to back people into corners. He wonders how much Ryuzaki would even have left to say.
“Hey, Ryuzaki,” he finds himself saying, just as the feeling begins to creep back into his chest. It’s akin to being underwater too long, Light thinks even as he tries to brace himself, without coming up for air.
This is the worst possible timing. He’s only just put Ryuzaki on notice, hoping to fool him, and now—the words swim before his eyes before they pop out of his mouth—oh, god, stop!
“Yes, what is it?”
“If you could ask me any question, not related to the investigation, and I had to answer honestly, what would it be?” Why would he say that? This isn't even a fact! It's just…
“Truth, right?” says Ryuk behind him. “That can mean your honest thoughts, your fears and desires and stuff, too. Y’know.”
Desires? What does that mean, that he wants L to know him? That's suicide.
Ryuzaki is scrutinising him curiously.
“Unrelated to the investigation,” he says slowly, “I don't know that I need to know anything about you, Light-kun.”
The swooping in his chest pitches unpleasantly against his will.
“Ouch,” says Ryuk, sounding happier than he's ever been. “Ouchy-wouchy, Light-o-wighto.”
“That’s kind of mean, Ryuzaki,” Light says. “Does that mean if it weren’t for Kira, we wouldn’t be friends?”
“We wouldn’t have met at all if it weren’t for Kira,” Ryuzaki says. “The investigation is our only point of connection.”
“I guess that’s true.” Something bubbles up in his oesophagus—stop, stop, stop! “I’m glad Kira exists so we could meet.”
Ryuzaki raises his—does he have eyebrows?
“Do you have eyebrows?” Light asks. His insides feel like they’ve disappeared.
“That’s a strange thing to say, Light-kun,” says Ryuzaki.
“No, I just always wondered. Your fringe is so long.”
“Are you saying innocent lives are a fair price to pay for our friendship?” Ryuzaki asks.
“Well, I wouldn’t phrase it like that,” says Light, not technically lying.
Ryuzaki glances at the clock. Light bites his bottom lip so hard he tastes blood.
When Ryuzaki speaks again, his voice is strange. “I’m touched, Light.” Not looking at Light, he takes a dainty sip of his peach tea, which is mostly sugar by volume. “Your friendship means a lot to me, as well.”
“I’m glad,” says Light.
“Have you tried any of this tea?” Ryuzaki asks.
“Not yet.”
“What’s the time right now?”
“Twelve forty-six.” Then to make it natural: “You’re looking right at the clock, Ryuzaki.”
Ryuzaki pours him a cup of tea. “Are you Kira?”
Electricity jolts through Light’s entire body. “Jesus, Ryuzaki,” he laughs. “What are you playing at, asking that now?”
“Just curious. You’ll tell me the truth, right?”
Light hopes he gets hit by a train. Falls out a helicopter. Self-immolates. Trips into a wood chipper. He opens his mouth and jams his teeth closed on his own tongue, which tastes itself, all iron and salt. Carefully, he parts his lips and says, “You know I couldn’t lie to you, Ryuzaki.”
L hands him a cup of tea. Light takes it. It’s not that hot, but it still stings his bleeding tongue.
“If you were Kira,” says L, “would you tell me?”
“I would answer yes,” says Light, perfectly honest. “Ryuzaki, don’t you remember? I already turned myself in once when I thought I might be Kira. You cleared me.”
“I suppose that’s true,” says L. “Well, you’re right. I have no reason not to trust you.”
His face is perfectly blank when he says it, but he’s not the only one of the two of them practised in catching a lie. Not that that one was particularly difficult to identify. Every time Light looks away, he feels black eyes boring into the back of his neck.
Three hours and fifty minutes to go. Light tracks the little honesties in his ribs and sorts the safe from the fatal while L readies an endless barrage of silver-coated lies.
Tuesday: 10:16AM - 2:16PM
Truth does not sit at all easily on Light’s tongue. It belongs there the way a bullet does. Heartburn, breathlessness, and the risk of execution: these are not quite the end of its inconveniences. On Tuesday morning, Light wakes up to L leaning over him like a second Shinigami.
“Are you Kira?” he asks.
Light shouts but L doesn’t flinch. “No!” Light snaps. He resists the urge to headbutt L. Behind L’s owlish face, Ryuk is cackling at top volume. “What is wrong with you?”
L shrugs and slouches to Light’s desk. “I was hoping you would be more honest in sleep,” he murmurs. “Just testing a theory. Light, what time is it?”
Light’s alarm goes off.
“It’s seven in the morning,” Light says through gritted teeth. “Get out of my room .”
“I technically own all the rooms in this building.” Light’s pillow hits him in the face. “Okay, I’ll leave.”
It’s probably too much to hope for that his hours for the day might have passed in his sleep. Light isn’t sure if that’s even possible. Either way, he can’t depend on luck. It’s day five and the symptoms show no sign of abating. Until further notice, he should assume he’ll need to spend the rest of his life this way.
If that’s the case, he needs to kill L sooner rather than later. Even Light can’t keep this up forever. He’s going to burn out or slip up. Within the week, L needs to die.
“Oh, kid, you should’ve seen your face,” gasps Ryuk. The second pillow passes right through him.
Will alone, ironclad or otherwise, cannot be relied upon: a lesson Light is learning the hard way with every passing second. At 2:12PM, after three hours and fifty-six minutes of hard won silence, Light says, “I liked waking up to you every morning.”
At L’s sharp look and the task force’s immediate, tangible discomfort, Light quickly adds, “—before, more than I did this morning.” With each passing moment of quiet, the burning in his chest had grown hotter, but Light had been too wary to try even a harmless truth after L's stupid little gambit. “You were really creepy this morning.”
“Sorry about that,” says L. “Are you Kira?”
“And I’m getting really sick of you doing that. Do you think you’re going to catch me out or something?”
“It’s free to ask,” says L. “If you don’t like the question, I can ask something else.”
“I’d honestly rather you didn’t,” says Light.
“Ryuzaki,” Soichiro begins.
Three minutes left. L says, “What would make you become Kira?”
Light glances beseechingly at Soichiro, but his father has fallen oddly silent. Ryuk mumbles, “No one coming to save you this time, kiddo.”
He can feel an answer blooming in his lungs. He scans it, panicked, trying to pluck anything incriminating away, but it’s already flowering in his throat and threatening to choke him. He says, strangled, “Boredom.”
Soichiro says, ashen, “Boredom? Light—”
“Elaborate,” L says, leaning forward.
No. Don’t. “Come on, Ryuzaki, don’t you ever feel it? You’re a detective. Nothing ever changes. Day by day, the bad only get worse, and nobody…” Stop talking! “Nobody ever does anything to stop it. Don't misunderstand me, I know killing is wrong.” Stop there. “But I used to wish someone could act. I’d wish I could act.”
“Before you became Kira?” L asks. His eyes are sharper than they’ve ever been, glowing and crackling with something alive even as they drain all the light from the air.
“This is hypothetical,” Soichiro says softly, awkwardly, “right, Light?”
“Purely,” says L. “Light-kun. This is how you felt before you became Kira?”
Ten seconds. “Honestly, Ryuzaki, don't you ever get tired of asking?” says Light.
“Don't you get tired of lying?” asks L.
“No,” says Light, feeling the fourth hour tick out at last. “I only ever tell harmless lies and I’ve never lied to you. And I'm not Kira. It was hypothetical.”
Something in his expression seems to disappoint L. He sits back, that writhing black fire fading. “Yes,” he says. “Thank you. That was an interesting thought experiment. Light-kun, what time is it?”
“It’s sixteen past two,” says Light.
Wednesday: 11:01AM - 3:01PM
Die with his pride whole and hale, or bruise it a little and persist? The task force hasn’t arrived yet. Light says, “I miss when my bedsheets smelled like you.” His chest rises and falls, breathing easy.
Ryuzaki glances over at him, evaluative. He’s stopped looking surprised when Light makes a statement like that, because the same trick never works for long between the two of them. They’ve both cottoned on that awkward romantic overture signals a period of truth, which means Light’s had to shift gears, which means L can no longer count on it as a sign. Light smiles at Ryuzaki, sweet and sincere. He says, “Your shampoo was pear-scented, right?”
“I can give you some if you like it so much,” says Ryuzaki.
“It’s not the same if it’s not on you.” Light touches Ryuzaki’s hair. Barely perceptible, but there it is: Ryuzaki flinches. “Sorry. Am I making you uncomfortable?”
“What time is it, Light-kun?” Ryuzaki asks him.
“Seven oh six.”
Ryuzaki returns to his computer. “I’m a little old for you, you know.”
“I don’t think so,” says Light. “I always get along better with people who are older than me, anyway.”
“Oh, is Light-kun saying he’s mature for his age? ”
“Well, don’t say it like that.”
Something in Light’s gut, though he can’t point to what it is, has been tugging him toward a precipice. Today is day six and will be hours twenty-one through twenty four. No inkling yet as to when they'll start. Beside him, he can hear L’s gentle breathing. That’ll have to stop, of course.
“You’ve been acting weird lately,” Light says casually.
“I could say the same,” says L.
“Lately you ask a lot of random questions. Forgive me, but… kind of dumb ones.”
L swivels in his chair to face Light. “That would be because your answers are so interesting,” he says. “Light-kun, ever since we caught Higuchi, your speech patterns have changed. No, it’s more accurate to say they’re inconsistent from day to day… hour to hour, even.”
“How so?”
“Sometimes you sound normal,” says L, considering. “Normal for you, that is, which is to say, strange for anyone else, because you always sound too normal when you talk.”
“Maybe normal is just strange to you because you’re strange.”
L seems unimpressed and unaffected by the dig. “Sure,” he says, like it’s not worth arguing the point. Light doesn’t like that tone—usually only Matsuda gets it. “But other times, you sound like you’re fighting with yourself. It’s almost like there’s a whole other person in your chest fighting to get out. The things that person says don’t sound like you at all.”
“Let me guess,” says Light, pulling a face. “That person is Kira?”
“I believe that person is Light Yagami,” says L. “Of course, the first person is also Light Yagami. Isn’t that strange?”
“I think it’s stranger that you’re not making an accusation right now. I thought for sure that was where this was heading. Maybe you’re not as predictable as I thought.”
“I didn’t need to,” says L, perfectly blank. “Light Yagami is Kira. There’s no need for a separate proposition.”
“There it is,” says Light, affecting tiredness.
L returns once again to his screen. “How do you feel about me, Light?”
Light laughs. Halfway through, he remembers to make it sound uncomfortable. “Are you coming onto me, Ryuzaki? I thought you weren’t interested.”
“I didn’t say that. Your advances were unexpected, that’s all. Actually, I can’t really call them advances. They were more like… stumbles, weren’t they? It’s uncharacteristically clumsy of you to let such things slip, Light-kun, which begs a number of questions.”
Ryuk’s chuckling has been going for ten uninterrupted minutes. Light feels a migraine advancing. “Like what?”
“Like,” says L, still not looking at him, “how do you feel about me?”
A trap. Light’s chest is at ease. No burgeoning truths are forthcoming, so he can’t rely on them. L knows what Light’s normal sounds like. Too perfect, too innocent. Pick a safe, neutral answer, and L will know Light can still lie. An outrageous one and L will know Light can still lie. Light’s memories returned a week ago and with them came a pesticide that culled Light’s proclivity to honesty. He can’t rely on that anymore, either. What sounds true? What is true?
“There’s no need to be shy,” L says quietly.
Light’s chest is still. Nothing humming, flittering, thrashing. His heart pumps merrily along, albeit a little faster than normal. Nothing rises like bile in his throat but bile. Nothing tickles around in his lungs until he coughs out some ugly awful thing no one needs to hear. Light clamps his lower jaw to the rest of his skull, and when that doesn't work, tries to swallow his tongue. He chokes on his spit and with the resulting cough tumbles out: “I never felt alive before you.”
Silence echoes between them. Light thinks, I’ve never seen L blink.
A short buzzer sounds. The task force has arrived at the building. Somewhere below, Light hears chattering and footsteps. L has turned to watch the door.
It’s not only until Light thinks the moment may finally have passed that L speaks. In a murmur, L says, “Me neither.”
Another beat passes.
“How ironic,” says L.
Thursday: 7:52PM - 11:52PM
With Ryuk having retired a few hours ago out of sheer boredom, the air is more peaceful than Light can remember it being since he’d gotten his memories back. Ryuk’s no canary, but then headquarters isn’t much of a coal mine.
“By the way, Light-kun, are you Kira?”
“Yeah,” says Light.
His heart lurches. L! Light had been following him through the corridors for five minutes before he’d pulled this. Light had let his guard down, too accustomed to the burning under his sternum to take note of it, like forgetting he had a fever if he’d been warm too long.
Don’t hurry. Speak normally. Light continues, sardonic, “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Ryuzaki?”
L, who had turned in mild interest, sighs again. “Don’t take it personally,” he mutters. “You’re fine as you are, too.”
He’s buying it. Keep your mouth shut!
But, no, that would be just as suspicious. Light Yagami would follow up. Light says, “If I’m Kira, does that make you like me more or less?”
“Hmm,” says Ryuzaki, sounding bored. “If I said that I would marry you if you were Kira, would that make you confess?”
“No,” says Light. Follow up! “Nothing could make me confess to something that isn’t true.”
“Clever,” mumbles Ryuzaki. “If you were Kira, would it make you confess?”
“No,” Light says again. “That doesn’t sound like love to me.”
Ryuzaki still looks bored, but his head turns another millimetre. “Do you want me to love you, Light-kun?”
“If I was going to marry someone, I’d need to know they loved me, yeah. A coerced marriage doesn’t sound fun at all.”
“Then say I loved you,” says Ryuzaki. “But we could only be together if you confessed. Would you?”
“No,” says Light. “I’d know you were lying.”
L stops walking. “Say I couldn’t lie,” he says.
Light stops, too.
“You know,” he says, “I don’t really know what you would sound like if you couldn’t lie.”
“Let’s pretend,” says L. “Will you indulge me, Yagami-kun? Another thought experiment.”
“Shoot,” says Light.
L’s eyes are flat. “Let’s imagine,” he says, “something’s wrong with me. For a set amount of time each day, I can’t lie to you. I can’t explain it. But any answer I give you, any statement I make, it has to be true to the best of my knowledge.”
Light barely dares to breathe.
“Then say I tell you I love you,” says L softly. “I tell you I want to be with you. But you have to tell me the truth, in turn. You are Kira. Indulge me, remember, Yagami-kun. You’re Kira, and I love you. What would you tell me?”
“Hey, Ryuzaki,” says Light, “why are you sure I like you this much?”
Ryuzaki’s lip quirks. “You’re right. Maybe I’m not such a grand prize. Okay, say it’s Misa.” His lip quirks again when Light balks. “Go on. Answer my question, won’t you? Are you Kira?”
“Are we still in the hypothetical situation where you’re in love with me?”
“Yes.”
Light readies himself to scan whatever answer arises, but nothing comes. Does that mean he doesn’t know? He unsticks his tongue and says, “Sorry. I’m trying to play along, but it’s just really hard for me to believe you’d ever feel that way about me.”
“Is that so?” L asks. With his wide eyes and pursed lips, Light could almost believe it’s dismay playing in his voice, but he knows L too well. “How could I convince you?”
Light takes a step back.
“I’m not going to seduce you for the case, Yagami-kun,” says L, amused. “I don’t need to do that sort of thing. Besides, I’m no good at it. I’m merely curious. You won’t answer my question? That’s a shame.”
“I don’t think I want to marry you,” says Light.
“Really? You’d get to see my unshaven face every day if you did.”
“Will you ever let that go?” Light grinds his teeth. “We wouldn’t make a good couple, Ryuzaki. No matter how I might feel about you—” Ugh, can he afford to swallow that down or is it going to make this worse? “—that is—”
“It’s fine, Yagami-kun,” says L, hotly condescending. “You’ve been so transparent lately. No need to backtrack now.”
Light allows his face to colour naturally. Play the part of the bashful, infatuated young man, lean into it. He says, “No matter how I feel about you, we wouldn’t work together, I know that. So you promising to be with me wouldn’t change my answer whether I was Kira or not. If you propositioned me, I’d have to turn you down. Besides, I would never allow you to manipulate my feelings or bribe me like that. No matter what you promised me, if I wasn’t Kira, I’d tell you no, and if I was I’d tell you yes.”
L seems almost pleased. “So tell me,” he says.
“You never answered my question, Ryuzaki. If I’m Kira, do you like me more or less?”
“I like you as much as I’ve always liked you,” says L.
“Which is?”
“Are you Kira?”
“An answer for an answer, Ryuzaki,” says Light, shrugging. “We both know what answer to expect from each other, anyway.”
“Yes,” says L after a moment. “I suppose we do. You’ve been evasive lately, Yagami-kun. You’re usually so forthcoming with your no s and your I’m not Kira s.”
“Maybe I’m tired of saying the same thing over and over again.”
“I don’t believe I’ve ever known you to tire of your own voice.” L starts walking again and Light falls into step beside him. “What time is it, Yagami-kun?”
Light glances at his watch. “Eleven forty-two.”
“What did we have for dinner?”
“Pasta. Watari ordered takeout.”
“Are you Kira?”
“Do you want me to be?”
“Hmm, hm. And how do you feel about me?”
“I don’t want to talk about that,” says Light, “any more than you do.”
Ryuzaki half-smiles. He stops outside the door of the bedroom they used to share.
“If I could only tell the truth,” he says, “Light-kun, what's the first thing you'd ask me?”
Light speaks without thinking, puppeteered by that dancing in his ribcage. “What's your name?”
A slow smile begins to spread across L's face. “And then?”
Light can't stop. “How do you feel about me?”
“Hypocritical,” L murmurs. “Third?”
“If you didn't think I was Kira, would your answer be the same?”
“So self-centred,” L muses. “My name is Ryuzaki. You're my friend, and no, I'd like you more.”
“You don't have to tell the truth,” says Light.
“No,” says L. “I can choose to, though, if I like. I’ll see you tomorrow, Light. Get some rest. It’s been quite a week.”
Light walks all the way down the rest of the corridor. Even as he enters his own room, the feeling of L’s eyes on him doesn’t fade until the acid in his chest recedes. It leaves in its wake the steady thrum of his heartbeat, which continues to race even as the compulsion calms.
“Bad for the nerves, hey, Light,” chortles Ryuk.
Light sticks his hands behind his head. Tomorrow is Friday again.
Friday: 12:00PM - 4:00PM
L looks at him with wet eyes, too tired to be reproachful anymore. Light’s words seem to pass right through him.
“Nothing I say makes any sense, anyway,” L is saying. “If I were you… I wouldn't believe any of it.”
Rain drips onto Light’s nose and then from it. Ryuzaki’s shirt is so soaked through, Light can see his ribs.
Light's own ribs itch, unsatisfied with the listlessness in Ryuzaki's voice.
“Tell me, Light,” says L, and it’s not right to say that Light can only hear static. The static is inside him, expanding, roaring in his ears and buzzing in his throat and foaming through his nose. His fingertips are numb. L keeps talking about hearing bells, but Light can’t hear anything at all.
This ragged, raw beast in his chest, this writhing creature, it’s regressed to pleading. It drowns everything out. Light finds the perfect words and the thing wails in despair, and they go inside as the sun returns for an interlude.
A sunbeam reaches Light's hair and warms his skin. Light shivers. Another drop of water lands on his ankle and the cold radiates out.
“You’re still soaked,” Light tells L, and it’s true but not true enough to sate anything.
L barely seems to notice when Light touches him, repentant and low as the towel moves. “I'm sorry.”
Tell me, Light.
There are coals in his lungs when the phone rings. Rem disappears through the wall. Light sees her go and doesn’t say a word, and his nostrils ache all dry and acrid like something’s smoking.
Light falls when L does—and falling is the only way to describe it, because his brain hadn’t told a muscle in his body to move. Light is on the floor and Ryuzaki is in his arms, puppeteered by clawing, scraping vines branching out from his arteries. His fingers tighten on L’s shoulders. Tell me, Light. From the moment you were born.
Light wonders if the burning will ever stop. He wonders if he might cough up ash. He wonders if the bubbling acid is elation or panic. Fingernails scratch up his larynx and he wonders what made him move.
Ryuzaki gazes up at him. Light sees himself in L’s eyes for the first time as he fades. He loosens his grip.
Saturday