Don't Leave: Lawlight

Love

"That is impossible."

"Gevanni. L fell in love with Kira. Isn't it ironic?"

"Impossible." He repeats, reflexively.

Near smiles his faint, careful smile. "Roger never gave us files when we were younger but there was a sort of journal L had kept, reporting on the details of the case. It was predictably detailed, but a few days into Kira's imprisonment with L, there was this sudden flood of information. Little things- about Kira drinking coffee and fidgeting and laughing and saying witty things, and it was all in the same detached voice but you could tell that L was paying so much attention. It was wrong. And then suddenly, it stopped. Nothing for a while. Then I saw a handwritten not, neatly written, unmistakably Light's handwriting. He wrote: 'Dearest L, that is ridiculous. Obviously 'Altas Shrugged' is superior to 'The Last Lecture'. Don't be pithy.' There were about dozen, kept in the back of the book. All of them nonsensical, just as that one."

Gevanni frowns. "No one noticed them?"

"No one cared." Near corrects lightly. "There were a few from L too. A few sketches and quotes in different languages. And it made me think, for the first time, maybe, L was human too."

"Sketches? Of what?"

"Some were of a dark room, others were of landscapes, there was one with Watari and another of himself. He looked sad . . sad but in a way that makes you think he was happy as well. Do you know that look? Where you don't smile but you eyes are shining.

"There was one of Light as well, folded many times and tattered. He looked normal. So normal. Beautiful even, grinning but not directly. It was rendered in such loving lines, Gevanni, that it confirmed what I had theorized." Nate looks dreamy, longing. He brushes a hand through his unkempt hair and looks at Stephen. "I had met his sister, Sayu, at his grave. She had come with offerings for him. I had told her what I thought and she simply smiled, and said that Light was an easy person to love." Near traces the patterns made by the shadows filtering through the window. "She still came for him—" he sounds wondrous—"even when she knew he killed so many people."

"She was his family. Family would forgive you everyday for whatever mistake or idiotic thing you commit. Because they're the only ones in the world who can. Unconditionally." Stephen says softly. "Who else would?"

"But they are kind. His mother and sister. She had asked about L, about his family (which I didn't know), where his grave was and she was there the next day, she gave him bluebells and tulips, tied with a ribbon. Beyond family too, they care. It's so . . odd."

"What is?"

"Love. People die for it, fight for it and cry for it. But what is it? Is it like finding someone who makes you happy or is it someone who understands you? What is it, truly. Is it like the smell of rain during a summer day, or maybe the look someone gives you while they laugh. It must be fathomless, this love, to reign over such brilliant minds."

"Mother once told me," Gevanni murmurs. "That love is seeing someone who has your universe knitted within their bones. A person they would find every single life they lived. No matter what."

Near inhales sharply. "L wrote again. The day before his death. In the last page. 'You're my secret. My half remembered dream, a ghost and an enemy like I'd never dared imagine. Flawsome and lovely and forbidden. I got you to challenge, entrance, confront and give me. You who is reading this, the brightest light I have ever known, I mourn not my coming death but your demise. We have unfinished business, you and me. I'll be waiting.'"

Stephen raises his hand, wiping away the tear on Near's face. Near has no clue when he had starting crying or that he is, but accepts that small token of Gevanni's. Physical touch. It reminds him, mildly, of something brotherly affectionate.

He thinks: will I ever love?