Author's Note: I don't own Death Note. A lot of this scene's dialogue was taken directly from the anime script from episode 25. Any reviews, even just a smiley face (or frowny face), would be greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading!

The rain keeps falling, echoing on the pavement as Light and I enter the headquarters' building. Light's sneakers squish, completely soaked. He rambles on about cold viruses and bad choices. But I barely hear it over the bells. The bells of Wammy's House—the only real home I've ever known.

It's illogical. Winchester is 5,989 miles away from Tokyo. It goes against science to hear the booming dings and dongs from my Alma Mater. But I've come to realize something very important: some things, no matter how true, cannot be proven by physical evidence. I can hear the iron bells from my home, despite the miles. I can see shinigami due to a magic system beyond human comprehension.

I can know Light is Kira, even when all the evidence supports his innocence.

Light says something about towels and tells me to wait. So I do—standing on those stairs in the empty hallway. Everything feels so big now. Or maybe I feel incredibly small. Again, this is all illogical and arbitrary, but when I hear bells from my past life ringing in my head, I process things differently. For instance, I know that Light and I will need to walk down thirty-three steps from the roof. Then we will need to take the elevator down twenty-four flights to get to the Kira Investigation Hub. The entire trip will take us approximately two minutes and forty-three seconds, assuming the elevator hasn't been called back down. These facts are all measurable and quantifiable.

But today, those thirty-three steps seem like monstrous leaps. The elevator down twenty-four flights seems like a descent into hell. And those two minutes and forty-three seconds feel too short. Far too short.

"Here."

Light is at my side, holding two towels, fluffy and white. He's already running one through his golden brown hair. He sits down on the stairs. I place my towel on my hair, but don't press out the rain.

"Well, that was certainly an unpleasant outing," I say. Water drips down my face and onto my bare feet. My toes curl, wishing for warmth.

"It's your own fault. I mean, what did you expect?"

The question feels deeper than this moment. As if he's accusing me of investigating Kira to begin with. I went head-to-head with a genius killer. Shouldn't have I expected to get wet?

"You're right," I finally say once Light's stare gets too pointed. "Sorry."

He rolls his eyes while slipping out of his drenched shoes. His white shirt is translucent from the rain, and I can see Light's goose-bumped flesh sticking up in little circles on his arms and torso. Light looks inconvenienced, yes, but he does not look as miserable as I feel. He looks like he wanted to get cold rain dumped on him. He looks completely in his element.

And here I am, standing with dripping hair and an unused towel.

Along with the bells and Light's frantic towel drying, another sound fills my head. A minute, tapping sound. My eyes drop to Light's feet. They are trembling. His toes are shivering so badly that Light has unconsciously tapped them repeatedly against the floor, in an effort to warm them.

Suddenly, I'm walking down four steps to reach his feet. Because right now, Light's toes are the only honest thing about him. They aren't hiding his discomfort. They aren't sheltered behind a farce of socks and shoes. They are plain, naked. Bare.

"What are you doing?" Light jumps when I grab his foot. My fingers are somehow warmer than his toes. Odd. I always thought Light would be warmer than me.

"I thought I might help you out. You were busy wiping yourself off anyway," I say. Now I am lying. But that's okay. Lying is Light's natural tongue. I may not be fluent as him, but he'll still understand my true meaning.

" L-Look, it's fine. You don't have to do that." He leans away from me. Is that because he doesn't like me touching his feet? Or is it because he knows I found his hiding honesty?

Despite his discomfort, I start to rub his feet with a towel, because it's what I do. When I notice something that makes Light uncomfortable, I dig deeper, hoping to find truths in the absence of security. "I can give you a massage as well," I say. "It's the least I can do to atone for my sins. I'm actually pretty good at this."

He's quiet. I know the Kira side of him is loves this, since L is finally at Kira's feet where I belong. So when Light says, "Fine, do what you want," I know he's really celebrating that he's bested me. Although it's not over, although we haven't started our two minute and forty-three second journey, we both know where this is going. We both know that I've lost.

I must have rubbed his bottom arch a bit too roughly at this thought because Light suddenly flinches and says, "Hey!"

I want to smile at Light, like I did in the rain with a hand around my ear, beckoning him to come closer. Instead, I grip his foot even tighter and say, "You'll get used to it."

He does get used to it. He even relaxes into my touch, leaning on his elbows that perch his body up on the staircase. My eyes remain focused on his feet—his trembling feet. They shouldn't be shivering. I've warmed them up with my careful ministrations. Perhaps it's from the contrast of temperature, when rain drops from my wet locks, touching his ankles and toes. I rub them more attentively and his skin becomes almost fiery hot. But still his feet tremble in my grasp.

"Here." Light's voice is kind whisper. His damp towel finds my dripping hair. "You're still soaked."

He's lying again. He's pretending he cares that I'm cold and wet. He's acting like a friend should. But Light and I were never friends. I called him that, as it was the closet definition at the time that encompassed how I regarded him. But he's always been more than that to me. And I've always been more to him than anyone else in his world. Back in the days when there was only a 5% chance of Light being Kira, I projected with 66.3% confidence that my future would have him by my side, challenging me in new ways every day. Sadly, the likelihood of this future is now 0.3%. And more depressing still, the future that has a 99.7% chance of happening is the one that Light wants most.

The future where I die.

"It'll be lonely, won't it?" I ask.

"Hm?"

I know I'm as good as admitting to Kira that he had won, but with the bells still ringing, with the sound of home echoing through my mind, I don't feel pity for me. I feel pity for him. Or maybe, it is more accurate to say I feel pity for us. For the 0.3% future that could have been.

"You and I will be parting ways soon," I say. I smile, because even though my 0.3% future is as good as 0.0%, I still can't find it in me to hate him. Even if he is Kira, he is still my equal. And life was lonely before Light entered it.

His lips open to a silent, "Huh."

Suddenly, I discover another honest part of Light—his trembling bottom lip. There is a 75.8% chance it's because he can barely restrain his excitement at my defeat. Kira always did love to win. Then he stops drying my hair, making me lower this probability to 57.3%. This drops to 36.9% when he lets go of the damp towel. Again, to 12.2%, when his fingers rake my hair.

"Will Light miss me?" I grip Light's shivering toes tightly.

He shakes his head, "What are you talking about, Ryuzaki? I'm not going anywhere. And neither are you."

My head drops and I whisper the greatest truth yet. "I don't want to leave. I don't want to hear the bells yet. " My hands start to shake.

His fingers grab my hair almost painfully, forcing my head up to meet his angry eyes. "There are no bells, L."

I grab his wet shirt tightly, balling the near translucent fabric in my fist. I want him to stop lying. I want him to acknowledge the things I'm truly saying. When we're alone, Light isn't good at playing dumb. He puts on a better face when confronted with the entire investigation team. But when it's just the two of us, his tells become obvious. He hesitates before he lies. He flinches in anger when I hit too close to the truth. Matsuda would say I'm just annoying him, but I know Light. I know Kira. I know him better than anyone else in the world.

And as a reward, I am to be executed.

"Please," I say, my words so quiet I can barely hear them over the bells. "Just this once. Don't lie."

He's never been as quick as me. My kicks always find his face before he can block them. My hands always grab my cakes before he can steal them. So it isn't a surprise that he's stunned when my lips suddenly press against his.

Light reacts immediately. He pulls me away roughly, yanking me by the hair. I can see the lie building behind his lips. His chest has inflated with self-righteous disgust. His eyes have narrowed into loathing. But his lips are still telling the truth. They are still trembling. And I want to hold them with my own mouth, the same way I held his feet with my hands. I want to savor the parts of Light that are real before I go. But instead I wait, and plead silently.

Don't lie.

I can sense him calculating behind his staring eyes. He's probably wondering if this will prove he isn't Kira. He's probably wondering if I plan to use this brief interlude against him later. Beyond the ability to manipulate my voice, I've never been an expressive person. I've never had to be, as the great detective L. But now I must rely on my body language. Light will not trust a single thing I say, so I plead with everything that I have in the drop of my shoulders, the dripping of my hair, and the steadiness of my gaze.

Don't lie. Please, don't lie.

And then he kisses me.

It's not a good kiss. A good kiss, I imagine would be soft, warm, and fill me with happy thoughts. This kiss is hard, cold, and it fills me with despair. But it isn't bad either. Because Light tastes like fruity toothpaste and smells like dew after a storm. Because Light's breath becomes ragged as he loses his control. Because Light is gripping me so tight around my scalp and back that I may bruise. And I return it all. I mix his toothpaste with my strawberry cake. I add my lavender detergent to his dewy scent. And I gasp and grab just as hard as him. Our kisses are battles won and lost. Neither one of us gives up. Neither one of us relinquishes control. It's always been the way we communicated. So why would things be different now?

He pulls away first. Of course he would. He isn't the one with a limited amount of time left on this world. But he surprises me. He doesn't stand up and pretend like nothing has happened. Instead, he leans his forehead against mine. When he closes his eyes and just breathes, I stare at him a long time until I too close my eyes and breathe with him.

The bells are quieter now. Our breaths, shivers, and the cold water dripping from my hair to the floor have overcome them. Light's hand is still in my scalp, but it's gentle now. He keeps combing through my locks, as though memorizing the sensation. So I find my own thing to savor. I put my hand on Light's chest, over his heart. His beating heart. And I feel his life beneath my palm.

Eventually I stand, and he rises with me. His other hand, the one not in my hair, slides from my shoulder to meet my fingers still resting on his chest. He places his palm on top of mine and I know he's thinking the same thing as me. That soon, my heart will stop beating. And it will be due to his will, if not by his pen.

"We should go back downstairs," he says. His lips are swollen. His hand is still in my hair. He doesn't move.

"We should," I agree. I don't move either.

We lean forward. This kiss is probably what our first kiss should have been like. It's soft and gentle. It's full of unspoken truths, affections, and desires for 0.3% chance futures. But it's not our first kiss.

It's our last.

My phone rings, forcing me to pull away. It's Watari, informing me we have received consent to perform the thirteen-day test with the Death Note. It's a test that will prove Light guilty. So I know it's a test I will never be allowed to finish.

"Who was that?" Light asks, his hand still in my serpentine hair.

"Watari." I drop my hand from his heart and the ringing of the Wammy bells becomes louder. I turn and walk down the twenty-nine remaining steps to the elevator. For our two minutes and forty-three second journey. My final journey. "Looks like everything worked out," I say.

When we enter the elevator, we are silent. We don't hold hands. We don't even look at each other. Then when the door dings open, Light gives me a smile befitting of his name. It's perfect. It's everything that I would want from him after such a close encounter. Unfortunately, because it is so perfect, I know it's a lie.

He gestures to the open door, "You coming?"

I nod and step forward.

The bells are deafening.