I want to say English is not my first language. This is not the first fanfic I write in English but for some reason I feel I should tell you. I owe this brilliant AU idea to my sister (ladytective . tumblr), thank you again!
This is *supposed* to be a one-shot but if it pleases you guys I'm willing to try my luck at a multi-chaptered fanfic since I have a lot of ideas about this AU :) Including Mello, Near, Naomi and the rest of the clique.
(For that reason the ending is quite...well, very open)
The title comes from one of Richard Siken's wonderful piece of poetry
I think that's all. 3

Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us.
These, our bodies, possessed by light.
Tell me we'll never get used to it.

(R. Siken)

photography (n.) from photo- + -graphy, "writing with light".

The camera is just another eye, really. A convenient way to observe, analyse and undress without being seen. Even better: it makes them all long for his look. He is a photographer; a talented one. He has the right to stare and watch their every move because his models let him.

But L is not a voyeur or if he is, he refuses to be just that. His tutor told him he could have been a detective. L gave him a faint smile and answered: but a photographer is a detective of sorts, Mr Wammy.

It feels true. L specialises in portraits. As much as he enjoys beautiful landscapes and the colours of the evening sky, they fail to get the adrenaline going. Those who crave the flashes of his camera and relish his looks, however insistent, those are the ones he works for.

Models fascinate him because they bathe in the unforgiving light while he has settled for the shadows; only for fear of injuries. Darkness wraps its arms around you, whispers in your ear, protects you like a friend. Light has a good reputation and for a while, it lives up to it. Light warms you and make promises. It takes only one picture for the tables to turn, for the light to make you hate yourself.

But the light fascinates L and those who manage to stand in it undamaged leave him awestruck. Obsession is dangerous. L knows that, so he refuses to play the part of the butterfly, burnt alive by the shining light he loved so. He plays with the light and uses it in his photographs. He understands the light. He tames the light.

That's what he thinks.

The day L meets Yagami is just another day of work and Yagami is just another butterfly, longing for the light. He is a young Japanese model, precise and elegant in every way. At the time, L works for some fashion magazine he doesn't care about. They call him when they need him. It's practical and he appreciates that they are the one asking for him. He has never even opened the magazine. L only cares about the models anyway and he gets to see them in the flesh - fluttering eyelashes at his camera, waiting for him to make them immortal. (Humans die but pictures are forever. They smile when L tells them that. That's what they want to hear.)

L has heard of Yagami before but can't remember how. He remembers his eyelashes and those spectacular legs, he remembers thinking of symmetry and apollonian beauty. Most importantly, he remembers his name. Would Light Yagami care to know how L has heard of him? Does anything matter, really, when you look like that? We would never ask the gracious moon to worry about other satellites. It would be so hypocritical of us; the moon is the only satellite we know the name of.

L is a genius, and if beauty has anything in common with brilliance, it's the sense of superiority it gives you. By common standards, L is not beautiful. He figures the universe works in logical ways after all - you can't have everything. Still, he wonders if God picks favorites, sometimes. Ugly idiots exist, so why are brilliant beauties so unusual? L finds himself fantasizing about a body inhabited by a mind matching his. How incredibly powerful would such a creature feel. He almost pities it. Absolute power is not for everyone to wield.

L finds he has plenty of power himself, so he is not envious when he discovers Light Yagami is the creature he spent nights making up in his head.

L is not envious. What he feels is an aching pain in his chest, a dull blade sinking into his body. It messes with his organs, squashes them, and crushes them mercilessly – what for? To make room for something else, for the light to fill him up.

Light appears in L's studio on a Sunday morning, almost as the same time as the sun in the winter sky. He shows up unexpectedly. Nobody ever does that to L. He has laid out very precise rules over the years no one dares to transgress. Mainly because it would be unproductive: L will not open the door to anyone he hasn't invited. He never answers his personal phone right away either. L claims it it's how he separate his friends from the rest. Mr Wammy says it's a wile to keep others at bay. These days, Mihael is the only one who still calls him on his personal phone but L doesn't mind. He rarely changes his mind on things like this.

Light Yagami knocks twice. L ignores the first knock, as always. He bends over the series of black and white photographs he just finished developing. At that point, he fully expects the intruder to walk away. L is already deep in thought when he hears the second knock.

He gives a look of sheer annoyance in thin air and goes to open the door.

L is used to beauty; contrary to a lot of his colleagues, he grew tired of it over time. What fascinates him has always been the light, the control he asserted over it with each prized picture he took.

He is facing Yagami for the first time and feels betrayed. Sick. Models aren't supposed to look better in the flesh; they depend on their photographs to maintain the illusion of flawlessness. He has seen hundreds of models before, and he knew about Yagami's perfect legs and eyes and everything, he should be able to, at least, breathe.

"I am not supposed to see you before Thursday, Mr Yagami", he states, barely aware of his own voice.

Yagami doesn't lose his composure at all despite L's very cold tone of voice. He removes his fingerless gloves and his Prussian blue overcoat.

"My agent told me. I prefer to have a look at the studio beforehand, though. Don't take it personally, it's a simple precaution", Light says with a discreet Japanese accent. He has a charming, if slightly honeyed voice. L doesn't believe a word he utters. They say it's unfair to rely on a first impression. L never believed that. It might be true when you have no instinct. As for him, he can recognize a liar, however convincing his facade may be.

"Of course, the best way to make sure I'm not some kind of psychopath is to come visit me. I'd better get rid of the bodies I hid in the darkroom, then"

Light gives a thin smile, the mask remains firmly in place.

"You don't believe me." He seems weirdly impressed.

"So, you're clever. You must feel quite lonely in your line of work."

Yagami doesn't look offended by the assumption that most models are idiots. He stays silent and looks at L expectantly. There is a hint of hope in his eyes that makes L swallow.

L thinks he'd better send him off now but his body steps aside and invites Light into the studio.

"What would you like to see?" L says, closing the door behind him.

Light doesn't seem to hear him. He puts down his coat and designer bag on a chair and turns around the furniture, examining every nook and cranny, taking mental notes on everything. Even though L hardly leaves any personal belonging in the studio, he feels a wave of inexplicable anxiety at the sight of someone examining his workplace with such inexplicable zeal.

"Could you open the curtains? It's hard to see anything at all", Light says.

"Mh", is all L answers. He motions Light to pull the curtains back himself. When he is not snapping photographs, L keeps his studio as dark as possible. Light seems to find it odd.

"Don't you love the light, Mr Lawliet?" he asks, soft-spoken as always. L catches a glimpse of pride in his eyes. Is he really proud of that rhyme?

"I appreciate it. However, I'm afraid the feeling isn't mutual"

Light turns around to face L, an expression of genuine concern on his face. "What do you mean?"

Taken by surprise by the sincerity of his question, L can't think of a lie.

"Well, it tends to highlight how terribly sickly I look", he says, and for some reason he pretends to turn his attention to the black and white photographs he has left on the table.

"I find it fitting for an artist to look at least a bit sickly. Why should this be a bad thing?"

It doesn't sound like a question at all. L has no clue what he is supposed to answer. Light doesn't expect anything apparently; his attention has already shifted from L to the framed photographs displayed on the wall opposite to the main studio area.

L's look slides back to Light. Then, he feels something coursing through his veins, and it isn't some drug, it isn't even adrenaline. Yagami's profile looks perfect, graceful features outlined by the shining light. It's rare to be loved by the light, L knows. He has seen it destroy perfectly symmetrical faces before he mastered the art of exposure. It took three years for Mihael to forgive him and even now he takes a step back whenever he sees L with a camera.

L stares at Light, arms crossed, leaning against the doorway into the adjacent kitchen. He is not one for daydreaming; he is painfully aware that he has been staring for too long. Somehow, he is certain that Yagami feels it. There is a slight blush on his face and his back arches slightly under each invasive glance L shots at him – photographers have an eye for details.

Light turns around and his almond-shaped eyes meet L's once again.

"I really do love your work", he announces.

L has received a handful of laudatory reviews over the years. He can't remember any of them; he never needed them. Light's comment hardly qualifies as a review but it leaves him wondering.

"I must say I'm surprised. You don't look like my usual fan"

Light smiles. "How do they look like, your usual fans?"

"Undertakers and Goths, for the most part", L answers, deadpan.

Once, Nate informed him that some of his old pictures were all over Pinterest; he nearly choked when he read the captions some melancholic teenagers added on them. Nate shrugged as to say 'What did you expect; you kept on shooting cemeteries and swamps". He still found it outrageous. L loved Nate but he couldn't take artistic advice from a robotics student.

Even now that he specializes in portraits, his usual fans resemble Mihael. They are writers, romantics and eccentric intellectuals and most of them enjoy Rammstein; they are not Light Yagamis.

"I've loved your portraits for the longest time", Light blurts, his eyes bright and wide open. He seems quite embarrassed but doesn't let it ruin his perfect posture. He keeps his chin up and his shoulders back, and he advances on L, "That's why I came, actually"

L raises an eyebrow. All he thinks of is: why the hell does it feels like the truth?

Light is standing close as he explains how L's photographs are terrifying, expressive and sensual, and certainly not for everyone, but still worthy of praise. L nods pensively while he fails to deduce anything about Yagami's intentions. He notices that deducing is only one letter away from seducing, and that his chest aches. For a minute, he wonders why he let this unbearably beautiful young man in. A demon is a demon, no matter how mild-mannered and polite.

"So, it's not the studio you wanted to see, but me", L interrupts.

Yagami opens his mouth but nothing comes out of it, as if he intended to lie but renounced. L makes up the missing words in his head as he pleases (let's end this now, take me somewhere, slam your body into mine) and finds it hard not to say them out loud. Snap out of it, already!

"Yes. I have been interested in your artwork...for a long time", Yagami repeats. There's more to it than a mere interest, L guesses. He slides away from Yagami into the kitchen and tries not to forget what just happened – whatever that was.

"Since you're here, I suppose I should at least offer you a cup of tea", L says.

"That's the polite thing to do, yes." Light answers, "Two sugars, please."

L detects a hint of frustration in his tone – it's obvious Light has come with a plan in mind and the pieces aren't quite falling to place.

The model sits, legs crossed, at the kitchen table. He folds his arms on his tight-fitted blazer, glances at himself in the window. In the reflection, he notices the black and white photographs L has left there and there is a spark in his eyes. Light looks up. L is pouring water over the tea, his back turned on him.

"So, have you heard of me before?" Light says, as he gets his hands on the photographs.

"I have. I can't remember how, though. Not that it matters, does it?"

L pours tea in two plain-looking cups. He is thankful for the paranoid streak that leads him never to bring any of his ridiculous mugs at the studio. Light Yagami's mind seems to function in mysterious ways; what would he deduce from a mug with Salvador Dali's "I don't do drugs, I am drugs" written on it?

He turns his head to a cheeky-looking Yagami. He's examining L's photographs, his mouth quirked up into an enigmatic smile. The sheer image of cockiness. L clenches his jaw. What it is with him that catches the eye when every single thing he does is irritating?

L plunks the mugs on the kitchen table.

"Can I help you?" he grits out.

"Did I overstep? I apologize" Light says, still smirking. "They were laying on the table, It didn't occur to me that – "

"Spare me the courtesies", L interrupts, "Since you've looked at them tell me, what do you think?" He sits across from Light.

"Well…"

"Honestly. Why the smirk? Why the cockiness?"

Light sighs, glances sideways – displays of irritation so typical L wonders if he rehearsed them.

"I found it amusing that you take pictures of the moon in your spare time"

L's pale hand goes for his mug. "I'm a man of multiple talents. Are you models so vain that you believe your pretty faces can satisfy us artists?"

Light frowns. "Why are you so hostile? I have shown nothing but respect to you."

"Except when you showed up uninvited"

"I didn't force my way in", Light reminds him. L is frustrated not to be able to argue that and struggles to maintain eye contact. "You could have send me off."

L stays silent for a minute and slides the other mug over the table towards Light. "Drink. It's a Japanese Sencha. A favourite of mine."

Light rolls the sleeves of his blazer and obeys. For a moment, there is only the sound of L swallowing his tea; Light sips silently. The salty fragrance of green tea smoothes the atmosphere.

"I know why the pictures made you smile", L finally says, "Your name is Light, written with the Kanji for 'Moon', right?"

Light's face brightens at that and L thinks he is as unpredictable as the heavenly body his name shares its Kanji with.

"You're right. I thought it was a beautiful coincidence", Light admits. It sounds like the truth but his arms and legs are still crossed. What does it take for the facade to quiver just a bit?

L gives a faint smile. "Perhaps we're meant to work together, in spite of the differences"

It sounded less corny in his head. Yagami answered with a smile and immediately changed the subject.

"Isn't the moon a bit of a photography cliché?"

Was L supposed to confess his fascination for the moonlight? It was mendacious and terribly beautiful – a photographer's dream; he felt he was the only one in the field to understand it.

"I don't let clichés get in my way", L says instead, "I even photograph pastries. Just any pose is flattering on them."

Light lets out a polite laugh. Whether he truly appreciated L's joke or not is hard to tell.

"What pose would flatter me the most, you think? I heard you have the eye for that."

It sounds like a trick question but L decides honesty is the best policy. Yagami seems rather unsettled by sincerity in general.

"Any angle would flatter you; only the feeling you'd convey would change, really"

Bingo. Yagami's polite smile doesn't fade; yet, he looks away for a second.

"I suppose I should thank you", he says, getting back into his armor of courtesies. He pauses and locks his eyes on L's: "I wonder if I should give any credit to the nasty comments I heard about you"

L guesses which comments he is referring to. He introduces every photoshoot by pointing out his model's insecurities. They all have a few, not even the vainest ones are spared. He wonders if Light has any.

"Perhaps it's a bit harsh, but a photograph has to work on his model's insecurities. I sometimes center my picture on a hooked nose. I have no choice but to notice the insecurities myself. I could ask them, but then all I'd get would be a lie."

"I'm sure you don't need to point it out for them to guess what their insecurities are. Don't they say you're a genius?" Light replies. He leans back and folds his arms again.

"I need my model to be completely honest with me", L admits, "This is how I work and I don't give a damn that it doesn't please everyone. I'm a photographer, and not the attention whore kind. I am not a narcissist; I will not sacrifice my integrity to fuel my ego with empty praises."

L's remark finally sets Light off. Although L is fairly certain Yagami is still hiding under plenty of tight-fitting masks.

"Oh, is that so?" Yagami says, his voice eerily quiet.

He pauses, and then: "Well, keep looking then. I can't work with you."

L raises an eyebrow. "…Pardon?"

Light eyes him like he's an unwanted admirer who can't take no for an answer.

"I will tell you what I said to one of your colleagues a week ago: I don't do nudes."

"I was certainly not asking you to – "

"You're an intelligent man, Mr Lawliet. You perfectly understand me. You intend to strip me off to my skin and this is not something I can accept. You're not an attention whore; well, me neither. I'm not desperate for work, and since you don't live up to my expectations, I think I will collaborate with someone who respects me"

Yagami rises, L mirrors the gesture. "This is simply absurd! You and I have an appointment on Thursday."

L follows him as he retreats towards the door.

"I can very well cancel an appointment", Light retorts, tying his scarf in a Parisian knot. He smoothes it and turns to L, his face indecipherable.

L wants to take him apart and figure out just how he works. He can't tear his eyes away from Light Yagami, he doesn't want to. He feels sick again.

"If you ever change your ways, contact me. You have a gift. I'd love to pose for you as long as you respect my privacy"

The door closes. L stares off into space for a minute, desperately trying to make sense of it all. He is not one for daydreaming, so he can't convince himself he has made everything up; that Light Yagami is just a glimpse of the alter-ego he was desperate to meet. We're meant to work together.

Yagami leaves him alone with his heart hammering in his chest, an inconceivable lust burning in him. His fingers itch for a camera but it's too late, he's gone.

L snaps out of his absurd musings at last and the first thing he does is pulling the curtains back together. It's before the sun has set that he notices his photographs of the moon are missing.