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The soft pats of his shoeless feet on sidewalk fill the air around him, the fresh winter wind singing faintly; the colorful leaves have fallen to the gutter, and the wind has little else to blow. His bare feet aside, L is dressed warmly. He pulls the lines of his coat in on each other as he walks, and buries his mouth into his scarf, wrapped snugly around his neck.
Walks are strange things, usually either too hot or too cold and always uncomfortable, but L is repeatedly compelled to take them. It reminds him of the walks he would take in Britain in his teenage years after finishing a test and wanting release from the suffocating pressure of home.
It’s not so different now with cases. His mind is always turning, but when he’s forced into new environments, it distracts from his more pressing matters and brings him a temporary peace.
As he observes the park around him, the barren trees, the unkempt grass, he finds a boy sitting idly on a bench. As he leans into the back of his seat, he isn't facing anywhere in particular, but his expression is focused. His finger drums against the side of his knee, as if he were counting.
He stops though, and it’s now that L remembers that he’s been staring. The boy (he isn't young, but he appears full of youth) is obviously aware of his presence and is noticeably irritated.
“What are you doing?” He doesn't face him as he talks, staying focused on whatever it is he’s looking at.
L ignores the question. “What are you doing?”
“It is rude to stare, and then to ignore my question.”
“You are aware that I am staring, so you know what I am doing. You are the one who dodged the question.”
It is now that the boy regards him, and L sees his eyes; milky white and glassed over, devoid of any emotion or color. He smiles darkly, “Counting.”
The snow of night’s prior still blankets the street, but the weather has passed and business has resumed. The smell of cars and gas permeates the air, but there’s also a scent of gingerbread and cinnamon that comes with this season. Christmas is not a holiday he partakes in, but he is not opposed to leeching off the pleasant atmosphere.
As the smell gets stronger, he turns to face it and looks through a window. What seems to be a coffee shop lies beyond, and he finds the blind boy from before leaning against a seat, papers neatly laid on his table. He nurses his drink, taking a sip, and it’s then that L’s impulsive nature kicks in and he barges inside.
The atmosphere in stronger in here, but there’s no music to go along, for which he is glad. The brunette stops in his wandering fingers as L approaches him.
“You’re following me.” He states, with a tone more miffed than accusatory.
There’s no way the boy could have been sure that it was him, so L says nothing and waits.
“You smell the same,” the boy continues, “You smell just as soapy now as you did then, which is impressive considering how windy it was and how strong the cafe’s smell is now.”
L almost chuckles, but smiles instead. “Impressive,” he remarks as he sits across from the boy.
“How could you interpret that as an invitation?”
L shakes his head. “You’re in my seat.”
The boy looks taken aback, but scoffs. “You haven’t been here before.”
“How would you know that I haven’t been here before?”
“You defended yourself and confirmed it.”
“I was entertaining you. You are implying that I am bluffing, but you have no evidence and are simply guessing.”
“If your intention was to excuse yourself for sitting here, you would have provided evidence yourself. You did not, so your intention must be to irritate me. Also, you didn't buy any coffee.”
With that, the boy adopts a smug expression, and L’s smile widens before cooling himself. L leaves his seat for the counter. After quickly procuring a cup of bland coffee and some creamer, he returns to the table.
The boy has a confused expression, and L curtly sits down, not even drinking his coffee. He taps the rim of the cup, staring off to his side. He shifts in his seat until he’s leaning forward in a more comfortable position, tapping his drink, tap… Tapping?
-- O U W O R K I N G O N
… What are you working on?
The brunette almost laughs, exhaling a breath through his nose. He raises his own cup to his lips, taking a short drink, and taps against his paper.
A L G E B R A
The boy seemed a lot more willing to talk after that. L learns more about him. Besides his apparent knack for math, he enjoys foreign languages; he likely spends most of his time learning these things for fun. He observes that the boy seems to be a creature of routine, which he notes idly. He is interesting, and before long Light announces his departure (the first spoken sentence to be heard in the coffee shop for what seems like an awfully long time).
L remains in his seat, pulling into himself, and mulls this new information.
L spends more time now soaking in the atmosphere of the shop. The smell of coffee coats everything, and the light humming of machines fills the building, but there’s little in the way of loud noises in the shop. It makes sense that the boy would choose a place like this to spend his time on these mornings, and not somewhere filled with the loud steps of strangers and unhushed conversation.
The door finally opens with a ring, and the boy finds L waiting for him. He hurries to the counter, but keeps his ear to his table. L would wave dumbly, if the boy were able to see it.
L didn't notice it before, but it’s apparent that the he has no cane.
The boy curves into his seat, regarding L with an amused look. “I can be sure that you’re stalking me now, then.” He opens his bag, carefully sifting through a variety of zip-locks and feeling their labels.
“Bestätige nur eine Vermutung,” L replies, catching the boy off guard for the second time today.
Just confirming a hunch of mine.
He scoffs, responding with a shake of his head. “Du brauchtest nicht mich, um dir zu sagen, dass du Rückenprobleme hast.”
You didn't need me to tell you that you have a back problem.
“Ich habe keine Rückenprobleme.” L replies defensively.
I don’t have a back problem.
He just laughs, nodding ‘no.’ He reaches over the table, and once he finds L’s shoulder with his hands, his fingertips roll over the curve of his spine. L freezes at the unexpected contact. “Das bestätigt dann wohl Rückenschmerzen.”
That would be confirming a hunch.
L regains his composure, “Woher weißt du das?” he coughs out.
How did you know?
“Die meisten Menschen sitzen krum. Vor allem du, wenn man bedenkt, wie faul du zu sein scheinst.”
Most people these days slouch. It was even more likely for you, because you seem like a lazy person.
L smirks, and takes a drink of his coffee. It’s lukewarm at best now. “Impressive, but I would disagree with your comment.” He switches back to English smoothly.
The boy smiles back, taking his own drink. He has a satisfied aura about him and a smug expression. L finds it endearing, if not cute. There’s something he wants to ask, but he’d rather enjoy it for a moment longer, so they sit.
L starts, “You do not use a cane.” The atmosphere is broken almost nonchalantly.
The boy freezes, and instantly adopts a scowl. He recedes into his seat and faces away from L. “I can get around fine.”
L sees both himself and the boy as above pointless reassurances, so he says nothing to that. They sit in silence for some time, feeling the morning roll by. L learns more about the boy; that he also speaks french (although he swears for his own ability, it is much more rusty than his german). The mood lightens, and soon it is time for departure once again.
“You may have guessed my arrival today, but I am not so rigid that you can expect me every week.”
“A clue, then?”
He shakes his head, and smirks cockily, running his finger along the rim of his cup. “If you are so determined, then you can find out for yourself.” He runs his hand along the cover of the bin until he finds it’s door, tossing his cup inside. He offers a last look to L (Which is a little off the mark, he notices) before leaving through the door.
L smiles, receding into himself once again and putting down his empty cup.
Despite him saying he would be somewhere else this time, L did not accept that he was wrong in thinking that he followed a routine. If he visited another place, it would have to be one that fits the same criteria as the one he had been using. It would be quiet enough to do work in, and thus it would have to be a shop that gets less traffic during that time of day.
L had only seen him in two places, but that had given him a good idea of the walking distance he is willing to travel.
Watari questions L, telling him that he’s been acting odd and that these trips to coffee shops are unusual for him. It is perhaps unsettling to know that this could have been affecting his work, but he shrugs it off and exits the car.
There are two shops in this area where the boy should be, so he decides to search both of them.
He chose correctly, and the boy sits by one of the tables in the corner, once again astrewn with papers. When the boy notices L’s entrance, he offers a small smile. L buys his coffee, this time browsing his options for a moment to buy something that sounds sweet, Café Miel, and when the man behind the counter asks if he wants cream he gives him a dumb expression, before confirming ‘Yes’. Before he leaves, he takes one of their thick peppermint canes.
When he sits down across from the boy, he stops to regard him. “You’re very persistent. And lucky.”
He slides the candy into his mouth, and speaks with his mouth full. “You seem less opposed to it now, so I assume I am welcome.”
He huffs an amused breath through his nose, but says nothing. He rests his cheek on his hand, staring down on the paper below him, covered in what he can only assume is equations laid out in braille. His other hand glides across the page, his pen held between his thumb and index finger. It switches between fingers to write down something near the bottom. With his eyes closed and with careful movements, he looks as if he is sleeping.
L breaks the silence. “May I have your name?”
“It’s impolite to ask for someone’s name without giving your own.”
“Ah, I will. After you, of course.”
The boy hums and plays along, gently separating a piece of paper from his notebook and aligning it in front of him. His runs his finger across the side until he finds his place, and begins to write. His hand moves slowly and carefully. Once he’s finished, he turns the page and slides it across the table.
夜神月
Light Yagami
That says a great many things. The handwriting is perfectly aligned, almost as if it were typed.
“Tsuki?”
Light huffs. “I’m not sure what my parents were thinking.”
“It’s not a bad name.”
“And yours?”
L presses his thumb against his lips, and clicks his tongue when he is finished mulling it over. “You may call me Ryuuzaki.”
“That’s not a fair trade.” Light scoffs, and regards L was an unsatisfied expression.
“You should have bargained for more.”
“Well,” he starts, humming, “Perhaps, out of the kindness of your heart, you would tell me more about yourself freely?”
“Ah… I am rather fond of sweets,” He starts. He crushes his treat between his maulers, and takes a drink of coffee to wash down the sugary shards. He continues, and as if he were walking on glass, he tells Light more about himself. That he is spends most of his time with puzzles, that he doesn't tend to get out much, that he prefers tea to coffee. He avoids anything potentially incriminating, but the way that Light devours this information is all too encouraging.
His pocket beeps, and he’s pulled out of the conversation. There’s been a new development, Watari tells him. He announces that he must leave, and doesn't bother with picking up his wrapper or coffee.
Light looks disappointed, but he smiles. As L leaves, he adds “I hope you’re enjoying the holidays, Ryuuzaki.” It’s not the sort of thing he’d ever expect out of Light’s mouth, so he takes note of it for later.
-
It’s Christmas Eve; L hasn't acknowledged this day in years, but somehow now it seems obvious that it is a day worth noting. He presses the idea that Light could have influenced this to the back of his mind, and he scours the city's cafes despite how silly he surely looks. When the boy was as at none of the shops he has thought he would be, L had to rethink his preconceptions of Light’s preferences.
He presses his forehead against the glass pane, wiping away the cloudy frost with his thumb and his hot breath, and finds it devoid of light.
It was a little late now for morning coffee, he realizes, but it seems so significant that he find Light today that he ignores that tiny little issue.
When his nose is numb from the winter air, he pushes himself into the next shop on his list. He’s greeted by a quiet tune that barely meets his ear. It’s some sort of jazz, he decides as it reverbs through his ears.
He presses his hands against his mouth, breathing them back to life as his eyes dart across the shop. The walls are painted with subdued beige, and are lined with vibrant plants. As his eyes trail along the perimeter, he finds a small recessed booth in the corner. His curiosity winding, he makes his way over and, miraculously, finds the object of his pursuit waiting for him.
The corners of Light’s mouth curl into a smile once he confirms that it is indeed L, and he leans back into his chair casually. His eyelids are closed now, giving off an easy and calm demeanor.
“This is quite an unfair hiding spot.”
Light huffs an amused breath through his nose. “I assumed you would get lucky.”
L’s tongue clicks off of the roof of his mouth, and he crouches down across from the brunette. He leans into his thighs and crosses his arms. “I’d think someone like you would be with their friends or family on this day.”
“Obviously you wouldn't think that, or you wouldn't be here.”
He idly presses his thumb to his teeth and nods away. “I suppose not,” he mumbles.
There’s a silence between him, and L takes another look around the shop. The music hangs at the back of his mind, only a small presence in this quiet shop. Out of the two other shops he’s seen Light at, this is the only one that has any sort of seasonal decoration. It’s tasteful, and hardly obnoxious, L decides. This must have been what Light meant.
Light has a strange aura about him. He has no work set before him, as he normally spends these mornings working on. The idea that he came here purely to meet with L clenches at his heart as much as it confounds him.
Light suddenly adopts a more serious expression, facing L’s smell and parting his lips. “Would you allow me something, Ryuuzaki?”
“I promise nothing.”
He offers a small laughs, and continues. “Could I see your face?”
L stops. He rubs the pad of his thumb with his index and middle finger, until his nails claw and mark the callous skin. Air enters and leaves his parted lips quietly, and after a long moment of silence, his seat creaks as he shifts forward. His hands leaves his knees and he pulls them to his chest, his shin pressing against the table. His pale neck stretches and leans until his face is inches away from Light’s.
Fingers reach out, and he closes his eyes. He first feels the fingers bump against the tip of his nose, and track it upward to his forehead, committing every crook to memory. Gently, Light’s fingertips trace his cheekbones and finds his cheeks hollow, his jaw fine. He slides carefully across his eyelids and feels the length of his lashes. And hands move from his face to his neck and to the back of his head, finding his coarse hair. He runs his hands through the it, finding it fine to the touch but knotty and thick.
L is quiet, in his mind he sees Light’s expression as he discovers and sees L’s complexion for the first time. It’s so odd to him, because Light’s touches are almost intimate in how gentle they are.
Hands press against his neck- pull it forward, and before L can react Light’s lips were pressed against his own. At first with only a desperate touch, and when L’s lips soften against his he sucks on his lower lip. Light parts from the kiss only to begin another, holding onto L’s warm embrace as if it were fleeting. L leans forward even further, until his knee presses flat against the table. He runs his hand through his hair, just as feathery and soft as he imagined.
Light inches away, gasping for air. His face is flustered and unpracticed.
“... oh,” L whispers.
“I, uhm-” Light gulps, and tries to laugh off his horrible lack of composure -”I was worried that might not have worked out so well.”
L is still reeling, still touching his lips and his mind still alight. “I think I rather like Christmas.”