Not Quite DrowningLight doesn't know what happiness is.Not Quite Drowning
His entire life, he's been focused on being the model son, the perfect student, the best at everything. Flawless, beyond reproach in every possible way. He has always been this way. It's just who Yagami Light is.
But he has never quite been happy. That is not to say he has been unhappy, because he is extremely intelligent (though perhaps not always smart) and knows that there are degrees to everything, even such ephemeral things as happiness.
Sometimes he lies awake in the dark, on those nights that Ryuuzaki decides are for sleeping, listening to Ryuuzaki's almost-si
FallingThere is so much he doesn't know about me. He thinks he knows everything he can, but he doesn't. I have many unopened doors in my spirit room. Many times many. And he can never, ever open them. I won't let him. He'd be frightened of me and I can never allow that. So the doors remain closed and rusting with age.Falling
Secrets, you know.
My spirit room is full of secrets and traps for the foolish. I fell into one of my own traps once. I'd forgotten it was there and I slipped and stumbled and fell into the darkness for such a very long time. Sometimes I thought I was insane. Sometimes I think I still am.
It would
Not Quite CatharsisHe took tea with the devil on Monday mornings.Not Quite Catharsis
“I only like you,” Sebastian said conversationally, “because we speak the same language. We understand each other.”
Watching Sebastian move in this sort of domestic setting was oddly surreal and, for a moment, Theodore could almost (always almost) forget that the boy was a psychopath.
“You’re ever so much more interesting,” Sebastian was saying, ignoring Theodore's inattention. “No one else knows, do they? Not like I do. The ugly moments inside your head, your little homicidal urges.&nb
Unspoken. Unheard?It’s all the words I don’t say, that I’ll never say. The stories left untold. A book unopened, likened to your soul unread. What was determines who is. And we are not. I think too much and do too little. And neither of us ever says enough.Unspoken. Unheard?
Most nights are like this. You work late into the night, straining eyes and back over work you do not love. I stay in my bed after spending the evening with you, dozing almost immediately with the quickly claiming fatigue. Later still you bring one of your books quietly over, laying
