I don't own Death Note or it's characters!

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

L hadn't seen her since he was seventeen.

Now here she was, beautiful and petite, as always.

Her long, chocolaty brown hair had been traded for hair his length and color, side-swept bangs brushing her stunning green eyes. Those pouty lips were the same. The youthful vibrance in her ivory-toned skin was still there.

She had been sixteen, curious and confident in her body. She hadn't been as curvaceous as she was now. Her breasts were smaller, her hips not yet full. But there was still the toned definition of her arms, her stomach, her legs.

She had talked to him, sat beside him, smiled and twisted a strand of hair around her finger. L hadn't understood. He didn't know why, but his gut was flipping his sexual frustration. He knew he needed release. He knew she was willing.

He had convinced himself she liked him. He had told himself it was a minor, crazy, teenaged thing, heated, spontaneous, impulsive. It wouldn't last.

But he never forgot her. He never forgot how she made him feel needed in someone's life. She made him feel desired, longed for. He knew she held him high above everything else she was drowning in. They had always spoken. There had been tension; there had been fights in her home. L was here, as her escape.

They had been together a lot. Crazy, fun, romantic some nights, others were quick bursts, one after another.

She stared at L. Familiarity struck her eyes. L knew her brilliance. He knew her deductive reasoning faired well against his own; he knew she wasn't ignorant or forgetful. Maybe with everything around her, but not him. Never him. It was something that gave him selfish, human comfort.

Everyone introduced themselves. She was last. Finally, she held up her badge.

"Namine Matsuda."

L smiled.


. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

L lay alone, looking out the window.

Namine Matsuda.


He had sworn to himself he'd forget, but he couldn't. He held on, for reasons he didn't know.

He remembered. Quietly, he remembered.

Painfully, he remembered.

She was wearing shorts, plain jean shorts. They were light, and she was wearing flip flops. Her long hair was tied back, her bangs in her face, brushing the lids of her eyes, interfering with her glasses. She was wearing a tank top, black and white stripes following her body closely.

She waited patiently.

Then she looked at him, and saw him staring at her. She smiled.

L smiled back, and looked back to whatever he had been reading. He completely forgot what he was doing. He couldn't remember. She had made him forget his daily tasks. Fantastic.

The flip flops sounded her arrival.

"Can I sit here for a minute or two? Maybe ten? It depends on how quickly they can make a pizza from scratch."

A cautious giggle stirred L's curiosity. He smiled and motioned for her to sit down.

"I'm Nami."


"Nice to meet you, Ryuuzaki."

She tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear, clipping it in place with a hidden clip, the same color as her hair.

"You like cheesecake?"

L looked down. He had almost wolfed down the entire thing, a few mere slivers remaining.

A smile came to his face.

"Yes, I do."

An airy giggle escaped her lips.

"I do, too. Strawberry is my favorite."

L smiled again.

"Same here."

Nami smiled, and grabbed a napkin.

"Do you have a pen?"

L looked on the table, and realized there was a marker in his pocket. He handed it to her and watched with interest as she wrote down a number on the napkin.

"That's my cell number. Call me if you wanna talk, or hang out… or anything."

Nami stood.

"It was really nice meeting you, Ryuuzaki. I hope I hear from you."

She walked away without response.

L sat there, watching her pick up and pay for the pizza she ordered, walking away from him.

Looking at the napkin, the number was written neatly, beside her name.


He looked up.


L closed his eyes, scared of remembering everything, scared of having to be near her again. She seemed to be afraid, ashamed near him. She seemed to have regret heavily on her mind when her eyes connected with his. It hurt him. It made that selfish, human comfort dissipate slightly.

She was stunning.

Clad in a dress that came to her knees, loose at the bust, tight at the hips, a belt accentuating what little topside curve she had, and flats.

She was stunning.

Her hair was curled slightly, beachy waves that made her face seem little and pretty.

She was stunning.

At the end of the night, they had spoken, they had laughed, they had bonded closely together. L felt comfortable, for the first time, in another person's presence.

Nami led him to her house. The lights were off.

"My parents and brother are out of town, as usual."

Her voice was sad, and L wanted nothing more than to comfort her.

Sexual frustration took over when she led him in, sat him on the couch, and walked away to get popcorn.

She came back, and L rose, staring into her eyes.

"You okay, Ryuuzaki?"

L shook his head.

"You look sad, and I can feel the pain in your words."

He took a step towards her.

"I want to make it better."

Young and inexperienced, L took her face with his hands and pressed his lips to hers, kissing her passionately. He had no idea what to say, no idea how to act, how to reason, how to be. There was this moment, and there was her in this moment with him. That was all he needed to know.

L tore away the belt clumsily, removing her dress.

She took off his shirt, his jeans.

They stood, clad in their underwear.

"I want this, Ryuuzaki."

She was reassuring him.

He looked worried.

He was worried.

He had never done this, never wanted this with anyone, didn't know what to make of this, didn't know how to get through all of this, didn't know. He just didn't know. He was terrified.

He wanted to know, to know everything.

Pushing her to the couch, he took her, made her entirely his for the night.

When it was over, Nami looked more pained than before.

L felt guilty. He shouldn't have done that to her. But he needed to know.

She took his face and kissed him again.

Her lips beside his ear she whispered.


So they did.




He never knew she felt broken, and this was the only thing filling her, he was the only thing making her whole. For moments at a time, passion in spontaneity, impulse leading to sex.

She needed this. She needed to be fixed. She needed him, for nights at a time. She needed him whenever he would give himself to her.

He never knew.

She loved him, in a way no one could love him. She loved him in more ways than one. Plenty more ways.

Terrified, she loved him.

Over and over.




And L was always ready to give, always ready to fill her empty void. Always ready to try and break the walls down.

Ready to love her.

But it never came.

It was reasonable.

Until the day he wanted to leave.

Then he loved her. Uncontrollably, irrevocably.

He loved her.

L looked over to the computer screen.

Sleep would be welcome if she didn't invade his goddamn dreams, his thoughts. His mind would betray him in the quiet moments, in the still moments.

Always her.

Always this.

She would forget. But not him.

Never him.

Never him.