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The flowers had been growing in size, Light observed.
First, it had been small peony petals when he had been chained to L. Delicate, flimsy pink petals would stick themselves to the side of his throat, demanding to be spat out as soon as possible. Those were still manageable, since he’d just cough them up discreetly before swallowing them straight back down. He remembers when the metallic taste was just an undertone, blending itself into the bitter crinkle of petals when he’d accidentally chew them.
Then, they had matured into small, premature blossoms as the case progressed. Striking red tsubaki florets crawled their way up his mouth, anthers tickling his throat as they prepared to vomit themselves up. By then, Light had gained a little control over the ticklish feeling, stifling the blood and matter down his throat until he could go to the bathroom to choke them up. Either that, or he would spit them into the thickest tissues he could find and bury them deep into the trashbin when L was distracted.
Finally, he had begun to cough up whole flowers. The first time it happened, a whole chrysanthemum creeped its way up his esophagus, small petals itching his chest. He vomited it out in one shot after making an excuse to use the bathroom, basically dragging L by the chain to force him to wait outside while he hurled the flower out into the sink. It was the size of his palm, petals glued together with small, mucus-like blood clots. His blood tainted the brilliant yellow like watercolour, splattered all over the pristine white tiling of the sink. As he wrapped the flower in another bout of tissues, he had prayed that L wouldn’t ask him about it.
And when he had gotten his hands back on the death note, he spat an orange lily out the window of the helicopter when L was distracted by Higuchi’s sudden death.
Satisfaction surged through his veins as he relished in the success of his plan. Rem was soon to write L’s name in her notebook in order to protect Misa, and by doing that, she herself would die too. He could taste the mellow sweetness victory on his tongue, untarnished by the steelish coldness of his own blood. With the chain removed, he sauntered freely to the bathroom to choke up another flower he felt was making its way up his throat.
—
When he caught L in the rain, he knew his disease was getting worse. The other man’s hair stuck beautifully to the sides of his face, black stark against pale skin. His usually baggy shirt clung to his side like a prayer, fabric translucent as it hung off his ribs and hips, shoulderblades protruding out of his back like scapula, empty without wings to hold onto. He regurgitated another flower into an even larger ball of tissue before shoving it deep into his pocket. It seemed the noise had come out more visceral than he would have imagined it to, since L whipped his head towards Light once he heard it.
Light felt the stems pollute the walls of his lungs as L stared him deep in the eyes, face half turned toward the gloomy cityscape.
“What are you doing out there standing by yourself?” Light asks, voice muffled over the sound of the pouring rain. It hits the concrete like the beating of drums, steady and boisterous.
L grins bashfully, holding a hand up to his ear. More petals accumulate in lumps, congesting his nasal cavity. He composes himself before stepping out into the rain.
His chest is beginning to ache. He watches as L rambles on, a small smile creeping its way into his voice. He wonders if the other can hear his congestion when he answers. Even the raindrops begin to complement him, adding atmosphere and vividity to his voice. The stench of mildew transformed into fragrance as the flowers continued to bloom in his chest. He tries to ignore the way they sweep higher and higher towards his mouth, focusing his attention on the curves of L’s face.
L had always been an attractive man. Even before Light had been cursed with this plague, he would catch himself staring at the detective for longer than usual. He would lay awake at night, watching the rise and fall of the detective’s chest as he drifted off into his midweek slumber. The expression on his face would finally relax, and his mouth would fall slightly open.
The memory encouraged the entourage of flowers to speed up their ascent, triggering a chesty cough from Light.
“Are you alright, Light?” L questions, gaze melting into something softer than his usual, calculating expression. Light feels his face rush with warmth as he swallows the petals back, flooding his own mouth with saliva to drown out the blood. “I think you’re falling sick. Let's head back in.” Light’s attempt to hide the fact that clumps of sticky, bloody flowers were lodged in his throat had clearly failed, but the warmth of L’s voice only caused them to push further up his esophagus.
“I’m-“ His sentence is rudely interrupted by another cough. “-Alright.” L ignores his protests, grabbing him by the hand to drag him back into the building and Light’s heart flutters pathetically.
As Light sits on the stairs, he wipes himself with a towel, dabbing up as much water as he can. Suddenly, L crouches in front of him, looking up at him with those same large, empty eyes. Under the weight of the other man’s gaze, he turns away, desperately trying not to show his embarrassment at their current position. Light is shocked back to reality by the sudden friction of a towel rubbing across his feet, movements delicate and intentional.
“Ryusaki! What do you think you’re doing!” He stammers, reaching down to grab L’s wrist. Their eyes meet, and the foreboding taste of blood floods back into his mouth.
“I thought I’d help you.” L responds casually, hands wiping Light’s feet dry. L’s own hair is soaked, slowly dripping water that runs back down onto Light’s foot, causing the areas that L had already dried to turn damp again. The symbolism leaves him speechless, and he concedes to let L continue drying him off.
L stands up slightly from his crouch, stretching himself closer towards Light. He crawls up the steps to kneel beside him, using his own towel to squeeze the water out of Light’s hair. The sudden proximity causes Light’s breath to hitch, contained by the net of flowers and stems that seems to stitch his lungs closed.
The towel, controlled by L, dances gracefully on top of Light’s head. L scratches the side of Light’s head, and Light hates the way he melts into the touch. He knows he’s digging his own grave, and he feels the vines coming to pull him deeper underground.
L had to die. It was the only way for the flowers to stop. Light knows that.
“It’ll be lonely, won’t it?” L suddenly questions, hands still moving nimbly as he continues to dry Light’s hair. L’s voice cuts through their comfortable silence, like the ominous ring of a church bell in a graveyard. Light feels the touch of the towel disappear from his head, immediately missing the loss of physical contact. He internally curses at himself while L turns to look him in the eyes again.
The other man’s stare has always been oddly intense, with eyes so analytical and calculating that Light could feel himself being surgically processed by them. But this time, there was no malice in L’s gaze. It held something different— something less sharp and more fuzzy. It wasn’t anger, no. It was more like sadness and understanding mutated into a single emotion, twisting a paper knife into Light’s heart. L’s arm is pressed against his, wet sleeves melding into each other’s arms.
“We’ll be parting ways soon.” L murmurs, the phantom of a smile creeping onto his face. Light feels the choke of the petals come back. L’s smile was genuine, but it seemed more like a mimicry of a smile— like it was repressing something. L could definitely see the cogs turning in Light’s head as he placed his hand on Light’s cheek, thumb grazing hypnotically against Light’s skin.
“Ryusaki- L- What are you doing?” Light stammers, red from the touch. The detective refuses to meet his gaze, staring at the floor as he continues to stroke Light’s cheek. Light feels himself burn up from the touch again, and he floods with both embarrassment and shame. He feels the nectar in his mouth, sickly sweet as it tries to seal his windpipe shut.
Light was a god. He had climbed so high to finally taste the victory of sainthood— so why was he succumbing himself to such lowly, human behaviours?
“This is the last time I’ll see you, Light.” L breathes a heavy sigh. He peels his hand off Light’s cheek, craning his head up to make eye contact with Light again. The sudden claim shocks Light, and his racing mind is hazed over with surprise that slightly mutes the disgrace he feels. How would L know he was going to die?
The flowers never ceased their steady climb.
“What are you talking about, Ryusaki?” He stammers, feigning confusion. The lie slips as perfectly as it always did.
“I know I am going to die soon, Light. By your hand.” L’s gaze changes to pleading desperation, pupils blowing out as he consumes Light with the stare. L hoists himself over Light such that Light finds himself being pressed lower into the steps as L towers over him, kneeling over Light’s extended legs. He feels the fabric of L’s pants against his crotch, and he flushes red as the nectar soaks his tongue again.
Light wants to open his mouth— to stop this from escalating further, but he can feel a blossom finally reaching the entrance of his throat. He swallows it hastily. He shouldn’t want this. L said it himself— he was going to die soon, and the petals would go away with him. He maintains his silence as L uses a hand to hold him by the collar, paralysed by both fear and desire.
Maybe that was why he didn’t fight back when L pressed their lips together, kissing him with the hunger of a starved predator. Light feels his heart leap out of his chest as he melts into the motion. He watches L’s hair continue to splatter a few droplets over them, water trickling down to moisten their kiss. It was a nice touch, considering how rough and dry L’s lips were.
L’s hands traveled under Light’s damp shirt, roughly peeling the fabric off to let his hands wander over Light’s exposed back. Light feels a shudder run down his spine as he opens his mouth to allow entrance to L’s tongue. Nectar floods his mouth, and L kisses him harder to savour the sweetness.
He was dying. They were dying. It was wrong. He shouldn’t indulge himself. He needs to pull away. He would get himself killed doing this.
Light feels himself struggle to stifle tears.
The flowers are growing faster and faster. They ravage the lining of Light’s throat, stems stabbing into him as the petals grow larger. They move like a horde, creeping dangerously closer to his mouth.
He needs to pull away.
Light tries to push L’s tongue out of his mouth, struggling against L’s incessant tugging at his collar. He tries to push L away, but is met with a sharp bite down onto his bottom lip. He hates the way he whines at the touch before conceding to it.
The blood from the bite floods into their mouths, with L’s tongue only helping to stir it further into his mouth. The petals begin to surface, taking the blood as an invite. Light wants to pull away. He tries to pull away. But he can’t. He finds himself rendered helpless to the other man’s touch, pleasure shooting up his back when he feels L scratch lightly at his back.
The flowers are here. They tear through Light’s throat, vines and stems and petals sticking to his trachea. Lumped using blood as an adhesive, they gather in the back of his mouth, brushing against Light’s throat. He gags, spitting blood into L’s mouth. Light swears he can hear L moan, clawing harder at Light’s back. Light feels his mind fully intoxicated by euphoria, and he feels himself slipping away. In his haze, he feels L’s hands leave his back.
As he lifts himself up slightly to allow L to unbuckle his belt, a petal finds its way to the top of Light’s tongue.
And when his belt is thrown off to the side, he feels a vine crawl to touch L’s ever-active tongue.
And when he feels L’s hips buck into him, he coughs.
An amalgamation of petals and blood rip out of Light’s throat as he retches them into L’s mouth. Clots of blood stick to the side of his gums and teeth as the overwhelming stench of metal and blood pollute the kiss like smoke, creeping over every corner of their mouths.
Light rips them apart, falling back against the stairwell. The hard concrete slams into his back, and the blunt pain reverberates in his muscles. He knows some of these flowers already— knows what they feel like in his mouth and throat. He knows that a small chrysanthemum, tsubaki, and peony land in L’s mouth. He pulls himself off the stairs immediately, jerking his head up to make eye contact with L.
The detective’s lips are blazing red, with half a petal stuck against his bottom lip. His mouth hangs slightly open, and Light can see the bouquet of flowers he left in L’s mouth. Just as expected, the brilliant yellow of a chrysanthemum, the crimson red of a tsubaki, and the slightly more muted red of a peony sit in L’s mouth, tarnished yet again with the ominous stain of blood. L remains completely still, gaze fixated on Light. Light feels himself burn up again.
“That’s… interesting…” L speaks with awkward caution, pulling the flowers out of his mouth one by one. He spreads them open in his palm, observing how the gelatinous clots make the flowers seem wilted.
“Chrysanthemums are for loss. Tsubaki flowers are for love. Peonies are for desire.” L’s tone is cold with calculation again, and Light feels a sting in his chest, accompanied by his racing heart.
He should have pulled away. He knew it. Now all his work of hiding it from L was gone. L knew-
“You have Hanahaki disease.” L’s voice drops, face shadowed with realisation that was half real and half fake. Light’s embarrassment continued to bubble in his chest as he shot up, crawling frantically towards L. He pushes L down, leaving the other man’s back pressed against the stairs as he stares down into his eyes. Pleasure melds with pain as he sinks into L’s gaze.
“I do, alright?” Light confesses, exasperated. He snatches the flowers from L’s hand and throws them to the floor before wiping the blood off his mouth. The fabric stings against the bruise on his lip.
“You have Hanahaki Disease, and it’s because of me.” L continues, guilt seeping into his tone. Light feels his heart twist in his chest again as L raises his arms to hang them around Light’s neck, breathing shallowly as he feels the flowers begin to grow again.
L presses their lips together again, with much less ferociousity. The kiss is gentle and sweet, but it is quickly cut short as L pulls away again. Roots are digging deeper into his lungs.
“I can never love you, Light.” L mumbles. His voice is sweet with poison but heavy with regret. L’s eyes bore holes into Light’s again, and Light can tell that he is trying to gauge his expression.
He was a fool for thinking L would love him. It was such a stupid thought that consumed him.
L’s hands wandered to his hair, tugging gently at the roots. He worked through Light’s hair with mechanical precision but human warmth, detangling the damp clumps while staring at Light with something that could only be described as reverence.
Vines rushed up his throat again. He needed to cough. L was so conniving.
L was such a good challenge.
L batted his eyelashes before pulling his hand away from Light hair. He moved it in between the spaces between their faces, and right as Light focused his eyes on the two fingers in front of him, he felt them push their way down into his throat, fingertips rubbing the back of his mouth with ghost force and hypnotic rhythm. L’s other hand continued to ruffle his hair as if it was singing praise to him.
Light felt himself hurl again, blood and flowers spewing out of him for the second time in front of L. The stems lodged themselves securely into his throat, increasing his discomfort.
“I wish we could’ve met in another way, Light. But this is the only way we could’ve met.” He hears L’s voice in the background, heavy with wist and somber.
Light’s throat burns from acid and his face flushes in shock and embarrassment. He coughs once more before rubbing his hand aggressively with his sleeve to clean up the mess.
“What the fuck?” He stammers as he flicks his head up to look at L.
The detective grinned like a maniac, an expression so menacingly joyful as contrasted to the previous sadness in his voice. One of L’s hands continued to massage Light’s hair while the other wiped the mixture of spit, blood, and petals off his face.
“Good job, Light. That was beautiful.” Something predatory lurked in L’s voice, and Light feels himself freeze under the expression of the man beneath him.
Blood is splattered all over L’s face, a few droplets even reaching his pristine white shirt. The remaining petals and blood are smudged against L’s sleeve, his arms finally leaving Light’s hair as Light watched L go lax below him. His face is plastered with twisted satisfaction as his eyes close, breaking the gullotine tension between them.
“I only did this because I knew you had the disease, Light. I knew I was going to die as well, since you are Kira. After I die, you’ll be free of the disease, won’t you?”
Light’s face gnarls with embarrassment as L bats his eyelids open again, pride commanding his stare.
“I just wanted to have fun. That’s all. You were very fun, Light.”
L’s expression changes almost instantly again, his pride completely dissipating. It’s replaced by both sadness and guilt as L's hand comes back up to brush Light’s cheek again, and Light resents how he melts into the brief touch. L cups Light’s face with his hands, squeezing him gently as he whispers, tone drenched with concern and adoration. Light’s chest tightens with shame as he fails to read the detective.
“I’ll miss you, Light.”
Light stands up, brushing off his shirt before trying his best to maintain his composure as he walks out of the stairwell. He locks the door behind him and feels the rain soak his dried hair and clothes as he chokes up one last flower.