Author's Note: Hello loves. Today, as you might know, is Valentine's Day. And I am single. This is a shame, but things happen, and frankly...I'm almost glad to be single. If I was still dating that Mello, I would have bought her something very expensive for Valentine's Day because Kaze is a hopeless romantic. So, instead of gifting one person, I am gifting everyone! And what is your gift? A quick little fanfic, made just for the holiday. Since I couldn't draw my hopeless romantic side out long enough to write a sappy fanfic, I decided to let my...other side out. Hello, Beyond, how are you today? Enjoy, guys. Onward!

Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note or Another Note. If I did, I'd have a hell of a lot more money.

Warning: References of Beyond performing very unsavory acts on L. Readers beware.

How would one go about writing a love poem when one has only loved L? If one has always viewed the strange emotion with a mixed detachment until those hollow black eyes glanced one's way, how can one express that powerful feeling? What language could be used, hm?

I don't believe in purity like white dove's wings. No, no, the purest substance on earth is the pale skin stretched across his bones, the skin that seems almost too pale to be real. Dark circles ghosting under each eye just bring out the purity of that silky white skin. I want to touch that skin. I want to lick that skin. I wonder if I could bite that skin. Would it still be pure covered with bites and licks? Would it still be white if I broke the skin? Oh, L, oh, L, can I make your purity impure?

Red is not the color of love. No, not at all. Black is the color of love. Black like raven's feathers. Black like L's hair. Black like his eyes. I could swim in that hair. I could dive in and lose myself and never get tired of it. I bet his hair is soft. I bet it's softer than soft. I bet it's soft like lamb fur, or maybe soft like the fuzzy mold you can grow on oranges if you hide them long enough. Would L become soft all over if I hid him far away long enough?

Red doesn't have a place for L, unless he's thinking of me. I wonder if he thinks of me? I wonder if he looks at the color red and thinks of Beyond Birthday. Does it remind him of my strawberry jam? Or does it remind him of my eyes? Maybe L looks deep into B's eyes like B looks into L's eyes. L's eyes can see everything. I bet you could pop them out of his head and keep them in a jar, and they would still see everything. Two owlish eyes peeking through the formaldehyde, watching B everywhere. I wonder if he would watch B in bed. I want to watch L's eyes watching B while B thinks of L in bed.

Love is not a heart, unless the heart belongs to L. But the closest I will ever get to L's heart is digging deep inside him when he's dead, pulling it from his chest. I wonder if it would be cold or warm, or whether it would beat just for B. I can imagine holding L's heart, watching it beat for me and nobody else. It would be cold and squishy, like a giant strawberry. Love can be a heart, as long as it is L's heart beating for B and only B.

I suppose if I were to write a love poem, it would go something like...

"Hm?" The raven-haired detective frowned, tilting his head. "What's this? A note on the mirror?"

Roses are red,

And so are my eyes.

Turn around, L;

B has a surprise.