Two hearts, one unspoken promise—forever best friends.
❤︎ Synopsis. Two childhood friends, inseparable since kindergarten, navigate the ups and downs of growing up, their bond blossoming into a deep, unwavering connection that feels like home. As they face life’s challenges together, they discover that their friendship might just be the most enduring love of all.
♡ Book. World Ablaze (WA): For You, I’d Burn the World.
♡ Pairing. Yandere! Light Yagami x Reader
♡ Novella. In the Name of Love – Part 1
♡ Word Count. 7,947
♡ TW. psychological and emotional trauma, loss of loved ones, abandonment issues, angst + tragedy, implied family issues, depression and mental health issues
♡ A/N. This is a request, but I have not yet fulfilled the full request (hence the lack of proof of request). When it comes to long-form content, it feels so wrong in my brain for my writing to not set up the atmosphere and vibes properly. It don’t feel right. And anyways, this Part 1 is genuinely one of my LIGHTEST and legitimately wholesome works among all my writings haha. Wow first time posting wholesome yandere content? ahahhaahh. This is ACTUALLY SO GOOD. I COOKED GUYS (both in Part 1 and 2). ahhhhh. I WANTED TO INCLUDE PART 1 AND 2 TOGETHER. But. It’s 15k+ together already ahhh. Also, important to note. Unlike my usual long form content, the ‘introduction’ before actually dark + nsfw yandere centric content may come after Part 2 or 3. WHAT. Did this become slower burn than the Yandere! Ex-boyfriend??? Bro, it’s because I just had to include the childhood trope arc. Seriously.
Light Yagami was five years old when his family moved into the tidy, tree-lined neighborhood. His parents, proud and proper, spent days meticulously unpacking and arranging the house while Light obediently helped, though his mind was preoccupied with the mystery of what lay beyond their new front door.
“Light, dear,” his mother said, kneeling to his level, “why don’t you go introduce yourself to the neighbors? There’s a family next door with a little girl about your age.”
“All right,” he replied with his usual crisp, confident tone. Even at five, Light was the embodiment of charm and discipline, traits his parents were immensely proud of. He tugged on his neatly ironed shirt and marched toward the house next door, ready to dazzle the neighbors with his impeccable manners.
The house was a bit chaotic in contrast to the Yagami’s orderly new home. The lawn was slightly overgrown, and a lone bicycle lay toppled in the driveway. Light’s tiny hand knocked on the door with perfect rhythm—polite but assertive.
The door creaked open, and a woman with a wide, warm smile greeted him. “Oh, hello! You must be the Yagami boy! Aren’t you handsome?” She called over her shoulder, “Our new neighbors are here! Come say hi!”
Light’s chest puffed with pride at the compliment. “Good afternoon, ma’am. My name is Light Yagami. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
The woman’s laughter was bright as she introduced herself in return. “What a little gentleman! Please hold on. Let me call my daughter.”
She turned and called your name. Light heard the sound of something—or someone—dragging across the floor. Then you appeared.
Tiny, smaller than Light had expected, with oversized pajamas hanging loosely off your sickly frame. Your hair was messy, your expression vacant, and you held a stuffed black kitten in one hand as though it were a limp, lifeless thing. But the most striking part of you was your eyes—dark, hollow, and uninterested, like you’d already seen the end of the world and decided it wasn’t worth commenting on.
Light blinked. This was not the bright and cheerful playmate he had envisioned.
“Say hello to our neighbor, sweetie,” your mother said in a sugary tone. “His name is Light.”
You said nothing. Your gaze drifted lazily toward him, then back to the floor. You swayed slightly, as though gravity was a suggestion rather than a rule.
Light cleared his throat and stepped forward, undeterred. “Hi,” he said, flashing his most winning smile. “I’m Light. What’s your name?”
You stared at him for an uncomfortably long moment. Then, in a voice so small it was nearly a whisper, you muttered your name.
“That’s a nice name,” Light said, his tone bright and rehearsed. “Do you want to play?”
You blinked, slowly. Then you turned to your mother and said, “I’m going back to bed.”
Light watched, dumbfounded, as you shuffled back into the house, dragging your stuffed black kitten behind you.
Your mother laughed nervously. “She’s a bit shy. And… well, she’s been under the weather a lot, poor thing.”
“That’s all right,” Light said, his voice cheerful despite his confusion. He was used to people liking him. This was new.
———
Light didn’t give up easily. Over the next few weeks, he made it his mission to befriend you. He knocked on your door nearly every day, always with a new idea:
“Do you want to play tag?”
“I brought my soccer ball!”
“I found a cool bug. Do you want to see it?”
Your responses ranged from blank stares to monosyllabic grunts. Sometimes you didn’t answer at all, leaving Light standing awkwardly on the porch while your mother assured him that you were just tired.
One day, Light found you sitting on the front steps of your house, your stuffed black kitten in your lap. He approached cautiously, as though you were a skittish animal.
“Hi,” he said, sitting down beside you. “What are you doing?”
You didn’t look at him. “Thinking about how everything dies.”
Light blinked. “Oh. Um… why?”
You shrugged. “Because it’s true.”
Light frowned, unsure how to respond. After a moment, he said, “Well, yeah, I guess everything does die eventually. But that’s why we have to make the most of the time we have, right?”
You finally looked at him, your expression unreadable. “Do you really believe that?”
“Of course I do,” Light said firmly. “I want to do something great with my life. Don’t you?”
You tilted your head, considering this. “I don’t know. I guess I just want to sleep.”
Light laughed, a genuine, bright sound that startled you. “You’re funny,” he said. “I like that.”
You didn’t respond, but for the first time, you didn’t immediately walk away. Light took it as a small victory.
From that day on, you and Light fell into an odd sort of friendship.
He would drag you outside to play, and you would sit under a tree and watch him with a mixture of boredom and mild amusement. He would talk about his dreams and ambitions, and you would listen quietly, occasionally offering a dry, morbid comment that made him laugh despite himself.
Light Yagami, the star of the class, and you, the apathetic enigma, were an unlikely pair. But somehow, it worked.
────────────
The first day of kindergarten marked yet another stark contrast between Light and you. While he marched into the classroom like a young prince, his satchel impeccably organized and his confidence radiating, you shuffled in ten minutes late, pajama top peeking out under your sweater, and bedhead that defied gravity.
Light glared at you from his seat as the teacher politely redirected you to the cubby area. “You forgot your backpack,” she said, her tone strained with the kind of forced patience adults use for particularly hopeless cases.
You shrugged. “I don’t need it.”
Light’s hand shot into the air. “Miss Tanaka, I can share my supplies with her today.”
“Oh, what a kind offer, Light!” Miss Tanaka beamed.
Your disinterested gaze flickered to Light as you slid into the seat next to him. “You’re too much,” you mumbled, barely audible.
Light leaned over, his smile tight. “You’re embarrassing yourself. Do you even want to be here?”
“Not really,” you replied, laying your head on your arms. “But my mom said I had to come.”
Light huffed. “Fine. At least try not to sleep through everything. You’ll fail if you don’t pay attention.”
“Fail what?” you asked, voice muffled against the desk. “It’s kindergarten. What are they gonna do? Hold me back from learning colors?”
Light groaned, already regretting sitting next to you.
———
It didn’t get better. Every day, Light arrived prepared, polished, and ready to dazzle the teacher, while you dragged yourself in like you’d just crawled out of a cave. During lessons, he’d sit upright, hand raised with every answer, while you doodled spirals in the margins of the workbook he had to open for you.
“You’re not stupid,” he hissed during snack time one day. “I’ve seen your library. Who hides research papers under their bed? You could be at the top of the class if you tried.”
You tilted your head at him, crunching on your apple. “And what do I get for being at the top of the class? A gold star?”
“You get respect,” Light said, his voice rising. “You get opportunities. You build the foundation for a successful future.”
You shrugged. “I’m not really into respect or opportunities. I’m more into naps.”
Light clutched his juice box like it was the last thread tethering him to sanity. “Do you realize how frustrating you are? People would kill to be as smart as you.”
“Okay, so let them kill me,” you replied. “Then they can have it.”
He blinked, stunned. “You can’t just say things like that.”
“Why not? It’s true.”
Light opened his mouth to argue, then thought better of it. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, stabbing his straw into his juice box with unnecessary force.
———
One afternoon, Light cornered you on the playground after recess. You’d been lying under the slide, watching clouds with your stuffed kitten perched on your chest.
“Explain this,” he demanded, holding up a scrap of paper he’d found in your desk. Scrawled on it was a complex math equation, solved perfectly.
You squinted at him. “What?”
“This! You did this in, like, ten seconds during free time. Why don’t you do this in class?”
You shrugged, propping yourself up on your elbows. “Class is boring. I already know all that stuff.”
“Then prove it,” Light snapped. “Get the answers right during lessons. Participate.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ll fail otherwise!”
You sighed, exasperated. “Light, kindergarten isn’t that deep.”
“It is if you want to be taken seriously,” he shot back. “What if people think you’re dumb?”
“They already do,” you said, stretching lazily. “Doesn’t bother me.”
“Well, it bothers me!” Light exclaimed. “You’re my…my first friend, and you’re embarrassing both of us.”
You raised an unamused eyebrow, staring at him. “Friend?”
Light flushed. “Yes. Unfortunately.”
For the first time that day, you showed some form of emotion—a small, amused quirk of your lips. “Wow, that’s a lot of effort to impress a lazy failure like me. You sure you’re not the embarrassing one?”
Light threw his hands up, stalking off. “Unbelievable,” he muttered. “Completely hopeless.”
You watched him go, your smirk lingering. “You’re funny when you’re mad,” you said to your stuffed kitten. It didn’t reply, but you imagined it agreed.
────────────
Light Yagami was on a mission.
Every morning, he’d march over to your house, perfectly polished shoes clacking against the pavement, carrying a spare set of pencils and a stack of workbooks just in case you’d “forgotten” yours again. He’d ring the doorbell with an air of determination that would make even seasoned professionals cower.
Your mother would answer, always frazzled and apologetic. “Oh, Light, thank you so much for your help! She’s…well, you know how she is.”
Light offered a tight-lipped smile, his patience stretched thin but holding. “It’s no problem, ma’am. I’m happy to help.”
And then he’d march up to your room, where you’d be sprawled on your bed, half-asleep, clutching that perpetually limp black kitten.
“Get up,” he’d order, pulling open your curtains to let the sunlight in. “You have a spelling test today, and if you fail it, I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” you mumbled, turning over to face the wall.
“I’ll never forgive you,” he snapped, grabbing your arm and hauling you upright.
You blinked at him groggily. “You’re dramatic.”
“And you’re insufferable,” he retorted. “Now get dressed. You’re not walking into class looking like you just rolled out of a dumpster again.”
———
It took weeks of constant pestering, but eventually, you caved—mostly out of guilt.
One evening, as Light sat at your kitchen table drilling you on basic addition, you noticed how tired he looked. His hair, usually immaculate, was slightly mussed, and his usually confident posture had a slight slump.
“Why do you care so much?” you asked, interrupting his lecture on number lines.
Light blinked, startled by your uncharacteristic question. “Because someone has to. You clearly don’t.”
You frowned, fiddling with the edge of your worksheet. “You could just…not.”
Light sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re my friend. Friends help each other.”
Your stomach twisted with something unfamiliar. Was it guilt? Or…gratitude? Either way, you muttered, “Fine. I’ll try.”
Light’s head snapped up. “What?”
“I said I’ll try. Don’t make a big deal out of it.”
For the first time that day, Light smiled—a genuine, relieved smile that made your chest ache a little. “Good. That’s all I ask.”
———
To everyone’s shock (and to Light’s immense relief), you barely passed your next test. The teacher, Miss Tanaka, called the class to attention, holding up your paper as if it were a trophy.
“Everyone, let’s give a round of applause for our most improved student!”
You wanted to disappear into your chair as the class clapped, but Light sat next to you, beaming with pride as though he’d aced the test.
During recess, your parents showed up unannounced, their faces glowing with joy. Your mom hugged you tight, tears streaming down her face. “You passed! My baby passed!”
“It was one test,” you muttered, mortified. “And I barely passed.”
“Doesn’t matter!” your dad exclaimed, pulling out his phone to take a picture of you holding the crumpled test paper. “This is going on the fridge!”
Light stood off to the side, looking smug. “You’re welcome,” he muttered under his breath.
────────────
One crisp autumn afternoon, you and Light sat together in the corner of the library. He was meticulously highlighting passages in his textbook, while you doodled lazily on a scrap of paper. The silence between you was companionable, save for the occasional scratch of a pencil.
After a while, you set your pencil down and leaned back in your chair, staring at him. He didn’t look up, but you knew he noticed.
“What?” he asked, his tone as sharp as the lines he underlined.
“Why are you doing this?” you asked bluntly.
He blinked, finally meeting your gaze. “What do you mean?”
“This,” you said, gesturing vaguely to the books, the papers, the entire setup. “You could’ve chosen literally anyone else to help. Someone smart, someone who wouldn’t drive you insane. But you chose me. Why?”
Light frowned, setting his highlighter down. “You’re my friend.”
“That’s not an answer,” you said flatly. “You made that choice before we were friends. So why?”
He sighed, leaning back and crossing his arms. “Why do you think?”
“I have theories,” you said, counting them off on your fingers. “One: you’re trying to make yourself look good by being the hero who saves the hopeless case. Two: you want to use me somehow, maybe turn me into some kind of pawn. Three: you just pity me. Or four…you’re a masochist who likes torturing yourself.”
Light’s lips twitched, though he fought to keep his expression neutral. “Those are some dark theories.”
“You’re not denying any of them,” you pointed out.
He sighed again, rubbing his temples. “Fine. If you want the truth, I’ll tell you.” His gaze turned serious, his eyes locking onto yours. “It’s because you’re…different.”
“Different?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow. “That’s vague.”
“I mean…the way you see things,” he explained, his voice softening. “Most kids our age don’t say the things you do. They don’t talk about how they’d let someone kill them if it meant they’d get something out of it. Or how they don’t care about respect or opportunities. You’re…disconnected from everything. It’s like none of it matters to you. Not even your own life.”
You stiffened slightly, his words hitting a little too close to home. “So you think I’m broken or something?”
“Not broken,” Light said carefully. “Just…strange. Most kids don’t think about death the way you do. They don’t talk about it so casually. And they definitely don’t seem like they’re one bad day away from giving up completely.”
You swallowed, looking away. “Maybe they just don’t say it out loud.”
“Maybe,” he admitted. “But you did. And it made me curious. I wanted to know why. I still do.”
“Curious?” you repeated, turning back to him. “That’s it? That’s why you’ve been dragging me out of bed and making me study? Because you’re curious?”
“Well, at first, yes,” he admitted, a faint smirk playing at his lips. “But then you started growing on me. You’re frustrating, sure, but you’re not…hopeless. You’re just someone who hasn’t been given the right reason to try yet.”
You stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in. “You’re weird, you know that?”
Light chuckled softly. “Coming from you, I’ll take that as a compliment.”
For a moment, the two of you just sat there, the quiet of the library wrapping around you like a blanket. Finally, you broke the silence. “So what’s your endgame? What do you want out of this?”
He tilted his head thoughtfully. “Honestly? I want to see what you’ll do if someone actually believes in you.”
His words hung in the air, heavier than you’d expected. You didn’t respond, unsure if you even could. But for the first time, you found yourself wondering what it would feel like to prove him right.
────────────
Over the years, Light’s persistence and your reluctant tolerance had blossomed into something neither of you could have predicted: an unshakable friendship. From kindergarten to grade school, you and Light Yagami had become inseparable—a fact that delighted your parents and baffled your classmates.
“You two are like an old married couple,” your mom teased one afternoon as Light sat at your kitchen table, carefully outlining a study plan for your next science test.
You gagged dramatically. “Gross, Mom. I’d rather marry my stuffed kitten.”
Light didn’t even look up. “The kitten has better manners, anyway.”
Your dad chimed in from the living room. “You sure about that, son? You’ve spent more time here than at your own house. Feels like you’re already part of the family.”
Light flushed, but he composed himself quickly. “It’s only because I need peace and quiet to work, Sir. Your house is quieter than mine.”
“Oh, so that’s why you’re here all the time,” you said, rolling your eyes. “I thought you just liked annoying me.”
“That too,” Light quipped, giving you a smug smirk.
———
Your parents weren’t wrong. Despite the bickering, the teasing, and the endless sarcastic remarks, the two of you were practically attached at the hip.
Weekends were spent either at your house or his, depending on whose parents caved first to the persistent question: “Can they stay over?” His room was always spotless, the air smelling faintly of fresh linen. Yours, on the other hand, was a cluttered mess of books, art supplies, and random knickknacks you refused to throw away.
Light always insisted on tidying up when he was over. “You’re a walking disaster,” he’d grumble, picking up a pile of papers. “How do you even live like this?”
You’d shrug, tossing a pillow at him. “I thrive in chaos. Unlike you, Mr. Spreadsheet-for-Everything.”
Still, for all his complaints, he never stopped coming over.
———
Trips with both families were another routine you’d both grown used to. Your parents and his got along swimmingly, exchanging recipes, stories, and laughs over bonfires and picnics while the two of you wandered off to do your own thing.
One summer vacation, both families rented cabins by a lake. Light had been determined to teach you how to skip stones—a task that proved far more difficult than he’d anticipated.
“You’re not even trying!” he groaned as your stone plopped into the water with a pitiful splash.
“I am trying,” you protested, flopping onto the grass. “You just have unreasonable expectations.”
“It’s basic physics,” he argued. “Angle, spin, and force. That’s all it takes.”
“Then you do it,” you challenged, crossing your arms.
Light rolled his eyes, picked up a stone, and launched it across the water in a perfect arc. It skipped five times before sinking.
“Show-off,” you muttered, though a small smile tugged at your lips.
———
Study dates became an unspoken tradition. Whether at your house, his, or the library, you’d sit side by side, each absorbed in your respective work. Light would meticulously annotate his textbooks, while you alternated between actually studying and scribbling doodles in the margins of your notes.
“You could at least pretend to focus,” Light said one evening, glancing at the tiny cartoon you’d drawn of him glaring at a stack of books.
“I am focused,” you replied, grinning as you added a speech bubble that read, “Don’t breathe near my books!”
Despite his exasperation, Light always made sure you understood the material. He had a way of breaking down complex topics into something manageable, and while you’d never admit it out loud, you’d grown to appreciate his efforts.
———
Free time was a mix of quiet companionship and playful banter. Video game marathons often ended with Light grumbling about your reckless strategies, while you’d laugh at his over-calculated moves. Reading sessions were even quieter—Light engrossed in a novel while you skimmed through whatever caught your interest.
“Do you ever read anything normal?” he asked once, holding up your dog-eared copy of a horror anthology.
“Do you ever read anything fun?” you shot back, gesturing to his thick political science book.
———
And, it’s been like that, a normal friendship of two childhood friends.
But, after spending time with you constantly.
Light could tell you always kept him at a distance.
Even when you showed lazy smiles and seemingly emotional outbursts, nothing you did seemed… real. At least nothing genuine.
It annoyed him more than he cared to admit.
────────────
It was the same day every year.
For as long as Light Yagami could remember, you disappeared on this exact date, slipping away as if the world itself no longer had a claim on you. No calls, no notes, no explanation. You’d vanish without warning, leaving behind nothing but questions and silence. It was frustrating, baffling, and for Light, who prided himself on always knowing the answers, intolerable.
He’d tried everything—calling you relentlessly, asking your parents (who seemed strangely tight-lipped about it), even checking the places you frequented. But every year, no matter how determined he was, you eluded him.
This year, however, was going to be different.
Light sat at his desk, staring at the calendar with a furrowed brow. He had spent the last week piecing together fragments of information, retracing your habits, looking for any clue that might give him an edge. The truth gnawed at the edges of his mind—this day was important to you. It wasn’t just another day.
It was your birthday.
And yet, you always spent it alone.
———
When the day arrived, Light was prepared. He skipped school, opting instead to scour the neighborhood, the nearby park, the library—every possible place you might hide. Hours passed, and frustration simmered beneath his calm façade. The rain that had started as a drizzle was now a relentless downpour, soaking him to the bone as he wandered.
It wasn’t until late afternoon that he found himself near the outskirts of town, a forgotten area filled with rusting machinery and abandoned warehouses. Light almost dismissed it—why would you come here?—but something compelled him to look closer.
And then he saw you.
Huddled under the sagging roof of a dilapidated warehouse, you sat clutching your worn black kitten stuffed toy. The sight of you stopped him cold. You weren’t crying, but the emptiness in your eyes sent a chill through him. It was the same look you had when he first met you—hollow, weary, like the weight of the world rested squarely on your small shoulders.
Light didn’t approach immediately. For the first time, he hesitated, unsure of how to close the distance between you. The rain thundered against the metal roof, drowning out the sound of his shallow breaths. Something about the scene felt fragile, as though one wrong move might shatter whatever thread kept you grounded.
Finally, he stepped forward, moving carefully so as not to startle you. When he reached the small, makeshift shelter, he crouched beside you, his school uniform drenched, water dripping from his hair.
“You’re going to get sick sitting out here,” he said quietly, his voice steady despite the turmoil churning in his chest.
You didn’t respond. Your fingers clung tightly to the stuffed toy, knuckles white, but your gaze didn’t lift from the ground.
Light didn’t press further. Instead, he slipped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. The space was cramped, but he adjusted, shielding you from the worst of the rain that still managed to seep through the cracks. His embrace was firm yet gentle, radiating warmth despite his soaked clothing.
For a long moment, neither of you spoke. He could feel the faint tremble in your frame, the shallow rise and fall of your chest. Light’s jaw clenched as he held you tighter, willing his presence to do what words couldn’t.
He didn’t ask why you were here. He didn’t ask what had happened. Those questions could wait. Right now, all that mattered was keeping you close, anchoring you to something steady.
“You don’t have to tell me,” he murmured, his voice low but steady. “But I’m here, okay? I’ll always be here.”
You didn’t respond, but your grip on the stuffed kitten loosened slightly, your fingers brushing against the fabric of his sleeve. It wasn’t much, but to Light, it was enough.
Minutes stretched into an hour, the rain showing no signs of letting up. Light’s teeth chattered as the cold seeped into his skin, but he didn’t move. He couldn’t. Not when you were like this.
He rested his chin lightly on top of your head, his eyes closing as he focused on the steady rhythm of your breathing. “I hate seeing you like this,” he whispered, more to himself than to you. “You don’t have to be alone. Not ever.”
———
The rain continued its relentless rhythm, pattering against the warped metal roof above you. The cold seeped into Light’s skin, but he paid it no mind. His focus was entirely on you—on the small, trembling frame in his arms and the fragile silence that surrounded you.
And then, for the first time, he saw it.
A single tear slid down your cheek, blending with the rain before it could fall to the ground. You didn’t sob. You didn’t even make a sound. The tears seemed to escape against your will, slipping out silently as if they’d been held back for too long.
Light’s breath hitched. He had never seen you cry before. Not once in all the years he had known you. You were always the one who laughed mockingly at his exasperation, who messed with him with your messy habits and lazy smile. But now, the person in his arms seemed like a stranger—someone hollow, distant, and impossibly fragile.
His arms tightened around you instinctively, pulling you closer to shield you from the cold and rain. He felt an ache in his chest, a helpless frustration that he couldn’t name. He wanted to ask—wanted to demand—what had brought you here, what had hurt you so deeply. But the moment was too delicate. He couldn’t risk pushing you further away.
Instead, he spoke softly, his voice barely audible over the rain. “You’re freezing,” he murmured, his tone gentle. “Let me keep you warm, okay?”
You didn’t respond, your gaze still fixed on the stuffed black kitten in your hands. Light’s eyes flickered to the toy, the one you always carried with you no matter where you went. He’d teased you about it countless times, calling you childish for holding onto it like a lifeline. You’d always deflected with a laugh, saying something about how it was “just a habit” or “blessed.”
But now, as he watched you clutch it with a desperation he hadn’t seen before, Light wondered if there was more to the story.
He shifted slightly, adjusting his position so he could better shield you from the rain. His movements were deliberate, careful not to startle you. “You always carry that thing,” he said softly, his voice laced with a warmth he rarely used. “I used to think it was just because you liked it. But…” He trailed off, unsure of how to finish the thought.
You didn’t look at him. Your fingers tightened around the kitten, its worn fur darkened by the rain. Light swallowed, resisting the urge to press further. Instead, he leaned his head slightly against yours, his voice barely above a whisper.
“It’s okay,” he said. “You don’t have to say anything. I just… I’m here. That’s all.”
He could feel the faint tremble in your frame, the quiet, unsteady rhythm of your breaths. The rain poured on, but Light stayed where he was, holding you as though his presence alone could chase away whatever darkness had brought you here.
“You’re not alone,” he murmured, his voice soft but steady. “Not while I’m here.”
Still, you didn’t speak. Your focus remained on the stuffed kitten, and Light felt a pang of frustration—not at you, but at his own inability to reach you. He wanted to fix this, to take away whatever was hurting you, but he didn’t know how.
So he stayed quiet, his arms steady around you, offering you the only comfort he could. His voice, when he spoke again, was softer than before.
“When you’re ready,” he said, his words gentle, “you can tell me. Or not. It’s up to you.”
Your shoulders relaxed just a fraction, and though you still didn’t speak, Light took it as a sign that his words had reached you, even if only a little.
He stayed there with you under the cramped shelter, the rain soaking through his clothes, his heart heavy with unspoken questions. But for now, he focused on keeping you close, on being the steady presence you needed.
Because whatever it was that haunted you, whatever it was that had brought you to this place, he wasn’t going to let it take you away. Not now. Not ever.
———
You sat there, clutching the black kitten stuffed toy tightly, your expression blank and weary. Light stayed silent, his arms still wrapped around you, his mind whirring with unspoken questions. Then, at last, you spoke.
“Kuro’s dead.”
The words were quiet, devoid of emotion, but they pierced through the air like a knife. Light blinked, momentarily caught off guard. Kuro? Who was Kuro? He had his theories—the kitten stuffed toy, perhaps—but he didn’t interrupt. He waited, sensing that you had more to say.
“It’s stupid,” you added, staring down at the toy in your lap, your voice flat and almost detached.
Light didn’t move, his arms steady around you, letting you take your time.
You cried silently, tears slipping down your cheeks without a sound, mixing with the rainwater that clung to your face. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you continued, your words halting and broken.
“Don’t… don’t tell anyone,” you murmured, your voice barely audible. “But… I’m not close with my parents. At all.”
Light’s eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t speak. He only held you closer, letting you keep going.
“I don’t… I don’t even like them that much,” you admitted, your voice so soft he had to strain to hear. “I respect them. I’m thankful for what they’ve done, I guess… they’re humble, and they’ve done well for themselves. But…” Your voice wavered slightly, though it still carried that hollow tone. “I don’t love them. Not really.”
You paused, gripping the stuffed kitten tighter, as though drawing strength from its presence.
“I had one friend,” you said, the words trembling just slightly. “Before you.”
Light’s chest tightened at that. He didn’t speak, but his gaze softened, his arms shifting slightly to shield you more from the rain.
“A small kitten. I found him… Kuro. Tiny. Weak. Just like me.” You took a shaky breath, your tone still muted but tinged with a deep sadness. “I took care of him for years. Before I met you.”
You stopped again, your gaze distant, focused entirely on the stuffed kitten in your hands. “He… he kept me company. More than my parents ever did. Gave me more love than I’ve ever had.”
Light felt his throat tighten at your words, but he stayed silent, letting you continue at your own pace.
“But one day… one day, he disappeared.” Your voice cracked, and Light’s arms instinctively tightened around you, his silent way of telling you he was there. “I… I never found out why. I searched for him everywhere. I still do.”
Another tear slipped down your cheek, your expression still blank, your voice barely above a whisper.
Your hands clutched the black kitten stuffed toy tighter, your knuckles turning white. “Kuro… he loved me. I know he did. And I loved him.” Your voice broke. “But I never knew what happened to him.”
You paused, the silence heavy between you, before you finally spoke again, the words soft but heavy with meaning.
“It was on this day,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “My birthday. The day I found him… and the day I lost him.”
Light’s heart ached at the sight of you, so small and broken, clutching that stuffed kitten like it was the last piece of Kuro you had left. He wanted to say something, to comfort you, but he knew words wouldn’t fix this. So instead, he held you tighter, leaning his head gently against yours.
The rain continued to fall, but in that small, cramped space, Light made a silent vow. He didn’t know how, but he would make sure you never felt this kind of pain again. He wouldn’t let you be alone—not on this day, not on any day.
For now, though, all he could do was stay by your side, his quiet presence a promise that he wasn’t going anywhere.
———
The rain poured down relentlessly, the chill seeping into your skin despite the tight, makeshift cover Light had helped you take refuge under. You still hadn’t moved much, your gaze locked on the black kitten stuffed toy clutched tightly in your hands. You were out of it—emotionally drained and distant, like you were too far away to notice anything around you.
Light stayed close, his arms still wrapped protectively around you, but this time, he gently reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. His grip was firm but not forceful, a silent reminder that he was there.
You didn’t react. Not to the touch, not to the warmth. Your fingers remained limp in his grasp, as though nothing around you mattered.
After a long moment of silence, Light spoke softly, his voice steady and sure despite the emotions simmering beneath the surface. “I’m not going to leave you.”
There was no reaction at first, just the quiet sound of rain pattering against the warehouse roof. Then, finally, you murmured, your voice flat and resigned, “You don’t have to say that.”
Light frowned, but he stayed silent as you continued, the words coming slowly, emotionlessly. “I won’t be mad if you leave. Even if it’s you. I’m used to it. People always leave, eventually.”
The casualness of your words stung, like they’d been spoken countless times before. Light’s grip on your hand tightened briefly before he let out a low, frustrated sigh.
And then, without warning, he flicked your forehead—sharp enough to sting but not enough to hurt.
You winced, glaring at him in offense as you finally snapped out of your daze. “Ow! What was that for?”
“That,” Light said, his expression firm but his tone softer than usual, “is for saying something so stupid.”
You opened your mouth to argue, but he cut you off, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You don’t get to decide that I’ll leave, or that anyone else will. And you especially don’t get to act like it doesn’t matter if I do. Don’t put words in my mouth.”
You glared at him, the tears still slipping down your cheeks betraying the anger in your eyes. “It’s not stupid. It’s realistic—”
Light interrupted again, this time by pulling you closer, his free arm wrapping around you securely. “Stop,” he said, his voice quieter now, though no less firm. “You’re my best friend. Or did you forget I existed?”
You blinked at him, your lips parting in a faint protest, but no words came out.
“Too stuck in your own bubble to notice anything?” he continued, his tone softening just enough to take the sting out of his words. “Do you know how frustrating that is?”
You looked away, uncomfortable under his gaze, but he didn’t let you pull back. Instead, he gave your hand a gentle squeeze, intertwining your fingers even tighter.
“And though it’s embarrassing to say,” he muttered, his cheeks faintly pink but his expression sincere, “I love you. You’re my best friend, and I’m not going anywhere. So don’t say things like that, okay?”
You glanced up at him, caught off guard by the uncharacteristic vulnerability in his words. For a moment, the faintest flicker of something broke through the haze clouding your mind—something warm, something soft.
Light sighed, brushing a strand of wet hair away from your face before resting his forehead lightly against yours. “I mean it,” he said quietly. “So stop acting like it doesn’t matter.”
You didn’t respond, but you didn’t pull away either. You stayed there, silent and motionless, as Light held your hand a little tighter, his warmth chasing away some of the chill. For the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel so alone.
———
You clutched the black kitten stuffed toy even closer, holding it as if it were the only thing grounding you to the present. Yet, you didn’t resist when Light pulled you closer, his arms wrapping securely around you, his warmth seeping into your cold, damp frame.
Light buried his face in your shoulder, inhaling the subtle, familiar scent of you that always lingered—a soft, flowery fragrance that felt uniquely you. For a moment, his tension eased. He could feel the faint rhythm of your breathing, slow and steady, a sign that you weren’t as distant as before.
When he finally lifted his head, he noticed the shift in your expression. You weren’t out of it anymore—your gaze was clear, steady, and focused. He stared at you, his face inches away from yours. There had been moments before where you were this close, but something about now… felt different.
His eyes lingered on you, tracing the lines of your face—your soft features framed by damp hair, the way your lashes glistened with lingering tears. His chest tightened, and his heartbeat quickened, a rhythmic thrum he couldn’t ignore.
Light didn’t understand it. You were his best friend. You’d always been. But the way the air felt heavier between you, the way his gaze locked onto yours as if it couldn’t look away—it was unfamiliar. Strange.
You blinked at him, your eyes meeting his directly. There was no hesitation in your gaze, no walls, just you looking back at him. And somehow, that clear, unguarded look made his breath catch.
Without realizing it, Light leaned closer, the space between you shrinking. His heart thudded louder, and for the first time in his perfectly calculated life, he didn’t know why.
You tilted your head slightly, a small, curious motion that made him freeze. Light’s gaze flickered to your lips, then back to your eyes. He swallowed hard, shaking off the thought before it could form fully.
This is just normal… right? You’re best friends. That’s all this is. It’s nothing.
Clearing his throat softly, he raised a hand to your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek. He wiped away the last of your tears with a gentle touch, his expression softening as he did.
“There,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “No more tears, okay?”
You didn’t reply, but you didn’t need to. The way you stayed still, letting him be there for you, letting him take care of you—it was enough.
Light exhaled slowly, his fingers lingering against your skin for just a moment longer before he pulled back, his face still alarmingly close to yours. His gaze flickered down once more before snapping back to your eyes, and he forced himself to look away, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks.
“Let’s… let’s get you warm,” he said, his voice slightly uneven. But he didn’t move away, his arms still wrapped around you as the rain fell around the two of you.
———
And then, you finally—hesitantly—wrapped your arms around Light in return. It was small at first, almost uncertain, but then you leaned into him, letting the weight of your stuffed kitten fall against your chest as your grip tightened around him. For the first time, you seemed genuine in not holding back, no barriers or pretense.
Light stilled for a moment, taken aback. The soft press of your arms around him felt different. It wasn’t just the act of hugging; it was the way you allowed yourself to depend on him, even if only for a moment. Slowly, his arms tightened, pulling you closer as if he could shield you from every storm that ever dared to touch you.
But then you spoke, your words cutting through the quiet. They were low, trembling, as if pulling them from within you was an effort: “People always leave, Light… It’s normal. It’s okay. I’ve stopped being mad about it. Even if they hate me, or forget me, or just… leave. It’s fine.”
You didn’t sob. You didn’t even sniffle. But the way your voice cracked faintly at the edges told him everything.
“It’s not fine,” Light said firmly, his voice steady even as his chest ached at your words. “I’ll never leave you. Never.” He paused, his voice softening. “Even if the whole world turns against you, even if everyone else leaves or hates you, I won’t. I could never hate you.”
He shifted, leaning back just enough to look at your face. “You’re mine,” he said, his voice low, steady, and filled with a conviction he hadn’t fully realized was there.
And then, it happened.
Slowly, tentatively, you smiled.
Not the lazy grin you threw out when deflecting his teasing, or the carefree smirk you donned when pretending nothing could touch you. This one was different. Small, shy, and vulnerable. A smile that spoke of a quiet happiness you hadn’t felt in a long time—perhaps ever.
Light’s breath caught. He was utterly at a loss for words, a rarity for him. He wanted to say something—anything—but his mind seemed to go blank, his focus completely captured by that tiny, genuine curve of your lips.
His heart stuttered in his chest, a rapid pounding that he prayed you couldn’t hear. His gaze flicked down, his thoughts racing. He didn’t even realize he was leaning closer again, his eyes tracing the soft lines of your face, the way your damp lashes framed your eyes, the faint warmth in your expression.
The urge came so suddenly, so powerfully, it almost startled him. A quiet, insistent desire to press his lips to yours, to see if that warmth would spread, to feel the closeness that his words couldn’t seem to bridge.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he tightened his arms around you, pulling you impossibly closer. His face buried in your hair, his breath unsteady as he inhaled the faint, flowery scent of you—a scent he found oddly intoxicating. He closed his eyes, willing his heartbeat to calm, to stop betraying the storm of emotions he didn’t fully understand.
What’s wrong with me?
But he wouldn’t let you know. Not now. Maybe not ever.
For now, this was enough. You were his best friend, after all. That’s all this was. Or so he told himself.
────────────
Ever since that rainy day, something between the two of you shifted. The walls you had so carefully constructed around yourself didn’t crumble all at once, but they softened—just enough to let Light slip through. You stopped deflecting his care with dismissive remarks, stopped brushing off his attempts to get close. Your reactions around him felt different now: genuine, unguarded, like you no longer saw the need to pretend.
It didn’t happen overnight, but over the years, Light noticed the subtle changes. The way you let yourself laugh freely when he teased you instead of smirking half-heartedly. The way you didn’t hesitate to lean into his shoulder when you were tired, trusting that he’d hold you steady. The way you’d meet his gaze, no longer distracted or distant, and actually see him.
It was as if the two of you had carved out your own private little world, a space where no one else existed. It was always just you and him, whether you were crammed into the corner of the library whispering about your latest inside joke or walking home side by side, sharing a single umbrella that never quite fit the both of you.
And honestly? He loved it.
He loved the way you’d wrinkle your nose at his over-planned schedules but still follow along without complaint. He loved how you’d surprise him with random facts you thought he’d find interesting, your voice tinged with excitement just for him. He loved the way you always looked for him first in a crowded room, your eyes lighting up the moment they met his.
He told himself it was just the comfort of familiarity, the bond of having a best friend who understood him better than anyone else. But deep down, there was another part of him that relished it for an entirely different reason.
Because in this little bubble you’d created, there was no one else. No competition, no distractions, no one vying for your attention. It was just him.
You were all his, whether you realized it or not.
Light never said it out loud, of course. He always played the part of the doting best friend, careful not to overstep, not to scare you off. But he couldn’t help the satisfaction that bloomed in his chest every time he caught someone staring at you, only for you to brush it off without a second thought.
You didn’t need anyone else.
You had him, and that was enough.
And as selfish as it was, he hoped it would stay that way forever.
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𝐆𝐨𝐝'𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭 