Winter had settled in over Tokyo, the streets wrapped in a quiet hush as snow drifted slowly from the overcast sky. It melted on contact with your scarf, caught gently in your lashes, and dusted the tops of cars parked along the narrow sidewalks.

You walked beside Light Yagami, your gloved hand occasionally brushing against his as you made your way toward the Yagami family home. He didn’t wear gloves. Or a coat, for that matter — just a loose black sweater, beige trousers, and his ever-pristine white sneakers. If he was cold, he didn’t show it.

But then again, Light never really showed anything.

Except to you.

To everyone else, he was the picture of perfection: calm, intelligent, methodical — Japan’s golden boy. But beneath that polished surface, behind those sharp eyes and easy smiles, was the real Light. Your Light. The one who held a Death Note like it was holy scripture. The one who was shaping the world with ink and judgment.

And you knew it all.

He’d told you months ago. Or maybe he hadn’t told you — not outright. But you weren’t stupid. You’d put the pieces together, the late nights, the absences, the glint of something colder behind his smiles.

And still, you stayed.

Because you loved him. And more dangerously, he loved you, too — in that possessive, all-consuming way only someone like Light Yagami could.

Your breath came in soft clouds as you walked, the wind nipping at your cheeks. Light didn’t speak much, content to listen to your voice as you talked about a professor's ridiculous assignment, about Sayu’s last text to you, about how beautiful the snow looked falling under the streetlamps.

Eventually, his fingers found yours, lacing through the spaces between your gloved hand like it was instinct.

“You’re cold,” you said softly, glancing at him.

“I’m fine,” he replied, his tone low, smooth — the usual Light. Always in control. Always fine. But then he glanced sideways, a rare softness playing at the corners of his mouth. “You’re warm enough for both of us.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart still fluttered in your chest.

The Yagami home came into view — quiet, familiar. Sachiko would have dinner ready. Sayu would rush to the door to hug you like she hadn’t seen you in weeks. And Soichiro... would probably look at you the same way he always did: like you were either a liability or a distraction. Maybe both.

He didn’t trust you. Not because of anything you’d said or done, but because he knew something wasn’t right — with Light. With you. With the way the world was suddenly shifting and changing without reason. He could feel it. But he didn’t know.

Not like you did.

“You know,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, “your father’s probably going to grill me again at dinner.”

Light smiled faintly. “Then don’t say anything stupid.”

You gave him a playful glare, and he squeezed your hand gently in return.

“Don’t worry,” he added, a little more serious now, his eyes focused ahead. “As long as you’re with me, you’re safe. From everything.”

Even the snow seemed to pause for a second — like the world was listening in.

You nodded slowly, quietly tucking that promise away like a talisman.

Because being loved by Light Yagami was both a blessing and a death sentence.

And somehow, you were at peace with both.