A Snowy Night
Light Yagami's eyes snapped open. "L?" He whispered, looking around. After a few moments, he sighed and shook his head. He's been dreaming again. That was all.
Light sat up carefully and looked down at his wife, her blonde hair spilling over the pillow around her face. He knew Misa was a deep sleeper, but he was always amazed that he didn't wake her up on nights like these, nights when it all caught up with him, nights when he relived L's last moments over and over in slow motion, nights when the detective called to him, taunting him from beyond the grave. Nights which were becoming much too regular.
He waited for his breathing to slow and slipped out of bed. He pulled his dressing gown on and crept out of the room. He didn't know where Ryuk disappeared to at night, but he was glad the shinigami wasn't around to see him like this. Light knew what it looked like. But he wasn't losing his nerve. He wasn't having doubts. He knew he was doing the right thing, for the good of the human race.
Light walked over to the expensive kitchen Misa had had fitted and poured himself a glass of whiskey. He was going to have to pull himself together before anyone noticed. L was dead. It was regrettable of course; L had been… L had been a sacrifice. But it had been necessary. He'd done what had to be done. He couldn't let it torture him. He couldn't let it risk the new world. He couldn't let the sacrifice come to nothing.
Light flinched. He couldn't help looking around the kitchen and walking through the dark flat, flicking lights on as he went. Eventually, he downed his whiskey, set the glass down heavily on a low table and sunk into an armchair by the window. "He's dead." He told himself. "Gone."
Light watched the snow floating past the window. He peered down at the ground, trying to make out how thickly the snow was settling. It was too blurry to see clearly but he thought he could still make out the stone toadstools and fairies Misa had insisted they place outside. Light was surprised that they were still there. He knew the building's other residents hated them.
Something moved out on the lawn. Light got up and pressed his face to the window; it looked like there was someone out there in the snow. His breath fogged up the glass and he wiped it away. He still couldn't make out the figure on the lawn. He pulled open the window and leant outside. The bitter cold stung his skin and snowflakes settled on his eyelashes. He blinked. There was a man outside. A man sitting on Misa's ugly stone toadstool in exactly the posture Light had been trying to forget.
Light mouthed L's name and pulled back from the window. "But he's dead." He whispered. "I've seen him die a thousand times." Light took a deep breath and looked back outside. He was still there.
Light slammed the window shut and ran out of his flat. He smashed his hand against the call button for the elevator and waited for only a few seconds, his heart pounding and his mind racing, before sprinting down the twelve flights of stairs.
"L?" He called, running barefoot onto the snow covered lawn. He reached the place he'd seen him and stopped. There was no one there. "L?" Light touched his fingers to the thick snow covering the toadstool. He looked around him. There was only one set of footprints across the lawn, and those stopped at his own feet. Light sighed and leant both hands against the toadstool to steady himself, his shoulders heaving from his run downstairs, as snowflakes melted against his skin, ran down his face and fell from the end of his nose, making holes in the snow between his hands.
Then there was a noise - a movement behind him. Light looked up slowly and turned around.
"Who's there?" Light whispered. He looked down to find his feet hidden under the snow and his footsteps all but invisible. "L?"
Light walked towards the front gate. He was sure he'd heard something over there. He stepped out into the street and stood under the faint glow of a faulty streetlamp. The heavy snow must have broken the power lines. He looked to his left, right, and then left again. There was no one around. A streetlamp across the road flickered off and on again. He looked up, squinting into the shadows. Was that a figure? Was it him?
Light pulled his dressing gown around him and crossed the road. The soles of his feet found stones and shards of broken things beneath the snow. Light took no notice. He was aware of nothing but the figure he could glimpse every few seconds.
"L?" Light whispered as he got to the edge of the flickering pool of light. He reached out one hand and as the streetlamp illuminated them once more, the man turned away from him.
"L, I– I'm…" Light took in the familiar messy hair, the usually loose white t-shirt, which was now so wet it clung to the skin, the baggy blue jeans, now dark and heavy with melted snow. "L…"
Light watched as he began to walk away. "Wait, come back." Light followed him down the road. "Can't we talk? L, please?"
Light didn't know how long he'd been walking, or how long he'd been alone. L had been there. L was dead, but L had been there. He'd been following him through the dark streets. The snow had made it hard to see, but Light had followed, calling to L to wait for him. He hadn't. Light had fallen behind. His feet were torn. He couldn't feel them - he was too cold for that - but he could just about make out his blood against the snow.
Light stumbled onwards through the cold. He didn't know where he was going. He couldn't see any further than a few feet around him. The snow was coming down heavier now and the wind sliced through him. Light's frozen fingers shook as they clutched at his dressing gown. He tried calling L's name into the night, but he knew he would go unheard. His voice was nothing next to the roar of the wind and the snow.
Eventually, Light's legs gave out beneath him. He stumbled into a brick wall and sank down to sit in the snow. He had no idea how badly he had damaged his legs, nor did he care. All he wanted was to find L again. He would follow L forever. L who was dead but wasn't dead. L who had died a thousand times yet would never die.
Light leant his head against the wall and looked up into the white sky, slowly blinking snowflakes out of his eyes, until it became too difficult to open them again. He could feel his pulse slowing down as he began to shiver less violently.
"L." His cracked, blue lips whispered.
Light had to think very hard about opening his eyes again. L stood over him, looking down and smiling. He held out his hand...
Just follow me now, Light-Kun.
This is my entry for Ls-Freedom's winter competition on deviantArt.
Please review and tell me what you think...
Thanks for reading!