Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note, Of Mice and Men, or this idea for a fic.

IMPORTANT A/N: This is a repost. A while ago, I read Luckystar27's "Lie to Me," loved it, faved it, then forgot about it. Then I wrote this. Recently, I was going through my favorites list and realized... what I wrote was WAY too similar. So I removed it, apologized profusely, and she, being an absolutely amazing person, was not mad at me, and, having read it, told me not to remove it. So I'm reposting and taking this opportunity to praise Luckystar27 as an extremely nice person and excellent writer, to edit this again, apologize to her (and everyone) once again, and to blatantly promote her fic "Lie to Me." Please go read it!

Original A/N: If you haven't read Of Mice and Men, you'll still understand the fic, but there will be a line that makes you go 'wtf?' And, if you haven't read it, you should! It's really short- you can do it in two hours, easy.

It was very, very late, and it was one of those nights where I knew that sleep would win if I tried to fight it. As much as I wished it didn't, my body had physical needs, and while I could restrain them for seemingly inhuman periods of time, I wasn't immortal. I wasn't impervious. I had to sleep eventually.

And, as I said, tonight was one of those nights, and the scenery couldn't have been more appropriate. It was a cool night but not frozen, and for once I could actually see a few stars in the light-polluted Tokyo sky.

Not, of course, that I was so fond of nature that I felt the loss of these stars on anywhere near a regular basis. I found city lights to be much more beautiful, anyway. They are imperfect, flawed, created by man. And so, so beautiful. I like flawed things.

I thought about this briefly as I burrowed into my half of the covers, marveling again at the fact that my bed was actually warm from the heat of another person. I lay on my side to face my own flawed thing. Surprised by this unusual but welcome rustling, Light rolled over to look at me, smiling. The moonlight pouring through the huge glass windows of our room touched his face and lips and the blankets where they were cocooned around him, painting everything a smooth, silvery color, turning his skin to porcelain.

His eyes were bright as he watched me. I wriggled down until I was face to face with him, smiling back without conscious effort at doing so. He was the only one that could make my face react without my consent. My naked knee brushed his bare thigh, and I remembered with almost painful clarity why we were both naked and how we had gotten that way.

Again.

No matter how many times we were together, it never ceased to amaze me that someone loved me. More, that someone I loved could love me. The odds of it were so slim that I would have (and did, a long time ago), deem it an impossibility. If it is hard for the average person who goes about his life interacting with the public regularly to find the one he loves, then how could it be possible for me, who rarely sees anyone in three dimensions? Who rarely appears as something other than a black, gothic L on a white screen?

I certainly didn't expect this. Didn't expect Light. Didn't expect to be so... happy. Yet another thing that I once told myself I did not require.

But here we are, and here I was, and he was moving closer to me to take me in his arms and bury his face in my neck. Entwined, naked, we lay like that for a long time, listening to the other's breath and loving him.

I startled even myself when I spoke. Light just had that effect on me, which was bad because he was probably Kira. No, he couldn't be. He had to be, but he couldn't be. There was no one else, but it wasn't him. Luckily for me (and for Light), my gut instinct does not hold in the court of law.

"Light-kun, after the Kira case..."

He curled one hand against my chest, sending shivers up my spine. He was the only one I had ever allowed to touch me that way. Or any other way, really, even though it was barely intimate. He predicted my question before I had the chance to finish it.

"Of course I'll help you with your next case," he replied, looking up at me and finding my fingers in the dark, squeezing my hand. "I'll stay."

Why had that sounded so much like a marriage proposal? Was that even legal in Japan? I was losing track of my countries, especially with Light right in front of me, breathing on me, looking at me with those sepia eyes that somehow managed to make words scatter from my brain like nothing else ever had.

But it didn't really matter because my heart was fluttering in my chest and I was trying not to think of that as foreshadowing because Light was not Kira, he wasn't, no matter how hard I was trying to prove that he was.

It couldn't all be a lie.

"After the Kira case, what are we going to do?" Light asked me gently, tracing his fingertips over my cheek, down my jaw.

I blinked at him slowly, forcing my mind away from the terrible instinct that I knew was correct despite my overwhelming personal bias. If I could still believe him guilty now, here, when we were like this, then didn't it have to be true?

He was looking at me innocently, just looking at me, and I knew that I could let it go for a moment. If I died, I died. At least if I was dead I wouldn't have to send him to his execution.

"You tell me," I countered softly. He was exhausted, I knew, or he would have been able to tell from my voice alone that something was wrong with me. That I doubted.

Not my love for him, no, it was past the point where I could question that.

No, I was doubting him.

"Okay," he said. His eyes got a faraway look that told me he was thinking about it, picturing it. Then he smiled slightly to himself as his brilliant mind produced an image. "We're going to have a little, nondescript house in any country you want. From the outside, no one would ever know it was anything, but inside it's going to have the best technology money can buy. We'll solve every case that comes our way and we'll never be bored because they will be exactly hard enough to keep our interest. There will be a kitchen with separate cabinets for my real food and for your sweets, with an big refrigerator that is kept at the ideal temperature for cake. Our bedroom will have huge windows, just like this, and we'll make love in the moonlight."

He paused for a moment, stroking my hair. I inhaled the scent of him as deeply into my lungs as I could.

"Every Sunday morning in the summer, we'll go to a farmer's market for fresh strawberries and raspberries and anything else we feel like. And then on Tuesday nights we'll play poker with the neighbors and lose on purpose, even though we could beat them easily, because we want to maintain a good relationship with them so that they will mow our lawn and get our mail when we have to go to another country on a case."

I almost smiled. Neighbors? Lawnmowers? Mail?

"And," Light added, "we'll do all of this until we're cranky old men- maybe we'll even get a cat- and then die in each other's arms one night, in our sleep."

I wanted to believe him.

For a moment, I almost did.

It was very, very early on the morning of November fifth, and it was one of those nights were I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep even if I tried. The scenery couldn't have been more appropriate. It was an unseasonably warm night but not sticky, and I couldn't see a single star in light-polluted Tokyo sky. I would have liked to have seen the stars, that night. Normally I didn't care for them, but that night I wanted to see something perfect.

I thought about this as I sighed and tugged at my half of the covers where they slid off of me, my bed stiflingly warm from the heat of another person. I lay on my side in order to face him. He rolled over to look at me too, but he couldn't smile. The moonlight pouring through the huge glass windows of our room touched his face and lips and the blanket where it puddled at his feet, painting everything a sickly pale color, turning his skin to rice paper.

His eyes were flat as he watched me. I squirmed down until I was face to face with him, staring back silently. He reached out and kissed me, hard. There was desperation and regret and sorrow and love and guilt in that kiss that I had never tasted before, and he pressed us closer together and wrapped his arms around me. His familiar body was cold against my bare chest and despite the affectionate gesture my skin prickled.

He would be my murderer by the end of the night. I would not live to see this time tomorrow.

We lay like that, intertwined, naked, for a long time, listening to the other breathe for the last time.

I don't know how I knew that that night was to be my last, but I knew. Somehow he knew it, too. Maybe it was tearing him up inside as much as it was me. What was worse? Killing the one you love, or being killed by the one you love? To have to live without him, or to have to wonder if he ever loved you at all?

He was Kira and I knew it more firmly now than I ever had before, but my gut was still not legal evidence. Maybe he had always known he was Kira, maybe he really had forgotten. It didn't make a difference in the end; I'd love him either way. How could I not love Light? How could I not love Kira?

I wasn't sure I could have turned him in, anyway. I am essentially a selfish creature and I knew myself well enough to know that I wouldn't want to live in a world where Light is dead. It would simply be too boring.

"Tell me about the rabbits, George," I said quietly, almost managing to not sound bitter. Not quite succeeding.

And as he always did, he knew exactly what I meant. There was no emotion in his voice when he said it this time, no smile, no warmth. He automatically curled a hand against my chest and it still, still sent shivers up my spine.

"We're going to have a little house in any country you want," he said blankly. "From the outside it won't look special, but inside it's going to have all the latest technology. We'll solve hundreds of cases and never be bored." He stopped, his voice almost cracking and he cleared this throat. "Th-there'll be a kitchen with cabinets for my food and yours, with a fridge designed especially for cake. Our bedroom will have windows just like this and we... we'll... make love... in the moonlight." He took a deep, silent breath that I wouldn't have been aware of if I wasn't so close to him. "Every Sunday morning in summertime," he finally managed to continue, "we'll go to a farmer's market for strawberries. And then on Tuesday nights we'll lose on purpose at poker against the neighbors, so they'll like us. They'll just think we're the friendly gay guys who live next door and suck at cards, and they'll be happy to mow our lawn and get our mail when we have to go away for a case."

His arms went around me a little tighter.

"And," he said finally, "we'll do it until we're crabby old guys with cats. And then we'll... we'll die in each other's arms one night. I-in our sleep..."

I felt his shoulders shaking as he cried silently into my hair, but I had no comfort to offer. It was as good as a confession, and for whatever reason it changed absolutely nothing. He was still the one.

As I lay there next to the man who would be my murderer, the man I loved, I was glad that he would be killing me in less than twenty-four hours. If he didn't, I would have to turn him in.

No, I would be killed. This was the way it should be.

As it turned out, it was better to be killed by him than to have to watch him die.