Disclaimer: Nope.

Author's Note: Just some drabble ideas that have been bouncing around in my head… As it's been a while since I wrote any yaoi. :D

Warnings: Spoilers through the end of Death Note, including real names. LxLight with a side of Near. (Because I love Near, even if no one else does!)




x Unintended x

"This is it…" Rester whispered, shoulders stiff and low voice tense. Beside him, Linder and Gevanni said nothing, though their eyes glittered with agreement as they perused the dank, empty warehouse.

"The end is near."

On the floor before his nervous associates, calm face hidden by a bubble-eyed mask, the little boy smiled.

Because the simple words shone with an unintended truth.

x Name 1 x

He calls him L in bed. Not Ryuga, not Ryuuzaki. Because names are not created equal, and while he may go by all three today, one day he will inevitably stop using the last two—perhaps even forget that he ever responded to them in the first place. But when that day comes, he will still be L. He will never stop being L.

And he wants L to remember him. Even after he's done being Ryuga, even after he's finished with the name Ryuuzaki. He will never allow L to forget him, regardless of the outcome of the Kira Case.

Whenever anyone calls for the detective. Whenever he refers to himself. Whenever he hears the god-damned letter—he will think of Light.

No matter where he is, or what happens to him, he will think of Light.

And that will be a victory in and of itself.

x Name 2 x

He calls him L in bed. Passionately, desperately: cries out the only name he knows holds any sort of meaning to the detective. Not the meaning he wishes, of course; the younger man's original plan seems to have been to garner L's true name though this twisted relationship of theirs— (Chances of being Kira: 47 percent)—but L refuses, and Light relents, and so he screams out L, L, L, L, L, L, L!

And L smiles. Because what better way to hide his true name than by allowing Light the use of it?

x In the Beginning x

In the beginning was the word. And from the word came light and dark and life and death, and all manner of creature great and small. Yes, from the word came the world: it sprung from unseen pages, gained dimension and meaning and form. And what made the word a world was L.

But now that L was gone, there was no longer a world. Things regressed, rewound, returned, and humanity had nothing to hold onto but Near's word that such a place had ever existed.

x Light x

Japanese, Spanish, Russian, Portuguese, French, German, Mandarin Chinese, Italian, and English. Most importantly English. Because that seemed to be L's very first language: what he instinctively reverted to in times of intense distress or pleasure. And so it was that he went from being "Raito-kun…" to "Raito—!" to "Light!"

x Sun x

L was the sun. He was the light that brought the orphans from the darkness; the warmth they sought in the cold of their lonely hearts; the star they strained for as they grew, reaching up, up, up, up.

But L was dangerous. L was frightening. L was the sun. And if the children got too close, he melted their little wax wings. Cases of insanity, of suicide, of screaming in the night… Successor after successor withered, fell, or burst into flames; they couldn't be as clever, couldn't take the mental stress, couldn't stand the loneliness.

A, B, C, D…

Now they were down to M and N. Black and White. But black was not a smart color to wear when bathing in the sunlight: Near watched, helpless, as his only friend slowly smoldered, turning to ash. Remembering this, the pale boy still wonders how he managed to survive, how he was able to escape the inferno without so much as a burn.

Perhaps it had to do with the way light refracts, bouncing away from the color white. Perhaps it had to do with his general apathy, his disinterest in building wax wings. Or perhaps it was his intelligence: Because he had always known that he did not have what it took to touch the sun.

Instead, he had averted his eyes…

But it no longer mattered now. He had won. He had survived. And now he was the sun, bright and blinding and millions of miles away from the orphanage, where a new batch of sprouts were tentatively poking their heads out of the muck and sludge, straining for his light…