Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

( CHAPTER 1 )

— BEFORE HE BECAME GOD

THE LIGHT YAGAMI THAT I KNEW was no serpent in Eden’s garden. Nor was he like Cain, burdened by the weight of bloodshed and marked by betrayal. He was charismatic, radiant and unexpectedly kind—the Boy Wonder—I called him. Before his accession to godhood and before he rose as the Antichrist, Light was the paragon of every teacher’s praise and the blueprint of every parent’s ambition. It was impossible to not notice him. And I despised every part of him.

At first, I paid Light no mind. Beyond the carefully crafted mask he wore so effortlessly, I saw what I assumed to be another overachiever cloaked with an unshakable aura that bordered on arrogance. He was predictable, I told myself. Another student whose talent is the byproduct of relentless effort; the kind of effort that anyone could replicate with enough discipline. But I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Our first real encounter wasn’t a passing glance, but a debate during our first year in high school. The topic was simple, something forgettable about ethics, but the memory remains vivid. Light was calm, methodical, and maddeningly precise. He spoke with an ease that felt almost rehearsed and wielded logic like it was his first language. I was sharp—always been sharp—but compared to Light, I felt dull. Like a blade worn down after too many uses.

“I disagree,” Light stated, his voice firm and too calm. “Morality is rooted in common sense. If it were subjective, there would be no universal agreement on what constitutes right or wrong. We inherently agree, for example, that murder is reprehensible or that theft is unjust. These are not opinions, but rather, the absolute truths.” 

He paused, and in the silence, his next words carried an almost inevitable weight. “Let me ask you something. Is slavery wrong?”

I froze. The room held its breath. And my heart raced. His question was deceptively simple, yet each syllable coiled tighter around me. Before I even realised it, the trap had been laid—no, sprung—and my feet was already caught in its tight jaws. Damn it—I cursed inwardly, my cheeks burning with heat, though I longed to hurl the curse at him instead. Debate was my domain, and I rarely lost. But against Light Yagami, I was unprepared for the precision of his strike.

My teeth clenched as I spat out the answer, “Yes.”

Light smiled, and I knew I was defeated. “Then you agree that morality is objective.”

I tried to open my mouth, desperate to salvage whatever dignity I had left, but by the time I dared to speak, the walls caved in and my throat had gone dry. I remained rooted in my seat long after the room had emptied, and while attempting to piece together the fragments of our debate, a shadow stretched across my desk. His voice—surprisingly smooth and unsettlingly gentle—broke through the deafening silence.

“You’re not bad. It’s rare to have a debate where I actually have to think.”

I looked up. There stood Light, books tucked under one arm, his smile—perfectly charming, perfectly infuriating. I shot him a glare. “I don’t appreciate the sarcasm,” I replied, my voice colder than I intended.

But Light didn’t flinch. Instead his gaze sharpened. It was unnerving, the way he looked at me—too intense and too aware. “I meant it. Most people crumble when I challenge them, but you didn’t. You held your ground.”

The compliment stung. It wasn’t a praise; it was an evaluation, like I was a project he had dissected. “Yeah, well, holding my ground didn’t seem to matter much,” I scoffed. “You won.”

Light chuckled softly, the sound low and knowing. “Winning isn’t everything. A real challenge is worth more than a victory.” He paused, eyes searching my face as though trying to gauge my reaction. “You were a challenge. And I like it.” 

His words hung in the air, and though it seemed harmless, there was something beneath them—an invitation, a curiosity that gnawed at the edges of my composure. I quickly turned my attention elsewhere, shoving the last two textbooks into my bag with more force than I intended, hoping that the frantic motion might somehow shake off the feeling. Light mirrored my movements, his motion in tune with my rhythm. His proximity was too close for comfort, and though I didn’t look at him, I felt his presence in the little space shared between us.

“I hope you’re not offended—”

“I’m not,” I shot back curtly, perhaps too curtly. I cleared my throat awkwardly, trying to recover, then added, “But don’t think I won’t come better prepared next time.” 

“I’ll hold you to that,” he said, and I could almost hear that stupid smile in his voice.

I still didn't dare to look at him then, knowing that somehow, without even trying, Light Yagami had already gotten under my skin.

Chapter Text

( CHAPTER 2 )

— BETWEEN THE PAGES

AS AN ADULT, I came to learn that the world is shaped by far weightier concerns. Yet, during my high school years, my perspective was much narrower. I was sixteen then, thinking that exams and class assignments were the most pressing matters in the world. In hindsight, however, it was clear that Light Yagami was the real distraction I never realised I had been waiting for. My focus, which was normally sharp and consistent, had been derailed by an unwelcome intruder. Light Yagami—a force that one could not avoid no matter how hard you tried.

The school’s library that day was almost unnervingly quiet, and the smell, which I still remember to this day, was pungent with an odd scent of aged books and vanilla. My feeble attempts to prepare for my exam was amounted to little more than scribbled half-measures. Despite the thick stack of notes before me, my mind kept wandering—flying, really—off into an uncharted territory. And then, I felt it. A warm breath on the back of my neck. My muscles stiffened instinctively, and my pen froze mid-stroke.

“Your answer is wrong.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“Here,” the stranger pointed, his breath still creeping on my neck. “For question thirteen, the answer is mitosis, not meiosis. They’re asking about cell division for growth, not gamete formation.”

I turned slowly, my pen drawing a jagged line. Light towered over my shoulder, his eyes dead fixed on the practice questions with a sharp intensity while his brows were drawn together—a look I had become familiar with when he dissected problems in class. Then, he leaned in closer, the subtle rustle of fabric betraying his movement. His eyes, once scanning the papers, were now on me, and the room suddenly felt a little smaller, a little quieter.

It took me just now to realise that his eyes were amber and not brown like his hair. His irises caught the light, warm and golden, a startling contrast to the delicate slope of his nose. Feminine, almost, if not for the harsh line of his jaw and the unmistakable edge to his features. It was maddening. Light Yagami could have been plucked from a portrait of unattainable perfection. If he didn’t insist on speaking, he might even be bearable.

“Well?” He asked as a playful smile made its way to his charming face. 

“I knew that,” I quickly responded, lifting my chin and hoping I sounded convincing. “I was just about to correct it until you came.”

Light’s smile curved into a knowing smirk, and I wanted to dig myself a hole. “Of course you were,” he spoke, but the sarcasm only made my cheeks burn hotter.

While it was eating me alive that my child-like pride, once again, had tangled me into knots, Light moved into the seat parallel to mine and opened a book. The quiet creak of his chair and the scrape from the wooden floor, set my teeth on edge. I was annoyed. For every movement he made—a flick of the page in his book, a subtle shift in his chair—tugged my focus until I realised, I wasn’t concentrating at all.

“It’s [Y/N], right?” He suddenly asked, switching topics, though his eyes remained fixed on the pages of his book. "Your name, I mean."

I wanted to roll my eyes at him for asking a stupid question but I answered anyway. “Yes.”

He turned a page over, his focus unwavering, before offering a brief response. “But I don’t believe we’ve been properly acquainted.”

“I’m not one for acquaintances. Or for talking to people, really. I’m not fond of people.”

“Is that so?” He spoke, as he gently placed his book down. And then, after a while, his eyes met with mine and my breath became stuck in my throat, “That’s a shame. You strike me as someone worth talking to.” 

There was a shift in the air—subtle yet undeniable—heavy with something that I couldn’t place my finger on. It was unsettling, the way his presence seemed to magnify everything around me. I didn't want to admit it at the time, but the way Light spoke made me second-guess everything I thought I knew about myself.

“Flattery doesn’t work on me,” I answered back, almost stuttering, but Light didn’t respond immediately, and for a long moment, his gaze lingered on me with something unreadable. 

“I wasn’t trying to flatter you,” he murmured, his voice lowering to a near whisper. It wasn’t the softness of someone trying to be kind, it was more like the quiet of someone waiting for a reaction. “But it does make me wonder.”

I blinked, unsure whether there was something hidden, or if I was reading too much into it. My mind begged me to ignore it, to push past the strange knot forming in my chest. So I tried, in a futile attempt to refocus. I pretended to be engrossed in my studies, tracing the same line over and over. Though the practice questions on the pages didn’t seem to make sense anymore and neither did my mind.

“You’re not concentrating.”

I glanced up, startled. His amber eyes looked at me like he could see through me—see through my soul. “I am,” I stated coldly, wishing he would stop poking around at things that weren’t in his business. 

But he continued to poke around anyway as he glanced at my half-written answers, and after a brief pause, Light smiled. “Tell you what. Since biology doesn’t seem to be your strong suit, why don’t you come over sometime? We can study together. I could even help you.” 

I stiffened and my grip tightened on my pen. The nerve of him. “I’m not struggling with biology—”

“This Friday, after school. I’ll be waiting at the gates.” 

I couldn’t even say a single word before he walked away. But in his absence, one thing became clear. I had been playing a game before I even realised it, and I wasn’t even sure what the rules were.

Chapter Text

( CHAPTER 3 )

— TWO ICE CREAMS

FRIDAY CREPT CLOSER like an inevitability I couldn’t escape, and with it came a slow, suffocating dread. Light hadn’t spoken a word since our last encounter at the library. I entertained the childish hope that his silence meant he had forgotten his promise, though I knew deep down, that forgetting wasn’t in Light’s nature. He remembered everything: every word, every glance, every detail that most would overlook. The thought of it alone left a strange sensation, like something sharp pressing against the sides of my ribcage, and I couldn’t begin to fully understand why.

The streets felt busier than usual for a Thursday afternoon as I made my way home from school. Honking cars, clattering footsteps and snippets of gossip filled the air; each sound adding to the weight that seemed to settle deeper in my chest. I passed by the usual convenience stores—some with flickering neon signs, others half-hidden by overgrown ivy—but kept my gaze firmly on the sidewalk. I didn’t want to look too closely at anything, though the tempting thought of grabbing my favourite ice cream from one of those stores lingered when the sun prickled the back of my neck. Still, I avoided the sweet treat, just as I was avoiding Light.

As I was too preoccupied by my own thoughts, I failed to notice the small crack in the pavement until my right foot snagged it. For a quick moment, the world seemed to have tilted sideways. My heart didn’t have much time to panic when my knees slammed into the old, rough concrete, and with a few pity glances from the passersby, I wished the ground would open up and swallow me whole. To make matters worse, the last person that I wanted to see, especially, right now, was here. In front of me. In the flesh.

“Hey, are you alright?”

Light’s eyes softened when they met mine; eyes that I recognised as something along the lines of concern, but I didn’t like one bit of it. I must admit, the pride that I held in high school was too big for my own body to handle, and I couldn’t bare the thought of slipping up. Especially not in front of Light Yagami. So when the child genius stretched out a helping hand, I didn’t take it. Instead, I pushed myself off from the ground as a sharp sting coursed through my skin; it prickled more than the sun’s scorching heat but it was still better than him helping me.

“I’m fine,” I replied, my voice tight as I fought the pain in my knee.

Light frowned this time, though he didn’t seem angry. It was something else. “You don’t have to do everything alone, you know,” he spoke, before noticing my untied shoelaces, left undone from the fall. 

He crouched down, tying them as he continued speaking, “It’s okay to lean on someone when you need it.”

But I quickly jerked my feet away from him. Light didn’t seem offended by my actions, however. “Well, I don’t need it,” I muttered, my words as defensive as ever.

He sighed briefly. “At least let me help you get an ice pack. Sit on the bench and wait here—I’ll be right back.” 

I hesitated, the words don’t bother formed at the back of my throat, but when the dull ache in my knee persisted, this overruled my pride. Light helped me move towards the bench at the bus stop, his touch soft, tentative. I leaned back into the bench, and before I could face him, he had already left and I could no longer protest even when I wanted to. The longer I sat there, the less sharp my frustration felt. It softened into something quieter, something I couldn’t quite place. Like the faint hum of a distant melody I couldn’t yet name.

As I witnessed the world move around me slowly, I caught sight of a familiar figure from the near distance. Light walked towards me with a small plastic bag in one hand. His movements were unhurried but deliberate, the way someone might approach a skittish stray animal. By the time he reached me, he carefully removed the ice pack from the bag. Light placed it gently on my knee as his fingers greeted my skin—sending a faint, unexpected jolt through my veins. I held still for a moment, then, without much thought, I took over, gripping the ice pack myself. Light took a step back, eyes still watching me, before pulling out something else from the bag.

“Here,” he said, and for a moment, I held my breath.

Light had bought me ice cream, still wrapped in its iconic blue and white wrapping. “I thought this might cheer you up,” he continued, a faint and almost boyish smile appeared on his face. “Not sure if you like it, but it used to be my favourite when I was a kid."

It was mine too.

“I’m not a kid,” I mumbled, though the words came out weaker than I intended.

When I took the ice cream from his hand, there was a subtle trace of warmth that lingered in his amber eyes. They were not sharp or calculating as I often imagined it—but warm in a way that made me unsure what to do with myself. Light sat beside me, close enough that I could sense his presence but not so near that it felt imposing. Without a word, he unwrapped his ice cream, the soft crinkle of plastic somehow grounding. 

I mirrored him, peeling away the wrapper, my fingers fumbling slightly. I let my gaze flicker to him. Just a second or two, maybe more. He didn’t seem to notice it—or maybe he pretended not to. His amber eyes were fixed somewhere beyond us, as though he’d found something in the distance worth contemplating. 

"Why?" I asked. It came out sounding harsh, like sandpaper, though I didn’t mean to. 

Light turned to me; his expression unreadable. “What do you mean?”

“Why do you even bother with me?” I blurted, the question tumbling out before I could even catch it. “You don’t need to do this. We’re not friends. We barely even know each other. And I don’t like you.”

I expected him to scoff or look offended, but instead, he just smiled—a small, knowing smile that caught me off guard and I widened my eyes. “You’re right,” he simply replied, “I don’t need to do this. But I want to.”

I wanted to snap back with something sharp, something bitter—tell him I don’t care and none of this matters—but the words never quite made it to my mouth and I never said it. It struck me there, faint and clear, that Light Yagami was perhaps, not as insufferable as I thought. And maybe, just maybe, the dreaded study session on Friday wouldn’t be so unbearable after all. As the warmth of the melting ice cream seeped through the thin wrapper in my hands, I finally gave in to the urge and took a bite. The taste was exactly as I remembered—sweet, familiar, and comforting. And in the silence, I took another bite as my eyes wandered to Light. His expression remained unchanged, calm, perhaps even gentle—something I hadn’t noticed before.

And for the first time, I saw Light as not the Boy Wonder that everyone claimed him to be, but a boy who could find peace in something as ordinary as a shared silence and a melting ice cream.

Chapter Text

( CHAPTER 4 )

— A LONG, VERY LONG WALK

I WASN’T SURE WHY I FELT OFF, and had I understood it at the time, I might have done something drastic, like pulling my hair out, just to distract myself from the feeling. It was a Friday afternoon, and classes had just ended. The hallway buzzed with the usual chatters of karaoke nights, the latest drama and whatnot, but it didn’t matter to me. My focus was elsewhere, my heart beating faster than I cared to admit.

I wanted to believe that I regretted my decision. That part of me resented the idea of studying with Light—my rival, my opponent. Yet, in saying that, my walking pace quickened, each step landing with an unusual sharpness, leaving me wondering if I even regretted it at all. I think part of me was curious, maybe. The kind of curiosity that felt uncomfortable and unwanted. Like walking in the rain with no umbrella and the fabric of your wet shirt clings to you in all the wrong places. It wasn’t the good kind of curiosity, but it wasn’t an entirely bad one either. Before I could make sense of my thoughts, my steps slowed, and my gaze lifted.

And then, as if the universe was playing tricks on me, Light Yagami stood by the gates as promised, and the sparks flew.

“[Y/N],” he greeted me, his voice soft like he’d been practicing my name, and my breathing almost stopped.

Light’s house wasn’t far from school, but with the awkward silence between us, it felt like miles away. We didn’t speak, and neither of us attempted to break it at first. I fidgeted with the straps of school bag; wondering if Light even noticed the tension—or if he, too, was lost in his own world. He moved with such calmness that it almost felt rehearsed. But when I stole a closer glance, I couldn’t shake the feeling that his composure might just be as fragile as my own. His thumb brushed over his fingers, mirroring the way mine fidgeted with the straps. The silence stretched on until, almost as if sensing my restlessness, Light broke it.

“So,” he began, his voice casual, like he’d been waiting for the perfect moment to interrupt, “Do you think birds ever get bored of flying?”

His words hung in the air for a moment, an unexpected question, almost too random to process. I blinked at him, almost tripping on the sidewalk. “Um, say that again?” 

“You know… They just keep flying around, day after day, no different than before. Doesn’t it get monotonous?” 

I stared at him, trying to gauge whether he was being serious or if I misheard him. For a moment, my mind drifted to the birds I had often seen outside the classroom window, gliding aimlessly as though they had no destination, no purpose other than to wander. The thought was oddly trivial, yet in the context of his usual intensity, it seemed almost absurd. I had to fight back a laugh. It wasn’t that funny, but hearing it from the child prodigy himself, it was uncharacteristic of him.

“Is this your way of breaking the iceberg?” I asked.

Light smiled, and I almost mirrored him. "Well, it was either that or the weather. But you’ve gotta admit, it did work, no?”

“It was lame,” I answered and rolled my eyes, though a faint smile was beginning to tug my lips before I even realised it. 

As we walked, a sharp sting flared in my knee; a not-so-gentle reminder of yesterday’s graceless fall. I straightened my knee, hoping to mask it, but it wasn’t long before I noticed a subtle shift in Light’s presence. His steps were slower, his rhythm matching mine. I glanced at him, searching for some clue in his expression, but he gave nothing away. To my surprise, however, Light reached over and took hold of my bag. There was something in the way he held it—something almost careful, like he was testing the boundaries between us but was afraid to overdo it. My shoulders felt lighter, and the weight did not seem to be unbearable anymore.

“I’ll carry it for you. You shouldn’t be overworking your knee too much when you’re injured.”

I found myself caught off guard, unsure with how to react. The last time Light offered his help, I declined almost instinctively, driven by pride or perhaps something less rational like my stubbornness. Yet this time, I did not protest. Not because I’d suddenly grown accustomed to his help, but because, for reasons I couldn’t quite articulate, it didn’t seem worth refusing this time. My knee throbbed again, a quiet but insistent reminder that pulled me back into the present. I frowned and awkwardly muttered a soft "thanks," the word tasting unfamiliar, like I had never said it before. Light smiled, I think, though I didn’t catch on when he continued walking.

After a brief silence, Light spoke up, although this time, his expression was readable—tinged with a hint of frustration. “I should probably apologise in advance if my family makes you feel… uncomfortable.” 

I raised a brow. “Great. Are they planning to summon demons at the dinner table or something?” I replied drily.

But Light gave a soft chuckle. “Well, no, but they possibly could,” he humoured me for a bit, then eyeballed me to the side. “They can be a bit intense, but they don’t mean any harm.” 

I didn’t quite understand what Light meant, but when we stepped into his house, his words became unmistakably clear. The scent of garlic and herbs reached me first, followed by the faint clatter of pots and pans from the kitchen. Then, from the kitchen’s doorway, a woman who I presumed to be Light’s mother, emerged out in the open. She bore a striking resemblance to Light, though with softer features. Her eyes lit up when she spotted us, and her smile was instantly warm, the same kind of warmth that flickered in Light’s eyes whenever he looked at me sometimes.

“Oh, you must be Light’s girlfriend!” She beamed, and I almost choked on my saliva.

“What!?” A girl, presumably his sister, gasped. I darted my eyes to the hallway, and found her frozen in place. “Light has a girlfriend? I thought he was gay!”

But to Light’s response, he sighed. “She’s a friend. A friend.”

Friend—Is that what we are now?

Sayu leaned forward, her lips forming a mischievous smirk. “You should run while you still can,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “I mean, Light here is about as romantic as a brick wall, and his ego’s bigger than his brain. Honestly, I’m shocked he’s even into girls at all!”

“Sayu,” he groaned, rubbing his temples. “Please. You gotta stop.” 

Light’s jaw clenched and his fingers twitched, but only slightly, as though he was used to this kind of teasing and knew better than to let it get under his skin. My eyes moved up on its own, and for a moment, I swore his ears turned pink. I wondered if I had imagined it, but the warmth that crawled up his neck gave away a different story. He didn’t speak right away, his lips pressed into a thin line before glancing at me—eyes that perhaps spoke of frustration, but more likely the quiet exhaustion of being perpetually at the mercy of his sister’s antics. 

Somehow, a sense of inevitability told me that today was going to be far longer than the awkward walk to his house. 

Chapter Text

( CHAPTER 5 )

— CRIME & PUNISHMENT

HIS ROOM WAS TIDY. Light had his bed neatly made unlike mine, and his desk though small, was meticulously organised with great precision. His bookshelf, as if it were an obsessive habit of his, were alphabetised from A to Z, and like everything else in his bedroom—it was well kept. A true reflection of Light’s character and it made perfect, obvious sense.  

Light stepped aside, and gestured for me to take a seat. I sat by his desk, the wood cool beneath my palms. He lingered near the bookshelf, eyes flicking over the spines as if searching for one out of place—though I knew there wasn’t any. When he finally moved to sit across from me, his gaze skipped past mine, and landed straight to the edge of his desk, as though he’d suddenly forgotten what to do with his eyes.

"Sorry about earlier," he murmured, and a sheepish smile played on his lips. 

“I don’t usually bring girls over. So they assumed the latter.”  

I raised an eyebrow. “Really? No girls?” I tiled my head to the side. “With how  popular you are, I find that hard to believe.”  

Light grinned, just a little, and the tension in the air seemed to have dissipated. “I appreciate the compliment, but no,” he answered before adding on, “None of them interested me enough to make the effort.” 

“Sounds like you’re just impossible to please,” I shot back, though his smile only deepened.  

“Maybe,” he said, his voice smooth and steady. “Or maybe I just know exactly what I want.”  

I felt something hot burning inside of me, but I ignored it and forced a faint scoff. “Or maybe you’re just picky.”  

He didn’t reply, but the faint curve of his lips told me that he found it amusing. I dropped my gaze and reached into my bag, pulling out my biology textbooks and pen. I let my eyes skim through the pages, focusing and ignoring the fact that his room had suddenly felt a little warmer and a little smaller than before.

As the minutes dragged on, the quiet between us settled into a steady, almost oppressive rhythm. Light remained utterly absorbed in his notepad. His focus unwavering, while mine began to falter. My eyes drifted, searching for anything beyond Punnett squares and microscopy—and that’s when I saw it: a book, unmistakable in its cover, resting just within reach on the edge of his desk.

“That book,” I said, pointing towards it and Light’s eyes followed my direction, “You  were reading that on Tuesday in the library.”  

His pen paused for a fraction of a second. Light cleared his throat before he casually leaned back in his chair. He tried to hide his interest, but I caught the faint glint in his eyes. “ Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky, it’s a great book,” he replied. 

Cliché coming from you.  

“It’s certainly thought-provoking,” I agreed. “But Raskolnikov’s justification for  murder is morally shaky.”  

Light raised an eyebrow, as if urging for me to continue speaking, and so I did. “I  understand his intentions, though his arrogance was his biggest downfall. His  perception of being a genius allowed him to truly believe that he’s exempt from  moral responsibility.”  

“And isn’t that part of the novel’s brilliance?” He responded, almost too instantly.  “The very essence of Raskolnikov’s dilemma is that he does believe he is above the  law. It questions this notion of moral relativism—does society get to define what’s  right or wrong, or do individuals?”  

“And that’s precisely the problem, Light.” I frowned this time.  

“Just because someone believes their actions are justified, does that make them  moral? If we allow individuals to decide what’s ‘right’ for themselves, then we risk  justifying crimes. There’s a fine line between moral agency and self-serving  justification.”  

A flicker of a flame ignited in his eyes and Light refuted back. “Consider this: Who is  to say that the established moral code is infallible? Raskolnikov’s crime, while  extreme, is driven by his belief that he’s making the world a better place. His actions  stem from a conflict between his vision of ‘better’ and the established moral rules.”  

But I shook my head and argued back. “Even if he thinks it’s for the greater good, it’s  a dangerous path. The argument that some lives are dispensable for a ‘greater cause’  opens the door for authoritarian ideologies, dictatorships, even genocide. It becomes about one person’s vision of what the world should look like, and the rest of  humanity becomes secondary.”  

Light smiled, though something told me that this debate was far from over. “That  might be so,” he replied before adding on, “Or perhaps laws themselves need to be  challenged to evolve. It’s about pushing boundaries, even if it’s uncomfortable. And  maybe that’s the real question—whether the line between right and wrong is as clear cut as we’ve been taught.”  

I didn’t respond immediately. The silence stretched between us, thick with the weight of our unresolved debate. I wanted to counter his argument, to keep the conversation alive, but when my phone buzzed, the call from my mother pulled me back to the present. A glance at the clock revealed, with some surprise, just how late the hour had grown.

I gathered my things and made my way downstairs where Light’s mother greeted me. She kindly offered me dinner, and though her home-cooked meals smelt tempting, I politely declined, not wanting to overstay my welcome. Light accompanied me to the door, his expression as composed as ever, though there was something lighter in the air now. As I stepped onto the porch, his final words of the evening trailed after me, soft yet lingering.

“You should come over again next time,” Light spoke, as if he saw me as his equal, and for a moment, I didn’t mind entertaining the idea of it.  

“Studying alone can get boring,” he added, “And I have to admit, I enjoy a good  debate—especially when my opponent proves to be challenging.”  

I froze on the porch and let the words sink in. “I’ll think about it,” I replied dryly, but  my quickened heartbeat betrayed me.  

At the time, his invitation didn’t seem so significant. But looking back now, I wonder if I made the wrong choice.