Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Light’s fever had crept up on him like a thief, subtle at first—a shiver, a faint ache behind his eyes—then, suddenly, a roaring fire beneath his skin. The chain between his wrist and L’s felt heavier than ever, every link a weight dragging him further from lucidity.

The surveillance room was cold, but sweat beaded on Light’s forehead. He pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, stifling a cough. L, hunched over his laptop, glanced at him with that peculiar, owlish intensity.

“You’re shivering, Yagami-kun,” L observed, voice flat. “Are you ill?”

Light tried to muster his usual composure. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” L replied, tone as dry as ever. “Your face is flushed, and your breathing is irregular. If you collapse, it will be inconvenient for both of us.”

Light scowled, but the room spun. He closed his eyes, trying to steady himself, but the fever made his thoughts slip and slide out of reach. “I said I’m fine,” he muttered, but his voice sounded thin, childish.

L sighed, shifting his weight on the couch. “I suppose I’ll have to monitor your condition. I am not a nurse, Yagami-kun, but I am capable of basic first aid.” He reached for a bottle of water and pressed it into Light’s hand. “Drink. Hydration is essential.”

Light took a sip, but the water tasted metallic, wrong. He grimaced, setting it aside. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he mumbled, words slurring. “Seeing me like this.”

L’s eyes narrowed, calculating. “I don’t enjoy seeing anyone ill, not even a suspected mass murderer.”

Light’s laugh was brittle, feverish. “I’m not Kira,” he said, but the conviction was gone, replaced by a strange, floating detachment. “You never believe me.”

“I believe in evidence,” L replied. “And right now, the evidence suggests you have a fever of at least 39 degrees Celsius.”

Light’s head lolled back. The ceiling lights blurred into halos. “You’re always watching me,” he said. “Even now. Can’t even be sick in peace.”

“That’s the point of surveillance,” L said, but there was a faint note of concern beneath the monotone. “If you require medical attention, I will call Watari.”

Light shook his head, regretting it instantly. His stomach churned, a wave of nausea rising. “No doctors. I don’t—” He broke off, clapping a hand over his mouth.

L reacted with surprising speed, grabbing a wastebasket and shoving it into Light’s lap just as he doubled over and vomited, retching violently. The chain clattered as L held him steady, awkwardly patting his back with two fingers.

When it was over, Light sagged, trembling. His hair stuck to his forehead, and tears prickled at his eyes. “Sorry,” he whispered, voice hoarse.

L set the basket aside, his expression unreadable. “Illness is not a crime, Yagami-kun. Though you are making a mess.”

Light managed a weak smile, delirious. “You’re so weird, Ryuzaki.”

L blinked. “I could say the same about you.”

Light’s fevered mind wandered, words spilling out before he could stop them. “You know, you’re the only one who really sees me. It’s kind of… nice. Even if you think I’m Kira. Even if you’re wrong.”

L’s gaze sharpened, curiosity piqued. “Are you confessing something, Light-kun?”

Light let out a low, feverish laugh. “Not Kira. Not that. Just… I think I like you. More than I should.” The words tumbled out, unguarded, raw. “God, that sounds stupid. I’m so sick.”

L’s eyes widened, just a fraction. “I see,” he said, voice softer than usual. “Fever often causes delirium. Perhaps you should rest.”

Light groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Just kill me now.”

L hesitated, then placed a gentle hand on Light’s shoulder. “That would be highly inappropriate, Yagami-kun. Besides, I think you’ll survive.”

And for the first time in hours, Light almost believed him.

Chapter Text

The surveillance room had grown dimmer as evening crept in, the monitors casting ghostly blue light over the two chained figures. Light, finally asleep, breathed shallowly, his fevered face pressed into the pillow. L sat beside him, knees drawn up to his chest, thumb pressed to his lips in a familiar gesture.

He’d been monitoring Light’s temperature, dutifully noting every shift, but now his own thoughts felt oddly sluggish. There was a strange tightness in his stomach, a faint chill that had nothing to do with the room’s air conditioning. L’s hand trembled as he reached for a sugar cube, popping it into his mouth. The sweetness, usually so grounding, did nothing to settle him.

He pressed his thumb harder against his lips, rocking forward slightly. The chain clinked softly as he shifted. He was aware of his breathing, too fast, too shallow. He did not like this. Not at all.

Light stirred, blinking blearily. “Ryuzaki?” he mumbled, voice rough.

L didn’t look at him. “You’re awake. How do you feel?”

"Like I got hit by a truck,” Light muttered. He peered at L, frowning. “You look worse than I do.”

L’s eyes flicked to Light, then away. “I am experiencing some discomfort. It is likely I have contracted your illness.”

Light managed a weak, lopsided smile. “You’re not invincible after all.”

L pressed his knees closer to his chest, rocking minutely. His fingers tapped a silent rhythm against his shins. “I dislike being ill,” he said, voice quieter than usual. “It is… disruptive.”

Light watched him, concern flickering through the haze of his own exhaustion. “Do you need anything?”

L shook his head, but the motion made his stomach lurch. He swallowed hard, trying to focus on the sensation of his thumb against his lips, the pressure of his knees, the repetitive tap-tap-tap of his fingers. He counted the beats in his head, a silent mantra.

Light, watching, said nothing for a moment. Then, softly, “You handled it fine when I was sick.”

L’s eyes darted to the wastebasket, now empty and clean. “It is different when it is myself. I… do not like vomiting.” His voice was flat, but the tension in his posture betrayed him. “It is unpleasant and unpredictable.”

Light’s lips twitched. “Nobody likes it, Ryuzaki.”

L’s fingers drummed faster, a staccato beat. “Some people tolerate it better than others. I do not.” He pressed his thumb harder, rocking a little more. “I would prefer not to discuss it.”

Light nodded, understanding. “Okay. Just… try to breathe. You’ll be okay.”

L closed his eyes, focusing on the rhythm, the pressure, the counting. He could feel the nausea rising, a slow, inevitable tide. He hated this loss of control, hated the way his body betrayed him. But he kept counting, kept tapping, kept breathing, and for a moment, that was enough.

Light, half-delirious but lucid enough to notice, reached out and squeezed L’s hand. “You’re not alone, you know.”

L opened his eyes, meeting Light’s gaze. For once, he didn’t pull away.

“Thank you, Yagami-kun,” he said softly, and let himself keep rocking, counting, breathing, until the worst of the wave passed.

The minutes dragged, each one heavier than the last. L’s stimming grew more frantic—thumb pressed so hard to his lips it left a mark, fingers tapping out a desperate, uneven rhythm on his knees. The nausea had become a living thing inside him, twisting and churning, making it impossible to focus on anything else.

He tried to count, to breathe, to hold on to the familiar comfort of numbers and patterns, but everything slipped away, drowned out by the sickening certainty that he was about to lose control.

Light, still watching him, frowned. “Ryuzaki? Are you—”

L shook his head sharply, unable to speak. He pressed a trembling hand to his mouth, the other gripping the edge of the couch so tightly his knuckles blanched. The chain rattled as he lurched forward, barely grabbing the wastebasket in time.

He vomited, body wracked by silent heaves. The sound was muffled, but the humiliation and terror were deafening in his mind. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing it to be over, but the nausea came in relentless waves.

When it finally subsided, L remained hunched over, hands shaking violently. His breath came in shallow, rapid gasps; his vision tunneled, the world reduced to the pounding of his heart and the cold sweat slicking his skin. He couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. Panic clawed at his chest, silent and suffocating.

Light, alarmed, reached out. “Ryuzaki, hey—look at me. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

L didn’t respond. He rocked slightly, back and forth, eyes wide and unfocused. His fingers dug into his knees, searching for some anchor in the storm of panic. He tried to count, but the numbers tangled, slipping through his grasp.

Light’s voice was gentle, steady. “You’re safe. Just breathe with me, okay? In… and out. You’re not alone.”

L’s breaths remained shallow, but he focused on Light’s voice, the warmth of his hand on his arm. Slowly, painfully, the world widened again. The panic receded, leaving him exhausted and trembling.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, refusing to meet Light’s eyes. “I apologize,” he whispered, voice barely audible. “I… do not handle this well.”

Light squeezed his arm. “You don’t have to apologize. Everyone gets sick. Even you.”

L nodded, still unable to look up. He resumed his gentle rocking, thumb pressed to his lips, counting in his head. This time, the numbers stayed with him, steady and reassuring.

And for the first time, he allowed himself to lean—just a little—into Light’s presence, letting the comfort settle around him like a blanket, fragile but real.

Chapter Text

Morning brought a muted gray light through the surveillance room’s blinds, softening the edges of the world. The fever had broken for both of them, leaving Light and L hollowed out but steadier, propped side by side on the couch, still linked by the chain. Watari moved quietly around them, setting out tea, toast, and gentle admonishments to rest.

Light sipped his tea, the warmth soothing his sore throat. He looked tired, but the color was returning to his face. “I can’t believe we both got taken out by a virus,” he muttered, a wry smile tugging at his lips.

L, knees tucked to his chest, regarded the toast on his plate with suspicion. His stomach still felt fragile, but the worst had passed. “Statistically, it was inevitable,” he replied, voice rough but calm. “Close quarters, shared air. The probability of contagion was high.”

Watari placed a gentle hand on L’s shoulder. “Eat something, Ryuzaki. You’ll recover faster.”

L nodded, obediently nibbling a corner of toast. As he chewed, his mind wandered—back over the long, feverish night, the humiliation of his own weakness, the way Light had reached out to him with unexpected gentleness. He’d always kept Light at arm’s length: suspect, adversary, puzzle. But now, watching Light huddle in his blanket, sniffling and scowling at the bland food, L was struck by how young he looked. How vulnerable.

He is Kira, L reminded himself. He might be. But he is also just a boy. A sick one, at that.

For a moment, the chain between them felt less like a shackle and more like a lifeline. They had endured the same misery, seen each other at their lowest. There was a strange comfort in that—an unspoken understanding.

Light caught him staring and raised an eyebrow. “What? Do I have something on my face?”

L shook his head, a rare, faint smile flickering across his lips. “No. I was just thinking how unusual this situation is. Two rivals, chained together, reduced to invalids.”

Light snorted, then winced at the pain in his throat. “It’s almost funny, if you think about it.”

L considered this, then nodded. “Perhaps it is.”

They sat in companionable silence, sipping tea and listening to Watari hum softly as he tidied up. The chain clinked as Light shifted, and L didn’t flinch. Instead, he let the moment settle, warm and fragile.

For the first time since their confinement began, L allowed himself to see Light not just as Kira—or as a threat—but as a person. Someone who could be sick, who could comfort and be comforted.

Light glanced at him, a small, genuine smile breaking through. “Guess we’ll have a story to tell if we ever get out of here.”

L’s eyes softened. “Yes, Yagami-kun. I suppose we will.”

The quiet camaraderie lingered as they finished their tea. Light leaned back, eyes half-closed, the lines of exhaustion softening his features. L sat beside him, gaze turned inward, fingers idly tracing the edge of his cup.

After a moment, L broke the silence. His voice was low, but steady. “Yagami-kun, there is something we should address. Last night, while you were feverish, you said some things that were… personal in nature.”

Light’s eyes snapped open, a faint flush rising to his cheeks. “I… I was delirious,” he said quickly, looking away. “You don’t have to—”

L raised a hand, cutting him off gently. “Even so, it would be irresponsible of me not to acknowledge it. I understand that illness can make people say things they might not otherwise admit. But regardless of your intentions, I must be clear.”

He set his cup down, folding his hands in his lap. “You are still a suspect in the Kira case. Any relationship beyond our current arrangement would be inappropriate and unprofessional. My duty is to remain impartial.”

Light swallowed, his expression unreadable. “I figured as much.”

L continued, his tone softening. “There is also the matter of age. You are eighteen, Yagami-kun. Legally an adult, yes, but still very young. I am… older than I appear, and I would be uncomfortable pursuing anything with someone so much younger than myself. The power imbalance alone would be problematic.”

Light let out a breath, tension easing from his shoulders. “You really don’t pull any punches, do you?”

L shook his head, a hint of a smile on his lips. “It is best to be honest. I value your intelligence, Light. I even enjoy your company, at times. But I cannot allow personal feelings—yours or mine—to interfere with the investigation.”

Light nodded, a rueful smile tugging at his mouth. “Understood, Ryuzaki. I appreciate your honesty.”

L regarded him for a moment, then nodded. “Thank you, Yagami-kun. I hope this will not make things awkward between us.”

Light shook his head. “No. If anything, it makes things clearer.”

The chain between them felt lighter, somehow—no longer a symbol of suspicion, but a reminder of the strange, honest connection forged in the crucible of illness and adversity. They sat together in silence, the air between them cleared, if not entirely unburdened.

And for the first time, L allowed himself to hope that, whatever the outcome, they might emerge from this ordeal with a measure of mutual respect—and perhaps even something like friendship.

Chapter Text

Hours later Light was propped up with a blanket, pale but on the mend, when the door slid open and Soichiro Yagami entered, carrying a bag of groceries and a determined look.

“Dad?” Light blinked, surprise flickering across his face.

Soichiro’s stern expression melted into concern as he crossed the room. “I heard you were ill, Light. I had to see for myself.” He set the bag down and knelt beside his son, pressing a gentle hand to Light’s forehead. “Still warm, but not as bad as I feared.”

Light managed a tired smile. “I’m okay, really. You didn’t have to come all this way.”

“I’m your father. Of course I did.” Soichiro glanced at L, who sat perched on the edge of a chair, knees tucked up, thumb pressed to his lips. “Ryuzaki, thank you for letting me visit.”

L inclined his head, voice cool and precise. “As chief of police, you have every right, Yagami-san. I trust you understand the need for continued supervision.”

Soichiro nodded, but his focus remained on Light. He unpacked the groceries: rice porridge, fresh fruit, a bottle of juice. “I brought some things for you, Light. You need to eat something gentle.”

Light’s eyes softened. “Thanks, Dad.”

L watched the exchange with careful detachment, but inside, something twisted. He was used to being the observer, the outsider. But seeing Soichiro fuss over Light, smoothing his hair and murmuring reassurances, left L with an unfamiliar ache—a longing he quickly smothered beneath layers of logic and professionalism.

He busied himself with his laptop, pretending to check surveillance feeds, but his gaze kept drifting back to the Yagamis. Soichiro coaxed Light to eat a few spoonfuls of porridge, his voice low and comforting. Light, for once, didn’t protest.

L cleared his throat. “Yagami-san, please remember that Light is still under investigation. I must ask you not to discuss any case details.”

Soichiro nodded, offering L a gentle, understanding smile. “Of course, Ryuzaki. I just want to make sure my son gets better.”

L nodded, but his fingers drummed restlessly against the keyboard. He told himself it was a matter of protocol, of keeping things proper and impartial. But as he watched Soichiro tuck the blanket more securely around Light’s shoulders, L felt the sting of envy—sharp and childish.

He had never had anyone fuss over him like that. Not since he was a child, and even then, the memories were hazy and distant. Watari cared for him, yes, but it was never quite the same as a parent’s gentle touch or a father’s quiet pride.

Light caught L’s gaze and offered a faint, teasing smile. “Jealous, Ryuzaki?”

L’s eyes widened, and he quickly looked away, feigning indifference. “Hardly. I simply prefer to maintain a professional environment.”

Soichiro chuckled, patting L’s arm as he stood. “You’ve done well, Ryuzaki. Thank you for looking after my son.”

L nodded stiffly, retreating further into his chair. He watched as Soichiro ruffled Light’s hair one last time, pride and worry mingling in his eyes.

As the door closed behind the police chief, L let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He glanced at Light, who was watching him with a knowing look.

“You know,” Light said softly, “it’s not so bad, letting someone take care of you.”

L pressed his thumb to his lips, gaze distant. “Perhaps. But for now, it’s enough to know you’re recovering.”

But in the quiet that followed, L found himself wishing—just for a moment—that he, too, could be someone’s son.

L’s fingers lingered at his lips, his thoughts swirling with unfamiliar longing. The warmth of Soichiro’s visit, the gentle way he’d cared for Light, left a hollow ache in L’s chest—a reminder of something he’d never quite had. For a fleeting second, he allowed himself to imagine what it might be like, to be cared for so simply.

But the thought evaporated as a wave of nausea crept up, sudden and relentless. His mouth went dry. The room seemed to tilt, and his stomach twisted with a queasy, insistent force. L’s jaw clenched; he hated this. He hated the loss of control, the way his body betrayed him with no warning.

He pressed his thumb harder to his lips, rocking slightly in his seat, trying to focus on the pressure, the rhythm. It didn’t help. The nausea only grew, a sick heat crawling up his throat.

Light’s eyes flicked to him, concern sharpening his features. “Ryuzaki? Are you—?”

L cut him off, voice strained. “I’m fine, Yagami-kun.” He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the sensation to pass. “Just… residual effects.”

But his body wouldn’t listen. He gripped the edge of the table, knuckles white, as his breath came faster, more shallow. He could feel panic nipping at the edges of his mind—he hated this, hated it more than anything.

Light, remembering the night before, quietly slid the wastebasket closer. “It’s okay,” he said, voice gentle. “You don’t have to pretend.”

L shot him a glare, but it was weak, desperate. “I do not enjoy this,” he muttered, almost petulant. “Not at all.”

Light offered a sympathetic smile. “No one does.”

L tried to focus on counting, on the feeling of the chain, on anything but the roiling in his stomach. But the nausea was overwhelming, blotting out everything else. His thoughts scattered, his mind reduced to a single, stubborn wish: for this to be over.

He hunched forward, breathing through his nose, determined not to give in—but the sickness was relentless, and L, for all his intellect and composure, was left helpless in its grip.

For a moment, all thoughts of longing and loneliness vanished, replaced by a singular, miserable truth: sometimes, the body’s needs and weaknesses simply could not be ignored. Not even by L.

Chapter Text

About a week later they're both mostly better however they're also both cranky now. Light sat on one end of the couch, arms crossed, glaring at the muted television. L perched at the other, knees drawn up, a half-eaten slice of toast abandoned on the table between them. Both looked marginally better, but the air was thick with mutual irritation.

Light broke the silence first, voice sharp. “If you’re going to keep staring at me, Ryuzaki, at least try to be subtle about it.”

L didn’t look up from his laptop. “I’m not staring, Yagami-kun. I’m observing. There’s a difference. Besides, you’re still a suspect.”

Light rolled his eyes. “You’ve said that every hour for the past three days. I’m starting to think you just like repeating yourself.”

L’s thumb pressed to his lips. “I repeat myself because you don’t seem to understand the seriousness of your position. And you’re the one who keeps sighing loudly every five minutes. It’s distracting.”

Light scoffed. “Maybe I wouldn’t sigh so much if you’d stop chewing so loudly. You eat like you’re trying to set a world record.”

L paused, blinking. “It’s scientifically proven that eating quickly can increase caloric intake efficiency. You should try it. Your energy levels are still suboptimal.”

Light’s glare sharpened. “I’m not taking health advice from someone who lives on sugar cubes and cake.”

L’s eyes narrowed, a rare flicker of annoyance crossing his face. “My diet is perfectly adequate for my needs. Unlike your constant complaints about the food Watari brings.”

“At least I don’t pick the strawberries off the cake and leave the rest for someone else to clean up.”

L looked away, feigning interest in a surveillance monitor. “Watari doesn’t mind. He understands the importance of maintaining my routine.”

Light huffed and turned away, muttering under his breath. “Unbelievable.”

L’s voice was flat, but edged with fatigue. “If you’re going to sulk, Yagami-kun, please do it quietly. Some of us are trying to work.”

Light shot back, “If you’re going to ‘work,’ maybe you should actually do something useful instead of just sitting there making snide comments.”

L’s lips twitched, almost a smile. “I’m doing my best under the circumstances. Not everyone can be as perfect as you, Light-kun.”

Light glared, but there was a grudging amusement in his eyes. “Glad you finally admitted it.”

They sat in silence for a moment, both stewing in their crankiness, the chain between them clinking softly as they shifted. It was a fragile truce, but it was theirs—a sign that, even at their worst, neither would ever back down from the other.

Light was glaring at the television, jaw set, when L shifted beside him with a dramatic rustle of his blanket. The silence stretched, taut and uncomfortable, until L let out a small, deliberate-sounding cough—right in Light’s direction.

Light jerked away, eyes wide with indignation. “Did you just cough on me?”

L blinked, feigning innocence as he pressed a finger to his lips. “I’m still recovering, Yagami-kun. It’s not as though I can control every involuntary reflex. You should be more understanding.”

Light scowled, scooting as far as the chain would allow. “You aimed at me on purpose.”

L tilted his head, eyes wide and guileless. “I assure you, it was entirely accidental. If I wanted to cough on you deliberately, you would know.”

Light bristled. “You’re insufferable.”

L’s lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smirk betraying him. “And you’re overly sensitive. I thought you were supposed to be resilient.”

Light glared, rubbing his shoulder where the imaginary germs had landed. “If I get sick again, I’m blaming you.”

L shrugged, curling his knees closer to his chest. “You can try, but statistically, it’s more likely you’ll recover faster if you stop complaining.”

Light huffed, but there was a reluctant, exasperated amusement in his eyes. “You’re impossible, Ryuzaki.”

L offered a small, satisfied hum, returning his attention to his laptop—though not before sneaking a sidelong glance at Light, just to see the effect of his pettiness. The chain between them rattled as Light shifted away, but neither seemed inclined to move any farther than necessary.

Light glared, clutching his blanket tighter around his shoulders. “You know, you’re being petty toward a literal teenager,” he said, voice sharp with lingering irritation.

L didn’t miss a beat, eyes fixed on his monitor, thumb pressed thoughtfully to his lips. “You’re legally an adult, Yagami-kun. Besides, you’re hardly a typical teenager.”

Light rolled his eyes. “That doesn’t change the fact that you’re acting like a child.”

L’s gaze flicked sideways, unrepentant. “Perhaps. But you seem to bring out the worst in me.”

Light huffed, unable to suppress a grudging smirk. “Glad to know I have that effect on the world’s greatest detective.”

L’s lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smile. “It’s mutual, I assure you.”