(no subject)

[to_a_dark_place]

Who: Light Yagami, L Lawliet.
Where: Sociology.
When: Tuesday, after Sociology class yeah, yeah, second verse, same as the first, I know.
What: What do you think? It's L and Light. Cupcake-baking and knitting, of course! ... well, yeah, no. Think something more along the lines of drama and impassioned speeches and break-downs and mindfuckery and, oh yeah, enough messed-up for your average Greek myth. And L getting beaten up punched once, okay D<, by Light.
Warnings: In Clairbourn, does teacher + student + inappropriate conduct count as a warning by now? I mean, it's more par-for-the-course, to be fair.

The bell had rang and slowly but surely the class began to file out of the room. L watched for a few moments, before turning his back to the 20-something parade of people and began to erase the chalkboard.

"Mr. Yagami," stated L. "Please stay behind."

At Lawliet's voice, Light halted in his tracks, turning with a puzzled expression. Detaching himself from the rest of the students, shrugging in response to one or two curious looks, Light headed up to the front of the classroom. "Is something the matter?" he asked, frowning.

L made a motion with his hand to the paper on the desk, "Your last essay, Mr. Yagami." L turned around, took his usual curled up seat at his desk, "It does not seem consistent with your other works. Are you one hundred percent positive you wrote this?"

Light raised his eyebrows. "You mean the one about social stratification?" he asked. "No, actually I let my alter-ego take over to write that one. Last time I'm trusting him with essaying, I guess." He paused. "Yes, I wrote it," he continued with a sigh. "What exactly seems off about it? I mean, I might be able to answer better if you told me what specifically you had in mind."

Something just... wasn't completely there in L's head anymore. Beyond had broken something in there. So it shouldn't have been all that surprising when L was on his feet in a matter of seconds, forcing Light backwards and pressing him back against the blackboard in as few movements as possible. His beathing was slightly elevated, and he just stared at Light, wordless.

It took Light a second or two to register just what exactly had happened; when he felt himself shoved, his eyes widened and he stepped backwards to keep himself from being toppled. A small, low noise escaped his lips as his back thudded against the blackboard. "Mr. Lawliet--" he began; then he stopped. Composure, he thought. The man was obviously disturbed, on edge -- he couldn't panic. So Light forced himself to calm down, taking a deep breath and meeting L's gaze levelly. "Mr. Lawliet?" he repeated, tone softer, questioning this time. "Please release me."

L wasn't listening. Or rather, couldn't listen anymore. A bony delicate hand reached up to touch the side of Light's face, then down the side of his neck. Light was soft. He didn't feel anything like his brother. Beyond was cold and rough, but Light felt so warm. Wide black eyes looked over him and he just pressed closer

No response. Light's own breathing quickened somewhat, from something akin to anxiety, worry -- all the comments about him, about loneliness and infatuation and -- but that had all been foolery, hadn't it? Light nearly jumped at the touch of cold fingers against his face, his neck -- maybe not. He didn't move, even though he really wanted nothing more than to yell, to run, to hit. Instead, Light remained frozen, chest heaving up and down with every breath, face like a mask. "Mr. Lawliet," he said. "Don't. Don't." Is he even listening? Light knew that in the back of his mind there were lurking notions of a hidden knife, gun, of those fingers closing around his neck and crushing -- was this what fear felt like? He wasn't sure.

Skeleton-like fingers managed to slip to Light's chest, barely even touching the other's shirt, let alone applying pressure to his chest. In his head, L knew that Light was a student, several years younger than him. A child. But Light had been the first person; the only person, to really show any sort of concern about where L had been for nearly a week. Everyone else had just been happy to be rid of him for a few days... but not Light.

His other hand came up now to touch the opposite side of Light's face. Still, he was so warm and soft, and it was so hard for L to comprehend just how good another person felt being so close. The fear didn't register, the words didn't register. Nothing was coming in to L except for a feeling of closeness he refused to give up.

If he pressed a bit harder, Light thought as Lawliet's hand came to rest on his chest, the man might feel his fast-beating heart. But the touch was still soft and -- gentle pressure, coldness against his skin on the other side of his face now. Light inhaled sharply; closed his eyes; exhaled again. There was, he thought, no violence here -- not yet. Clearly Lawliet was in a fragile state and he might turn dangerous, quickly. Run with it for now, Light told himself, and he raised his own right hand, clasping it gently over Lawliet's, a loose grip, his thumb resting in the center of the man's palm. "Look--" he said. "If you want to talk--" Talking. Talking was always good, talking was always his defence, isn't that right Yagami? and Light wasn't even fully sure what he was thinking any more.

He was hardly able to think straight as it were, but when Light grabbed his hand everything else flew out the window. Before L knew it, his mouth was on Light's, scrounging hungrily for some small glimmer of affection. He never thought he would need something like this, least of all from a student, yet regardless here he was, forcing his lips on the younger male; yearning.

"N--" Light began, seeing Lawliet shift and move and come forward, but before he could even the finish the word (it's barely a word, it's just a syllable, and he's--) Lawliet was--

Face it, thought a cold, detached part of Light's mind. He's kissing you.

Light's hand tightened over Lawliet's, almost bonecrushingly hard in its grip now, and he was yelling inside his head -- push him away, move, do something -- and he raised his other hand to Lawliet's chest and then Light was pushing him away but he wasn't, was he?; his fingers curled into the fabric of his teacher's shirt and the back of his skull hurt because he was pressing it so hard against the blackboard (get away) and his lips were moving, not forming any words. And both of his hands clenched tighter and--

No.

Finally, Light shoved with his left hand, releasing the fabric of Lawliet's shirt and pushing the man back with all his force. Then he gasped, raggedly, jaw clenched and before he could think another thought Light had drawn back his right arm and was swinging his fist towards Lawliet's face.

The actions happened faster than his mind could keep up with. Pain didn't register at first; it didn't occur to him that he had been punched and fallen to the floor until moments after it happened. His desk chair had been toppled over and he sat slumped against the drawers of the desk, hissing as one drawer handle dug in to the still-open wound on his back.

He didn't looke up at Light; couldn't look up at him. He was utterly horrified with himself. A dissapointed as well. How could he allow himself to do such a thing?

"How could you--" Light began, unconsciously echoing Lawliet's thoughts; his voice was still controlled, but then when he spoke again he was, by all means, shouting: "What were you thinking? What weren't you thinking? You're my teacher, Lawliet! You-- what happened to, 'I can't even talk to you because it's too dangerous' -- you can't talk to me but now you're--" Incoherent, thought Light, but he couldn't find the words, couldn't muster and arrange them. His voice was catching, hoarse and rough.

"If whatever's going on with you--" and he was still yelling, he somehow couldn't bring himself to quiet down, couldn't bring his hands to stop shaking or his eyes to stop stinging. This is too much. I can't deal with this. I can't. I can't. Light had always tried, to make his manta 'I can' -- how self-defeating, how futile, was 'I can't'? But this, he thought, and the clinical, encyclopedaeic tone of the thought made the bottom of his stomach seem to fall out from horror, this was too much. "If whatever is going on with you is so bad that you can't control yourself any more, can't keep your professionalism as a teacher -- you can't keep the profession! Go on leave! Get a psychiatrist! I don't know! But don't ever -- don't ever touch me again!"

L's whole body was shaking at this point, but he made no sounds. He made no movements. He just let Light scream at him. Here he was, wronging another person -- maybe Light was right.

He finally looked up at Light, the usually emotionless black eyes were wider than they'd ever been and filled with salty burning tears that silently rolled down his cheeks. He had no idea what was happening to him anymore, but he couldn't stand it. He just couldn't stand it. He was breaking in to a thousand little pieces and was trying to shatter Light with him.

Finally, a horse cracked throat finally managed to produce enough sound to get you "Am I.... really insane?" he asked, looking entirely lost.

Anger was still coursing through Light's veins; his shoulders were trembling and his breath was coming harsh and ragged. You should calm down, he thought. This won't help anything. Calm down. A deep breath; then another. Light closed his eyes and swallowed, hard, blowing out the anger like he would blow out a candle. "What is sanity?" he asked Lawliet, voice tired, as he opened his eyes again. "Regardless... you need help. That much is obvious. This--" Expression strangely blank now, Light watched the man, seeing his tears, his helplessness. "This isn't you." Then he paused, and took a few steps forward. "Well, no," he continued, reaching out his hand to Lawliet, an offer to help him up. "I guess it is, huh? Who'd have thought you're human too, after all." There was still a considerable part of him that wanted to keep on yelling, that wanted to keep on punching, keep on running, but he suppressed that urge. Right now, that would do nothing.

The hand offered to him wasn't taken, and instead, he remained on the floor. He didn't trust himself to touch Light. No. This wasn't him and that was the problem. L was calm and collected. Always poised and constantly upholding justice. L didn't cry, didn't try to feel up his students. L wasn't this person.

Whoever this person was; he was the offspring of Beyond.

He needed help, huh? This was almost funny. There wasn't anyone that could help. Help was what he was doing now. He was helping Beyond...so long as he could justify it in such a way he would be fine... he wouldn't have to worry because this would all work in the end. L never failed.

He remained silent, looking away from Light and letting his gaze drop from the hand held out to him to the floor. He wanted Light to leave, but there was still some small part in the corner of his mind that hungered for the boy's closeness.

"Mr. Lawliet," Light said. "Right now, you can do one of two things. You can stop crying, take my hand, get up and get your emotions under control -- at least to some degree. Alternately, you can continue to say nothing, continue to feel awful, let your pain win. It's your choice, really." His tone was detached, clinical somehow, and he watched the man with dispassionate eyes.

L didn't say anything again, just stared for a bit longer. Finally, his body stopped shaking, and his eyes weren't burning anymore. He wiped off the last remaining bits of emotion from his face with the flat palms of his hands before pushing himself up and on to his feet, without the use of Light's hands.

His desk chair was grabbed, and turned upright. l moved almost robotically, as if it were all programmed in to him to act this way. And in a way, his actions were programmed. Growing up, he had been told how to think, how to feel, how to act, and how to react. This was the first time in a long time that his actions didn't make sense to himself when he thought of them.

"My apologies," was all he said as he took his seat in his chair, simply staring down at the papers on his desk, knees hugged closely to his chest with one arm while the other hand was at his face, thumbnail being chewed at nervously.

Taking a step back and letting his hand fall back to his side, Light watched Lawliet come together again. It was strange to see -- to see the emotion disappear, like dirt swept under the rug again, bits and pieces of bony skeletons tucked back into their closets, the doors closed and locked..

For a few long seconds, Light was silent, frozen, face blank, mind still. "Accepted," he said finally, slowly tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans. It was more difficult to say than he had thought it would be. "You said to me, a while ago, that I give off -- or rather, try to give off -- the impression of being perfect... unassailable in my flawlessness. You-- you're not quite the same. But you give the impression of a person who is absolutely without feeling -- the emotional mind totally subjugated by the rational one." He left the statement hanging there, unresolved, unexplained.

"What is Mr. Yagami attempting to say?" L questioned, speaking low in case his voice betrayed him and cracked again. He wanted Light to leave him alone already, but he also wanted to speak with him. Not only that, but he nowhad a splitting headache; something that happened to him every rare time he shed tears.

"Mr. Yagami," Light said drily, rolling his eyes, "is attempting to say that Mr. Lawliet also attempts to make himself seem unassailable. But he isn't, is he?" He quirked an eyebrow, folding his arms.

"I never claimed to be," L replied, tone finally leveling out and becoming the same, monotonous sound that usually came out of his mouth.

"Neither did I," Light retorted. "But there are... perceptions of weakness, abhorrences of weakness..." His brow furrowed. "You can't tell me that you like to display emotion. Well, I mean, you can. But you'd have a very difficult time trying to convince me of it."

"It is not a matter of like or dislike, Mr. Yagami. It is simple fact that behaving with as little emotion as possible is efficient." He reached for a stack of tests, busying himself with the monotonous work,

"I think you're wrong. In fact, I think you just proved yourself that you're wrong," Light said. "To completely separate your emotions from yourself is... impractical. It's better to recognize your own emotions as they come up, and deal with them and express them appropriately. That way -- you don't end up with sudden overflowing outbursts, like you just did. It's more harmful to reject your own emotions than to let yourself feel them and handle them with sensitivity. I think I need only say that right now, I could easily go to the principal and try to get you suspended -- possibly fired -- from your job for what you did."

"If you want to do that, I am not going to stop you. By all means, go right ahead. Though I do warn you there is someone who would not be very happy if the news of what transpired here was leaked to him." And L left it at that, ignoring Light's speech on emotions.
Emotions were utterly useless.

"... I... didn't mean for it to come across as my having any intention of doing that," Light said carefully. "I don't. Although I'm angry at you--" understatement; although Light was certain that it didn't show just how much it was; "it wouldn't make me feel better, and it also wouldn't do any good for you." He paused. "I'm not saying, by the way, that it's good to let your emotions take control of you. I think emotions are better overcome by rational thought, but I'm just remarking that it's generally more effective to do that by recognizing the emotions -- and thinking them through -- rather than just denying them." He shrugged, then paused for a few moments, before venturing: "This mysterious person wouldn't happen to be the same one who would be a threat to me if he even knew that we had talked?"

L's gaze snapped over to Light's face rather quickly, His hand tightened painfully hard around the pen in his hand. "Do you ever shut up?" he questioned, eyes rather dangerous looking from underneath thick dark bangs.

"You could--" try 'shutting me up again' and see how far it gets you; that was what Light wanted to say but he broke off, biting his lip and taking a deep breath. Control. He needed control. "That's a rather... nonsensical question," he continued, more calmly. "Of course I do. Just not right now."

"Mr. Yagami's answers are always so perfect." L looked away from him again, nearly breaking the pen in his hand.

Light stared at Lawliet for a few moments. Then, slowly, he started to laugh; the sound was hoarse and humourless, and his expression was pained, painful. "Mr. Lawliet has no idea," he managed, once he was calmer. "Honestly, that-- well. You don't really think that, do you?"

"Of couse I do." He replied, clicking an unclicking the pen. "Mr. Yagami stumbles over his speech occasionaly, or he takes a long pause before answering. It is obvious you are always searching for the right way to respond to someone. The way that makes you seem perfect."

And if Lawliet was going to talk about long pauses, stumbling over his speech, this time Light's answer was swift, confident, unhesitant: "People talk about how imperfection is okay. How it's all right, to be flawed, how it's a good thing to love yourself despite your flaws, how other people should love you for your flaws. I won't settle for that. All I have ever caused with imperfection is worry and sorrow. Even if I'm not perfect, I will still try to be. It's better than accepting weakness and failure."

"And rehearsed speeches? Oh Mr. Yagami, how many of those do you have?" Why was this making him feel so good? L had never thought of himself as an evil person, but picking at Light really did relieve some of his internal tension.

"Why would I have to rehearse something like that?" Light asked scornfully, narrowing his eyes. Yes, he thought, there was a violence to Lawliet when he was upset -- but not physical. Psychological warfare? I can deal with this. "If I were to rehearse a speech, believe me, it would be much longer. You should have realized by now that I'm capable of making something like that up on the spot."

"So then these sorts of things are potentially infinite in number?" L sounded quite upset at the prospect. A diabetic coma would do fine any time now. "Mr. Yagami, you have a tendency to talk without actually saying anything. The things you say are worded with unnesecary length. If you shortened your speech you would sound intelligent."

"Tell it to me with a red pen on my essays," Light said bluntly, pulling his hands out of his pockets. "I have another class to attend now, which is more important than your pathetic attempts to tear down my self-esteem." With short, measured steps, Light headed to the door. As he opened it, he paused, and looked over his shoulder. There was an odd, sorrowful softness to his expression. "Keep safe," he said quietly.

And, with that, he was gone.