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beyondthebackup · 7 months

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On Curiosity, Killing & Cats

[illustration: @nnenteyn-new // telegram // bootsy]

Rating: E | Words: 4,502 | Pairing: BxL

@dnkinktober Prompt: Humiliation/Degradation (Day 7)

Summary:

A is dead, and Roger insists that allowing B to succeed as L is dangerous. The first generation of Wammy’s project is at an impasse and L is - was - curious.

Read on AO3 or under the cut. I hope you enjoy!

Author's Note:

This is technically my first attempt at fanfiction not written specifically for this rp blog. It's also my first time writing L and sharing any smut I've written publicly although I'll be honest, this ended up more plot-heavy than I anticipated and it's relatively tame compared to my private stuff.

All that said I want to thank @ourflagmeansdeathnote @dykelawlight @lightyaoigami @neallo and @brothercrush for being fantastic writers/artists themselves and inspiring me to put myself out there! (And all the other great creators in the dn fandom, I will look desperate and uncool if I tag all of you)

This is an uncomfortably long stretch of silence, even for L.

He observes Backup through the cracks of his sugar-dusted fingers as he busies himself with an assortment of pastries on a serving cart, inspecting and then devouring each with the practiced efficiency of an assembly line.

Honestly, L expected him to say something first.

Backup's file describes him as 'extroverted, energetic and talkative', but he hasn't spoken. He is maintaining eye contact. A little too well, actually. Paired with that flat expression, it's all a bit disconcerting...though L is not entirely unaware that others might think similarly of him.

L gulps down a mouthful of frosting and pushes the cart toward B, who is seated on the other side of Roger’s desk.

"Would you like some?" he asks, mid-chew.

Backup does not break eye contact, but he does finally speak.

"Why are you here?"

His tone is light and mildly curious, as if L were an acquaintance he bumped into at the grocery store.

L could ask himself that very same question. He did not have to be here, he did not particularly want to be here, yet he had indeed chosen to be here.

"These are extenuating circumstances."

B tilts his head. "You mean now that A's dead?"

Straight to the point.

Still, Backup’s flippant attitude does little to remedy the atmosphere.

A, the first child taken into Wammy’s House, has committed suicide at the tender age of 18.

L is not much older than them, and yet…

"Now that you are next in line to take over as L in the event of my death," he clarified.

"There is some debate about whether or not that should remain the case."

Backup is quick to open his mouth, although he doesn't seem all that surprised - before he can start, L lifts a manila folder pinched between his thumb and forefinger.

"I read your file."

B averts his eyes with a pout. "Oh, that…"

"…Well, it makes sense you'd want a well-behaved successor. The whole point of being a detective is to lock up people that break the rules, after all."

L shifts in his seat and wedges his thumb into the corner of his mouth.

It's a ridiculous oversimplification - Backup can't be serious, so is he…mocking him?

"…Is that the point?"

"I dunno, I'm not a detective. You tell me. Is it acceptable for L to break the rules?"

Yes, B is definitely mocking him…but with enough subtext to pique L's interest.

"That depends. Wammy's House is Watari's project, not mine. Breaking the rules here does not necessarily mean anything to me."

"What?" Backup scoffs, more animated all of a sudden. "Shouldn't you take being L a little more seriously? Isn't it your choice who succeeds you in the end?"

"Watari has requested that I make the final decision, yes."

B's eyes narrow.

"No one here can beat me. They would've done it by now."

"That does appear to be the case."

"Then what? Aren't you going to tell me that I can't be L if I don't behave?"

So he was expecting this.

The truth is, L still isn't sure why he's here. He hasn't made a decision, and interacting with B so far has only left him all the more unsure.

What is he going to tell Backup?

Pondering this, L reaches for a small dish of ice cream. He is deep enough in thought that he doesn't notice B finally breaking eye contact to follow the movement of his hands.

He does not notice B's patience fraying, the thinness of his veneer as he watches him nurse the cold off his teaspoon.

"…Do you still expect me to prove myself to you?" he asks quietly.

Now, there is no mistaking it. Resentment hangs from every word.

"Do you want me to grovel?"

L pulls the spoon from his mouth and meets Backup's eyes again, brow furrowed and stern.

"No. This isn't about me."

That's when L sees B smile for the very time.

If you could call it that - his upper lip twitching suddenly with disbelief, parting to reveal the beginning of something toothy and joyless.

"Bullshit,"

"A's dead because of you, you know."

A is dead because of you.

L swatted away that very same thought the day he got the news. He dismissed it because he knew it was illogical, and here Backup is actually saying it to his face. It's absurd, and L allows that to show on his face.

B is undeterred, however. He drags his chair closer to Roger's desk, plants his elbows on the surface and leans in close, eyes widening to take in the moment with full clarity.

"You don't believe me? Do you think people kill themselves for no reason? He's dead because he wasted his entire life trying to become you and failed. Do you think it's fun here, L? Is it even fun being you?"

L likes to think he is not so easily provoked, but if this is Backup's goal, he has succeeded. L did not come here to evaluate the efficacy or ethics of Watari's program, especially not at the behest of someone who is so obviously trying to get a rise out of him.

"What is it that you want from me, Backup?"

"What do I want?"

"You aren't trying to convince me that you should be my successor. If that isn't what you want, should we end the conversation?"

L is curt, but resists the temptation to be overly passive-aggressive. He understands the power dynamic - there is no need to stoop to Backup's level here. This is enough.

Dishes clatter, pastries hit the floor and in seconds Backup has vaulted over the desk and is upon him, seizing his throat with both hands.

Perhaps even more startling than the abruptness of B's attack is its sheer ferocity. L's gasp is cut off as B presses both thumbs into his neck, just above the windpipe. His grip tightens steadily and L feels a rush of genuine fear.

This is not a mere moment of blind rage because a moment has passed, and the look on B’s face is in fact indiscernible to L. Those dark eyes fixate on his and betray nothing but resolve.

He is in danger.

L grabs at his forearms, clawing into them to little effect. He cannot speak, and even if he could-

He asked Roger not to interfere with their meeting.

L is here out of curiosity.

Curiosity and perhaps, deep down, a small (and obviously misguided) sense of responsibility for this place and the orphans raised in it.

Honestly, he prefers not to think about it much.

But A is dead, and Roger insists that allowing B to succeed as L is dangerous.

The first generation of Wammy’s project is at an impasse and L is - was - curious.

It's not that he never considered the possibility of an outburst. That would be understandable, warranted even. L asked Roger not to interfere with this meeting because if B had something to say to him, he wanted to hear it.

But this is different.

L struggles and B draws closer, forcing him to shrink back, sink deeper into Roger's leather armchair. It wounds his ego to be caught so off guard, but L can't even remember the last time he was touched by someone other than Watari.

He spends much of his time isolated from others, and even when he isn't, no one would dare violate his personal space like this.

It isn't just the violence that is alien, the danger, but his touch, and L finds himself paralyzed by it all. Frozen by the fact that B is smiling again, and this time, he seems genuinely happy.

"This is what I want, L," Backup sighs. "That look on your face."

Dread settles into the pit in L's chest and he steels himself to kick at B as hard as he can. It takes more than a few attempts to knock him off balance, but he manages, and with some distance between them, L scrambles out of the armchair.

B is fast, L is flexible, B is strong, L is stubborn.

As B grabs L by the hem of his shirt, L turns to take another swing at him, and in the fray the two of them are sent tumbling to the ground.

So begins the undignified floor wrestling match between two young geniuses.

...Unfortunately, it appears B is the better of the two at wrestling.

L manages to knock the breath out of B more than once, but it makes little difference. He finds himself pinned underneath Backup's oppressive weight while he snickers like a child at play.

"Shhh...relax. Relax! Just stay there! Stay there. I realized something important. I won't hurt you. Calm down. Listen."

"What, Backup?" L snaps as he drops his hands, exasperated.

B grins impishly at him.

"You're a disappointment!"

L stares at Backup in utter disbelief.

"Me?"

"Now that I've met you, I know my entire life has been a waste of time!"

L's stomach drops as he assures himself these are only provocations. Why else would Backup be so gratingly cheerful about it?

"I wasted it trying to become you. A died trying to become you.

But you're just a loser! Another worthless human being! You're weak, you're pathetic, and worst of all, you're boring!

World's Greatest Detective. You!? Are you serious!? Look at you!!"

L stiffens and braces himself to shove B off. He doesn't need to listen to this, Backup is obviously the kind of person that takes pleasure in spite, this is fun for him, this is a waste of time-

"A was better than you, you know," he goes on, voice dripping with contempt. "I actually respected him. I bet everyone was hoping you would die so he could replace you. Too bad."

Backup lowers himself down onto his elbows and cups his hands around L’s face, relishing in it when he feels him flinch.

How many people have seen L like this?

His sneer has vanished. L does not move - he is fighting panic, fighting his racing heart and the goosebumps dotting his skin, he is fighting the confusion that follows the intimacy of skin-on-skin poisoned by the malice on B's tongue.

B's heartbeat is equally frantic, but it doesn't show on his face. L is not nearly as skilled as B in this regard and finds himself all too conscious of his own labored breathing.

"You were my entire life," he says. “I spent all this time waiting for you, thinking of you...only for you to be like this. A died because he wasn't good enough. And now you're here to tell me I’m not good enough."

"No."

"Do you think your life is worth more than all of our lives combined?"

"I never said that."

"You said this isn't about you, but that's not true, is it?

My life has always been about you. A's, too. You're the reason why this place exists. Why I exist.

I exist because you're not good enough, either.

No matter how many cases you solve, you're no different from me. You're a tool. An object. You exist to be used.

That's why you're what...20? And Watari already has an entire orphanage of kids ready to take your place when you die! He doesn't believe in you either."

"That's enough," L cannot take it anymore, he cannot listen to another second of this, he cannot spend another moment on this floor pinned under him, being touched by him, his skin is crawling and he cannot breathe and the air is hot and his stomach is tight and he feels his heartbeat in all the wrong places.

L wills himself to snap out of it, he needs to get B off of him before-

Abruptly, B sits up and directly on top of

"-!? Do you have an erection!?"

B exclaims as if he doesn't know the meaning of the word and all the color drains from L's face.

Do not dignify that with a response. It is involuntary and nothing to be ashamed of.

"Is this turning you on?"

"No."

B bursts into a fit of cruel laughter and L only tenses underneath him, awash with humiliation. L does not often care what others think of him, but he has never felt like this before, so utterly degraded by someone who should respect him, and he's laughing at him, at his- why does he have an erection?

"No?" B echoes. "What's this?" Sliding easily down his thighs, L jerks back from his hand when he feels it rest on the crotch of his jeans.

"I knew it! You're a pervert!"

"And what does that make you, exactly?" L hits back.

"This isn't about me," B draws out L's own line. "Why are you so easy, anyway...? Oh! I get it - I bet no one's ever touched you, besides that disgusting old man. Why would they?"

It's amazing how that talkativeness of his rears its ugly head in a situation like this.

"You're a virgin, aren't you? You're probably touch starved...even though you're older than me and rich and everything. Aww, it must be so lonely being L!"

“Get off of me," L hisses.

"You sure that's what you want?"

With a sharp exhale through his nose, L squeezes his eyes shut for a moment...for just a single moment of peace. He needs to think, he needs to move, and he needs to never admit that B is right and he isn't sure if that's what he wants, because he is excited by this.

He doesn't have the time to intellectualize it. He can break his rule and call for Roger. He can shove B off of him. He can stop this, he could've avoided this entirely had he smothered that curiosity, taken the file at its word and never met one of his so-called successors.

L can feel B's gaze burning through him, but at least he's not talking in that perpetually amused voice and at least he can't see that sadistic excuse for a smile. There is something wrong with B and there is something wrong with him for feeling like this is the first time in a long time someone has managed to surprise or challenge him.

He doesn't have the time to intellectualize it and therefore doesn't have time to convince himself that this is wrong.

It is wrong that he feels relief when B does not wait for him to answer and dips his slender fingers past the waistband of his jeans. Again, he only rests his hand against L's growing arousal. He does not provide any friction, does not move.

It takes all of L's willpower to fight an upward twitch of his hips, the weight and warmth of Backup's touch promising pleasure and yet refusing to follow through.

"Oh, L..." B hums. "You are just a man, after all."

The World's Greatest detective pinned underneath him, shirt inched up past his navel in the fray, so clearly out of his depth. And it was easy. So fucking easy.

"Is this the one thing Watari won't do for you?"

B delights in watching the pink flush crawl up the back of L's neck to his cheekbones, that jaw set so tight he just knows he is gritting his teeth. He can't even look at him, turning his head to the side as if B would ever let him off that easy.

"Look at me," B says sweetly.

L does not.

"I said, look at me," B grabs L by the chin and forces him face forward. He suddenly takes L's clothed erection into a light grip, wringing a quiet gasp out of him. The detective's eyes snap open to glare at Backup with equal parts resentment and desperation, filling B with a deep and twisted satisfaction. He knows that look all too well.

"Do you hate me, L?" he asks, eyes softening with something resembling infatuation. It makes L all the more confused and uncomfortable and frustrated that B will not just get this over with.

Over the course of this conversation, L has learned at least one thing about Backup. Responding in the affirmative is likely what he wants.

This whole thing must have been to get a rise out of him, and L is playing right into his hands.

Because he's...enjoying it.

"I have no reason to hate you, Backup. I have no reason to feel any particular way about you at all,"

His assumption is proved correct when B immediately digs his nails into L's jaw.

"Your dick disagrees."

"It's involuntary."

B's grip on L's erection slacks again. "You don't want me to touch you?"

L's glare darkens.

"Say it."

L curls his toes, wondering if it would be enough to clamp his thighs around B's hand or if his aim all this time really was for L to discard his dignity. Resisting B is an uncomfortable, laborious, painful experience...but would sacrificing his dignity, his better judgement for a single moment of carnal satisfaction be worse?

I want you to touch me.

L tries the sentence out in his mind and it makes him wince. He's imagining B's grin splitting wide again, that sharp laugh, and the way his cock will throb when the humiliation sinks in. He imagines Backup following through, apparently capable of giving him the release that he has never been interested in seeking out until now.

This has awakened something in him. The wrongness of it all is what makes L want it, and he isn't sure if anything will ever feel quite this wrong again.

What's that saying? Curiosity killed the cat?

L will never see this cat again. Not ever.

Does it really matter if he makes a mistake now?

L sucks in air through his teeth and finally, recklessly relents.

"I want you to touch me," he mumbles with just enough conviction as to not feel entirely pathetic, to allow himself some illusion that he is in fact in control.

"...You fucking pervert," B giggles. "I didn't actually think you'd say it. You're shameless, that's so gross..."

Even so, it seems to do the trick. B massages him slowly through his underwear, free hand finally releasing his jaw to take a fistful of L's hair and yank his head back.

"I'm barely 18, what is wrong with you?"

"That's not-!"

"Shut up," B palms him with more intention. He can feel L twitching around his fingers as he pulls the fabric around his length, pleasures him with the barrier that exists between him and what he actually wants.

"Hhn-" With all pretext shattered, L slowly lets go. This friction is not nearly enough or he wouldn't be squirming like this, chewing down on his tongue wishing Backup would just get on with it already.

"Aren't there cameras in here? What will the old man think of you?"

"Just get on with it..." L sighs with marked frustration.

"I was trying to give you plausible deniability by only going this far. You'll have to say please if you want me to actually touch the hard-on you got from being degraded by me."

"You are ridiculous," L seethes.

Plausible deniability. Right.

"I assure you I'm quite serious. Having your successor get you off is going to be your fault."

"My fault? I'm not the one who started this."

"You're going to blame me? Even when our power dynamic is like this? You're not a good person at all, L. You can't take responsibility for anything."

Another ragged sigh interrupts L's retort as B gropes his cock, offering him delicious pressure and friction but refusing to give up on the tease...until he feels a wet spot growing, at least.

B wets his lip with his tongue. "I don't think I even have to go any farther. Treating you like the garbage you are and just a little bit of attention is all it takes."

"Please," L forces out.

"Please what?"

"More. Please just...touch me more."

"It's not enough?"

"No."

"Okay, I'll do what you say. I'm obsessed with you after all."

True to his word, Backup releases L and pulls his jeans and underwear down past his hips, exposing L's straining, leaking cock for the both of them to see.

"You just said that I was worthless."

"You are. I hate you more than anything, and nothing would make me happier than watching you suffer. That's the kind of person that's going to get you off for the first time, L. And I'm doing it not because I want you back, but because I know you'll never forget it..."

B finally wraps his hand around L's erection and of course he is lying about not wanting it, he wants this desperately, he is coming undone inside in ways that L could never imagine, because he does not know him.

He has nothing to do with him.

Hatred, lust and love are not all that different after all.

L tries to quiet his mind, to avoid internalizing anything B is saying. For whatever reason being spoken to like this and treated like this is the most arousing thing L has ever personally experienced, and he should treat this as something being done in service of him.

That's what it really is. It has to be.

At the end of the day, no matter what B said, he would still be B and L would still be L.

B leans in close, still stroking L all too slowly, too lightly, and yet it is enough to force unsightly little mewls from L's lips. He shudders when he feels Backup's lips pressed against the shell of his ear.

"I want you to remember this feeling, L," he whispers.

L swallows hard and bucks up to meet B's movements.

"I want you to remember how desperate and helpless and low you feel right now, and I want you to remember it was me that made you feel this way."

The friction is maddening. So simple and yet so intense. L feels his inner voice quieting, fading, he feels dangerously human, dangerously like simple flesh, like B said, just a man...not the world's greatest anything.

"No one is ever going to care about you as much as I do. I thought of you constantly for ten years. Yet now that I know you...I despise you."

L is panting as B fists his cock, speaking with such vitriol as to be certain L could not fool himself into thinking it was an act.

"I despise you so much. You make me sick. And you're getting off on that? Off on my misery..."

"N-no-"

"You are. I know because I got off on A's misery, and I'm getting off on yours, too. I know exactly the kind of person you are.

Depraved. Disgusting. Fucked in the head. You hide behind your title and the law so no one ever finds out you're just a pathetic fucking cock-sucking degenerate that would be better off dead!"

L groans deeply and hates himself for it. He doesn't understand himself, he doesn't understand this, why every word is pulsing through L's hips like lightning, why it feels so good to be reduced to this when most of his life, his efforts only earned him universal praise.

"What would Watari think if he saw you right now, L? He'd be so disappointed in you. Why would you do something like this? It's inappropriate, it's dangerous, you were warned, right? Don't you know better?"

"Stop...stop saying his name..."

"Don't you know better, L? Say it."

"I-I know better..."

"So why are you doing this?"

"I...don't know-!" L cries out in frustration, moans rolling out of him in choked out intervals. The pleasure is piercing him, becoming unbearable, mutating into something frightening, something about to burst.

"Tell me why!" B demands, releasing L altogether. At this stage, he can't bear it, and the levy breaks.

"Because I'm a pervert! I'm disgusting and I'm pathetic and I want you to touch me, you're right about me, B! You're right..." L whines. "Please don't stop, I can't take it anymore..."

This wipes the smile off B's face which makes it all the more painful...he is staring at L incredulously and for the first time L becomes aware that B is also panting, his skin is just as hot.

He presses his forehead against L's and stares at him in silence for a few beats. It drives a vicious chill up his spine and he knows, deep deep down,

even if he never saw B again,

he's made a terrible mistake.

"I'll never let you forget about me, L."

And so he reaches back between L's thighs for the final time with no intention of holding back.

L jerks under him, thighs trembling as B swirls his thumb over his sensitive head.

"Keep your eyes open, slut."

Even as his mouth hangs open, moaning freely to keep B from becoming restless enough to return to his teasing, it's not enough.

Backup is so focused on him, so unwilling to look away that L is forced to endure the intimacy of sustained eye contact while he is this vulnerable. He feels stripped bare, like Backup is staring right through him.

No one should see him so unguarded, especially never someone like him, yet he obeys, he obeys and lets B see everything, his drawn-out groans as his orgasm creeps up on him, the drool beading at the corner of his mouth, the hopeless lust in his tired eyes.

He feels humiliated. Degraded. Disgusting. But most of all, he feels alive.

All thoughts cease as L arches his back and white hot satisfaction washes over his entire body. He reaches for B's forearms, gripping onto him as he cums hard all over his hand, an undignified mess left behind on the both of them, proof that it happened.

Undeniable.

B lets out a shaky breath and watches L sink into the floor with wide eyes. The memory and the image burning into his psyche where it would never leave him. Where it strengthened his result to become a murderer

and destroy L.

L would never forget this feeling, but neither would B.

With A dead, his new purpose in life is clear.

He will be the one to make L grovel.

B is still lost in thought when L reluctantly opens his eyes to face the aftermath. Luckily for him, B is not looking back at him but at his own hand.

L is confused until Backup sticks his cum-covered fingers into his mouth and begins to suck them clean-

No. L has to get out of here right now before this gets any worse.

Fine, Backup. You win.

I'll break my rule.

"Roger!!!" L shouts at the top of his lungs.

#dnkinktober #beyondlaw #bxl #lxb #bbll #beyond birthday #fanfic #my writing #smut #ao3 #death note #l lawliet

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beyondthebackup · 8 months

Text

[Submitted]: The Red Note

The note and the indented description of its location was submitted by an anonymous author.

Everything dies.

Normally, though, Backup sees it coming.

This is the grave of his childhood.

B gazes up at the crown of the mighty tree that used to make him feel so incredibly small, now frail and withering as it towers above him. Scarce sunlight slips through the yew’s crooked fingers like liquid gold.

A kaleidoscope of shadows flicker across B’s face as he passes beneath the glittering canopy and crushes its leaves underfoot.

The old yew looms over moss freckled lichen, arching branches like phoenix wings drawing it up from the ground in one last demonstration of life’s defiance, an evergreen’s final breath drawn from pallid-gray-green to malignant gold. Surrounded by sightless spectators, there is no witness when it is unjustly slain. In death, it remains as silent as the secrets it’s kept for all the lovers who carved their names into its flesh, all the dabblers in death who stole its carmine heirs from its branches. But the untimely cascade of coniferous needles reveals a hidden missive;

—a scarlet envelope left nailed beneath a skeletal branch.

B can still make out the wounds he inflicted year after year on red-brown bark, a tradition stolen from the English children. Not letters but tally marks, counting down to the day A would finally look up at him, brow furrowed with thinly-veiled rancor as he realized B was taller than him now and always would be. A never said anything, of course he didn’t, but he didn’t have to. B knew each time A returned to this tree he’d see the evidence: a gash that sits perfectly atop B’s head when he leans against the trunk, '182' carved proudly beside it. While A's gradually stammered to just above 172, Backup's growth sailed smoothly beyond what A would ever reach. The last two marks, 172 and 167, were made without Alternative's participation.

Risking splinters, Backup drags his hand down the years notch by notch and wonders exactly when the ancient thing died; in his memories, in that photo, it is emerald, lush and verdant as evergreens should be, unless…

He comes upon a hole that must have been drilled into the trunk; he absentmindedly sticks his finger inside, noting it to be about 1-2 inches deep. Backup quickly realizes that there are several identical holes around the circumference of the tree, along with multiple cuts exposing its vulnerable white flesh. Even the grass and foliage at the base are dying.

B can make out the massive thing from an impressive distance and recalls a few moments from the past year or so — flashes of yellow in the corner of his eye during football games and smoke breaks. He didn’t think much of it at the time. It’s just a tree, after all. Like everything else from those days, it faded into the background.

But this is death by a thousand cuts. These injuries are precise, deep and deliberate. This was a murder, carried out over days, weeks, months…

Whoever killed this tree did so slowly and left it to rot from the inside…as if hoping the poor thing could feel pain. But…why? Why this tree…?

It feels ridiculous to care about what killed a tree, but it’s even more ridiculous to care enough about a tree to kill it…

Something catches his eye

—red like a fresh incision.

B recognizes the glint of a nail and his body responds in an instant. The wounds from that day Alternative hunted him like an animal in these woods have only recently healed.

Memories of steel biting into his shoulder, the ice-tipped fang tearing through his thigh, the searing ache as he dug pseudo-bullets out of his skin and the grim reality that he nearly lost an eye haunt him like a vengeful ghost.

The last time he found something interesting nailed to a tree,

A was there.

Waiting.

As if it were an ambush.

B’s pulse quickens and he scans the treeline for movement, taking the time to become fully aware of his surroundings. Alternative still has that damned crossbow; despite his best efforts, he hasn’t been able to find it. Still, A is unlikely to make the same move twice in a row. That would make things too easy.

This place has always been still and quiet, and now is no exception. Eventually, B relaxes into the nostalgia.

He is alone.

There is no mistaking it; another hidden note, but this time, placed well out of his — or anyone else’s — reach. He’d have to climb the tree to retrieve it.

It appears he’ll have to put in some work this time.

B is confident when he begins his climb. He’s scaled this tree a dozen times before, although not since his youth.

It’s no trouble for him at all to jump and grab the first branch but, it lets out an unfamiliar groan, protesting his weight…he is stronger than he used to be, but heavier too, and these branches aren’t as wide as they once were.

He will have to be careful.

The next branch is the same, creaking under him like cheap furniture as he pulls himself up to straddle it. This tree is dying and making a fuss of it, bark crumbling under his fingers as he swings his leg up and tries to scale the third branch quickly.

Nothing feels stable enough to rest for long, especially not this last branch, high enough for a perfect view but not so high you can’t get back down. Years ago he and A would sit on it for hours, but B suspects that even grabbing it might be too dangerous now.

But he wants that letter.

He doesn’t have a choice.

B takes a deep breath and for a moment feels like a child again, grasping at the limb with blind faith. His scuffed fingertips straining at the edges as it moans, B reaches further, stretching his grasp into the open air. The limb begins to tenderly pop, but he won’t make it if he gives up now. He pulls with the full force of his strength, bringing his face into the sun’s unobscured light; he squeezes his eyes shut as it blinds him just before he hears the loud crack beneath his fingers, the next moment he is in free fall.

He shouts and birds scatter, there is no time to think before he

hits

the

ground.

"Nnnnngh…"

B groans out in pain, his head is throbbing so hard he almost regrets regaining consciousness. His back and limbs are sparking with a sharp agony and it takes some time before he dares to even move them.

Nothing is broken, and he doesn’t feel too disoriented. He struggles, slowly, into a sitting position and realizes he landed in a nest of expired needles. He should consider himself lucky. The jagged remains of that old branch glare back at him, a big gap like a question left unanswered.

Looking to his side, there is the letter — and the limb. He frowns. There’s still some green left at it’s core, and the red note defiantly isn’t even torn.

The note reads: I am enamored. Scintillating sparks on the surface of my skin trickle the path of your fingers like lambent dust caught in concentrated sunlight, like earth bound stars curling on your breath. It’s silent and ethereal, the mark of your fingers lingering where they stole my warmth greedily, still there, invisible and unquenched. Do you know I am left famished even when you are pitiless? My living-ember love, you are as inhospitable as the vampirous summer sun, bleeding the ground dry, scorching all tenderness that could wriggle out of reach of your blistering indignation— I hold my withered affection close and brace for the lick of your ire… You mistake my inaction for apathy but I think if I let you, you would scorch it all to cinders, just to prove how intensely your acrimony burns, just so I would know how uncompromising your ego has become for my dignity. I think of how you threaten to discard everything we have been to each other and I want to meet your ferocity with the cold-blooded recompense that everyone tells me is due… But, how can I do that when I look into your eyes and I see someone that once saw me when no one else would? How can I when I’ve known your heart —and it is not empty? How can I kill a fledgling hope I know is still within you, the trust that I would never leave you even if life made you thorny and bleak? How can I do it when the most untamed parts of you are home to all the untamed parts of me? How can I do that when it wouldn’t matter how unsparingly you loathed me, some part of me would still love you? I cannot reason with feral rage, there is no antivenom for enmity, but my heart cannot yield to the truth; that I want you to choose to love me back. Even in spite of all you’ve done to desecrate our bond… How pathetically I want you to look at me in the way others would long to be seen, how miserably I want you to speak to me from the places that sighed so softly when you rested your head next to mine, how cravenly I want you to love me in the way my heart would understand. Oh, savage love, how little fear your sanguine threats inspire when I am already consumed with a dread with which nothing else can contend… I do not fear the pain you could inflict anymore. I am not afraid of degradation or debasement. I am not even afraid of death. But, I am terrified that we will not live long enough to finish all those unloved sketches you’ve left in the drawer, or that I might die having not written all that longs to be read by your eyes and dies waiting for a home in your heart —I’m terrified that I won’t live long enough for all that is still within me to be born.

B presses his thumbs into the envelope, caressing the frayed edge left behind when he ripped it free from the nail. He pictures the other four notes hidden away in his room; secret treasures B keeps pressed between the pages of a thick, unassuming book. They are in perfect condition, Backup made certain of that, but this one…is damaged.

The symbolism is not lost on him.

This note is different.

While the others were marked by their playful lust, pretty fantasies signed off with hearts…this one is pointedly somber. Intimate beyond the physical. The author knows the subject of these letters, or at least claims to…in a way that B has never been known, cannot ever be known.

What the hell is this…? This isn’t about him.

Talk of hope and trust and home and seeing their heart — if someone said these things to his face, he’s not sure he could stop himself from laughing. It wouldn’t just be presumptuous, but ridiculous, borderline delusional…

But B isn’t laughing. There is a growing knot in the center of his chest.

He wants this ridiculous letter to be about him.

It’s been fun so, of course he does…but it’s something more than that. There is a bitter familiarity in the author’s tone of voice that cuts through B’s impulse to write them off.

There is not just nebulous talk of ‘love’ but resentment, strife, and death. No, B would be lying if he said that nothing in this note could apply to him, but still…

——— Obelus Yoriko Umbral A ———

Yoriko, perhaps, would be willing to project such far-fetched hopes onto him…but she has the least to complain about out of all the suspects. This is simply because B senses she has the self-respect to stop tolerating him if he pushes her too far — he can’t have that, not when things are just now getting good.

Umbral might yearn for B to be more affectionate with him outside of his rewards for good performance…but he takes what he is given, and this note is almost defiant in what it’s asking for.

Was B wrong to eliminate Obelus just because he’s sure he’d never write about wearing a dress? Doesn’t he know better after studying B like a bug under a microscope for all these years? Isn’t that why he keeps his mouth shut even though his romantic feelings for B are so painfully obvious?

And why does he even keep A on this mental list?

A despises him.

Yet, he doesn’t want to eliminate the possibility from his mind.

Because he likes the idea.

It’s impossible, and that’s what makes the thought amusing. A would have to be truly out of his mind to write like this about B.

No one is crueler to Alternative than Backup.

And why wouldn't he be?

If it weren't for Backup's persistent reminders that their precious figurehead is indeed fallible, their drooling peers and instructors would inflate A's ego to the point of no return. B can just picture his look of smug superiority, that air of stern self-importance that makes B want to turn him inside out. The humiliation, the torment, the cruelty is all necessary. Left unchecked, A might grow a spine and pursue relationships with others, grow foolish enough to believe in something other than his inexorable defeat at Backup's hands.

But he does more for Alternative than just make him miserable. Their rivalry is give-and-take.

B knows the truth, even if no one else does — that for all his faux innocence and doe-eyed victimhood, the degradation gets A off.

But he won't ever admit it. A’s image is perhaps the most important thing in the world to him, and he takes great pains to convince everyone that he gets nothing out of their twisted dynamic.

One of his many lies.

No, there is just no motive for A to author these notes (god forbid with any shred of sincerity). If he had, this would be nothing short of a mixed fucking message.

It is absurd, the idea that A secretly yearns for him to drop all pretense and seriously treat him like his fucking boyfriend, right?

There is barely a moment of consideration before the answer emerges from his memory.

"They think too highly of me to suffer delusions of your adequacy~

Do you think you’d even know how to be my boyfriend if you tried?"

That is what Abel said to him, before B promptly trapped him in the bathroom and made him miss their next class.

When he said it, he meant it. When B retaliated, he meant it. After everything A has done to him, he should be grateful for B’s restraint up till now.

Even after everything he’s put him through, even after … after 'everything you’ve done to desecrate our bond’…

B scowls. Right.

A had only ever categorically denied 'everything we’ve ever been to each other’, his capacity for shame being perhaps one of the starkest differences between him and B.

In spite of the impossibility that this trepid confession could represent Abel’s genuine feelings, the notion crashes into B like water on hot stones and his agitation splinters into a disorienting fog.

Every day he and A address each other with taunts and insults, overt threats and whispered coquetry, the fistfights and arguments a theater they put on for the house while they commit attempted murder and carnal sins in private.

The one thing they do not do is speak to each other like this.

It’s against the rules.

It would be an easy enough pill to swallow if A wrote these letters to get inside B’s head, to escalate the cruelty of their game.

But, if he is this good at it, then B has so severely underestimated his abilities that he’s become unrecognizable as an opponent.

It was improbable, even if A was capable of it. These notes were not merely diversions conceived in an hour's time. Their author wrote with palpably poignant ardor, with carefully constructed allusions penned in ink. Their methodical strokes were elegant but bold enough to be written without the possibility of erasure, suggesting that every step of their creation was arduously intentional, practiced.

No… it wouldn’t be worth the farce of simply luring him into A’s crosshairs...

But, if this could be felt for Backup by anyone, if A could feel anything like this, anything to this degree, if he could even conceive of the thought and mean it — B’s train of thought comes to a grinding, screeching halt.

He doesn’t even notice his racing heartbeat, the tension crawling up his shoulders and back, teeth digging into tongue.

Why would he ever say he’d never leave me?

Of course, he won’t.

Not ever.

It’s not up to A and it never was; it is fate that he won’t survive long enough to have a life outside of this place, outside of B’s reach — but he can’t possibly know that.

B would never leave something so important up to trust.

The absolute futility of it all has not left Backup complacent.

He respects Alternative far too much to accept victory by default.

A spends each day running, trying to put as much distance between them as he can; but he can’t do it forever. He will tire. He will fall.

B chases him and blocks the exits even if he doesn’t have to, he keeps a hand on his back ready to drag him down-

Down to his level.

Dirt, graves, and hell.

They grew beside one another like trees, blocking each other’s sun, tangling their roots. B looks all the more warped standing next to A, but the rot is in both of them.

The rot defines them.

Why can’t he just let it define them?

Why can’t he stop wanting more than to rot and strangle and suffocate him until its done?

How can I do that when it wouldn’t matter how unsparingly you loathed me,

some part of me would still love you?

Backup grits his teeth, his throat filling up with something utterly intangible yet almost too thick to breathe around, he is suddenly too hot and the chittering insects are too loud. The world around him slows to an absolute crawl and when B decides he is not doing this, he is not going to waste his time thinking about this when A did not write this, A would never think this, A would never make these promises, A did not love him,

He stuffs the letter back into its envelope and tries to shake it from his mind.

But he cannot bring himself to leave it. For some agonizing reason, he cannot leave it to be bleached by the sun and consumed by insects eating through the yew’s fallen leaves.

…Why does it even matter to him?

A would have thrown it away.

A would have left it to be forgotten. If he had given it to A, he would have torn it up in front of him—

"… They say that boys often go their entire lives without receiving flowers until their funerals, I suppose now that cannot be said of either of us…"

The words spoken when A gave the flower back to him returned, it still lacked all the malice he had expected to be there. A had not disposed of it, he had not torn it apart, that’s not what happened…

The contradiction, the flaw in A’s thick veneer of antagonism, the possibility pounding at the inside of his skull, something boiling deep inside of him and threatening to burst. He wants to reject this discomfort, he wants to be excited again like he was when he thought something fun was finally happening that didn’t involve his persistent

fucking

obsession.

A dangerous idea reoccurs to him after sitting in the back of his mind for days. It consumes his every fiber, reverberates on every cell like the cicadas in the forest at dusk and he sees the opportunity in front of him with new eyes— the only way he’d get any answers is if he played the game.

If he wrote a response to these letters, but left it for A to find…

Could it affect him? Would it reach through Alternative’s facade? —Would he see a flicker of A’s desire to be truly known…even loved?

… Is A capable of wanting more than the mask of perfection? … Is he capable of wanting — tenderness?

Enough to accept it, even from someone else…?

A voice brushes his mind with unwanted advice, “Maybe—if I was just a little bit kinder to him than you’re capable of being, he might want it more than he wants to be fucked ~” C’s provocation reemerges to taunt him, and as quickly as it breaches the surface, B buries the creeping sense that he could have a point… but not before it introduces him to a new prospect:

He might receive a response from the parts of A that never spoke to him aloud —the parts that wouldn’t throw away the flower left on his nightstand…

B’s guard against ill-fated fantasy rises immediately, he wouldn’t put it past A to be vicious just to spite him.

But what if he didn’t know who they were from? What if he left them for A to make of what he would, for them to twist and pluck at his inner workings, to keep him awake at night— to let him deny ownership of if it all proved fruitless~

If nothing came of it, he could at least enjoy toying with A until his experimentation with tenderness honed him into a more skillful handler of his admirer’s sensitive heart…if this was truly his admirer.

Backup tucks the note away carefully, determined to return to his room and begin drafting his reply, but he feels a pull to the fallen limb discarded on the ground.

The yew is dead.

Nothing can be done about that.

But this limb isn’t…at least, not entirely.

B picks it up, and for a moment, contemplates its weight in his hands.

It’s easy enough to discard a flower. But if something could grow from this branch…if the progeny of that old tree could sprout from its discarded bones, and A saw such a gesture of sentimentality from B…would it rattle him?

This yew is not just the grave of B’s childhood after all, but A’s, too.

Fine.

If C wants to lecture him about playing nice, he can make himself useful.

He will bring it to the greenhouse to see what can be done.

[Lavender Note]

[Pink Note]

[Blue Note]

[Red Note]

[Tag: Love Note]

#submission #rp #plot #love note #beyond birthday #thank you anon for your beautiful submission!!!

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