They sit on the roof, the rain pouring down onto them and he's cradling the older man in his arms, peppering kisses over his face and in his hair.

He knows.

It's time.

And the brown haired boy kisses him softly and silences his cry of pain with all the love he can muster as he twists the blade inside the other man, tears spilling down his cheeks.

He whispers his words of love, telling him how much he loves him, how it will all be over soon.

And the detective believes him.

And then all Lignt knows are tears, as he screams out in anguish, holding L close to him and rocking back and forth.

His hands and clothes are stained crimson but he holds him tighter, kissing his hair and chocking out more words of love, words of love, love.

He can see the life fading from him with every shallow breath and he tells him how much he loves him, never apologising once.

And then he's gone, and he's still and Light is shouting, sobbing, choking on sobs and kissing and there's nothing he can do.

Nothing at all.

L's body is limp and Light is cradling him still, he cannot tell if it's been minutes or hours, only that lightening is flashing across the sky and the rolls of thunder barely muffle his cries.

They're both sodden and Light can't find it in himself to care if he catches pneumonia and dies because all he's living for is gone.

And he can't find it in him to remember, remember why he's done this because this beautiful man is gone and couldn't there have been another way?

It doesn't bother him that he's holding a corpse and rocking back and forwards in the rain, pressing heavy kisses chocked with sobs into his black hair because he's L.

He's just L and he needs him.

He's gone now.

And perhaps it's been hours because his eyes are stinging and he's shivering uncontrollably and the rain is easing.

But the knife is still in L and he carefully slides it out, reopening the would and being stained crimson once again,

Fresh blood and fresh tears.

And then the sky is inky black and littered with stars and Light knows, he knows why he's done this.

He drops L like his skin has been scalded at the touch and he stands, his eyes never leaving the detective.

He glances back and he can see his God of death watching him amusedly.

And he knows.

He can't find it in himself to be glad, but he knows.

This beautiful man was a necessary sacrifice.

And that's okay. Light's okay.

Light will be okay.

a/n so idk I wanted to write a pretty scene where Light personally kills L with a knife or something and holds him and cries because i think light should have killed l and perhaps not like this but I wanted to write it anyway idk if I'm happy with this but here you go

feedback is greatly appreciated.