Just to get y'all to date, this is a roleplay that's been happening in MSN. Since we don't want to break any rules, we'll just be going from where we left off. We decided to move it here so that we could have more room and use our paragraphs without killing ourselves with lag. Mah post is coming soon!

Was this the whispered secret that murmured through the halls of school, boasted among the girls and carelessly flung on the sleeves of men? Was this the fire that glorified existence, that stirred passion alongside the fear of being caught and the equal desire to brag to the world? It was a place not quite new to him, but at the same time, a new terrain that threatened and dared from every nook and cranny. Light had been here before, with embraces and kisses, with his hands buried in the silky tresses of a maidens high on love. But it wasn't the same.

The intensity rose faster than the bets of four confident poker players and the world blurred to red. Pinpointed parts dipped into the horizon to twist the hues to pink and white, the heat blinding yet the warmth so gentle and smooth. It was the most plain sky he had seen in his life, but no starlit heaven could compare. Because it was the simple barefaced beat of desire that streaked before Light's eyes, distorting his vision as he allowed the genius to whisper that sweetened, candy breath into his mouth. It was as sticky as the overly powdered jellies L often stacked, but as clean and natural like the strawberries on his cake. Light could've sworn right then and now that the unhealthy load of sugar was his favorite food.

Light could not move. He didn't trust his trembling arms to support his weight if he tried, and he had fallen atop the indignant detective one time too many already. There were many dignified ways to find himself in those slender arms, with his body intertwined among those lithe limbs. But how good those fingers felt, tangled within his chestnut locks! And L... How beautiful his body was, sprawled so angelically beneath Light's own. It was all the teenager could do, admire. The curve of the spine, so practiced by lack of posture and the white of the flesh, color bleached away by the lights of the many monitors observing them. The lights seemed to fall just right today, illuminating the pale features to a near holy shine, shadowed just right by Light's body.

He just wanted to reach out and brush those heavy, black bangs from the stormy gray eyes. He wanted his finger to be teased by the gentle touch of those silky strands, for the slightest tickle to bring a smile to his face. He loved the how freely the uncombed strands curled about that apathetic face and how innocently sad the man seemed every time his head was bowed. The wind and gravity seemed to notice and adore this as well, taunting Light each time there was the slightest motion or breeze that passed Ryuuzaki-kun's head. It was almost like a child, experiencing her first puppy. The child extends a hand, wondering if she's worthy, trembling in fear until a cold handful of nose reassured her. But Light? He was afraid, still afraid of being bitten.

Ryuuzaki was blissfully unaware of his own beauty at this moment... the detective had never been the beautiful one. Always scorned, cast aside, ridiculed, or simply ignored; soon adopting the role of outcast for himself. He had long since accepted that other humans would not care about him for his looks... the human race was so cruel. No admiring would be cast upon him for plain eyes that had oft been dubbed cold or blank, and the semi-circles that were etched beneath them, as dark as the eternally messy locks upon his head. Too-pale skin, awkwardly twisted form, and lack of social manners completed the list of reasons people didn't linger near him for longer than they had to. The only admiring glances he had ever gotten were scarcely veils for scorn at how inhuman he was, able to solve calculations and reason problems out so quickly. Even when respected, it was limited. The rare times people did care about or actually respect him, they had never met him, and knew him only through a few tens of thousands of white and black pixels on a cold computer monitor... one that couldn't transmit his sitting habits, the way he talked, sat, or didn't sleep, the sheer roboticness that was about him. And care about him? Only until the case he was working on was solved... then he became appreciated briefly, and soon forgotten about. No... nobody really liked him. He was a cold person outside and inside at times... Ryuuzaki did what he had to, to survive and to outmaneuver the criminals and bring them to justice.

And yet now, he was doing exactly what he shouldn't, becoming involved with his prime suspect... the one that the numbers gave the greatest chance of being his sworn enemy. Yet... this was nothing. This would not become anything else... it was a one-time experience... right? Oh, how L was torn by this. He both wished for it to never happen again, and wanted much more...

Light, on the other hand... Light was beautiful. Light was handsome, and knew it well. He was the type of young male who had always been chased by both females and males, admired, adored, and smiled at with genuine liking. He had practically had his choice of people for both friends and lovers. The tall, proud, elegant posture, the perfect speech in both English and Japanese, the gorgeous face and warm brown eyes... perfectly groomed and dressed, and perfect mannerisms... supportive family, a girlfriend thousands of men would kill to have... Light seemed to have it all. Ryuuzaki simply refused to believe that he wasn't immune to such human pettiness as... jealousy. His less-than-perfect childhood and adulthood were not like Light's... but he wouldn't let himself envy the young man, no.

His very heart was aching with all these new emotions and sensations, his mind whirling at the new experience, at exactly how incredible it felt to be participating in this, which was so... human.

The very feeling of such beautifully smooth, well-cared-for locks of brown hair under his fingers... that was new. The sensation of having another person so close. The sensation of another person actually sitting upon one. The feeling of warm lips touching his, sending such a fire racing through every vein. The passion, the yearning that seemed to fuel this kiss. All so new, unexpected. All so unfamiliar. All so overwhelming, especially at once! He barely knew how to cope with this tide of feelings that had been unleashed, and everything he did was guided purely on instinct.

He was faltering a little, uncertain and hesitant about what to do now, how long to prolong it, where to take it. Light wasn't being much help, either... he seemed totally lost in this bliss. The detective waited until he couldn't go any longer without breathing before parting his lips from Light's, drawing his head back and tasting the sweet oxygen. He didn't wish to have to breathe again... he felt he could survive on these poisonous kisses alone. The detective seemed emotional, but it was difficult to tell what expressions matched what emotions, or what emotions Ryuuzaki ever felt.

The men connected by physical and emotional bonds were, to say in the least, prodigies. The finest minds the human race of all nations had to offer to those who stood against the name of righteousness and justice, and each with accomplishments beyond the normal, even extraordinary intellect of mankind. But like the thousands of mortal men that had come before them, the time had come for the two to experience utter confusion and incomprehension. With his hand clasped uncertainly into the cold fingers of this incredible man, both had strayed from their individual path and their words collided. Everything had twisted, changed. Blended into something that triggered a feeling, something new into each of their hearts. Hesitation. And while he was unable to visualize the conflicts raging within the clueless and and all-knowing oddity, there was enough of his own discomfort to entertain his mind. It was almost like his thought process had become a computer, and he had just entered a command, a virus that rewrote the system to something the rest of the body could not understand. Every code and password had locked itself away, the answers in files that no longer made human sense. Novels spoke of love as a curse, a blessing, a wound, a healing... And he realized why he once scoffed upon such vivid descriptions. Whatever embrace he had shared with Misa, whatever greeting he had exchanged with a date... There was no love to be felt, no excitement nor utter confounding of the senses. There was a simple line of small talk and compliments, instead of the jagged slashes of passion disrupting every sane thought. It wasn't love. It was hollow entertainment. What was happening now, what they together had set aflame... This was love. This was the mystery of love. And no poet, no writer, no song had ever done it justice.

Paralysis. It often came to humans in times of fear. But was Light afraid? He couldn't see anymore. His brain was too busy trying to decode and there was no space remaining to devote to sight or motion. But was he truly afraid? Did things beyond his explanation unnerve him, frighten him? There was not enough information to verify the safety of this, and his body wouldn't allow the reins to be snatched by animal desire. He had reinforced the bars upon his instinct, leaving the nonfunctional blank remaining to be filled by intellect and learning. His mind was his instinct, and that was why every answer and facade slipped naturally to his tongue, dripping from his lips like honey to be captured by those he wished to manipulate. But even the truth could not turn L from his ruthless attack, counterattacking at each defense Light attempted to build. This was the contrary man that Light wanted in his arms, and no model or otherwise could hope to fill the absence. But he was unsure. L had claimed that Light was a friend, in fact the first friend. And yet it was L that had observed him like a miserable animal in a zoo, expecting a mistake as Light pondered upon his woe in that long, maddening imprisonment. It was L that had tacked upon him the worst title, the title of suspect. The only suspect, the supposed holder of that disgusting name. Kira. Killer. How could L truly call himself a friend with such blackness tarnishing his view of Light? Did L know the definition of 'friend'? In fact... Did L know what he was doing now?

To put it simply, Light did not want to breathe. Although his heart gained wounds and lost blood at the very thought of this being a simple experiment, a test of social reaction, he was too infatuated to care. Breathing had gotten a large demotion in terms of importance in his life, for oxygen was crude, a poor substitute. Especially compared to the fading aftertaste of strawberries and frosting. The slightest hint of mint had already faded into nothing but a good memory, and his tongue searched each corner of his mouth for a final taste before his burning lungs threatened darkness in all directions. It was sadly ironic how quickly sweets had risen to his top priority, a necessity instead of the health risk he had often blinded himself into avoiding. When the companions in his youth often shrugged pitifully when Light had rejected half a candy bar, or a bite of cookie, he could realize now what he had been avoiding. But to stay alive to experience it again, he had to breath. He relented and allowed for air to refill his lungs in short gasps, not eager to rid himself the leftovers of what he and L had shared The teenager continued until his life finally stopped flickering before his eyes, then slowly forced the rhythm back into his inhales and exhales. The blinding red flashes finally faded enough for him to keep his eyes open for more than a few heartbeats at a time

There was a faint realization that his body was supported by the stiffness of his arms, which had been caused by shock. And while plenty of said emotion remained, thought became easier now that L wasn't smothering his mouth. Portions of his mind were beginning to regain purpose and the parts were oiled, the gears of his mind greedily drinking the black elixir and clinking into use. Abilities besides the art of breathing and seeing were beginning to return to him, and unfortunately, motion was one of the first to regain use. Even so, most of his brain was nonfunctional (and probably would be for some time to come) other things were beginning to emerge and force the dominating emotion of daze, the lingering surprise not enough to keep his body as taunt as it once was. And so, history repeated itself. Although pain was something a few levels above him, there was a numbing sense of discomfort as his arms gave away and... Well. There wasn't much to complain about. Light had landed straight into L's arms for the second time in the same day. Ah, what a glorious day it was... Perhaps besides the bruises that were sure to come in the future, but glorious still... And now came that awkward speaking after kissing moment. Time to see if his voice would cooperate.

“You... You can't tell me that was your first time.�

Such uncertainty was shared between them... though in all other ways far older than any other human, they were both mere children when it came to affection, craving, need... Neither had let himself experience such emotions, as neither had especially valued it. It hadn't seemed important to L. He had classed it as one of the mysterious emotions he would never experience... people did extreme things in the name of this emotion, and L was starting to get a taste of why... No, he had convinced himself that this wasn't truly love. It couldn't be. It was just... lust, desire, affection perhaps, but the thought that it could be love scared him more than he'd ever been frightened in his life. Even this one kiss, this wasn't binding like a word called "love". He was so afraid of being trapped... Light would use him and manipulate him and trick him, and finally discard him like little more than a toy that he had finished with. He was convinced that the boy had learned to twist people to his own needs and desires before even learning to speak. And yet... something about the youth was compelling, mysterious, and made just one taste so not enough!

Such a conflict was raging inside the detective, and his usual emotionless mask had slipped some, like a child's faltering grip on a toy... his defense was so weakened, unreasonably so. What was this experience doing to him? Only time would tell, but the shock that lingered in his eyes was almost entirely raw and untarnished. Only once or twice had he shown so much weakness, and he always retreated straight back to his old self, his old mask and ways falling neatly back into place. Yet now, they faltered slightly, his feelings being revealed for longer than ever before. And in front of this one, this poisonous male, tongue forked and yet coated in honey... it was so dangerous. Light seemed to have undergone such a drastic change of heart, back when he was imprisoned, being so suddenly convinced that he was not Kira. It was almost as though... he had given up this knowledge of the killings... it was mystifying. If he had been Kira, and he gave it up, did he do so on purpose? Did he know whether it would go to someone else, and if so, to whom? Did he even truly comprehend the gravity of the actions he had taken? Or was he ever even Kira in the first place? No... there was a five percent chance he had been.

Yet now was not the time to review the facts and percentages etched in his brain, and he found his concentration rapidly slipping.

This could be such a fatal mistake... he barely knew what to do, what to say. How could he undo this? How could he take back the emotion that had just been expressed, the desire he had so suddenly shown? It was impossible... he could only hide from it, ignore it, lock away the feeling. He had to do it, he couldn't let Light do this to him.

Perhaps L did not know what a friend was. No, it was certain that he did not know what a friend was. He had never had one to compare this friendship to. The only thing he knew was that Light was his only equal, the only one who would dare beat him; likewise for L. Ryuuzaki was the only one to equal and surpass Light. Yet, the dictionary's definition did not seem fitting enough. A friend -- a one-syllable noun. A person whom one knows and with whom one has a bond of mutual affection, typically exclusive of sexual or family relations. That definition alone created a few problems. Mutual affection? Yes, now and again they seemed to share a moment of it, and right now was one of those times. Exclusive of sexual relations? Sexual... a word that Ryuuzaki, unlike most of the population, felt no shame in speaking, writing or hearing. He simply didn't have the meaning attached that was there for everyone else. In this context, it was a three-syllable adjective. He could see the dictionary page before his eyes: "...relating to the instincts, physiological processes, and activities connected with physical attraction or intimate physical contact between individuals." This definition was damning. They had engaged in physical contact of a sexual nature. Did this mean they were more than friends?

What was a friend? Did a friend act like Ryuuzaki? For that matter, was Light acting like a friend, either? L's brain swirled with questions, and none seemed to have an answer as convenient as a dictionary page. All Ryuuzaki knew could be summed up in a few short words.

Being this close to Light was making his heart race.
He didn't want Light to be Kira... and yet he did. His foolish pride demanded Light's guilt, but somehow, he didn't wish to bring this boy to the inevitable death that awaited such a callous mass murderer.
He wanted to prove both Light's innocence and guilt, and neither side could particularly win. They were equal, so he let the facts decide themselves.

Ryuuzaki's ears keenly caught the rasping sounds of one who desperately needed oxygen. Even this process could be described. The pressure built up in their chests had passed through the lungs and into the arteries, the red blood cells carrying the oxygen all over their bodies. Their body tissue had used the oxygen for heat and energy, burning it like a fuel. The oxygen had turned into carbon dioxide and had been carried back to the lungs by the veins. Now the lungs were screaming to release the toxic gas that had built up in them. And such blissful release it was, the gas being replaced by the sweeter taste of oxygen, flowing through their bodies so beautifully... mechanically... predictably.

Breathing could be explained, but this... this kissing... couldn't. How could L describe what had just taken place? Perhaps at another time he could, but how could he do it while Light was still so close, the gorgeous boy being supported by four major muscles: the triceps brachii, aconeus, anterior deltoid, and pectoralis major. L could recite their names and locations and functions. He was a perfect student in every subject except real life. Even though he faced danger and trauma every day, the risk of death increasing every week he persisted in his cause to bring justice to the world, he was isolated. So much human contact in the time that he had worked with the investigation team. He was not used to it, and it had shown in the early stages, when he would show an abrupt disunderstanding of human feeling. Oh, he could manipulate people as well. He knew their thought processes. Humans were so... predictable. Except now. He hadn't predicted these actions in himself, in Light. He could name the physiological processes behind every motion, but he couldn't name this feeling properly.

He was shaken quite out of his reverie as those stiffened muscles gave way, plunging the more normal form of the younger man onto the awkward, thin form of the older one. His heart seemed to race anew, another flush of uncertainty and excitement unconsciously flooding him.

/You... You can't tell me that was your first time.�/
Light's voice seemed to break through the reverie, the fog his mind was floating in. The boy didn't quite sound like himself.

It took several moments for L to recall the powers of speech, and regain control of his lips (oh, how the feeling of those hot lips pressed against his distracted him!) and tongue. "I... I can and will," he retorted softly, his own breathier, deeper voice rushing its way through his words as always. Deep grey eyes peered into those light coffee-tinted ones, and he instictively moved. His spine arched, pressing his body against Light's, with a brief, uncomfortable moment of ecstasy filling him at that touch. Yet he managed to ignore it, pushing Light up and away, his arms soon moving, hands aiding in supporting those broader shoulders. A remarkable strength existed in the frail-looking man's body, and it was matched by sheer determination to separate them again. Before more than a second or two had passed, he had pushed Light to a kneeling position, sitting up himself and scooting back a handful of inches, until his back touched the leg of one desk in the long counter behind them. His knees were still raised, and he drew them back a bit, until their bodies were totally separated.

The expression in the detective's eyes had not quite managed to regain their usual calm composure, and a trace of uncertainty and vulnerability still lingered in them, the narrow chest beneath that thin white shirt rising and falling faster than it perhaps ought to have.

Although the chain binding his wrist remained unyielding and unchanged, the weak ties they had threaded momentarily between themselves had broken. Neither of them had been prepared for the connection, and both of them in fear of betrayal from the other. Love was a game of give and take, and neither of them were willing to lay their raw, vulnerable selves into the arms of the other. Neither of them could manipulate the other to bend to their will, and it frustrated Light that for the first time of his life, he had to work so hard to get something he wanted. It had never been this way before. His stories were delicately woven and his eyes without guilt, but those beautiful black eyes pierced him in a way where Light could almost feel his hands tremble with regret. He had committed no crime, but was willing to confess to those apathetic eyes. There was almost a madness within them, a recklessness and lack of lines that sent all protections and comforts crumbling to the ground. And all of it, all of this merciless attention, had been directed to the teenager. And while the suspect's resistance and resolve remained fairly strong in comparison to those who must have come before him, this was the very reason why it had hurt so much under the enjoyment of their intimacy. The underlying tone, almost of anger or perhaps- Light feared- hatred in L's voice had revealed the story. No other communication had to be passed between them for either of them for the teenager to realize that this had been nothing more than a test, another maddening exam to pass or fail. It had no use in terms of love or even friendship, everything a hoax to raise or lower the percentages piled against him. It was too much for him to handle, transitioning so unexpectedly between the highest of emotions to the lowest. Everything began to hurt, from the faintest glow of the spying monitors to the unending darkness of those unexpected shadows. He lost all will to keep such a cruel, painful world in his vision and shut his eyes.

It was disgusting. The greatest detective in the world, the one who held the hopes and support of all those who opposed the world's most terrifying serial killer was barely human himself. Justice? A bitter scoff echoed disagreeably within his mind, almost reaching the outside air. What the hell could justice mean to someone who discarded the trauma of such human emotions without the slightest realization of what damage had been done? Nothing. Justice was just another word for being right, something that was created by those damned numbers and undeniable information. And there was only one definition for right. Ryuuzaki didn't take these cases to ease the suffering of those it affected, or to comfort those who lived in fear. It was for his own, twisted amusement. Something to take and wear upon his head as a crown, to brag to those mortals below him. It was nothing more than proof of his intellectual superiority. It was a puzzle, complicated by its living pieces. Each human was a part and it was the investigator's job to force each part into its proper place with no burden from what his force caused. Pain. Hurt. These words meant nothing to him as long as the objective was achieved. This was the man responsible for the fate of tomorrow, the savior that had come to shelter the world from the destruction of morals and righteousness? The irony writhed in Light's throat, air exhaled from his lips in broken heaves. It was almost painful to accept. The man he had respected most in his life wasn't a man at all. Light couldn't believe the monstrosity connected to him by that length of chain. He could almost hear the adoration in his father's voice as he spoke of L in that hospital room, not at all caring that it was Ryuuzaki-kun's insane games that had triggered the heart attack.

“I- I-�

The suspect's voice came in a pitch higher than expected, cut into awkward stutters by his anger. Was that his voice? He had never heard his voice halt and tremble so far from the calm demeanor of the usual notes his words often brushed, and was furious that the lapse had occurred in the presence of someone so despicable. It was the person most likely to use this weakness as an upper hand, as a hunter would shoot the legs of a deer. Light had slowed and his pursuer given the advantage. Was L laughing right now, in that sadistic way of his? The vision of those bemused eyes and the mocking shine reflected from the computers fueled Light's anger as his eyes reappeared in twin flashes of chestnut flares, a look that could have intimidated a Shinigami had one happened to pass the scene. But no matter now many times he tried, Light almost knew he would be unable to express outright hatred toward Ryuuzaki-kun. Every inch of his body wanted to reach out and wrap the accursed links of metal about his captor's neck and pull, shaking the to-be corpse while screaming 'I hate you!', to redefine the meaning of despise with each syllable. Would the investigator remain just as calm in the face of death, dignified and superior? Would that small quirk of curiosity outlive the body and question Light for all eternity, not quite understanding what was being communicated? There was no point in taking away L's life. It was shallow and the agony of death was just another fact to add to his vast collection before it all became useless to the world. There was no vengeance, no sense of satisfaction in being angry at the clueless bastard. There was only himself left to scold, for trusting this corrupt life to give a little good to everyone.

Light wasn't given the chance to sulk about, trying to find a way to express himself in a way that would get some reaction, any normal reaction out of that- that- that machine. At the most unexpected moment, he felt cold against both shoulders. He only needed one try to guess who it was, but never in his wildest dreams could he have expected what came after. L cast people aside as soon as they had served their purpose. The faces upon the betrayed were disfigured and grotesque, their outer image twisted as easily as their wills. Their lips would struggle to move in a silent cry as they were dropped from those pale fingers, landing among thousands of others that had walked the same path. And L? It was hard to image him in anything else besides that wrinkled white shirt and those shabby jeans, so Death's cloak was simply draped over his shoulders, the clothes underneath still visible. A fitting image and a fitting metaphor, but Light never imagined himself as one of the victims. He was different. Too intelligent. Too good. Almost if not completely better compared the greedy, shallow people living in this rotting world. But here he was, on the ground at the feet of a master, like a dog obeying commands. Some people, like that dog, would think they would have won, worrying away at the treat thrown into the corner. But not Light, who could almost feel a mutt's collar scratching his neck. He knew he had lost.

“I hate you.�

The words were said simply. It was almost like a child who shouted at her parents leaving for work, only to cast aside whichever object of entertainment to greet them later. But the suspect, the fooled suspect meant what he said. He simply did not have the strength to muster nor waste upon words that would mean nothing to the person who was meant to hear them. The floor was cold and the chain twisted against uncomfortably against his spine, but he made no effort to stand or break the awkward silence that followed. Moments ticked away on the clock, aggravating the brunette until he finally jerked away, pulling hard on the chain as if his babyish frustration could snap it. Turning away from the emotionless fathoms of lifelessness, Light held up his hand and grasped the table, pausing as if wondering if he had the energy to do this. His grip tightened, yet the rest of his body refused to play along. A soft curse followed his next breath into the world, and he forced himself up, plopping down on the chair they had fetched with no further motivation to move. But he knew that if he had the slightest reason to believe that L was watching him, he would turn around and another fistfight (or technically fist-and-foot fight) would begin.

Such a precious, fragile thread between them, the link of affection, of tenderness, of that warm feeling, and so abruptly snapped. Such a hopeless, helpless feeling. The ties that bound them were both emotional and physical. No matter how much the two might try to sever them, like now, it was impossible to ever truly separate themselves. Their lives were hopelessly twined, their very spirits bound together.

Murderer and detective; justice perverted and justice rightful. Yet now, the guilty one had no concept of the damage he had done, of the anguish he was putting his executioner through. He truly believed that Yagami Raito was Kira. The numbers, the percentages that he needed to confirm his belief, were too low yet. Five percent. That wasn't enough. Ten or twenty percent and he would have had a strong case. But five? That was just enough to forbid any kind of relationship between detective and suspect. They already had gone too far. They already were friends, rivals, perhaps even hidden enemies, though only L was aware of that last right now.

L was simply staring at the younger one, searching his face. He didn't know what he was supposed to feel, but he was sure it wasn't supposed to be... fear, helplessness... he was supposed to be happy, wasn't he? He didn't even know what happiness was?

How angry Light suddenly seemed. The stutter that emerged from his throat. The flash of hatred in his eyes cut L far deeper than Light would ever know.

Instantly, the innocent, vulnerable child that had so briefly shown in such deep grey eyes vanished, replaced by the protective shield of blankness.

Numbness, emotionlessness, that was the safest bet. No pain could be felt when no emotion was felt.

But underneath the mask, underneath the desolate surface of that mystery-shrouded soul, the words that followed hurt far more.

/"I hate you."/

Such a childish simplicity seemed to ring through the words, such a thoughtlessly cruel statement. Did Light mean to hurt him? Yes... Light always knew what he was doing. Light calculated and planned every response to cause L pain, and the detective knew it well. The boy was seeking a response, something to ease this pain, the damage he thought he had taken to his pride.

Light really didn't understand, did he? No... nobody could comprehend what it was like to be L. He had never experienced human touch to this degree, or anything remotely resembling such intimacy. He didn't even know what he was supposed to have done. Light was far more experienced in the area of human touch and affection, kisses, touches, closeness; the older man he felt as though he were walking into a trap, a poisonous pit of snakes, ready to play with him, use him as a toy, and then discard him. He was far more frightened than he would ever let on. The emotions that he was experiencing felt so out of place. It was like being forced to wake out of a comfortable dream and face the cold, hard facts of reality. Better to plunge back into the dream, let it envelop and surround him, suffocating and drowning any bit of weakness that had been uncovered.

No, he wouldn't let Light get the reaction that he wanted. The silence stretched out after those sharply, simply-uttered syllables. A jerk at the chain, a cold reminder of the words that had just been said. L's wrist twitched some in Light's direction, but he made no effort to resist the force used. The detective silently watched as the younger one slowly managed to rise to his feet, standing so proud and tall. L thought Light seemed so distant now, so cold and proud. So like himself.

And now he sat in the chair, gazing away, avoiding L's look. The detective's own concrete-grey eyes flickered closed, which was a rare occurrence indeed. It was just for a second or two, and once they had reopened, he seemed as normal as he could ever get. He sat there a moment longer, back still pressed against the cold, rigid metal.

"Shiremasu." 'I know.' The simple word L spoke echoed for a moment, before L crawled to his knees, the cold chain against his wrist seeming to burn with its own too-intense hate. Within a moment or two, he was slowly rising to his feet. Oh, how this would hurt in a few hours...

Just a few minutes ago, Light had said it:
/"I do not hate you... I respect you. Rather, I admire you."/
Oh, how the words hurt. Was he lying now, or had he been lying then? L had shared himself, his feelings and emotions. The fact that everyone seemed to hate him, his insecurities. And Light had just shattered that thin trust. That showed him... humans couldn't be trusted. Ever.

"It is time to retire for the night," he said softly. No emotion was shown in his eyes as he rested one hand on the counter, standing upright and gazing to his fellow investigator on the other end of the chain. "You must rest, to avoid loss of logical reasoning ability." L, of course, would not rest. He never did.

It was like the mazes often starred in carnivals, the impossible labyrinth constructed of reflective surfaces to frustrate and frighten those who fancied a try. Although Light had never enjoyed the carnival setting, with the slurred conversations and almost drunken laughter, he had always held a special place of utmost dislike for that contraption of mirrors. He would observe from afar as his sister and those like her began pounding on the walls in discontented laughter, as parents from all around encouraged their children until the puzzle had been solved. Light never understood the amusement of pounding on glass, dashing toward what seemed to be the beckoning glow of the Exit sign only to foolishly crash into one's own reflection. It was undignified, and reminded him so much of life. Just like now, he had presumed too quickly that the knot had unraveled and had emerged seeming the stupider of the two. The walls divide the detective, constructed in such complexity that normal men had wisdom enough only to decide to avoid the challenge. Light had taken his first few steps and stumbled often, but close enough to the entrance so that his fumbles were fairly unnoticed and overlooked. But with a sudden burst of prayer and energy, he had pawed through every hindrance, as if guided by the song of a siren. And just as in the game, the answer had simply been split into thousands of reflections, a puzzle of its own. Illusions. Nothing but illusions created the machine, and Light had been stupid enough to try and place his affections into one of its well programed lie. He had rushed headfirst into himself, and sat gazing into his own, stunned counterpart.

Anything was better than nothing. He didn't pray for tears or for a harsh command of silence. All the teenager could hope for was the smallest sting or suggested counterattack to detect under the usual buzz of programmed responses. Something to show that what they had shared was not a completely meaningless trick, something to hold on to as he stumbled about in his own rejection. A faltering flash of light to show that L was capable of showing, sharing something- anything- besides the blank stares that sufficed for every situation. Light wanted anything he could exaggerate into hope. Hope. Was there hope in those trembling pools of rich bronze as he turned to acknowledge the stare upon him? Perhaps. But had there been, it could not be detected the second after their eye contact had ended. Light didn't need to think to recognize the damage of fire. Ashes... Ryuuzaki-kun's eyes were just like ashes, representing something that had been ended. It hurt to look into such emptiness, hurt to think that this was the only thing the detective knew how to share. He tried to prepare himself for the harsh response that was to follow, but it was too late. That one statement crawled underneath his flesh and contaminated his blood, reaching his heart in a matter of seconds to unravel anything Light had managed to piece together. At first, that same look of nothingness and lack of care had entered his expressive brown eyes. And then... The hues flickered back as if a computer restarting, responding to the light reflecting from the tears that managed to escape his eyes.

He regained whatever composure was left to scavenge almost immediately, his head snapping down with a throaty sound which he hoped to would be interpreted as disgust instead of despair. Adverting his glance to the floor, as if he could no longer bear to look at his warden, Light began to count his seconds. He knew this had to be timed perfectly for his emotions to be hidden, but the pause was inevitable or it would be too obvious what he was trying to hide. The boy was much too prideful to lose so much in one day, when the man in turn had walked through the storm without a hair misplaced. Well, not any more displaced than each strand already had been. Struggling to keep the worst of his emotions from flooding beyond control, he looked upon the ground with his fists tightening, seeming to struggle the urge to reintroduce his fist to L's nose. He took advantage of this by breathing heavily to calm his anxious heart, his shoulders shaking to add wonderfully to the image he was attempting to build. This was held for no longer than it had to before Light turned around, straightening his spine to his usual, formal posture. His hand toyed with his tie and smoothed his once-crisp shirt, reaching with his free hand to sort out the mop his hair had become. That was when he pressed his cheeks against the sleeve, moistening the cloth until he could stop his soundless grieving entirely. The usual arrogance had taken place of the sorrow, the expression seeming more sour than the norm. By the time he turned around, he looked as he always did, minus the wrinkled clothing.

Light took his sweet time standing, the lack of sleep seeming to affect his system already. The world was starting to turn that one icky color, with the red dots you saw after being spun in the air at what felt like a few thousand miles per hour. It was impossible for him to function without his full eight hours of sleep, and it was very possible that he may commit homicide to get it. But as a suspect in the Kira Case, this wasn't a luxury Light had. Lagging behind like a cat being dragged to the bath tub, it was almost at the point where he was being dragged across the floor by the arm. It was almost infuriating, he complained inwardly. It was almost like being treated as a dog, ordered about on the end of a chain and told when to sleep and taken for walks when the bathroom was needed. Light hated to be watched before, but now he was at the point of blinding L while he slept. If the genius ever slept. What did Ryuuzaki expect? For Light to laugh manically in his sleep while reading a list of criminals that wouldn't be announced until next week? What possible point could there be in spying on a sleeping man, but to unnerve him?

OOC: Blech. SHORT. SUCKY. HORRIBLE. I. Hate. This. So. Much. You said you wanted a post, no matter how bad? Well... here it is, and it's BAD. xD I'm sorry, Light, L, everyone, this post ought to be mauled and exiled to Never-Never-Land! BIC below.

L knew full well that he was a maze in his own right, a puzzle, a twisted trap for those who were unknowing or foolish enough to get caught in it. Who dared violate it, break through the very walls... but he had initiated it. It was Light's fault... nobody but this boy had made him feel so... human. In fact, it was entirely possible that nobody except this boy had made him feel at all, in quite some time. Only L knew the truth of his origins, whether pain lay deep down in his past, or even more recently. Nobody but he knew the truth... perhaps Watari knew more of it than anyone else, but still not everything.

It was deliberate. The fewer humans tried to get close to him, the fewer times he would have to act overly cruelly or coldly. It was exhausting to experience emotion.

He had always been a mind. Not a person, not a human to be treated as such, just a mind to be cultivated and reaped from when necessary, kept in perfect condition so as not to interfere with his potential. Once in a while, when he allowed himself to feel so childish and immature, he was sick of it. He wanted someone to treat him as more than a faceless name, or at most, the genius to be gaped at, murmured about, and somehow hated too. He was too different...

The sound from Light was detected and processed, L's eyes taking in the appearance of anger. Was Light truly angry? Or was some of this based in the hurt that such a boy would feel, that of what he supposed to be rejection? No, Light didn't understand him at all. He didn't understand that sometimes 'he' would have to be the one to reach out and take that step, ignore L's apprehension, or perhaps outright fear, and show him what it meant to actually care about another individual. Light should have known at least partially... he had just admitted that everyone hated him, that he didn't know what friendship was. Light knew he couldn't get involved with a suspect in this way.

Ryuuzaki let Light have these moments to himself, quietly gazing away now. He still appeared emotionless, having neatly contained and ignored all the emotion that he could. He didn't have to process it... no, it would hurt too much. He couldn't get distracted that much.

Little did the detective suspect that, sometimes, too much emotion could be contained, even for one so expert at controlling, identifying, and selectively ignoring his own emotions. Sometimes, it would break out at an unsuspecting time, overwhelming and breaking down whatever mental guards may have existed.

When Light slept, Ryuuzaki didn't expect to obtain evidence, nor to unnerve him. Most of the time, he ignored Light and worked on his laptop, keeping his typing quiet and screen dimmed out of a rare consideration for the boy's sleep, but one that Light never saw, since he was asleep at the time. Sometimes he listened to music, using headphones. He never let Light see or hear what he was listening to, always finishing before Light woke. He had a good idea of Light's sleeping schedule by now. The times he did find himself with his eyes upon the boy, it was not a look of condemnation or accusation that would be found upon the pale, wearied face of the detective. It was an expression of uncertainty, or of grief, or, on a very rare occasion... even tenderness. More so than he would ever admit under the harsh light of day, he had grown to care, just a little bit, about this young male. He was so headstrong, so intelligent... when he slept, he looked so different. His face was so peaceful at night. He looked like a child, albeit an intelligent and handsome one. But he seemed... innocent. And the detective wanted so badly to believe he was innocent. Every time Light challenged the statement that he was Kira, Ryuuzaki felt the tug on his heart from this one. But he had to keep reminding himself of the percentage. This boy was Kira. He was! He couldn't feel anything for him, aside from the emotions he used to manipulate him. And with that, he would go back to his work, albeit with the smallest of frowns.

Once the younger one was ready to depart for their room, the silent detective led the way to the room they shared, the entire trip down the hallway, and into the elevator being silent but for the shuffling of steps, clinking of chains, and the sounds of breathing. No words were spoken, such a harsh silence seeming to have fallen over them both. Unless Light said anything, it would remain this way all the way to the suite.

The teacup that had still not been touched, the sugar cube stack, still remained untouched on the counter, having never been taken up once more after they returned to somewhat normal. Nor did he produce any sort of sweet, chocolate or candy. It was if he couldn't stomach sugar right now.

Digging in a jeans pocket, Ryuuzaki took out his key, silently opening the door and shuffling in, pausing to let Light enter and close the door behind them. He stood in his usual terrible posture, tucking the key away again in the pocket of the light blue jeans, leaving both hands there.

The light from the small entrance to their room was scarce; it was styled somewhat like a hotel room, with a large bathroom, couch and chair, and extra-large bed.

It glinted and glimmered, reflecting from the detective's ebony hair and catching his pale face, grey eyes glinting from beneath the straight, spiked locks that draped in front of them. Playing from that white shirt, it seemed to highlight such a thin, yet somehow beautifully unique figure. It was a haunting vision.

Static stirred subtly beneath the languid loiter of the slumping mess shuffling after L, the indifferent mass of bruises and brooding forced forward by the constant jerking at its wrist. This was the world had blended into, one minute rotting uncertainly into the other until all meaning of purpose was lost among the stinking decay of the Earth. Every day was just another cycle of the sun, losing interest and beauty with each circle. Nothing meant anything anymore. Especially now, in this delusional state crippling his often bright hopes of one day improving the world. The complexity of everything had began to blur, losing its fascination entirely as the ability to act upon that interest died away completely, fading to the status of yet another frivolous activity. Everything had been simplified into something too easy, the bare necessities that normal men followed faithfully. Had his intelligence been present to protest, much of said complaining would have taken place. But whatever voice of reason that Light had inside his head, which had been completely ignored for the majority of the night, had been one of the first things to shut down. There were people that had found some secret to life that lay in lack of sleep and sugar instead of rest and nourishment, but Light certainly wasn't one of them. Without his ten hours of undisturbed sleep, his entire demeanor shattered as though a rose trampled underfoot, beauty and calm lost. And it was hard enough sleeping with that damn computer whirring away, not to mention the presence of those unblinking eyes! It was creepy. Shouldn't his eyes have dried out by now!?

They had finally reached their destination. It was a journey comparable to the one made by traders in the Sahara desert, before the discovery of airplanes. Perhaps the trip might have been shortened had Light not insisted upon his immature sorrow, but he no longer cared whether or not he was a convince to the bastard holding the leash. He had been pulled forward with a few tugs and a false bone tapping at his nose. He resented this, and was lashing back in the best way he could in this weak condition. Which sadly was not much, due to the inability to work properly without sleep. Such carelessness, to not have fallen, but have pushed himself into that trap... Something must have been wrong with his mind. He was turning more and more into another person. A weaker person, downgrading into something worse every since he had met L. Not only had Light become easier to manipulate, he was allowing everything to reach his heart and wound it, visually showing his weaknesses in hopes for something better, like a dog with its tail between its legs. Even now he gazed toward that limber figure with a hint of loyalty, like a scolded puppy trotting back for forgiveness of something it hadn't done. Light scowled sourly, adverting his eyes as he dragged himself through the door. Which wasn't that smart, as his coordination was currently equal to that of a drunk.

He had been attempting to find the bed. He had instead introduced his face to the side of the wall, which had distorted him enough so that he had fallen without any struggle, not far from L's feet. Which was lucky for the detective, who got to keep his feet on the ground. But the same fortune didn't apply to Light, who sitting almost dazed on the floor. Now he was a puppy that had hit his nose, waiting for his so-call 'attacker' to return. Another scowl, less enthusiastic than the last. He honestly hoped that the crap saying 'It'll be better in the morning' had some sense in it. Unless it was morning already. He couldn't tell how long they had stayed up, and to be frank, it didn't matter. He was going to sleep and he wasn't going to wake up until this nightmare was over. Blindly grabbing for the side of the wall, he managed to pull himself to his feet before collapsing again. Mercy had finally shone down upon him. This time, he had fallen into the mattress, and fallen asleep, shoes and all.

ooc: >.>; Screw good posts, you can have this instead. *shot*

Such silence between them. It felt so empty and cold, echoing of the vastness of a winter plain, the harsh wind-swept terrain one that neither quite dared to venture. The biting, howling breeze that now rushed between them seemed to freeze every emotion that threatened to gnaw at the impenetrable shield that blocked the detective from his own humanity.

He had rarely before seen the boy this tired, this unable to feign consciousness. Though the detective was aware of Light's habit of getting quite a lot of sleep, he was not one to require that much sleep, so he sometimes didn't remember to finish the work for the night that fast. He couldn't spare his own time to sleep, even if he'd wanted to.

Those storm-grey eyes finally widened in alarm as Light appeared to suddenly collapse, such a foul expression appearing a moment later as he regained his footing. The detective silently followed as his first friend made his way to the bed, though he tilted his head some as the other one collapsed onto the bed, still fully dressed, and fell asleep.

"I did not realize Light-kun was so tired," Ryuuzaki murmured, head still tilted, one thumb tip pressed against his lower lip. The awkwardly-hunched detective soon glanced around, finding his own laptop on the desk. He sulked for just a moment, knowing he would never be able to reach the key in the bathroom cabinet that would unleash the chain for long enough to allow him to change. That was deliberate -- if he should ever lapse into sleep, he did not want Light able to reach the key and unfasten the chain without his knowing.

Still, he sighed very slightly and shifted on his feet, the toes of one slender, bare foot rubbing his other ankle. He did have enough give in the chain that he could manage to reach the laptop without disturbing his coworker, so he brought it over to the bed, soon hopping up onto it in his unusual manner, drawing his feet closer to his backside, knees against his chest. It was an almost comforting position.

He couldn't bear to watch that sleeping figure right now, for every time he caught sight of the brown hair, the face that once more seemed so innocent, another twist seemed to shudder through his heart. Those wide, stormy eyes were staring at the closed laptop, the detective's mind was filled with thoughts of what he should be doing, but for once, he felt no motivation. He finally wrapped his arms around his knees, the clinking chain rattling softly. It was a cold warmth that filled him, his body drawn into a more compact and heat-efficient position, but not feeling as reassured as usual.

L searched himself for the answer to why this might be. He wasn't emotional right now, was he? Yet in this dark night, all alone once more, he was forced to admit that more lingered on his mind than he would like. The warmth of that boy's lips, the passion that seemed to have sparked in those brief moments, and the sensation of someone sitting upon him, even lying upon him, almost trapping him but for the fact that the feelings they shared were mutual -- or were they? He had seen how upset Light briefly appeared to be, but was it an act? Was it concealing something else?

Ryuuzaki couldn't bear to think so. It couldn't be a charade, not after he had put his own emotions and feelings on display, only to have them ridiculed and scorned by his only friend. Except for Misa-Misa, but he truly did not like her like he did Light-kun. There was no bond between them, no depth of emotion.

"Light-kun," he whispered, and the name itself seemed a damnation that resounded through him like the tolling of a funeral bell. The time had passed, minutes seeming like seconds, ticking by the hours until the sun would rise again. Light was still asleep, and the detective seemed frozen in that same position, the same thoughts racing through his mind over and over, not letting him escape. He was growing more alarmed, trying to force himself back into his cold and unfeeling demeanor, but it wasn't working. The warm feeling that pulsed through him was more than physical warmth of being so tightly pressed together, it was emotion also forcing him to think thoughts he wanted left untouched.

One simple lapse of guard had affected him this deeply, like a sword blow straight to a paper shield. It had always been an iron wall! Why was it now so weak, why could this boy affect him in ways that nobody else ever had? It was unknown even to the genius, or perhaps, "especially" to the genius.

He gradually became aware that perhaps that warm feeling was sorrow, anger at Light and himself, and whatever cruel god could have brought them together under such circumstances for the mere purpose of amusement. The hands that rested on either side of his knees were trembling lightly, and he barely knew what was happening, even as he gulped a deeper breath or two, desperately trying to cling to his composed state. The wetness of his cheeks was quite unexpected too... L didn't give into this weakness, he hadn't done so in perhaps a decade or two, if ever. He kept quite silent about his childhood, but that had probably been the last time he had felt emotion deep enough to prompt such a physiological response. Yet it was more than the process of lowering the blood pressure, pulse rate and body temperature, and synchronizing brain waves. It was more than hormones and neurotransmitters being released to allow his body to relax. It was more than that... it felt so shameful.

Yes, even L could feel shame, and how deeply it burned. His entire body seemed to be trembling lightly, and no matter how tightly he pressed his knees around him or wrapped his arms around them, it didn't seem to help stop it. He was the leader of this investigation... he had solved over three thousand and five hundred cases, and put ten thousand behind bars between all his aliases. He could not allow himself to become emotionally involved and distracted now, yet he could not stop himself, either.

The warm, wet tears still coursed down those pale cheeks, the terrain as unfamiliar as a hot Sahara wind blowing in the Arctic. Those grey eyes that rarely closed were half-shut, which was remarkable indeed, the tears trickling off his face and dripping onto his jean-clad knees, the material absorbing them easily, one after another. The perfect drops of sorrow that etched a pair of soft lines down Ryuuzaki's face, the trembling that continued to rack his form. The sick, tight sensation he felt in his gut, that would not leave. He barely knew what was happening, why he was allowing himself to... cry.

The genius' own thought that he was crying was another shock to the system, but it did not startle him out of it; it only seemed to aid in his difficulty breathing, his throat and nose seeming to close over, too, his hands shuddering more where they gripped the side of those joints. He didn't know what to do, how to react, how to stop such a human response from occurring. There were very few times when L himself was clueless, and this was one of them.

Was this what they called limbo? His macabre intelligence mused in dark humor, thriving withing the surroundings that pulsated with the teenager's misery. Was he asleep? He couldn't quite tell. His eyes were closed and his body slowly disconnected from the softness of the bed and the coldness of the air around it. The last thing to go was the shackle, a constant reminder of the one person he currently didn't want to see, ever again. And yet, behind the darkness, there was thought and remembrance and feeling. The thought of being tested, the sting of being betrayed, and the feeling of utter stupidity and childish frustration. The teenager's features seemed contorted by a nightmare, twisted from pain to unforgiving anger. His expressions were often more easily read when drunk on sleep, after hallucinating away the presence of anyone near. This night, the long stream of thoughts refused to relent. It was hard to slip away into true rest, where he could fully recharge and find excuses to mask his shame.

Something was out there. Out there, somewhere beyond the endless darkness where light lay. It was a sound of some sort, followed by a tremble of motion. But why was the ground moving? Did the Earth quake in sorrow as the boy did, sharing his despair with the rest of the world? Did it rain somewhere in the distance to show that someone, somewhere was restraining tears? Perhaps some would be flattered to have the planet spin on their behalf, but Light despised the mockery. He enjoyed his secluded privacy, and it had already been invaded enough by- Wait. What had it been invaded by? Was that something attached to his arm? In a flutter of lashes, Light had awakened to a bleached white motion in the darkness. What in the hell!? And why was he- Sleep was cleared from his eyes by the back of a hand, his tired eyes gazing toward the shaking white thing. What was its name again?

“Ryuuzaki?�

Light's hand brushed hesitantly against his eyes, easing the pain from the sudden appearance of the white apparition and the dull halo it brandished. It hadn't taken long to identify the human-ish shape as a human. Or, as Light bitterly remembered, something that wore the face of a human. It took longer to figure out what had been casting the dead glow, registering it as a labtop a few moments later. Of course. A machine needed a machine for friends. It was almost enough to make the teenager laugh, although all that came was a miserable, sadistic smile. It was too twisted to have belonged on his lips, but it felt familiar there, like recalling a dream that had run away at the sight of the sun. It was almost frightening, as was the fact that the bed was shaking gently and the unmistakable sounds of human suffering. The source was obvious, and not so obvious. Or at least, not so believable.

“Ryu-� Light's voice sounded softly through the darkness, hesitating at the use of the false name. Realizing that this was something personal, something too human to press awkward aliases upon, he carefully corrected himself. “L?� He spoke the name as if treading about a dangerous matter, something reluctantly tamed and able to bear its teeth at any moment.

The teenager rose against all instinctive reason, the protective warmth of the covers cast aside. This was done sluggishly to ease the chilling cold of outside reality into his veins, circulating to chill the body until the initial shock of reentering reality had passed. And still he trembled as his legs pulled from underneath the protective layers of cloth and wool, wishing that rest had mercifully come upon him so that he did not have to face this. This unreasonable, unnatural show of self-regret and sorrow that stained those lifeless hands and those shabby excuses for jeans. It wasn't happening. Denial held reign over the often dominant reasoning, unable to connect the water to the troubled eyes they came from. The two pictures were complete opposites, never meant to embrace or connect to form one.

The faint crack of bones creaked the air as the rust shattered from his joints, having gone into such deep slumber after the constant deprivation of sleep. The sounds were fairly sickening, but as all things hideous, was also beautiful. He was something so long lost that awakened again, testing his limbs as if rediscovering movement. The flow was jagged and awkward, the music written with rests in the most unreasonable places. But the melody itself was beautiful, blended by the ivory hands of a forgotten muse, one who wrote tales of tragedy. Such uncertainly. He settled himself behind the detective, but could not bring himself to draw any closer. Everything had gotten harder. Moving. Breathing. Thinking. The normal body functions had gone to shambles.

“I'm sorry,� Light muttered, dumbly.

He scolded himself immediately after. An apology? It was nothing more than a utterance of pity, obviously something that would be scorned by someone as great as L. It was something said when there was nothing else to be said, to seem 'morally correct' and was followed by an instant 'Its okay.' It was the flow of the world and the tongue did not think, simply speak the lines that had been written and passed down from parent to child through various disciplinary actions. Stupid! He held his tongue until something sensible came to mind, something that was easy to say and would not seem too nosy or presumptuous, something that wasn't like an ignorant idiot trying to take advantage of the situation. The seconds ticked by, and he had no choice but to speak again, saying whatever fit best in his panicking mind.

“Thank you...� He paused, trying to organize his thoughts. “Maybe you didn't mean to, but this is something that you never meant anyone to see... Thank you... For showing me.�

Would it overstep the lines if he were to touch the mourning man's shoulder? Man...? L didn't seem like a machine anymore, and for one the first times, Light could hear a pulse. Hear it laugh as it sped past the drum of the world, notes raining down in haphazard patterns that made sense somewhere in a genius' workworld. No. It was a touch of comforting, also shared by humans. It was foolish and fixed nothing, but it showed that someone else was there. Perhaps that someone else was blind to the true problem, or too stupid to realize the true magnitude of damage. It was the very least, but that was all Light could think to do.

His fingers tightened gently, kindly, on the older man's shoulder. And he waited.

The sound of stirring behind him... his lean, severely-underweight figure tensed instantly, knees and upper legs drawing closer yet to his chest, arms wrapped around them, the tips of his fingers jammed under his knees, as he tried to stay somehow sane. The thought that not only was he crying, releasing emotions in such a human way, but showing it to this one, his first and only current suspect... was so unforgivable a sin. Yet he could not conceal it, his body still was wracked with a light tremble as sixteen years' worth of frustration, sadness and anger, emotions, petty human emotions, escaped. The bed shifted a little more, and his name -- no, his alias, he remembered with a bitter little half-smile that faded as quickly as the lifeblood of a delicate blossom thrust into the depths of winter's cruelest storms -- was uttered. A few moments later, the beginnings of that alias again, though then a pause, and his most famous alias followed. It only seemed to reinforce the intricate web of lies he had caught himself up in and concealed himself from the world in. Yet this boy had torn through a layer or two, and that had frightened L into backing off... though it seemed Light had taken it the wrong way. L hadn't known what he should do, but such an unexplainable panicked feeling had filled him in a heartbeat... but the feeling of regret that set into his chest like a concrete block and weighed upon him was also unfamiliar. All of it was new, and he thought Light couldn't possibly comprehend it. He wouldn't understand what it was like to be introduced to all these thoughts and feelings and sensations so suddenly, let alone with whom... Light...

Despite his sorrow, his misery as he remembered he couldn't let this one get to him, he had to remain unemotional and professional... but the boundary lines had become so blurred and wobbly since that little spark of curiousity. Now, he was desperately trying to rebuild some semblance of a wall between himself and the world, but every time he laid the foundation, Light stepped over it... Light, with that warm body and such wonderfully gentle lips, the hot tongue that had caressed his neck, however briefly. However inexperienced and unemotional and possibly unwilling, he was still a young male, and not immune to physical or emotional desire for closeness. He had seen it all his working life and never been able to experience it. He couldn't remember the last time he got a simple hug. People were almost afraid of touching him now.

Perhaps it hadn't always been like this. Maybe, another lifetime ago, in a different decade, he had been different. Maybe he had experienced affection, or perhaps not. Only L knew this, despite Light's little attempt earlier to find it out. 'Are you ever lonely, Ryuuzaki-kun? Or do you have nothing to miss from your past?' The words seemed etched into his mind. Far more of an impression had been made than perhaps Light even guessed. He had, of course, said that he could not answer, and the answer had stood unchallenged, mercifully. Yet that alone had been answer enough.

"I know... that you think it... was a test." The barest whisper escaped those lips. The detective's normally calm, breathily deep voice, rushed and uneven in its construction of sentences, often blending two but pausing in the middle of the second... seemed somehow faltering and catching, quivering in his throat. "You think... that I used your admission of trust to... discern some feeling... or to prove a meaningless victory of some sort... That is incorrect." Clear droplets clung to faint, dark eyelashes, all features of his eyes drowned in the enormous depth of those black eyes, and the slashes of black that rested under them; they trickled down, tracing lines of sorrow down those pale cheeks, trembling near his lips or chin before dropping off, landing with an inaudible splash, being absorbed in the light blue denim underneath. It was as if he were hanging onto his sanity by a single thread, trying to pull himself together again. The hand over his shoulder seemed to barely register, though as the moments passed, he became more and more aware of it.

Light's words, though possibly grudging or uncertain, showed a hidden respect, similar to what had been voiced earlier. Yet, L felt so strongly that he didn't deserve such respect in the way he believed Light thought of him, and for good reason. He was not doing this job out of a sense of justice, or right and wrong. He figured out cases as a hobby, much like a teenager trying to beat a video game level faster. Only he knew how many crimes he may have committed by current standards, to prevent greater crimes. There was such a history, a fascinating and yet so secret history that only he knew, though perhaps Watari had a deeper understanding than anyone else. Yet even that could not be called a proper father-son, or grandfather-grandson type of relationship. Watari only cared about him for his mind, the mind that had secured the inventor's own ideal of justice... not the suffering humanity that lay beneath the surface, that could interfere with the dream of a timeless, nameless justice that quickly dealt with major criminal activities.

"I... apologize," he said, still huskily. He should not have shown such weakness, least of all to this one, however honoured or privileged the young man may have felt to be one of the few (who knew, perhaps the only?) to witness such sorrow. Such a slip in his self-control was rare, practically unheard-of. "I haven't given in to such weakness... for years..." He was eight, eight when he was discovered by Watari, eight when he had lost his childish innocence all at once and been thrust abruptly into this world. The Winchester Mad Bombings... but nobody knew, nobody would have guessed that had been the case that had given rise to the greatest detective of the century, perhaps longer.

"Sixteen years, minus one day." The analytical mind somehow managed to present him with the fact, in the midst of his sorrow. "Though, it is now after midnight, so sixteen years exactly is accurate." That wasn't far from Light's total lifespan, which served to reinforce the six-year difference in their ages. Yet, despite L's greater life experience and detective experience, Light was nearly a match for him in investigative capacity, and blew him away with social graces. Still, this could be an advantage. He could directly and bluntly challenge people when necessary, he could bypass the social awkwardnesses and graces to get straight to the point. Social mannerisms were not necessary when one mind handled the investigative capacity of five investigative bureaus and seven intelligence agencies (and that was as of two years prior; now, the numbers had risen once more). What was necessary was an instinct of self-preservation.

He knew that giving Light the exact year and day to investigate was dangerous... perhaps he could solve the puzzle, find the events that were only semi-publicized and quite more layered than had been revealed to the public, but even if the boy managed to while still chained to L, it would only lead to another alias, another lifetime. Only L knew how many aliases he had held. He felt it safe to tell. Maybe he even needed to say it, the thought occurred to him as he finally slipped one hand out from under his knee and passed it over his damp face, as if not quite familiar with the wetness found there, not sure what to do.

Light didn't know what exactly he had dared to lay his hand upon. Perhaps that was why he could only hold it at an arm's length, observing like the twisted manipulator he had accused L of being. He felt sick, disgusted by his own hypocrisy and complete lack of understanding. Earlier, he had raided whatever buttons and switches he could find on that sad excuse for living machinery, pushing the limits and defacing walls in an attempt lure a normal response from the apathetic thing. Tortured the poor thing, disfigured it, defaced it until, now, it was the disgrace that he had quested for. The sadistic teenager had deluded his vain self into thinking he was good enough to prevail where others had fallen. Thought he could be the foil, the exception to the rule. And now that he had the stricken man he thought he could rebuild, he couldn't bare to touch him. So was this the punishment for stepping onto God's territory? For thinking he could change a human to his own will? For passing judgment on another human? Stupid Light. Stupid stupid stupid.

In the most meaningless way, Light was ashamed. In the closest description one could get to his current emotions, he felt like he had just given up his right to live after he had done something so cruel to someone else, fooling his so-call genius self into thinking he could recreate humanity into something better. Humans were what they were, and no matter the years L had denied himself that humanity, there was still a pulse beneath the layers of lies and habits and defenses. Light had no right to try and twist the ways of the world with his hands, and now that he had tried, he could believe for a second time that his maddening isolation and confinement was best for the rest of the world. He had come so close to the mindset that would've justified that twisted criminal's means of achieving a disguised dystopia. And to have placed all this on L's shoulders, the person whose trust he craved most? Light couldn't tell what was more absurd, his stupidity or his absolute heartlessness. The poor detective had had a system that served him well through the years. Who was Light to come barging in and breaking it down?

The night's worth of foolish mistakes became throbbing scars upon his emotional maturity, reducing the worth of his self control to that of a child at the brink of a temper tantrum. Everything pooled behind his eyes in a reminder of his lack of intelligence. What was genius without use? What was self control if not practiced? Moisture trickled down his cheeks. The palm clasped gently around L's shoulder gave its grip a quarter of a centimeter, jerking to a stop in unsteady tremors. The tear reflected the dim face of the whirring labtop before melting into a stain on the covers. It was soon followed by a second, a third. None were brushed aside, simply left to fall and be seen. It was little to exchange for what L had given to him, but it was the only thing he could think to show in return. It was stupid and it was selfish, but Light wasn't ready to be turned aside and rejected. Not again and not so soon.

And that was why the world paused in its rotation when L had brought himself together enough to speak. The words were not solid formations, not created by the confident voice that often commanded and theorized. It wasn't the voice that Light admired for such sureness, or the voice that magically sent men scurrying to obey commands. It was a broken voice, with jagged words and hesitation. It was a pathetic voice, of a man that never learned how to grow in terms of expression. Someone who was spoiled and didn't quite know how to deal with the 'normal' things head on. Because no matter the miracles L could conjure, in exchange, he had been forced to give up the childhood often spent honing one's ability to interact with others and control the most passionate feelings. This was what was expressed, revealed to Light tonight. Not a purposeful attempt at control, but a weakness. A line of flaw from someone as vain as himself. And in return, he had reacted impulsively and sliced a wound in the most vulnerable place. A place that had been shown to him in a gesture of trust. What did L have to apologize for?

“L...�

Light could put all his heart and soul behind, for what it was worth, an apology right now. But he couldn't bring himself to say such a useless thing, to try and patch things up with a single word with absolutely no meaning in this society. No words could be woven skillfully enough to express what guilt and tragedy he felt for what he had done. He doubted that the most skillful poet or writer could bring a finger to surface of his emotions, let alone dare plunge headfirst into the storm of complexity and depth to speak of the experience. Nor did he think that, even if it had been possible to show his inner turmoil, that it would have had any meaning. His suffering was nothing in comparison to what he must have caused L, and to bring up his own selfish sadness... Well, to say in the least, he deserved to be kicked in the arse and left to sleep in the cold like a dog. And he would have no objections to it, if he hadn't been handcuffed to L at the time.

“L,� he repeated, voicing the name as if he had something of great importance to tell.

But he never spoke a word. Instead, he lifted himself forward to press his lips against the detective's cool cheek. But as frightened as he was of the reaction, his eyes never closed, remaining on the hunched figure in case he had been too forward, too eager as he had done earlier. He could feel where the pale hand had disrupted the trail of droplets and spread the moisture to the entire face, find an almost angelic glow from the bend of light in water. He could taste the salt as it sent a gentle vibration of stings across his mouth, and finally... He could feel the pulse and heartbeat he never thought was there as he deepened the single, casual touch on the shoulder into a tender embrace. This was the only way he could think to show he understood, and that he was sorry. It was up to fate to see if the message was conveyed properly.

Perhaps the only thing more shocking than finding himself giving into such emotions so suddenly, then finding the one that was always a sound sleeper waking upon this one occasion, was the reaction of that one that had woken and witnessed the emotional breakdown. L was expecting shock, perhaps anger, or triumph. He never knew what to make of their friendship. He knew that Light was a skilled manipulator, much as he himself was. Both of them had come to a deep understanding of humanity, at least, insofar as they could both control almost any human with a great amount of skill. But understanding humanity well enough to control it did not mean L understood it enough to deal with such experiences as he had that day, or such emotions as had flooded him, or even such physical closeness.

Somewhere through that haze of confusion, he was aware of a distress other than his own; he slowly realized that this boy was crying, too. He couldn't reason why for long moments, and he just blanked out for a few seconds, before his brain whirred again. Did Light feel guilty, perhaps? Or was he simply sharing the sorrow that L could not contain? Was he somehow angry at him, for showing such unforgiveable weakness, when millions, even billions, of people were relying upon his mind to find the one that was murdering this world? L was not able to answer these questions, for once; his mind wouldn't let him, while such pain was flooding his mind and body, his muscles feeling like they couldn't draw any tighter without surely snapping.

The strain of being the lone mind that was L, the danger, the constant fear that he lived in seemed to have numbed him until he could no longer feel fear. Yet twice he had shown it... once when that Shinigami was mentioned... but that, that was such a painful moment right there. That had nearly terrified him, and for quite a different reason than anyone else knew, save perhaps one child and one woman, the latter of whom had been killed by Kira. He knew the child would hold his tongue -- though prone to saying irrational things and acting without thinking, he would tell nobody of the theory L had seen fit to share, the theory which was such an important point in the Kira case, but he could not connect, he didn't have enough information...

Oh, information. He needed another number or two, a percentage... just one more scrap of evidence to click everything into place, to condemn this boy as being Kira. But how it hurt... he seemed to have grown a little too close to Light, perhaps. The thought of watching as he received the death sentence, or a lifetime in prison, was a little harder to imagine than it had been for any other case. This one was brilliant, a genius near L's level himself, and without the specialized training and desensitization L had received.

Perhaps that was why he even performed better in some limited situations. Maybe Watari had raised him the wrong way; and now being taught to feel would be much harder than being taught not to feel. Or perhaps not. L only knew that he had indeed been raised in a coldly logical environment, being tested time and time again, until he accepted and embraced the challenges as eagerly as other children would a new video game. But in the process of becoming a genius, he had missed so much, and not even he was fully aware of the extent of the damage.

That dual-syllable word that had been uttered twice... eru. The Japanese letter for L. Just another alias. Another nickname, another carefully-constructed lie, another world. Somehow, he could effortlessly transition from personality and alias to another, never making a single mistake. When one had no attachments to tie them down, they would do so better.

But at this moment, the alias "L" seemed to leave a deeper wound than recognized even by L. It marked him, set him apart as the one who should not have allowed himself to get into this situation in the first place, the detective responsible for remaining unemotional and making whatever sacrifices were necessary. Even human touch, closeness, perhaps friendship.

Despite his despair that he wrestled with, that he wanted to force into a tiny cage and never see it or think of it again, he was aware of a certain differing tone in the second time Light used that hateful alias. "Please... call me Ryuzaki," he whispered, though barely had time to react before he felt Light's arms around him, drawing him close in a gesture of... what? It was time for the dictionary again, for poor, clueless L.

"Hug -- noun -- an act of holding someone tightly in one's arms, typically to express affection."
Affection? Did Light feel this for him?
"Affection -- noun -- a gentle feeling of fondness or liking."
L truly didn't know what to make of this.

He was quite lost, having had virtually no experience in decades, if ever, of such a compassionate gesture. Those beautiful, warm lips were soon felt on his cheek, emphasizing the moisture that lined those weary, pale surfaces.

A feeling of intense shame began to worm its way through all of the other feelings... shame at displaying such emotions openly, shame at letting Light see him like this, shame at even having such thoughts and feelings residing within him. "Light-kun," a soft whisper soon followed, and he was frozen in place. Part of him wanted to turn his face away, to escape somehow this burden and this situation, though the feeling of the cold chain against his wrist reminded him sharply that that was not possible. Another part wanted to accept and embrace this hug, the kiss to his cheek, and whatever Light wanted to show him. "That... really was my first kiss." It was all he could think to say, though woefully inadequate to express everything he wanted to say. Even as he uttered the words, another feeling altogether entered! He was finding that he had enjoyed the feeling of that kiss, and the feeling of that warm body on his. He didn't know what to label it aside from "lust", but that seemed so... animalistic, so savage. Yet he didn't know how else to categorize this burning need for closeness... All of these feelings were mixing up and confusing him to no end, until he didn't know where to turn or what to do or say.

The great L was lost.

The only thing he could do and was doing... was just sitting there, knees still tightly drawn up, one hand resting under his knee and one resting on his knee. He let a few more tears trickle, not sure how to stop this sadness, or even if it was supposed to be stopped. He just didn't know.

It was out of sheer impulse that he turned just slightly, still trembling, tears still trickling from the corners of those wide-open dark eyes. Now that they were more visible, such an expression was in them... vulnerability. He knew he was taking an exceedingly dangerous risk, to show this to Light when he suspected him of being Kira, but... something had told L that this boy was not a danger right now. He didn't know what, other than his gut instinct. Right now, the detective was desperate for anyone to comfort him, anyone to make an effort to understand him, or at least stay around him... let alone someone to show him the side of humanity that he had missed. The thought of that still frightened L, but he knew he wanted, needed, at least this.

It was a slow, awkward motion as the detective's form twisted sideways some, facing a little more into the hug. He was tempted, so tempted, to let his own arms rise and encircle Light in a hug, but... he just didn't quite know how, so his hands remained on top of his knee and under it, his fingers grasping too tightly to tremble, though the rest of his form still shook with the force of the emotions he was struggling still to contain.

L's simple request was all that was needed for his senses to reawaken, reminding him just how complex this detective was and of the vast maze between them. They were too apart emotionally to be this close physically, to be sharing pieces of one another that neither could fully accept nor understand. Both were good with words and actions, too good. They could easily hurt each other without this added factor. If the scale were to tip in either direction, if either could grab an edge above the other... The balance created by their struggle, the awkward friendship due to this standstill in conflict could easily be shattered. A misstep and Light would be captured, suspected by the desperation for a suspect and convicted by a situation twisted against him. A mistake and the thread unwillingly entrusted to him could be severed, losing this isolated soul beneath the gears and metal. This was not his territory, and the stakes were high should he stumble on his blind intrusion. This was the gap between them, and the gap between them was large.

A shaky exhale carried Light's name, so softly he believed it was a murmur of his sleepy hallucinations. But he lifted his head all the same, lifting his eyes no more than an inch from the cotton shirt hanging loosely from L's chest. Physical, mental, and emotional exhaustion hindered his movements, clung to his senses. Perhaps something more had been said, but only silence met his ears. Perhaps nothing had been said and past voices echoed in his head. Madness, it was called, when one started to hear silence and be deaf to voices. What else was being said, what else did the insanity have to feed him? His head lifted another inch, the another. A feeling of accomplishment buzzed his heart when he achieved eye contact, another when he was able to turn his head toward the words. They were petty achievements, but seemed akin to exploring Antarctica in one's boxers. And maybe it all was a half-dream high, but Light still smiled. He could be embarrassed during the 'hangover' in the morning.

“I knew it...� he mumbled, hoping he wouldn't receive any funny looks soon. “But why... Me?�

Perhaps there was a large obstacle between them, but that was something also beyond Light's current comprehension. It had been something so familiar mere minutes ago, but it was so hard to understand now. There was a world within a world in the darkness boxed by the four walls of their room, his prison. This world was smaller, simpler. It had no expectations and therefore no need for pretenses. It was closer to a child's ideal. It was something that had not yet been corrupted by an adult's touch and needs, just a single wish that had gone right without bringing the world down upon the wisher's head. A stupid naivety, a beautiful innocence. It was a small universe where it was okay to hug someone you cared about, where it was okay to care about someone that was supposed to be used and thrown aside. And while it didn't exist outside of imagination, he hoped to one day share this shining world with Ryuuzaki.

There was a sigh as the L turned to receive the embrace, to acknowledge that it was indeed a teenager's arms about the detective's body. It was a mouthful of air full of contentment, perhaps relief. Maybe the message had not been fully understood, maybe it hadn't been understood at all. But it had been accepted. Returned with something that did not complicate the situation any further. It was simple, simple like Light's imaginary paradise, like the prayer of a three year old somewhere in the world. But because it was simple, the two clueless prodigies could share and understand. It wasn't complex poetry with its intricate hidden meanings, it wasn't solid and it couldn't be touched. But it was something common between them, something they learned as children and buried away under intelligence as adults. And it served as a link between them, so that they could maybe puzzle out something bigger.

But now he had gotten too deep into the storyline, and now the world derailed his train of thought. Said train accordingly threw itself off its tracks and was lost in a satisfying explosion resulting in several metal projectiles. One must have found Light's head, for he found the world blurring to an uncertainty, his grasp tightening as the ability to remain awake was gently removed from his body. Every color swirled into another, winding about one another as though watercolors distorted by a paintbrush. The resulting brown then faded into black as the shadows interwove themselves into the image, his eyes closing to block it all. His grip loosened, his body lowered. His chin and cheek came to rest at L's knees, his arms loosely wound about the older man's ankles. His legs folded, his weight against that slender body for a second time.

“Feels nice,� was his last mumble, more sleep talk then speech.

((OOC: SO SORRY. Zomg. Sorry sorry sorry for loooong delay. @.@ I hope you like. *humbly bows, offers best effort at an extra-good post, and retreats*))

What simple words could cause such deep wounds, such primal reactions, within the hearts of these intelligent men. A little action, a thoughtless word or two, and hatred would be renewed, hurt hidden behind layers of uncaring expressions and actions.

Ryuuzaki was slowly calming somewhat, trying to understand and come to grips with all of these revelations that had revealed themselves over the course of this day, one by one, like the first little venturings of a sparrow chick from a nest, from its zealously overprotective parent -- his emotions literally escaping his control. Slowly, one by one, he began tightly gripping each thread of emotion, identifying it and reeling it back, winding it tightly around his very soul, shielding himself and preventing another such outburst, though that shield seemed so frail right now.

So Light had known? That wasn't surprising... it was pretty obvious that someone as anti-social and inexperienced as L wouldn't have gotten so close to others often. This experience was so obviously new to him, his reactions more than clearly illustrating that, and it was so strange... relying on others was not something that came naturally. It had shown nearer the beginning of the investigation, when L hadn't been the most team-friendly person. That hadn't been long ago when he'd joined -- the time seemed to have flown by on airy wings of sweet depression: the lingering hope of solving the case, bearing them through the darkest times of depression and anger, sadness for the fate of the world, fury at the depths of evil it took to murder so many in the name of such a tainted ideal.

And then there was a question. Posed with a certain simplicity and innocence, such tiredness probably obscuring the boy's thinking. Yet, despite the apparent simplicity of such a question... it was far more difficult than even Light might have guessed. Indeed, L himself was struggling to identify the reason and method behind this madness he seemed to have unleashed with a simple gesture of curiousity. He had expected to be rejected, scorned, most likely physically assaulted, yet Light seemed to have enjoyed it just as much as himself. And yet... somehow, though he knew Light had far more experience with physical contact in general, the boy had seemed uncertain and faltering with his own movements and words.

A little sigh of contentment escaped the thoughts and lungs of the brown-haired beauty that embraced him, showing such kindness in these moments... The world-famous detective's analytical mind was trying to decide whether it was forced, or whether he truly did feel such deep compassion for him. Yet... it was too real, it felt too stiflingly true to to be a fantasy, and perhaps a part of L couldn't bear to think that this could all be a delusion to trick and trap him, like a circle of mirrors reflecting his own image too many times... blinding and confusing him, forcing him into circles, turning to stare at the myriad reflections of his own self, rawer and weaker than he could remember himself having been before. Yes, Light had broken into his mind, and L knew that he could form such a trap in an instant, show him cruelty, force him to look at himself as he crumbled, only rebuilding himself into a more harsh and mechanical human, emotions hidden away deeper, locked up for no mortal to witness again.

Yet for now... Light seemed to care, he was hugging him, L had acknowledged it... whatever happened in the morning, and there would doubtless be repercussions of some kind, whether it be an awkward moment, stray thoughts of those moments, or even the mention of it to other members of the investigation team. Oh, the detective wouldn't be able to bear it if Light chose to mention it, and he knew he had handed the boy such a dangerous weapon. The thought of the other men knowing that he had been victim to such a weak emotion, losing confidence in him, was so overwhelming. It was a threat Light could use, even if the words were not spoken. And yet... he knew he could use the incident that had caused it against Light too. The boy would not want it known that he had responded in such a manner, even licked him. So they were, once more, as in every aspect of their lives, equal. It was not something either would let slip, he was sure of that. Still, the thought of even Light remembering what had happened was one he did not wish to entertain. A secret part of him hoped that, in the daze of sleep deprivation, Light would forget about all of this and perhaps even what had happened before he had fallen asleep. He knew that was a fool's hope, though, and didn't dare to entertain it longer than a few moments.

He knew he had not responded to Light's question, and was content to leave the question unanswered. It seemed as though he wasn't really looking for an answer anyway, at least, for the time being. L's half-closed, wet eyes widened to beyond their usual openness, thin lips parting with some surprise as the younger one seemed to sag against him, a sleepy murmur escaping him before the darkness seemed to carry him away, beyond the Earth and any human concerns for now, tiredness prevailing. L had enough trouble with the simplest of affectionate gestures, let alone finding himself in such a position.

It was odd for him to find the strong-willed and proud youth leaning against him, into him, relying on him, he thought. It was a strangely comforting thing, too, though so unexpected. He wasn't sure what to do now, but as a few minutes passed with no sign of Light stirring, the detective's hands slowly slipped from their positions, awkwardly embracing the other one, arms supporting him. After a few minutes more, he was confident Light couldn't possibly reawaken, and slowly turned on the spot, still holding him, nudging him to lie down. Since he was still being held by the boy, this resulted in an awkward motion or two as he, too, climbed beneath the covers, drawing the heavy coverings over them both. It was a shield from the world, from reality. He found Light's arms still around his waist, but he wasn't quite sure how to draw out of the hold, or perhaps unwilling to. It was nice to be held like that, treated like someone who was cared about, and he wasn't willing to give it up just yet. His knees were drawn up under the covers, as he lay on his back, head turned to watch the younger one asleep. After a few moments, one pale finger extended towards Light's cheek, brushing away the stray hairs that clung to the dark skin. He was startled to find an emotion that resembled what he thought affection would be. Fondness? Caring? It was a gentle, warm sort of feeling that he couldn't remember experiencing that much.

"Sleep well, Light-kun," he murmured, voice just a little steadier now. The tears were still fresh on his cheeks, but he had calmed somewhat, his breathing steadier too. He was surprised once more, for the -- he had now lost track of the times that day he had felt that emotion... He was surprised to find himself tired. It was rare that he got a proper sleep, and he was rarely physically tired. He shifted some, rolling to face away from Light, though letting his arms remain around him. Knees slid up, drawing against his chest, as he curled into a little ball, head tucking down against his knees, one arm supporting his head, the other covering the remainder of his face. He was in darkness now, and for once he wanted to be enfolded by it, just to forget everything that had happened, even for a short time.

The time seemed to pass slowly, but eventually the man slipped into darkness, the dreams starting to overcome him now. As he fell into it, just happy to let himself be absorbed for now, carried off on a tide of nighttime wonder.

And what wonder it was, such bizarre circumstances and odd fancies amusing him for an hour or two, before his dreams turned more serious.

Nobody would truly know what nightmares haunted the mysterious detective in the darker, quieter, lonely hours of the night, nor did he usually outwardly show signs upon having such a dream. His dreams were as lonely as his waking hours, his life worth living for one reason only. As the night faded, the morning light slowly blossomed like the first flowers of spring, the welcome relief from the bitter cold winter of night-time. Yet, tonight, it seemed not quite so lonely. Rather than being lost and alone in the cold, harsh blizzard of his dreams, it was as if a candle burned somewhere faintly, not quite visible, but L knew it was there. The arm around his waist that seemed to remain there due to how steadily Light slept was something unfamiliar, yet somehow of a slight comfort to him. The only sign of this dream was a little tightening of his muscles, a soft sound once or twice, a tension in his body. Nothing dramatic, nothing that would disturb his working partner's sleep, just enough to show that his rare sleep was not sound.

For once, his body had added up the toll of the sleepless nights and tiring days and handed him the bill, and he had unconsciously decided to pay a slight portion of the debt he owed this night. The time approached when Light and L usually woke to begin their day (an hour earlier than the rest of the team), and though L's computer began beeping with its usual alarm (intended to rouse Light and not himself, since he was always awake at this time anyway). He remained asleep anyway, curled into his tight ball, Light's arm around him, facing away and covering his face with his arms and knees, breathing steady.

ooc: O-o; Since this post is really crappy, we'll put that together with your lateness and we can call it even? *holds out hand*

Like the spirit of an optimist, the hesitant light of dawn shyed into the room. Like a fabric spun of words lost to breath, it haloed what it touched in an angelic glow. It touched the simple expression upon a teenager's face, illuminating his gorgeous tresses into a heavenly combination of hues the darkest brown and the dusted oranges, and all the colors in between. His apathy was beautiful. Because his face was often contorted with thought and reason, his lack of everything was truly, truly beautiful. His world was small, reduced to what he could see and nothing more. He could see unsteady trembles of color, but the blackness itself never changed. His world was slowly expanding, the flashes of color-but-not-color causing his eyes to flutter.

A soft groan was uttered, taken from the air by the wrinkled folds of an oversized white shirt. Light's forehead wrinkled to imitate the look of a spoiled three year old two stages away from a tantrum, visible for a moment before his face pressed into L's back. His arm closed securely, tightening on whatever it had been resting upon before his rest was disturbed. Light inhale deeply, a distant scent he simply couldn't describe drugging his oxygen. His features grew serene again, soothed by what he embraced, like a child clasping a childhood teddy bear.

His peace lasted about another five minutes. At the 301st second, something decided that Light had rested long enough. Light's unoccupied arm reached toward the source of the sound, groping madly for whatever insane device the insane detective had set to go off at this insane hour. He was a growing boy, for crying out loud! It was cruel and unusual punishment to make someone wake up this time of day! But obviously the labtop disagreed and called insistently, and L had been sadistic enough to place it out of reach.

Light captured what blissful seconds remained of a dream that wasn't there anymore, pressing himself closer to L to steal a little warmth before slowly pulling his arms together. It was about then he realized that it was L he was clinging to. This was met with the reaction most sane people would have. Light threw himself back in shock and embarrassment, luckily doing so clumsily enough so that the chain did not disturb the detective's much needed rest. He tried to sputter an awkward apology, only to notice that L hadn't turned around, let alone pressed the situation. Boy, he was slow at realizing things today.

“... He sleeps?” ... Whatever happened to his supposed genius?