AN: A short DN one-shot by me. It's written in the future, so Light is around 32. Originally intended to be a drabble, it spiralled out of control and ended up far longer than intended. I'm rather unhappy with the whole thing (I find it horribly descriptive and sappy), but I do somewhat like the last few lines. I hope you enjoy, at least.

Summary: Sometimes it can get lonely being God...AU, Slight LightxL

Warnings: A bit of angst and a bit of shonen-ai, nothing else.

Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note, nor do I own any of the quotes.

I might have a beta-d version up soon. Until then, suffer with me and my OOC characters and grammatical errors! (Hey, that rhymed...sort of.)

Oh, and also: I don't dislike Misa or anything. In fact, I like her as a character and admire her love and devotion to Light. So there isn't any Misa-bashing in this fic, other than a few scathing comments from Light's POV. Just wanted to clear that up to make sure I wasn't interpreted as a basher.


I have named the destroyers of nations: comfort, plenty, and security—out of which grow a bored and slothful cynicism, in which rebellion against the world as it is, and myself as I am, are submerged in listless self-satisfaction.

- John Steinbeck

The throne was ornate, but not garishly so. It was wrought entirely of ivory, a pure, plain white, with intricate scenes and patterns depicted along its graceful arms and legs through skilled carvings. The slenderest of gold veins threaded through these designs, running along the chair like a thousand twinkling rivers, discernable only to those standing a mere yard or so away. For all its finery, the whole piece was attractive and elegant, beautiful almost to the point of intimidation, detached as it was from the world.

Behind the chair was the loveliest painting, a vast mural encircling almost the entire length of the room, masterfully done. It painted a most fanciful scene: a faraway kingdom in the sky, splendid and glittering, watched by a host of heavenly beings that were perched upon puffy white clouds lined with a sparkling light. There, directly behind the chair and in the very center of the picture, was a man, his back to the viewer. Large white wings sprouted from his shoulders, spreading gracefully around him, merging with the pure white of his clothes to create an angelic presence. The divine light shone directly upon his upturned auburn head, illuminating the soft strands, and his arms were raised in a 'V' shape, welcoming the heavens.

Altogether, it was a striking room, fit to sit splendidly in the sky and host a heavenly counsel or a band of angels. And it would not look complete without the charismatic presence in the chair: Lord Kira, God of the good Earth, loyal Servant of Justice.

He was there now; never more comfortable than when his back was ramrod straight against his throne, never happier than when he could look out the glass wall opposite him and at the beautifully pure city spread below. Ten years after his first public appearance as Kira and the subspecies of humans known as criminals were almost extinct now, and it gave him great satisfaction to observe his work.

He had created his Utopia. All those years of feigned smiles, analytical traps, glib lies and constant paranoia and his work was finally complete: the world bloomed peacefully under the thumb of Lord Kira.

It was climbing steadily in what could only be an upward descent, Light thought as he stared up through the glass veneer on the uppermost level of the domed ceiling. Misa chattered on as he peered almost absently at the sky, tawny eyes unfocussed.

"…And crime rates are lower than ever, Kira-sama, which is good news, of course! A few complaints were brought up over the last month; people will be coming to court—nothing Kira-sama can't handle. But Misa Misa is worried about the rebels; they're banding together now and poisoning the minds of the people with their talk, crying out for freedom and such. As if Kira-sama hasn't granted the world the greatest freedom there is: the freedom to live life unafraid! Misa Misa doesn't know how they call themselves Rebel Angels; no true angels would defy the word of God—"

"'Real rebels are rarely anything but second rate outside their rebellion; the drain of time and temper is ruinous to any other accomplishment,'" Light interrupted, quoting softly, his gaze still roving restlessly among the clouds.

Misa's brow furrowed as she took a few moments to decipher the statement. "Exactly!" she exclaimed finally, blue eyes alit with understanding. "They are no good, Kira-sama, but they wear masks and we can't catch them! If only I could see their faces, Misa Misa wouldn't even need to tap into the database; she could simply kill them then and there—"

"Misa," Light said suddenly, cutting short the girl's spiel, "it'll be fine. I'll work on the case and they'll be banished from this world by the end of the week." In all honestly, Misa could implode with anxiety for all he cared, so long as she left him alone.

She gazed at him with nothing short of adoration in her eyes. "Oh, Light-kun," she said slipping back into the affectionate nickname she had used often as a teenager, before the reign of Kira. Light let it pass; he simply wanted her to leave, taking all her silly doting stares and inane smiles with her. But, despite having the status of God, his attempts at telekinesis did not work, and Misa continued, voice thick with emotion. "N-no one can best you! You're the most brilliant, the most handsome, the most righ—"

"I am God," interrupted Light firmly. "Now leave, Misa. I need to show true Justice to these 'Rebel Angels.'"

"Of course, Kira-sama," Misa said, bowing deeply before leaving the room. As soon as the dark mahogany door closed soundly behind her, Light slumped forward, placing a hand under his chin. Clear amber eyes darted along the length of the room, finally settling to stare impassively at the city ahead. Light barely repressed a frustrated sigh.

It was just the same as before the Death Note. Life had once again slipped into a monotonous rhythm, annoyingly tedious. Nothing to do, nothing to plan—everything he had ever dreamt of was there, complete, grasped in the palm of his hand. He had cleansed the world and sent it into an omnipresent fervor of worship and adoration. The Rebels would be down in a minute—nowadays, Light could command people with a snap of his fingers.

And yet, a small, cynical part of him sneered at these masses that so closely resembled sheep. Behind the mascarade of freedom and purpose that some people may have portrayed, all they really wanted, really needed, was a leader. After a while, they had all stopped trying to think for themselves, instead looking to Kira to tell them what to do and how to live and take the responsibility off their shoulders. And so the world fell once again into decay, a decay of a different form, but decay all the same. Light planned and oversaw the growth and benefits of each country's economy, developed peace treaties, appointed jobs and made laws, and the people simply followed, bleating in agreement and looking up at him with their admiring blank eyes.

But sometimes he found himself longing for carefully dull eyes that flickered with the spark of independence, that stared at him with a faint suspicion, that questioned his decisions and challenged his opinions, challenged him. Eyes that refused to bend to rules, any rules, that remained stoutly independent.

Apparently, even gods were not immune to the very human failings of loneliness and discontent.


By the end of the day, Light had made little to no progress on the Rebel Angels, having spent the most of it sitting on his throne and staring out at the impassive sky. He usually whiled away the majority of his time in his office, which was one of the many rooms in the chambers adjoined to the Counsel Room, but the day had left a bleakly acute emptiness that Light hadn't been able to shake off. Worse still was that Light was not exactly sure on the source of the problem—years of shutting out emotion tended to leave one rather lacking in that department—but he had a gnawing suspicion that the whole issue arose from the return of monotony.

Sighing as he shrugged off his jacket, the girly call from the kitchen did little to appease his dissatisfaction.

"Light-sama!" cried Misa, voice bubbly. "Misa Misa is waiting for you in the kitchen!"

Light hung the jacket up neatly in the closet before turning toward said room, fighting down another sigh and running his hands through his immaculate hair. He found her sitting at the table, wearing a black outfit that was as ridiculous as it was tiny.

"Hello, Misa," he murmured, offering her his cheek to kiss. She did so enthusiastically, pressing her lips against the corner of his mouth.

"Did Light-sama have a good day?" she asked him sweetly, getting up and hunting about the fridge.

"It was fine," answered Light noncommittally, setting the kettle to boil. "Yours?"

"Misa Misa has been working hard sentencing criminals to death, of course!" she chirped in reply, finally pulling some sort of container out of the fridge and setting it on the counter.

"Mm-hm," said Light blandly. "Of course." He sat down at the table, waiting on his water. Misa sent him a large smile.

"I thought Light-sama would like some cheering up, so Misa Misa got something for him from the bakery!" She set the container in front of him with a flourish, pulling off the plastic bag wrapped around it and revealing the box underneath. "I know Light-sama doesn't like sweets, so this isn't for him," —she gestured at the box before lifting it up, revealing a gold-wrapped candy bar underneath— "but he does like dark chocolate, so ta-da! From the very best bakery around, the one where you and Ryuuzaki used to go!" she beamed.

Light paid the chocolate little attention, staring instead at the box and at the curly white lettering flowing up the side. Misa followed his gaze.

"Ah, Misa Misa bought something for herself, too," she said sheepishly, opening the container. "Strawberry cheesecake."

Light merely looked blankly at the familiar dessert.

"But we can't eat any until after dinner!" Misa said, waving her index finger. "Well, at least not much—Misa Misa wants to try a little!"

Light watched as she pulled a fork out from a nearby drawer, dipping it into the moist cake before bringing it up to her mouth. She took a bite, lips curling in a small smile as Light's eyes focused on her mouth.

She opened it, presumably to say something, but Light suddenly rose from his seat and leaned across the table to press his lips against hers.

The sweet flavor of strawberry and sugar was coating her mouth, and Light licked at it hungrily, deepening the kiss. He felt it was the first time he had harbored such intensity in years. As he plundered Misa's pink, willing lips, he closed his eyes and for a moment imagined that they were a little less full and lush, that they were pale and thin and moved almost awkwardly against his. He anticipated pulling back and seeing dark unfathomable eyes glinting with subtle intelligence instead of clear blue ones shining with hope and happiness, papery white skin in place of healthy flushed cheeks, and envisaged pressing his body against her and feeling bony jutting angles instead of round womanly curves. He sighed a little as he lapped up the last bit of strawberry cheesecake and allowed himself to lose control of his emotions for just a second, allowed himself to forget his role as Lord Kira, God of the New World, for the briefest moment and lose himself in memories…

Finally, he pulled away, expression shuttered.

"Thank you, Misa," he murmured softly, walking away, intending to head for the privacy of the balcony.


Light turned in the doorway, still peering at Misa with a blank, vacant gaze. Words died on her lips as she registered the lost, almost desperate gleam to his eyes.

"...D-do you want to eat my dessert? Light-sama seemed to be enjoying it…"

Light's eyes fell on the open container, before one corner of his lips tugged upward in a small empty smile.

"Yes, I'd like that."