Work Text:
On a rare occasion, L would not bring his laptop to bed.
It began upon a request by Light, insisting the screen was too bright, his incessant typing distracting, and not to mention how awful for his health to be up on the computer all night was.
L slept little when he was accompanied by his laptop, and he slept little when he was without it, the only difference being Light’s newfound embrace of sleep. He didn’t make it a habit of granting Light this respite, as he grew bored during the night, his only benefit being Light’s rested mind working with renewed vigor the day after.
It was odd attempting sleep at night, though not unfamiliar. L thought at this late hour without his laptop, but he didn’t solve or contemplate; he imagined. Something dangerous and foolish, something he avoided since arriving at The House.
It trapped him here, his dusty imagination, demanding for attention, to be sought after once again. It baited him with what could be and entertained with what had been. It offered something limitless, yet was never able to comply. And he imagined there were no truths nor falsehoods, peeking in with little reservations.
There were strawberry shortcakes and caramel flavored hard candies, an old home with an even older man, surrounded by something wild and brilliant. There were dark clouds and wet feet, loose teeth and tangled hair. There was a voice that mimicked his own, but its hands were stained, and they reached for him yet refused to accept him.
There were two, intense eyes, lighter than his own, yet simmering with something sinister, gently kissed by soft locks that’d grown unruly. A sinister grin was given to match, chapped and full, and when it opened, it screamed, something unyielding and defiant. It called for respect and gratitude, spoke pretty lies to soften itself into a smile.
And L watched it with respect as he felt disgust, and L listened to its deceit with skeptical ears. He spoke to it like a friend and dissected it like a lab rat. He’d smile in return and the lies would bleed from those sinister eyes, a small victory he could only cherish, though he knew he was right.
His head lolled on his pillow, finding those light eyes shut, hiding all intent and truths. His lips parted in huffs, soft and pliant with drool. L began to think the boy looked innocent, even peaceful, in sleep, and the thought left a sunken feeling in his gut, something that made his lips twist with dissatisfaction.
L knew he was right, and as the boy’s eyes suddenly fluttered open, he knew there was no way he could be wrong.
With incoherent mumbling and an annoyed inquiry, Light clumsily shoved L’s face back, turning his body and promptly falling back to sleep.
In the morning, L joked that it’d risen his suspicion by two percent, and Light’s lips upturned into something not so familiar, but quite more frequent as to date. With a snide remark and a cheeky grin, Light set to work, and L wished he could have been wrong.