𝕋𝕚𝕞𝕖 𝕊𝕥𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕤 𝕊𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕝 - Hawk & Stri

L Lawliet was not a detective.
He was barely out of his teenage years and into his twenties. He was a scrawny man, with messy black hair that seemed longer in the back than in the front, and wide dark eyes that seemed to see everything at once.
He wasn’t a detective, and he had no business walking the street his feet had searched for and found, and yet here he was. His loose clothes hung on his shoulders, moving with him as he walked, keeping to the side, head down but eyes up, always searching. He looked, lost, but he was anything but that.
He stopped suddenly. Something had caught his eye, something that wasn’t usually there. He frowned, them bent down, examining it.
It was a musical instrument, he realized, abandoned in the leaves and dirt. He stared at it, mesmerized by it’s unfamiliar pattern of wood and strings, then checked to see if anyone was around who seemed to be looking for something, but didn’t see anyone like that. There weren’t really any other people at all, actually.
Who could lose something this big?
He didn’t know. But after a moment of searching he found something. The wood was imperfect in places, suggesting frequent use. That meant whoever this belonged to was probably missing it.
He hesitated, them continued his way forward, carrying the instrument with him. Perhaps he would find whoever it belonged to on his path.

L kept walking, scanning the area now for anyone else that might be around. The unfamiliar weight on his back made his already horrendous posture worse, and he dragged it along, wondering who would bring something like this anywhere, and why.
He supposed he ought to go home, but he didn’t want to. He walked these streets for a reason. Because here, he found other wandering souls, other people without parents to look after them, even though he should have been too old to think like that. Maybe that was the result of growing up alone, after your parents were dead, the streets were more of a home to him now than he supposed any building ever would be.
He didn’t feel sorry for himself. He realized that his parents had died in a terrible accident, and he also realized that this wasn’t unusual and didn’t set him apart in any way. Growing up alone was, perhaps, even the norm. He didn’t even know why he was thinking of it now.
He looked up, shading his eyes, and caught sight of someone ahead of him. They looked…lost. He wondered whether they had lost their instrument, and that was why they looked so sad. He imagined giving it back and filling their eyes with joy, imagined them saying Thank you and showing L how to use it, what the strings were for.
Maybe he would even play a song. He smiled a little at the thought, and picked up his pace, headed for the figure on the grass. That had to be why they looked so lost, right? This was a treasured possession. No wonder they looked like someone they loved very deeply had been taken from them.

L was getting close to the other man, the instrument bumping against his back and shoulder as he walked. He could see the expression on the other man’s face, now, the way he looked so completely lost and alone. It hurt L to see someone else like that, and he comforted himself with the fact that the instrument would undoubtedly give him some comfort from whatever he was facing. Whether that was only the loss of his possession, or something else, L didn’t know, but he was confident he could help.
He should have stopped just a little further back. He had no idea what he was getting into. He had no idea who Orpheus was, or why he looked so sad. All he knew was that he wanted to help.
And then the voice sounded.
“Orpheus.”
L stopped, blinking and searching for the source of the voice. But there was none. It was only him and the stranger and the instrument on his back. There was no one there who could have said the name.
Name. Was that the stranger’s name? Judging by the way he looked up, it was, though he didn’t seem to understand any more than L did.
“You broke my rules. You stopped work on my wall, and I was still kind to you. But your insolence cannot go unpunished.”
Orpheus, if that was his name, had gone very still. L took another hesitant step forward, then another, and then he was approaching, curiosity getting the better of him, the instrument all but forgotten. He wanted to ask where the voice was coming from, what he was talking about. He wanted to know how this person was, and what he had done.
“You will have no place in my kingdom. A long life is usually a gift, but I think for you it’s a fitting punishment. You will not be welcome in my kingdom unless you receive wounds grievous enough that they cannot be overcome.”
L finally stopped again, but he was close, much too close. And then he felt it; a sharp, hot pain in his chest. He stumbled, shocked, as it slowly faded away into nothing, leaving him alone with just the stranger and the instrument for company.
He didn’t understand. A long life? A kingdom? He checked himself for signs of an injury, but he found none. Then he looked up and at Orpheus again - he was now convinced that was his name - and took a step back.
Too little. Too late.
Clearly, this man had done something. Something bad. His punishment was...life? No, that didn’t seem right. But he knew what he had heard.
He backed away, shaking his head. He didn’t understand. But he suddenly wanted nothing to do with this man, this stranger with the voices around him like ghosts. He ducked behind a corner of a building, and he meant to run, but the weight of the instrument stopped him.
His curiosity was still burning.
And, afraid as he was, he still wanted answers.
He would watch, he decided, from afar. He would see where Orpheus went, and he would figure out what had happened. Yes, that was the only sensible thing to do.
He peeked out from behind his cover to see what the man was doing now.

L listened from around the corner, not coming any closer. He didn’t need to come closer to hear what Orpheus was saying.
Who was Hermes? Was that the name of the voice that had spoken? L found he would really like to have some answers, and soon, but he didn’t let himself come any closer. He didn’t quite dare, for one thing, and he also didn’t want Orpheus to know he was there anymore. Even the instrument on his back was something he wanted nothing to do with anymore, but his curiosity was just too strong. He couldn’t walk away.
He had to know what Orpheus had done, and what Hermes has done to him (and L) in response. He also was a bit concerned about the effects of whatever had happened to him.
Yes. Answers would be good.
He didn’t know why Orpheus was so upset. Wasn’t long life a good thing? How long was long, anyway? L gritted his teeth against the flood of questions, because he had no answers for them. None at all.
That was why he had to stay. That was why he had to watch this stranger. He listened silently, the lyre on his back, as Orpheus let the sobs consume him.
He knew grief when he saw it. How many on the street were the same way? But he didn’t know what the grief was for, or why it was consuming Orpheus. He could have asked, but he didn’t dare come close enough to speak. He didn’t trust this stranger with a strange punishment and a strange instrument that he now carried. He didn’t trust him, and he was afraid of him.
He tried not to be afraid. He tried to stay calm, to think of all the ways this could be explained away, but the only thing he could imagine was a curse, like the ones he’d heard sung about as a child, when his parents had been alive.
Of course, that was before the fire. Before the curse that had struck L as a young child, and left him an orphan. Was he doomed to catch the effects of every curse that came near him?
He swallowed. At least, when his parents had died, he had known why. He had understood that it was his fault. This time his only fault was kindness, the desire to help a stranger. What curse was this?
He tended as Orpheus got up, but the stranger was only walking away. Stumbling, more accurately. L hesitated, then made up his mind and began to follow at a distance, sticking to the shadows.

L was trying very hard not to be seen. He was trying, but truthfully, he wasn’t used to that being a possibility. He wasn’t used to hiding for the simple reason that he wasn’t used to being seen at all, as anything more than another lost boy on the street.
He didn’t expect Orpheus to care. He only hid because he didn’t know what to expect now, from the man who had the voice. He was afraid of what he didn’t understand, and try as he might to quell that fear, it wasn’t always possible. So he hid, and he waited for something to come along that he did understand.
He didn’t notice the flowers. He stepped on some of them, without looking down, and he didn’t notice. Even if he had, he probably wouldn’t have reacted to them, because to him they were just flowers. Nothing more.
It was spring, he realized. It hadn’t been spring in a long time. He smelled the flowers on the gentle breeze, calling him, and he heard the song of birds far above him, calling. It was beautiful, if only he could have enjoyed it.
He couldn’t. Not when he didn’t know what was happening. Not when he was afraid of the curse he thought he now bore, the curse he didn’t understand.
Life.
Wasn’t it a blessing? Or was he just naive, and shortsighted? What was he missing here?
He didn’t know what Orpheus was going through, he had no way of knowing that. He just wanted Orpheus to explain what had happened, but he didn’t dare come any closer, not when he suspected curses were involved. He was afraid of what he didn’t understand, and this, this he had no chance of understanding.
The instrument was heavy on his back. He wanted to put it down, but he didn’t, because it still felt like something he should return, even if he didn’t dare.
He watched Orpheus pick the flower, and his dark eyes followed it as the other man held it up. It was beautiful, but that’s not what he noticed. What he saw was a man trying to be distracted, a man trying not to think about what had just happened. What he saw was an attempt to think about anything, anything else. And failing. Because a moment later, Orpheus kept moving, ambling along without a purpose. The flower didn’t help, it seemed.
He followed. Eventually, Orpheus’ let the flower drop, and L carefully retrieved it, sniffed it, then dropped it again. Nothing. He continued to follow, watching Orpheus like a cat.

L, too, had noticed the lack of change in his own body. He still got hungry and thirsty, and he still ate and drank, but his hair was still the same raven black it had been too many years ago, and his face still looked barely out of his twenties. He was beginning to have the horrible suspicion that the curse was real.
What that meant was beyond him. He knew it meant he didn’t seem to age, but did it mean he wouldn’t die? Couldn’t die? What were the limits, if any? If he, for example, were shot in the heart, would he bleed out? Would he heal? Or would he simply be trapped in his own body as it failed, unable to be released?
That was perhaps what he was most afraid of. Being trapped. He was still following the stranger (or not so strange any longer) that had caused all this to begin with, but he had yet to show his face. He also still carried the instrument on his back, though some had asked for a song and he’d been forced to admit he didn’t know how to use it. That had been a bit of an awkward conversation, since few people were prone to carrying musical instruments they couldn’t play.
Orpheus had moved. Not too far, but he had traveled far more than L had ever expected to in his life. Thrace, Athens, Sparta...all the places he had never expected to see. Well, he’d seen them. And he’d spent that time, what? Tracking down a man he didn’t even know?
No, he knew him, in some way. He had discovered that you couldn’t watch someone for years without getting to know who they seemed to be. And Orpheus seemed to be a wanderer, lost and searching for something he couldn’t seem to find. L didn’t know what he was looking for, but he discovered that he hoped he found it. Maybe it would bring him peace.
He still didn’t know how he felt about all this. In some ways, of course he didn’t want to die. There was a lot he wanted to do. But the world was changing around him, while he stayed the same, and that frightened him more than he cared to admit, even to himself.
He froze, all thoughts draining from his mind, as he saw the soldier approach Orpheus’ door and knock. Then Orpheus was there, and L slipped closer, trying to hear what he was saying.
Oh. Oh no.
Orpheus didn’t strike him as a killer. He didn’t know why, but he couldn’t see the man hurting anyone, not even someone who deserved it. Not even in war. He held his breath as he heard Orpheus’ answer, then finally let it out as the soldier gave in, though clearly angry about it.
He watched from the shadows, observing. Waiting for Orpheus to go back inside so he could set up camp and keep watch. Was it an obsession? Or simply what he did now? He didn’t know.

L knew he’d been seen the moment Orpheus’ eyes landed on him, and he froze. He could run, but that would call even more attention to him, which was the last thing he wanted. So he stood still, waiting for Orpheus to simply ignore him, because that was what people did with young men who were obviously completely alone in the entire world. He didn’t even have shoes, not that he would have worn them if he had them. He’d never liked the things. They were so uncomfortable they were almost painful.
He didn’t know what Orpheus was thinking. He couldn’t tell whether the man was ignoring him, or simply considering what his next actions should be. He wanted to believe he wouldn’t be shouted at or chased away, but he couldn’t be sure, because if Orpheus caught one that he was being followed...he could be angry. He might even have been right to be angry. L didn’t know. He’d never been caught before.
He didn’t dare move, not even to back away into the shadows. He’d come too close in order to listen in, and he was paying for it now. He supposed if he were chased off, he could simply come back later, but it would be a lot harder to follow someone who suspected they were being followed.
He wasn’t entirely sure why he was still so focused on this project, anyway. What did he hope to uncover? The reason he looked not a day older than when he’s first met this stranger? Did he really believe Orpheus held that answer?
He did. He didn’t know whether Orpheus was aware of it, but he thought he had the answer, nonetheless. If he were wrong, it seemed he had all the time in the world to figure that out.
Curses were not something he typically messed with. But if he were already cursed to live, then what was the worst that could happen? Would he be cursed to die? How could both those things be curses, if they were opposites? One had to be a blessing.
Which one?
Stop overthinking this. He ordered himself. Then he heard Orpheus, and his heart stopped.
So he had been seen. Well...that was something to deal with. He prepared himself for harsh words, but he received none. Instead, there was real kindness in the offer.
Oh. He thought L was a poor man looking for a way out of being drafted.
Guilt blossomed in his chest at the thought. He was stalking this man, and the man himself, when he finally noticed, offered him a place to stay. He swallowed the discomfort back as best he could and focused on staying still.
At least Orpheus retreated soon after. That was nice of him, L thought bleakly. Now this was going to be a lot harder though, because he might be watching out for someone in the future.
Was he going to give up? Of course not.
He had nowhere else to go.

L didn’t expect Orpheus to want him to be there. He didn’t think that was likely to ever happen. He just wanted answers, real ones, and he didn’t expect Orpheus to give them willingly. So he had to find them for himself. He hoped he hadn’t had his location given away. If he had, then he would need to figure out his next move very carefully.
No need to panic just yet though. It was very possible Orpheus was currently assuming it was a coincidence. He wasn’t likely to jump to any conclusions. Right?
Right.
Hopefully.
He of course didn’t approach. Getting to know Orpheus now would be a mistake. He didn’t want to be recognized in the future. He wanted to be invisible
He just forgot he wasn’t actually invisible.
Orpheus was right, he wouldn’t have wanted any wine. He was hungry, but he was ignoring that for the moment. Sweets were hard to come by, anyway. He doubted Orpheus had any.
He was tempted to throw caution to the wind and come closer. He wanted to see what Orpheus was really like, he wanted to get a taste of this odd man’s character. But he couldn’t afford to. He’d come too far to go back now, he wouldn’t mess this up.
He found himself hoping Orpheus wasn’t upset about it. He didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings, even if it was sometimes necessary.
If he’s known about the grapes, he might have given in. He was starving, actually. When had he last eaten? He didn’t remember. It had been a long time, though.
He didn’t seem to be dying. That was interesting. Maybe he couldn’t starve to death?
Not something he wanted to test out, necessarily. Maybe he should find some food soon.

1234 BCE – Athens
L had followed Orpheus - that was, indeed, his name - all the way to Athens. He had managed to avoid most of the people who might have stopped him, and he’d only been approached for war once, which was pretty good overall.
He’d learned not to get settled. It was never a good idea to start to put down roots only to tear them up again. He knew better than that by now.
He ate little. He’d never eaten much, but now he would go days without food and barely notice. He suspected it was because of whatever curse he was under, which he was now quite sure was, in fact, a curse.
How did he know?
He was 87 and he still looked about 19 or 20.
His life would have been close to over by now. Whatever he had given to the world, he ought to have done it already, or not at all.
Instead, he barely knew what he was doing. He was still following Orpheus. Why? That was the question he was asking himself. He wanted answers. Maybe that was it.
L, too, looked at the sky. It was instinct now to look at one of the only two things that stayed constant, when everything else around him changed and he didn’t.
What was the other thing?
L looked at the man he was following, and his wide, dark eyes didn’t move. Two people, trapped in time. Two people, playing a dangerous game, and only one of them knew the rules.
He crouched beside the building, watching. Were he better at hiding, he would have pulled his head back, but he wasn’t, so he didn’t. Instead he stared unblinkingly as the man spoke to him for the first time. He almost pulled back but didn’t, instead he just sat there like a frightened rabbit, waiting for its sentence to fall.
Then Orpheus glanced down and L immediately stepped back into hiding, trying to ignore the way his heart pounded in his chest, the way his heart constricted. He knew he’d been seen. There was nothing he could do about that now.
All he could do was try and make sure it didn’t happen again.
Maybe he should walk away. Maybe he should just walk away and not follow him anymore. He breathed out. He didn’t want that, not really. Not even if he felt like he did.

1213 BCE – Pylos
L, too, was exhausted. Following someone for as long as he had was by no means a light task, and he had chosen it. He knew he really didn’t have anyone to blame but himself for this, and he knew that he could easily have simply stopped following him, but he also couldn’t. He also found that he couldn’t bring himself to do it. If Orpheus was running away, then what was L doing? Running forward, perhaps. Trying to find a place he could call home. Or maybe he was just looking for answers. He watched Orpheus every second he could, he watched and he waited and he spent every moment in hiding. That was what life was like for him now. He was just...a shadow.
Being found out was, as always, a frightening possibility. L didn’t want to risk it, he didn’t want any chance of him being discovered, because he knew what people would do to him if they found out. They wouldn’t want to listen to him, they wouldn’t want to hear his reasons or his pleas for mercy. All they would want was his blood.
So they just couldn’t find out. That was all.
He followed Orpheus, noting the way he seemed unaware of the looks he was getting. Did he really not know, or did he just not care? It was hard to say. Maybe he was just used to it by now, as he would be, having experienced this for as long as he had. L wasn’t used to being seen at all anymore. He was used to being invisible.
L watched as Orpheus moved his stuff into the building. He hadn’t had to look far this time, the young man noted. If he believed in luck, he might have suggested Orpheus’ was turning around. As it happened, he did believe in luck to an extent, so he did think that was possible. Maybe he would see more good things to come.
He watched carefully as Orpheus looked out the window.
If he’d been hiding better he wouldn’t have been seen. He knew Orpheus had met his eyes the moment it happened, if only because he could feel it. He could feel it happen, and though he managed to disappear an instant later he knew it was too late.
He breathed out. It wasn’t too bad. The other man hadn’t spoken to him, after all, he had simply looked at him, and maybe he hadn’t even recognized him. Maybe it was nothing.
L knew it wasn’t nothing. But he was trying to pretend.

1178 BCE – Ithaca, Days Before the Eclipse
L had noticed when Orpheus started to play again. The music entered their lives slowly, carefully, and it didn’t leave again. It was something gentle and personal and sometimes, for the first time, L felt bad for watching Orpheus. It was an invasion of privacy. He knew most people would say it was wrong, even under these circumstances. Was it wrong? He didn’t know. All he knew was that he couldn’t seem to stop.
Not having somewhere to call home had it’s advantages. For example, L could shadow Orpheus every moment without worrying about paying rent. He could watch Orpheus work and he could watch as the other immortal (as they seemed to be) went about his daily life.
That often involved music of some kind.
Orpheus played for the children. He played for the old, too. Actually, he played for anyone and everyone, and L thought that was oddly kind of him. Music was something he probably could have sold, yet he gave it freely. Did that say something about him? Possibly. Possibly.
L ducked away, but it was too late. The man called after him, and he hid, trembling, until he heard the small sigh, carried on the wind. It was then that he knew Orpheus wouldn’t track him down. Orpheus was going to leave that up to him, it seemed.
L straightened up, still hidden behind the building. He wouldn’t come out, then. Orpheus could talk to the air all he liked, and he wouldn’t get a response. He would never see L, not as anything more than a shadow here and there.
“Oh, I’ll listen.” He murmured, softer than the wind. “I’ll stay. But soon enough you won’t even have a shadow to talk to.”

1178 – Ithaca, The Solar Eclipse
L watched Orpheus, the same way he had been every single day since it all started. He just wouldn’t give up on getting answers. If that was even why he was doing this anymore.
He watched Orpheus play, careful not to be seen. He was getting better, he thought, slowly but surely. He was trying hard to be completely invisible and he thought he was making progress, even if it had only been days since he’d been spotted last.
He heard the cry and turned sharply, stiffening. Had he been seen? Did someone think he was a threat, perhaps? But no - they were looking up, not at him.
The gods? L had been on the receiving end of the gods’ anger. He knew what it was like firsthand. He highly doubted that whatever this was, it was that. It seemed far more likely that something else was happening, something completely unrelated to the gods’ actions.
He looked up.
And suddenly, night fell.
L stared at the sky. There was a ring of fire around a black circle hanging where the sun should have been, like something had covered it up.
It was like night, and yet it was nothing like night, because night came slowly and this, this was far swifter. It was like the end of the world, maybe. It was like the gods were angry.
“Hades, Persephone, don’t do this.” He whispered, paralyzed with fear. Then he realized that Orpheus was looking right at him.
He ducked, but it was too late. He heard the man’s voice as clearly as if it had been whispered in his ear.
Yes, you have He thought helplessly, waiting for the earth to tear itself apart underneath him. Was he more afraid of the gods or of the man he followed? He didn’t know.
He didn’t speak. He heard the desperation in Orpheus’ voice and he ignored it. He didn’t answer, and as the world refused to bow beneath the hand of the gods, he slipped away. He needed time to breathe before he could return to his post.
If he could return.

1147 BCE – Athens
L was more careful after that. He still didn’t know whether it was the gods who had covered the sun or something else, but he glanced at the sky now and again just to make sure everything was in order. As time went on he did it less and less, but occasionally he still looked up just to be sure,
He followed Orpheus still. Even though he’d been directly spoken to, which should have frightened him off. It didn’t, though. Somehow he still fought to watch Orpheus every day.
Finally Orpheus moved on, and so did L. The dark haired immortal was careful to stay hidden now, more careful than he had needed to be before. Now, it was more important than ever.
Then they were in Athen again. It was a familiar place to L, too. Even if it wasn’t really home. After all, nowhere was actually home, now. If it ever had been. He noticed the places Orpheus didn’t go, too, the places that he seemed for avoid. L could tell he was avoiding them because it would have made sense for him to go there, but he didn’t. He went anywhere else, in fact.
Being in Athens was close to being home, though. L found himself wandering from Orpheus, wandering the streets and peering into windows and looking at people. How much had changed, he mused, how much would never be the same. He didn’t like it. He didn’t want it to change.
He made sure he kept Orpheus in sight at all times when he almost lost him in the crowd once. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing him now, after so long. He couldn’t stand the idea of being completely alone in the world, even if he was alone now. It felt like he wasn’t. It felt like he had someone.
L hesitated when Orpheus entered the temple. Then he, too, stepped inside.
There were fewer places to hide here. He ducked out of sight, watching, trying to stay hidden while he did. There were only a few people there, fortunately, so he didn’t have too much trouble not drawing attention to himself.
Finally Orpheus stood up, and L ducked away. Did he manage it in time? He didn’t know. He hoped so, because he couldn’t really afford any more mistakes. Orpheus has already caught on that he was being followed, which wasn’t ideal. What if he were to decide to take matters into his own hands? What if he decided to end the shadow that followed him? Érebos. Érebos, the shadow, the one that may not be wanted. If Orpheus called him the shadow, then why should he stand for being followed? Why would he?

1128 BCE – Thebes
L had gotten better at hiding, or so he thought. He did his best to make sure he was always out of the way of passers by, and he tried to seem like he was busy whenever anyone noticed him, which was happening less and less frequently. He didn’t know Orpheus knew he was there, but if he had, he probably wouldn’t have done anything differently. It was what it was, and he had to try to get answers. If that was even what he was looking for.
L walked behind Orpheus. He didn’t know what the other man was thinking, but he knew that if he wanted to find out, he was going to have to take on a more direct role. Was he willing to do that? Not really, no, he wasn’t. He was only willing to do what he was already doing: stay out of sight and try to get some answers, if he could. It was a trade off; how close was he willing to go? How close was he willing to get to learn what Orpheus knew?
He heard the song, and he knew it. It hit him, and he almost staggered with the weight of it, because it was something from a very long time ago, something he’d forgotten about. He didn’t know it as well as Orpheus did, but he did know it. He did, and it felt like home, it felt like something very deep inside of him breaking out of its shell and coming forward.
He peered out, and saw something he never expected to see.
Orpheus was crying.
He stared, shocked, forgetting that he was visible at all. He didn’t feel visible. He didn’t even feel real in the face of the man’s emotions. Emotions he shared, but not in words or tears. Emotions he ignored.
He pulled away just as Orpheus looked, barely avoiding being caught in full light. He breathed out, trying to stay calm, trying not to feel the emotions the music had brought on inside of him. But that was nearly impossible to accomplish, and instead he stood very still, pretending not to feel the pain.

1104 BCE – Cyprus
While Orpheus grew better at moving, L grew better at hiding. He couldn’t read people still, in fact, if anything he had grown worse at it because he never needed to anymore. He spent all his time learning what he could from Orpheus and making sure he didn’t get away. There wasn’t much time left for small talk. Actually, he hadn’t had a full conversation in….he frowned...well, a long time, anyway.
L assumed that he had simply gotten better at being undetected. It didn’t, truthfully, occur to him that perhaps Orpheus had improved as well. It didn’t occur to him to wonder whether Orpheus knew where he was, or even guessed he was there at all. He knew Orpheus knew he was being followed, but wouldn’t he assume L had given up if L was never seen? Wouldn’t he assume L had gotten tired of their dance?
He hoped so. What he assumed was Orpheus never seeing was Orpheus simply ignoring him. What he thought was his own improvement was more like mutual improvement.
Life on an island was not much to L’s liking. He got sand everywhere and it bothered him, and he hated fish. Not that he’d tried to eat it. He just hated it.
He watched Orpheus from the shadows of the market, observing his method of fishing. What did it say about him? Was he hesitant? Forceful? Did he make movements too quickly or too slowly?
L didn’t know why Orpheus had stopped looking at him. He assumed it was because he had gotten harder to detect. What he didn’t realize was that for Orpheus, he wasn’t a pest to be gotten rid of, he wasn’t someone to be chased away with a broom. What he didn’t know was that Orpheus actually wanted him there. He knew they were tied, he knew they suffered the same affliction, and he knew Orpheus must have known that too, because L had been following him for longer than he should have been alive now. But he didn’t know that Orpheus cared. He didn’t know that Orpheus even cared whether or not he followed.

1080 BCE – Pithom, Egypt
L watched the leaves as they changed, seemingly overnight. His experience of time was so strange, now, different than it had been so long ago, when he was mortal. He felt the years passing and did not feel them at all. He felt the decades crawling by and he felt them slipping away too fast. After all, he had lived longer now than any human before him, save the one he followed. He supposed his brain had to adapt to make up for its lack of destruction. He knew his heart did.
L had found the language simple enough to understand. He found languages in general were not a challenge for him, with was fortunate considering how many he would probably need to learn if he were to communicate in the future. The future. Vast and untapped, he found he didn’t know whether he was more afraid of that or the past. Or, more pressingly, the present.
He didn’t use his language skills much. There wasn’t much to say. Still, when he had to, he found he was able to communicate his thoughts without too much difficulty.
He watched Orpheus, as usual keeping out of sight. It was more than habit by now; it was simply how he lived, in the shadows, watching and waiting for an unknown day, an unknown event. He didn’t know what he waited for, only that he couldn’t act until he was ready. And do what? What was it he planned to do? He supposed if Orpheus stopped moving one day, then he might have to consider his options. But the other man didn’t seem likely to do so. At least, he hadn’t so far.
The sun beat down on him, and he made sure he was in the shadows before allowing himself the luxury of yawning. The building he hid behind was a good one, unobtrusive and yet large enough for him to peer out when he chose without being obvious. Good for hiding, not so good for living in, he supposed. It was built in an odd place, not with the other homes.
He was about to move when he heard the quiet word and froze. He could feel the other man’s eyes on his spot, clearly marking him as the recipient of the sentence. Well, what then? He considered his options. He could come out, let Orpheus see him. He supposed that was the most logical option, considering that he had been teaching himself many forms of martial arts over the decades and he considered the chances of Orpheus beating him in a fight to be less than 5%. But something held him back. Was it fear? Was it simply that he wasn’t comfortable with being see anymore? He didn’t know. But whatever it was, it was strong enough to make him keep to the shadows and wait for Orpheus to give up on him.
What he did see was the door left open. What he did see was the chance to act, just one little act, one little thing he could do.
He left the lyre on the table.

1065 BCE – Pi-Ramesses, Egypt
L almost wished they could go back to Greece, though he knew that was a foolish wish. He knew that Egypt was safer for them both, and he knew that anywhere could be home if you stayed for long enough, but his heart refused to settle for his rhetoric, for some unknown reason. He found himself drawn back, stronger than ever, and he didn’t know why. He felt the strangest urge to leave Orpheus, even, stop following him and give up on whatever fool’s mission he had set himself on. He didn’t have a goal or a plan. He had nothing but eternity, and he felt he might be wasting it. What w terrible thing to throw away. Though a curse, he knew some would kill to have what he had.
And yet he didn’t leave. He watched Orpheus’ life grow meaningful, he watched the other man seem to bloom under the temperamental sun, the sand, the people. Children laughed and presented each other with the flowers he gave them. L didn’t miss the way he tried to make everyone’s lives just s little better, though he himself didn’t benefit from his attempts in the slightest. Was that why he stayed? Because he thought Orpheus had the power to make his life better?
He knew Orpheus was writing songs. He guessed that those songs were not in a language many would understand, perhaps only two in the whole world. He thought that it was likely he would never hear those songs played or even read the lyrics off the page, but that was all right. He wasn’t friends with Orpheus. He was barely a shadow, drifting after a man who seemed to be trying to find a purpose. A shadow had no purpose. A shadow simply existed, due to the way light worked. He heard the thank you, but he didn’t answer, didn’t even give any indication that he existed at all, though he knew by now that it was pointless to pretend. Orpheus was well aware that he was being followed. What was incredible was that L didn’t think he was trying to shake the shadow off. What was amazing was that he seemed almost pleased.
He knew that for Orpheus, music was something deeply personal. He knew that the songs he played in public likely differed from the songs he created in the dark. Neither were better and neither were worse, they simply were what they were, and they were for different situations. L didn’t expect to ever hear the songs in the dark, though he himself was a shadow as well.
He stayed out of the sunlight, instead settling into a crouch behind a nearby building, his eyes as always observing the other man. The fruit was tempting - when had he last eaten? - but he didn’t move. His fingers played with his lips and his hair fell in his eyes, long and choppy and very messy. For some reason, thoughts of Watari invaded his brain, and the ghost of his adopted father brushed his hair back from his face and told him he ought to take better care of his own body, because “doesn’t it take good care of you?”
He looked at Orpheus. Did the other man have such memories as well? Did he miss anyone as deeply as L missed Watari? A dull ache in his heart tugged him towards the invitation so strongly he found himself shifting to stand, and quickly he shut himself down, gritting his teeth against the feeling. It wasn’t safe. It would never be safe.
One day Orpheus would give up on these pointless invitations. One day, Orpheus would give up on his shadow.

1046 BCE – Yin, China
China was a beautiful place, L had to admit. He loved the landscape and the people ignored him adequately, making his job of moving about that much easier. He supposed that might be because he was better than ever at hiding, but he thought that it was also due to the fact that he was new and unfamiliar and people tended to avoid what they didn’t know, or weren’t comfortable with. It worked to his advantage, certainly.
He knew Orpheus played with the other musicians, and he couldn’t help the tinge of jealousy in his chest as he watched, unable to join. The language was easily picked up, even though he barely used it himself. He could understand the conversation, but he couldn’t add his voice. Used to it though he was, it was harder in a new place, somehow.
Then it was over, and there was nothing left to be jealous of. The song ended on a bittersweet note as the others left, leaving just the two of them, if L was to be counted as a person after spending so long pretending he wasn’t. He followed Orpheus home, hands in his pockets and eyes watchful, always watchful.
For the first time in a long time, L saw the other immortal cry. The tears tugged at a place deep in his heart, and he yearned to do something to make it better, but he had nothing he could do. It was all so much more than either of them had ever bargained for, and he suddenly realized that he no longer believed this was Orpheus’ fault. He didn’t have evidence save for his own ability to read others. Was that enough?
For the first time in a long time, L looked at the sky with a purpose other than to see the stars or watch a sunrise. He looked up and then he changed his mind and looked down.
“Hades,” he murmured, dark eyes unblinking as he stared at the earth under his bare feet. “You can stop this. I no longer believe in this man’s guilt, and therefore I’m forced to consider this a punishment he doesn’t deserve. Are there people he misses? Are there souls he wants to see again?”
He paused, then continued very softly, speaking almost to himself. “Why not let him go home? Why watch him as I do, when you are a god and not a shadow?”
He looked up at last, and he realized there was a cup of tea untouched, left out, presumably, for him. He heard the question and very nearly answered it before common sense kicked in and he said nothing, simply stared at the tea as though it was enough to bridge the gap between them. Reaching out to Hades may have been a bad idea. He wasn’t sure he wanted that particular god’s attention on him.
Then Orpheus was gone, and before L could stop himself he was at the window, reaching for the tea. He hesitated before he took it, but he knew that it was for him, and despite everything he claimed, he was lonely. Despite his best efforts to the contrary, he found Orpheus’ offer top tempting. Just this once, he promised himself. And tomorrow he would act like it had never happened.

998 BCE – Sardinia, Italy
L was exhausted. His body was apparently still capable of craving food, too, which was interesting. Could he starve, then? Or was it simply an after image of a life he no longer needed to replenish. Sometimes, he wondered whether he was even truly alive anymore. He barely ate, barely slept. And this long journey, he couldn’t help but feel, was intended to shake him once and for all. It hurt unexpectedly to think that Orpheus no longer wanted him there, even though he hadn’t wanted to be discovered in the first place. Perhaps he had grown used to the idea of being known, just a little bit, by one person. Perhaps he had soothed the ache in his chest by telling himself he wasn’t as alone as he felt. Perhaps he was, after all, a fool.
He knew Orpheus had every right to be angry with him. He was, after all, still silent. He took, he didn’t give back. He watched, but he didn’t interact, and they were the only two people in the world who might have interacted without the knowledge that one would die and the other would not. They were both alone, and it was not for lack of trying on Orpheus’ part. If L were less paranoid, if L were less afraid, then perhaps they could have fought through this together. Perhaps, by now, they would have known each other. But perhaps L didn’t want to be known. Perhaps it was better to be alone, after all.
He knew this was more than a simple journey. He knew this was the only way Orpheus could find to communicate that in spite of everything else, he was angry with his shadow. And he knew that he deserved that. So why didn’t he turn and leave? Why didn’t he let Orpheus have an answer, one way or the other? Yes or no? He deserved better than to be given false hope that L would ever join him.
He had fallen behind as he mused, and he stopped. He could turn and just leave, right now. No consequences, no strings attached. He could free them both from this pointless dance, once and forever. All he had to do was walk the other way.
He didn’t know how long he sat crouched there, undecided. He didn’t walk forwards or backwards, he didn’t eat, and he didn’t sleep. There was nothing there, no souls passed him, and the one man whose presence had been a constant for three hundred years now was out of sight, but not mind. Never mind. He looked up at the stars. He didn’t know whether he believed in an afterlife anymore. He didn’t know whether the gods still breathed. All he knew was that the ache he had felt for three hundred years was so painful he could no longer ignore it, and he squeezed his eyes shut, a moan escaping his lips in a rush of air.
The walk was long and hard alone, but L made it. He looked up, and there was Orpheus, laying on the grass and staring at the sky. A rush of relief so strong it nearly knocked him off his feet came over him and he had to seriously fight himself not to reveal himself then and there. But the fear was still too much, and he hid, watching, waiting.
The words trickled into his ears and he opened his eyes. How Orpheus knew he was there was a mystery, and one he would likely never solve, but he felt glad of it. Glad to know that he still existed, if only half alive.
“I can’t,” he murmured back, his tone broken. He knew Orpheus wouldn’t hear his reply. “I can’t.”

976 BCE – Sardinia, Italy
He was surprised when Orpheus first moved again, and still more surprised when he threw himself back into songwriting. He had expected him to change, perhaps, or give up, but after doing nothing, he seemed intent once again on his work. How, after so long alive, was he still invested in what he did? He didn’t know. He himself felt his interest in things ebbing, his ability to focus failing, though that might have been the lack of sleep. He had never slept much, but lately it seemed he couldn’t get more than an hour every couple of days. He didn’t know why his natural insomnia had flared so badly after nearly abandoning Orpheus, but he was handling it.
He watched Orpheus make connections, and he wondered why. Why bother? Orpheus had to know by now that this was never going to last. Living forever meant that you were always the one who had to grieve in the end. Living forever meant nothing else was.
He stayed away from people. There were no connections to make. He did watch them, and he helped them sometimes when he could do so unobtrusively, but he never held a conversation, never spoke to them. His voice was low and raspy now with disuse, but he so rarely had any opportunity to use it that he didn’t notice the change. Instead he stayed silent and watchful, observing the way people operated when they thought they were alone. Orpheus wasn’t the only soul worth his time, after all, though he was by far the one worth most of it. Watching people lent him new strength, and he found himself able to sleep just a little bit more than before.
Eternity was a very long time, however, and even watching people was not enough to keep him from feeling the ache of it. He longed for something he had no name for. Or perhaps something he simply hadn’t had cause to name in a very long time.
Home. The word was almost on his lips, and he mouthed it soundlessly, testing it. Could you long for something you’d never tasted? He did. He wanted more than anything in that moment to go home. To sleep, to dream.
He waited outside, barely feeling the rain. It soaked him, streaming from his black hair in rivers that flowed down his back and over his pale skin. He didn’t move from where he stood, back to a wall, head down, dark eyes wide open. The music entered his veins through his left ring finger, which explained why it went directly to his heart. The ache was so strong he couldn’t bear it, and though he didn’t move his body, he felt himself collapsing inside under the pain of it, the weight of being so alone.
He didn’t even move when he heard Orpheus step outside. His eyes focused on the mud under his bare feet, the streams of water coursing over his toes, and he supposed he was chilled, though he didn’t feel it more than a thought across his mind.
Human. Yes, they were human, all right, in a deep way that he wasn’t sure either him or the other immortal could lay claim to anymore.
He didn’t answer out loud, but deep in his thoughts, L nodded. As long as you promise not to become that thing, then yes. he answered silently.

931 BCE – Chengzhou, China
L was glad to be in China again. It wasn’t home to him, but he’d missed it, the language and the people and the landscape and, of course, the music. Always the music. He was glad Orpheus seemed inclined to stay for a while, and though he didn’t speak, he felt more at ease there than he had in a long time. Perhaps it was the good memories of the place. Or perhaps he was simply so unlike Greece that it failed to make him homesick. He didn’t know, but he was grateful all the same.
He didn’t know why Orpheus hadn’t gone back to Greece. He knew he himself wouldn’t have been able to stay away for so long. He no longer thought of leaving Orpheus, but if he had, that was where he would have gone. Home. Or at least, a memory of home.
Friends? He actually glanced around, wondering whether Orpheus was speaking to someone else. But he knew he wasn’t. He knew Orpheus meant him. Friends? How could they be friends when they’d never so much as had a conversation? When L didn’t trust Orpheus enough to show his face? When all they had was 400 years of each other’s silent company, one walking in the other’s footsteps? No, he answered silently, they were not friends. As for what they were, he doubted there was a word for it in any language. He certainly couldn’t think of one.
He listened quietly. Kind? Hardly. He had refused the many offers of friendship Orpheus had made. He had refused when Orpheus invited him to step into the light, even just once. He had forced Orpheus to walk alone, all the while knowing how much it hurt them both. He was not kind.
He was a coward.
He supposed it was natural for Orpheus to wish to know him. He supposed he couldn’t blame him for that, not when he himself knew how deeply he felt the pain of loneliness. It was not personal, he knew, but simply something Orpheus couldn’t help, because L was the only person he had even a chance of getting to know. It was not personal, because there were no other options for either of them.
He, too, had noticed the girl, though he had failed to see the connection between her and the guard. Interesting that he failed to notice a connection even when one existed. Perhaps it had something been too long since he had experienced it himself. Or perhaps he was finally losing his touch.

930 BCE – Crete
When they first turned towards Greece, L had assumed it was a mere coincidence, so certain was he that Orpheus didn’t intend to go back to that place. The closer they got, the less sure he became, and by the time they were in Crete he was actually bubbling with excitement he hadn’t felt in decades. Crete may not have actually been home, but it was so much closer than anywhere they had been in so long that it felt like standing on the doorstep of his childhood home, unable to cross the threshold. He no longer knew whether he wanted to come here after all. It held so many memories he had ignored for so long, memories he wasn’t sure he wanted to face, not yet, perhaps not ever.
He followed Orpheus at a distance, disliking the lack of cover. He was forced instead to use the crowd, which was dangerous, especially since Orpheus was aware of what he looked like, more or less. But he needn’t have worried. Orpheus seemed far too preoccupied to watch for L now, and the dark haired immortal slowly let himself relax into the flow of the crowd, his wide eyes never leaving Orpheus as the man spoke to the gods.
He wondered for the first time in a long time what Orpheus had done to earn his curse. He knew nothing of Eurydice, nothing of the flowers or their meaning. He knew simply that once they had failed to bloom, and then they had started again. He had given it little more than a cursory thought, not nearly enough to draw any sort of connection.
He didn’t answer, of course. He could have. He could have told Orpheus that his home was so close he could taste it, and yet seemed further than ever before. He could have said that his father’s grave was almost visible from where they stood, or so it felt. He missed Watari so deeply in that moment that he felt the pain of loss as sharply as when it had first occurred. He could have asked whether Orpheus had anyone he missed so much it was a wound that never fully healed, but he didn’t. He kept his thoughts to himself, and let his mind wander.
Thrace. He wondered whether Orpheus planned to go there. If he did, he would be showing L a very personal part of himself. The wide eyed immortal wondered whether that was an argument for or against the trip.

922 BCE – Pimpleia
The sight of home was almost too much for L to bear. He stared at it, longing to step into the light and feel the wind, but not daring with Orpheus so close by. He knew the date, for once. He knew the significance of the day Orpheus had chosen to come here. What he probably didn’t know was that it was exactly the same significance for L, exactly the same date and the same place, or close enough. He had been born in a city no further than an hour’s walk from here. He had grown up even closer.
He understood that for Orpheus, this was as close to home as he was ever likely to come. He couldn’t begin to imagine the pain of it, and at the same time he felt the exact same pain.
It was like walking in a memory.
Watari had brought L here before, on one of their many journeys. Watari had traveled for work and had no choice but to bring L along, as the only person he would have trusted the child with traveled, too. So L had seen this place many times, and could remember the exact place he had sat eating the fruit Watari had bought him, the exact place where he had gotten lost once and cried until Watari had found him and carried him all the way home. The gods played little role in his life, as he had barely known about them at all, but he understood that for Orpheus it was likely a significant part of his memories of the place. He felt the ache of silence even stronger at the thought of all the things he didn’t know about the man. All the things he would likely never know.
The field was beautiful and unfamiliar. L had never been to that particular part of the city, had never walked in this field, touched these flowers. The air was unmistakable, however, and as he followed behind Orpheus he couldn’t help brushing the petals with the tips of his long fingers, not daring to pluck even one carnation from its place. He barely even breathed at all, so focused on Orpheus was he, and he knew without being told that this, this was the other immortal’s home. This, this was where he had grown up, where his memories lived their eternal lives, parallel to their own. It felt like walking backwards, like turning the clock back and watching himself. He could only imagine how it felt for Orpheus.
He listened quietly, not interrupting Orpheus even in his thoughts. This was a sacred place, full of long undisturbed memories, and it was not his place to speak even in his own mind. So he listened, completely still, the wind playing with his black hair and toying with his clothes. He knew Orpheus was right. He understood that Orpheus could easily have tried to throw him off, and in the early days almost certainly succeeded. Where would he be now, if Orpheus had not allowed him to follow? Where would he be if not here, now, in this moment, a moment brought about by 400 years of walking in another man’s footsteps?
He looked down, the shadows playing games on his face, casting it in darkness he was used too, far too used to. And then, he answered.
“Yes,” he said softly, too softly to be heard. “I miss it, too. I miss it.”
He breathed out, and realized there were tears on his cheeks, slipping down his face and falling on the flowers. He had never felt more alone than in that moment. He missed the sunlight. He missed walking without constantly making sure he was properly invisible. He missed talking and being heard and listening and answering. He missed humanity, their faults and their voices and their smiles and their tears. And most of all, he missed being human, being real. He was good at being a shadow, but he was so very tired of it.
He knew it was the same for Orpheus. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that the man cared, deeply. He didn’t know the details of the past, he and he didn’t have the answers he had sought all those years ago, but at some point he had stopped following for answers and started for another reason. Perhaps they were both simply lonely.
“I don’t have answers for you.” He said quietly, making sure he wouldn’t be heard. “I’m sorry. I’m so tired of being alone. I’m so tired of not being real. I miss...I miss home. I miss Watari. I miss eating breakfast every day. I miss being heard.”
He knew he was talking to himself, but he felt that after 400 years, he had earned it.
“I just happened to be there.” He murmured. “Of all the places in the world I could have been, I was there.” He remembered that day so clearly. He remembered that day as though it hadn’t been hundreds of years.
He fell silent, the tears on his face the only proof that he had ever spoken at all. Being tired meant feeling a deep, indescribable ache, wanting to sleep forever, yet never feeling rested. Wanting to eat, but never feeling full. Like something deep inside was just so broken there was no hope of repair.
“I could never hate you.” He managed, closing his eyes against the flood of emotion. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I’m a coward. I’m sorry that I’ve made you go through this alone. I’m sorry that I don’t even know how this happened to you. I’m sorry.”

899 – Assur, Assyria, The Solar Eclipse
L had almost stopped following Orpheus after that. At least, he has pretended to consider it, while knowing deep down that he had never given the option a second thought. He had had that chance a long time ago. He had chosen to follow Orpheus to the ends of the earth, and he had never seriously considered leaving again after that. For better or for worse, their fates were tied, apparently for good, for better or for worse, L no longer wondered why he did it. He simply did.
He was so good at hiding by now that he didn’t even think about where he should go, before going there. It was instinct by now, simple knowledge of the area, a cursory glance around, and the decision to stay nearby as much as he could. Losing Orpheus now would have been too horrible to consider, so he didn’t. Instead, he settled in nearby, watching.
He, too, could feel the change on the air. Something whispering against his skin, like wind. It was a new place, which made it worth visiting, but he didn’t think that was the only reason going there felt right. He didn’t know whether he believed the gods still lived, or if they did, that they had any power left, but he still wondered whether this had something to do with them.
When the sky went dark, he understood. It had been a long time since this had happened, but he remembered it well. He had thought the world was ending. He had thought the gods were coming to destroy them all.
Now, he suspected there was a far more rational explanation, and though his heart beat fast and his hands shook, his mind was steady. He heard the word - his name, as much as L ever was - and he searched for Orpheus in the dark, his wide eyes finding his dark silhouette despite the numerous other people around. He knew what he was looking for, after all.
He tilted his head, the offer filling him with surprise. Go somewhere he wanted to go? Trust Orpheus not to move, not to do anything at all? He tested the reasons in his head.
Did he believe Orpheus to be dangerous?
No, he answered decidedly, he did not. If Orpheus was dangerous, he had had four hundred years to prove it. He had done nothing but try his best to make those around him more comfortable, while getting nothing in return.
Did he think Orpheus would get them in trouble?
Perhaps. But he didn’t think that was the reason, or at least, not the only one. Not the main one.
So why did he hide?
He tried to look away, but he couldn’t. He tried to turn his mind off, tried to tune out the words, but his mind shook its head slowly, not this time, L.
He breathed in. He couldn’t be considering…
The ache in his chest was too much. The pain of being alone too deep. If he believed Orpheus to be dangerous, that would have been one thing, but by his own admission, he didn’t. He had nothing but a coward’s excuse.
And that wasn’t enough. Not this time.
L Lawliet was not a detective. He was not a good person, or even, by some definitions, a person at all. But, to his credit, he did take a step forward. Then another. Then another, until he was standing behind Orpheus.
And for the first time in four hundred years, L Lawliet was not a ghost, but a person.
“Hello.”

L didn’t know what to expect. He felt very exposed. Four hundred years of being a shadow meant he didn’t know how to be a person anymore. He didn’t know what Orpheus was going to do, how he would react, whether he actually hated his persistent shadow. He had reason, didn’t he? L could have shown himself a long time ago, when Orpheus had asked the first time, or the second time, or the third time. He could have shown himself at any time, and he hadn’t. He had made Orpheus go through it alone.
He stood there, waiting for Orpheus to look at him. He was so scared. He was so scared and he didn’t even know what he was scared of. Being known? Being seen? He wanted to run, wanted to take it back and pretend it had never happened. His eyes were huge and one bare foot rubbed the other as he forced himself to stay right where he was, exposed and in danger and….human.
He didn’t move a muscle as Orpheus turned around. It was so strange, seeing him up close after so long spent tracking him from afar. It was terrifying not to be hidden, to be real. He was supposed to be a shadow.
He wanted to run.
But he didn’t. He didn’t move or speak, and his wide eyes didn’t blink, just stared at Orpheus with a nearly unreadable expression in them.
He waited for Orpheus to do something.
And for once, he had no idea what that something might be.
He was tired, too. Tired of being invisible. So tired of the dark, when the light was inches away. The black air served as a cover, but he knew it wouldn’t last long. He knew his he could never take back his decision.
Then Orpheus spoke, and L nearly flinched, but stopped himself. He didn’t look up as the sky began to brighten again, even as light brushed against his skin the way it hadn’t in so long. How long? Was the last time he had stood like this...was it when he had been cursed? Four hundred years was a long time not to exist. L wondered whether he could really say he existed now.
He went very still as he realized Orpheus was...Orpheus was crying. Why? Panic stabbed through him, was it his fault? What had he done wrong? Maybe Orpheus didn’t want him there after all. Didn’t people cry when they were upset? If the mere sight of L was enough to bring the other immortal to tears, then how could he possibly expect any sort of friendly greeting? He should have never acted. This had been very foolish, a whim that never should have been acted on. He’d just been so tired of refusing Orpheus’ invitations, of being alone, invisible, a shadow.
“For what?” He managed, his voice raspy from disuse. He didn’t understand, but before he could stop himself his hand reached to brush the tears away. He didn’t like them there, he didn’t want Orpheus to feel sad.
He thought better of it and dragged his hand back to his side. If the sight of him was enough to bring Orpheus to tears, a touch would be twice as unwanted, wouldn’t it?
He didn’t answer immediately. The suns as out now, catching on his loose clothes and bringing a strange warmth to his extremely pale skin, a warmth he hadn’t felt in decades. His eyes found the smile, and he frowned slightly, puzzled. Tears combined with a smile didn’t make any sense at all. Was he sad or was he happy?
He tore his eyes away from the expression, and rested them instead on his eyes. After a long moment, he looked away.
“Yes.” He agreed. “It is. Although, technically speaking, you met me a very long time ago.”

How to handle this. L didn’t know. He had been invisible for too long, he supposed, to know how to be seen, heard, understood. He had followed Orpheus for too long, and in that time he had never had so much as a passing conversation with him. Was it any wonder that he didn’t know how to handle this? Was it any surprise that he stood there, silent in the golden light that turned his skin even paler? He understood Orpheus on some level, but not a personal one. Not one that would allow him to know what to say, what to do to make this work the way it was supposed to.
He, too, shifted, his hands in his pockets, his usual terrible posture slightly worse as he forced himself not to run, hide, get away. He listened quietly to Orpheus explain, not reacting right away. He didn’t completely understand, but then, he guessed that that would take time. If Orpheus even wanted him there for more than a meeting, anyway. He knew Orpheus, but he didn’t know Orpheus. He knew him the way one knows a celebrity, not a friend.
“Ah.” He said, still sounding a bit confused, but like he was trying. “You’re correct, it isn’t what I expected. However, as long as it isn’t unpleasant, I don’t mind.”
His voice was so quiet, and he didn’t know how to make it clearer. His words were spoken with careful precision, mostly because he couldn’t speak without purpose anymore. Speaking in general was quite difficult, actually.
He blinked, caught off guard by Orpheus’ next words. He hadn’t expected that at all. The immortal tilted his head slightly, eyes wide, almost expecting the other man to hug him then and there, but he didn’t. Which was probably a good thing, considering L hadn’t been hugged since before he was cursed.
Why didn’t he resent L? Why didn’t he resent the years of solitude the smaller man had put him through? Would L have resented Orpheus, were their situations reversed?
He couldn’t answer that. He couldn’t imagine a world where their situations could be reversed.
“I don’t believe it is odd.” He answered finally. “Although it is surprising. I have done nothing but follow you since we both were cursed, yet you aren’t angry with me for making you deal with your situation alone. I don’t understand, but I am...grateful.”
This moment would tell the tale of the rest of their lives. This moment would define what happened to them from now and into eternity. If L ran now, he wouldn’t come back. He knew that. He suspected Orpheus knew that, too. Whatever they had had, L had shattered it when he had chosen to come out of the dark. Whatever path they might have taken, they now had two options.
One: they would walk beside each other.
Two: they wouldn’t.
Looking at Orpheus, L was surprised by what he saw. Orpheus was so real, standing there in front of him, the wind toying with his hair. He had imagined that this might happen for so long that it had ceased to be a real possibility in his head. He had imagined every scenario he could, every word that might come from the other immortal’s lips. Yet in none had he looked at L the way he did now. In none had he seemed intent on memorizing every detail of L’s face, and listened to his words with such concentration. In none had he been so….
“And yet I know yours.” He answered softly. It wasn’t fair, and he knew it. It wasn’t fair that he knew Orpheus and Orpheus had had no way of knowing him back. But that was exactly how it was, and he knew it was his doing.
He hesitated. He could still walk away. He could still turn around right now and walk away and the only victims would be himself and Orpheus. The other man would move on, he told himself. He would have satisfied his curiosity, and he would continue on without L, and he would forget him. All L had to do was slip away into the dark, disappear, permanently. He could do it, too. He had proven he could do it.
He didn’t feel human. He still felt like a shadow, simply one that had escaped its dark prison and fled into a place it shouldn’t go. He still felt like something half alive, half real, half nothing. He looked at Orpheus, wonder in his wide, dark eyes, and he couldn’t help feeling like anyone else would have given up on him a long time ago. How long would it have taken? Another century? Two? He would have given up eventually. Right?
Maybe he wouldn’t have.
After all, he had still invited him into the light 400 years after the curse.
And L had accepted.
He wasn’t going to run. He wasn’t going to hide.
What he did was look into Orpheus’ eyes and say something he hadn’t said in over 400 years.
“My name is L.”

L knew Orpheus, but he didn’t know him. He knew Orpheus struggled with his words sometimes, an irony that was not lost on him. He also knew that Orpheus tried very hard to make his words come out right, which was very clear from the situations L had watched him in. So what didn’t he know? Well, he didn’t know that Orpheus cared as much as he did. He didn’t know how important this conversation was to the other immortal, he only knew how important it was to him. Which was, in short, quite possibly the most important thing he had ever done.
L didn’t consider himself a good person, but he knew that Orpheus was. Orpheus had proven it again and again as L had watched him over the years. Four hundred years and all he had done was try to help others. Four hundred years and all he had done was his very best. L had watched him closely all that time, and his conclusion was simple. Orpheus didn’t deserve this punishment. Whatever had happened, L had concluded that much. Hades had either made a mistake, or it had been a personal grudge. L suspected the latter based on experience.
He watched Orpheus carefully, unsure what to expect. He knew better than to believe that this was certain to go smoothly, after all. If anything, experience dictated that this was doomed to fail, and not jut fail a little bit, but dramatically, with explosions. So why was he even here? Why was he trying something he knew had a very low chance of succeeding, or even being at all beneficial to either of them? Was he so lonely that even a poor chance was better than none at all?
The answer was yes. Even L Lawliet, it seemed, could not survive alone forever. The ache in his chest that never went away eased at the sight of Orpheus, and though he hated the idea that he was simply using the other man to feel less alone, he knew that it was, at least partially, true. Maybe Orpheus was using him, too.
His eyes widened a little at the words. He hadn’t expected that. “It’s hardly your fault.” He pointed out, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. The sun was entirely out by now and he squinted in the bright light he was so unfamiliar with.
“I’m not angry with you.” He said finally, deciding that was easier than explaining all the ways in which it was not Orpheus’ fault. It was a curse, he knew, and he saw it as one, but the truth was that he was more afraid of death than he would care to admit. Even four hundred years after he should have been dead, he feared it. Even seeing what life forever might look like. Was he more afraid of dying or of living? Was he more afraid of speaking, or forever holding his tongue? He didn’t have those answers.
L found himself unable to look away from Orpheus now that they were face to face, and the light reflected Orpheus’ dark eyes, giving them a gentle look. Or maybe that had nothing to do with the light. Maybe some eyes were gentle by nature. How could L know? He had seen few faces close enough to see whether their eyes were gentle or harsh, warm or cold.
“Yes.” He agreed. He hoped that was okay, but he didn’t know how Orpheus felt about it until the other man spoke again, soothing L’s mind. He didn’t mind. He didn’t mind that L had followed him, that L hadn’t let him go even when he seemed to be trying to escape him. He didn’t mind.
One thing that L had avoided was loss. He had failed to look into another person’s eyes in so long that he had almost forgotten what it was like to see people in something other than shades of gray. He had never stopped feeling the ache of the people around him, the ache that meant he knew he would outlive every single one of them, but it had been a long time since he had let himself get too close. Stay away, and it stayed an ache, rather than a pain too terrible to ever escape.
But looking into Orpheus’ eyes was different. It did more than simply fail to hurt him, it soothed him. It was like cold water on a fresh burn. It was like air for someone who’d been drowning for hundreds of years.
And L didn’t want to look away. He understood how aged those eyes were, and thought he could never know how it had felt to wander without someone to follow, he now knew that he had been a source of comfort, not of further pain.
Yes, they may not have been friends. They barely knew each other, and L knew Orpheus far better than the other way around. But Orpheus knew L better than anyone had in a very long time. That meant something. That had to mean something.
He didn’t say anything at first. This was so much more than he ever could have anticipated, so much that he didn’t know for sure what he should do now. He felt both awkward and oddly free, both trapped and safe. He could never take this moment back, but did he want to? No, his heart said firmly, he didn’t.
A name wasn’t much. It was something that Orpheus hadn’t been given the chance to give willingly. But it was more than anyone had known about him in a very long time, and even that felt like tears after a bad day. Freeing.
“I wouldn’t...I would not ask you to be a shadow.” He said finally, his low voice soft and uncertain. “You shine far too brightly for that, I think. But if you would be willing to come with me, I...I’ve always wanted to see the Northern Lights.”

Everything rested on this moment between them. Everything rested on how this was going to go, whether L would stay or leave. He knew he couldn’t shadow Orpheus anymore now that he had stepped into the light. It was all or nothing now, they would walk side by side or not at all. He didn’t want to go, he discovered. He didn’t want to go, and that had to mean something, didn’t it? It had to mean something.
There was so much context here, so much they could have said but didn’t need to. He didn’t want Orpheus to apologize because he didn’t believe there was anything to apologize for. He didn’t think Orpheus had done anything wrong. At least, he doubted it, based on what he knew of him.
He wasn’t dead, but it had felt like he was, sometimes. It had felt like he was a lost soul, closed off from the living by his curse. He supposed that was what it felt like to be a ghost, to watch the living eat and drink and speak to each other and be unable to participate in it himself. It was a terrible thing, to be cut off. Humans weren’t meant to be alone.
He listened quietly as Orpheus tried to explain. If anything, it made him even more sure that this was not Orpheus’ fault, because if it had been he would have been far more likely to either tell L what he had done or let L assume he wasn’t to blame. No, these were the actions of an honest man. He really believed that whatever had happened, it wasn’t his fault. It was strange to think that after so many years spent wondering what he had done to deserve this, but L thought it nevertheless.
He glanced around, nervous. He knew that being discovered was a good way to test out whether they could die, and curse though this was, he didn’t want to be tortured and killed.
He looked back at Orpheus, his wide, dark eyes soft. He didn’t answer. He didn’t know what there was to say.
He considered that. “Yes, perhaps.” He agreed. The sun was warm and comforting but he wasn’t used to it, and it was going to take some time to change that. It was going to take some getting used to, existing in the light, he looked at Orpheus, and he was struck again by how he looked close up, not just watched from behind buildings and crouched under windows. He was so very real, up close.
He nodded, looking away and poking his lip with his thumb, considering that. “Yes, that’s possible.” He agreed thoughtfully. “I suppose if that’s the case, the sun will shine all the brighter for being overshadowed, as Apollo will want to prove himself again.” He shook his head slightly. He knew it wasn’t anger from the gods. The gods were not subtle about how they felt, and if they had wanted to punish someone, they would have simply done so. This wasn’t anger, but it could have been a warning. Or maybe just a sign.
He didn’t know how he had managed to step into the light after so long, but he found he was glad that he had done it. He didn’t want to be alone anymore, and he couldn’t think of anyone he would rather get to know. He couldn’t think of anyone he would rather be seen by.
They had been looking at each other for a while now, L realized, but he didn’t look away. It was like drinking cold water after a long run in the heat. It was like lying down after a very tiring day. It was everything L hand had in forever and he didn’t want to lose it, he didn’t want to walk away, he didn’t want Orpheus to find out that he wasn’t a good person, not nearly as good as Orpheus himself was. Yet he wouldn’t lie. He wouldn’t keep it hidden, because if he were going to stay then he had to be who he was. If he were going to stay then he had to be real, more real than he had been in a very long time. Wasn’t that the whole point of standing here, now? Wasn’t that the whole point of existing at all?
He hadn’t experienced life in four hundred years. He had been a ghost, a shadow, untouched by the living and unable to touch anyone else. Yet he had once, hadn’t he} hadn’t he loved Watari? Hadn’t Watari loved him back? He looked down. He could still remember what his father looked like, even now. He could still remember the feel of being carried and the taste his his birthday treats and falling asleep curled up next to him. Didn’t that mean anything?
He wasn’t used to talking anymore. He half expected Orpheus not to hear him at all, his voice was so soft and uncertain, hesitant because it had been too long for him to remember how to have a conversation. If Orpheus wanted someone who was good at speaking to be his companion, L was going to have to disappoint him. He hoped that was okay. He didn’t know what to expect here, or what Orpheus expected, he didn’t know what he was supposed to do in the light, and he didn’t want to mess this up. He just had to hope that Orpheus was okay with him taking time to learn to be human again.
He nodded. “You do seem to have an almost uncanny ability to know where I hide.” He agreed. “I do appreciate that you stopped looking after a while, though I could tell you still knew where I was. How, I don’t know.”
He met Orpheus’ eyes. He was really willing to go where L wanted to go, wasn’t he? He was really going to let L lead the way.
He turned North, the wind picking up his hair and tossing it.
He took his first step into his new life, and then he looked back at Orpheus, and offered his first tiny smile.

L didn’t know Orpheus as well as he thought, because he still didn’t realize that Orpheus was actually okay with him having followed for so long. It seemed obvious, but it was just hard to believe, perhaps. He wasn’t used to existing at all, much less anyone noticing or caring whether or not he did. Of course, Orpheus had known about him for a long time now, but that was somehow different from standing right in front of him and looking into his eyes and seeing the expression there was not one of disgust or hatred, but of the same kindness he had shown to so many others.
He was good at figuring out how people thought, but not how they felt. He was almost the opposite of Orpheus in that way, though he didn’t yet know it. He didn’t know why it was so hard for him to talk to people, but he didn’t think it was the same reason it was hard for Orpheus.
Did L consider himself human? Perhaps…he wasn’t actually sure. Humans weren’t supposed to live forever. Humans were supposed to live and then die, like flowers. What was it that made you human?
He didn’t know. Maybe they had both lost that already...no, he didn’t think Orpheus had, at least. Orpheus seemed like the most human person L had ever met, standing there in the light with his soft, kind expression. Maybe….maybe if Orpheus could still be human, then it wasn’t too late for L. Maybe he still had a chance, too.
“Magic?” He repeated, bemused by the thought. Then again, what was this if not magic? It certainly wasn’t normal, was it? Still, he found the second explanation made more sense to him overall, and he nodded, agreeing. “Yes.” He said seriously. “We’ve both had a very long time to learn.” And he didn’t just mean where he was likely to hide.
Maybe it was magic. It was strange to even consider it, but was it stranger than the fact that he stood here in the light for the first time in four hundred years?
They were both taking the first steps of something new and beautiful and they were both broken and they were both whole. And L stood in the light and Orpheus stood behind him and they were going North.
---
L was used to walking for very long periods of time. He was used to following Orpheus when the other immortal didn’t stop for days on end, and so he was surprised when Orpheus spoke up. He glanced back, his watchful dark eyes inquisitive.
It was so strange to not be following Orpheus. To be setting the pace. To have someone following him, and to know that he could go anywhere in the world, if he wanted to. And Orpheus had promised to follow, at his side or in the shadows, and for some incomprehensible reason L believed him. He believed him completely.
He also knew that Orpheus could have bombarded him with the questions he probably had, and he hadn’t done that. He had just let the silence between them rest comfortably instead, and L was grateful for that, because he wasn’t ready for questions yet. He wasn’t ready for much, if he were being honest with himself.
He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten. Probably a few days at the very least. He tended to only eat when he could find the food he liked, and that wasn’t very often, so he ate quite infrequently and with no real schedule to it, he had mostly forgotten that most people had set mealtimes and things they ate at those times. It had just been too long.
He was hungry, though, and eating with someone, though frightening, was also strangely appealing. He stopped walking, considering Orpheus for a long moment before giving a nod.
“All right.” He agreed, glancing around the area they were now in. “Please, do.”