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Kneeling beneath an audience of moon and stars, Light finds himself bent beside L’s grave, breathing heavily as he smooths his hands over the casket. Particles of fresh soil crumble underneath his palm. He regrets not coming here before, when L’s body was at its freshest, but there shouldn’t be too much of a difference a day after, right?
He supposes he’ll find out soon. It wasn’t easy to settle for this, but he knows he has to, if he wants to get a good night’s sleep again. This will be the last time he’ll see L, he’s certain of it. After this, he’ll be back on track to liberating the world of its terrible disease – criminals.
He stills, his mind weighed down by something incomprehensible.
Above all else, he knows what he wants: another victory, sweet like dessert. A different type of sweetness that L could never comprehend. All he needs is this one last high, the sweet taste of grim victory, before L becomes nothing but hollow bone and clothes.
Dessert is meant to be savored, but he can’t waste any time if he wants to avoid being caught.
His fingers tremble over the wooden edges, the only walls separating L from the rest of the world. A closed oyster with a pearl embedded in it. Still fresh enough to enjoy. “Okay,” he whispers, confirming only to himself that it’s time.
He moves, and the casket opens with a quiet click.
There he is.
L’s face is the first thing he sees. Light watches in awe as moonlight kisses his features, casting a dove-white glow over his form. His hair blends into the shadows, threatening to be engulfed back into obscurity, back where he belongs.
Carefully, Light scoops him out and sets him down on the grass, watching nature give way to the new weight laid on top.
From this angle, Light can see everything: the dark circles around his eyes, permanent as scars, the grey hairs sprouting in a field of black, and the faint imprint of the handcuffs they once shared— the only proof of the bond that followed him until his final breath.
He pulls L into his arms, pressing their foreheads together. L’s is cold against his— no different from how he felt when he was alive. His skin was cold and pale as snow, his words icicle-sharp, enough to draw blood, and, in his own ways, sex with him felt like frostbite. Cold and burning. Numbing, if it lasted long enough. It could kill the weak.
He brushes his nose against L’s, closes his eyes, and listens to the nothingness between them. A cool breeze passes, and their hair rustles like leaves on a dying tree. If he wanted to, he could say it was a breath, a confirmation of life. I’m still alive, Kira. You haven’t gotten rid of me yet. Here I am.
But he did not come here to lie to himself.
If there’s grief behind this, Light can't feel it. The warmth stirring in his gut feels like something different. Something greater.
If he had to name it, it would be glory.
He splays L back on the grass and unfurls his arms, resembling a kind of frondescence. Fake life; a diagram of it. With a small sigh, Light pushes L’s shirt up to his chest, right above his nipples.
What a beautiful sacrifice for a soon-to-be beautiful world. He cups a portion of L’s skin, feeling him with a gentle palm. Still squishy. He traces the outline of his ribcage, mapping out his body in ways he didn’t get to before.
They sit there in silence for a while. Light’s hands continue to roam. He’s carried death on his fingertips in the form of a pen and paper, never a body. Never has he gotten this close to someone he killed, the weight of his decisions resting in his hands.
If only he could have L like this forever. Pliant, quiet, and still fresh. But he cannot– time is only temporary.
“One last time,” Light says, mostly to himself. “Just you and I.”
He grabs L’s legs and spreads them apart, making room for himself to slot between them. He never looks away, not even for a second. The one true importance behind this procedure is that he must engrave this memory into the retina of his eye. He needs to be able to replay this in his head at full quality, every touch vivid, every sound crisp. Each second counts.
Soft noises of clothes rustling and metal clinking fill the empty air. He slides his belt from the loops and pulls his pants to his knees. He spits on his hand, and it sparkles under the moon. The moment he curls his hand around his dick, a shuddering gasp leaves his lips. He’s won.
Light curls forward, holding his weight with one arm planted beside L’s shoulder. He hovers over L’s face, admiring the softness of his closed eyelids. He can’t recall a time he’s seen him sleep this peacefully. It’s strangely comforting. The feeling of being watched remains. That stare, fixed on him like a telescope to a big, bright star, has always made Light feel special.
He starts to stroke himself nice and slow, tracing over places L’s hands once felt before, reclaiming his own body, his freedom, his purpose. It feels so good to belong to himself again. He missed this. His fingers tighten around his cock.
If he had the time, he could think of worse things to do to L’s body. It doesn’t matter what he does to him anymore— no one will notice. No one will care. The thought of being free from consequence draws a soft noise from him. He works his hand faster. L is a myth, an unknown entity that doesn’t exist outside of a letter. Light’s secret.
Death is a good look on L. He’s spread like a snow angel, so gorgeous that Light can’t stop himself from leaning in for a kiss. L’s lips are cold and passive, lacking the feistiness they once had. Light is the only one to miss that feeling, and he finds that it’s the most endearing thing in the world.
Light rocks into his hand, making obscenely wet sounds as he scoots himself closer. His breath catches, almost like a laugh, as he feels his climax building up. His legs shake, and he presses his forehead to L’s once more, wanting nothing more than to be as close to him as possible.
“I won,” he gasps, with the same urgency as “I’m gonna come".
The world stutters on its axis as he finishes over L, panting hard and heavy through the blissful aftershocks of victory. Defiling his enemy has never felt this good in his life.
It’s a perfect celebration for a perfect victory.
Once he winds down, Light brings himself back up to his knees, backs away, and tucks himself into his pants. His brain buzzes with the excitement of what he’ll do tomorrow, and the day after that, and all the days following after. Life can only go uphill from here.
His eyes fall back on L’s ruined body. His chest, now stained, glistens like nacre under the moonlight. Looking at L now, Light feels complete. This chapter— the battle between L and Kira— has finally come to a close.
He tugs L’s shirt over his stomach, letting the fabric soak up the mess. Then, he wraps his arms around him and cradles him close, kissing his face from forehead to cheeks to lips over and over again. He regrets not kissing L as much as now. Once he’s kissed him enough, he lifts L back into the casket, moving his arms back to the way he had found them.
Two hands meet the top of his case. His gaze softens. It’s time to say goodbye.
When there’s only a sliver of an opening, he leans in and whispers his final words.
“Goodnight, L.”
The coffin clicks shut, and this time, Light is the one who buries him.