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“One, or two?”
The cold metal pressed against Corbeau’s forehead. He squinted at the bright square of light across the room, trying to make out the tiny letters.
“Again, please?” he said.
“No problem. One, or two?”
Corbeau blinked, hard. The second set of letters seemed slightly clearer. “Two.”
“Three, or four?” With a click, a new set of lenses slid into place.
“Three,” Corbeau said.
“And can you read that line for me?”
The letters, while small, were clear enough. “F…B…Z…D…E.”
“Excellent.” Corbeau’s optometrist, Dr. Chalaze, pulled the phoropter away from his face. “Your prescription has changed only slightly from last year.”
“Would you recommend I get new glasses?” Corbeau had to blink several times for Dr. Chalaze’s close-cropped blonde hair and bright green cat-eye glasses to come back into focus. She was swiping through his chart on her Rotom Pad.
“It’s been a while since you updated your glasses, yes?”
“About five years,” said Corbeau. “They are getting quite scratched up.”
Dr. Chalaze peered at him over the top of her glasses. “Big battler, I assume?”
“You could say that.”
“Then I think it would be a good idea,” Dr. Chalaze said. “I recommend an anti-scratch coating.” She stood up and retrieved a red-topped bottle from the counter next to Corbeau’s exam chair. “Now, I’m going to dilate your eyes, and then I’ll be back in a few minutes to examine them.”
“How long’s that take to wear off?” Corbeau asked warily. “I’ve got things to do this afternoon.”
“A few hours,” Dr. Chalaze said. “I’ll go light on the drops. Sunglasses will help, if you have any.”
He tilted his head back as she administered one drop into each eye, and as Dr. Chalaze left to see more patients, sat alone in the darkened room to wait for his eyes to dilate. Perhaps it was strange, but Corbeau liked his yearly visits to the optometrist. It was an oasis of quiet in his busy day, the one time when he didn’t have to worry about his responsibilities. He felt like just another ordinary citizen in Lumiose City, going about his business—though the hushed whispers and reverent looks that followed him proved he wasn’t just any citizen. And of course, it was good to stay on top of his eye health. Corbeau’s retainer was a trademark part of his look, but it served multiple purposes. Not only was it stylish, but it also ensured that his glasses would remain securely on his face at all times. Without them, his horribly nearsighted eyes perceived the world as one indistinct, blurry blob.
It was pleasant in the dimly lit exam room. The exam chair was well cushioned and attached to a variety of optometric paraphernalia, and a neat row of eyedrop bottles and lens cases sat on the counter next to him. The office was located right above the bustling Magenta Plaza Pokémon Center, but he could barely hear the noise of the city below. Life in Lumiose moved at breakneck pace, which made these slower moments so important.
Corbeau’s Rotom Phone started buzzing, and he jumped, caught in a rare moment of relaxation. He swiped across the screen to answer Philippe’s call. As he wasn’t wearing his glasses, the phone had to hover mere centimeters away from his face for him to see Philippe’s.
“What is it?” he barked.
“Monsieur Corbeau!” Philippe looked mildly perturbed at the close-up view of his superior’s golden eyes. “Sorry to bother you. Where are you?”
“I’m at the optometrist, getting my eyes dilated!” Corbeau glanced at his eyes in the corner of the screen. Sure enough, his pupils had started to expand.
“Do you have a minute? I just thought you should know that I just ran into a couple of Académie Étoile kids in some trouble in Wild Zone 20. Not nearly strong enough to be going in there yet.”
Corbeau groaned. “What’s up with kids these days? Don’t they know how to read the sign? It very clearly says that it’s the most dangerous Wild Zone in the city!”
Philippe diplomatically avoided mentioning that from his perspective, the age difference between Corbeau and “kids these days” wasn’t very large. “I know, Monsieur Corbeau. Well, I jumped in before things got pretty bad, but I’m at the urgent care clinic in Vert Sector 4 with them now. We’re waiting on X-rays; I think one of the kids broke an arm.”
Corbeau sighed. These Wild Zones were an imperfect solution; cordoning off blocks of the city where high-level alpha Pokémon had free rein wasn’t the same as coexisting with them. Still, part of him could understand those kids’ motivation. Sneaking into a dangerous Wild Zone was exactly the kind of thing he would have done as a kid.
“Well, thank you as always for your prompt action. Make sure those kids don’t have to worry about paying for those X-rays, you hear?”
“I understand, boss. Thank you!” Philippe hung up. Corbeau made a mental note to evaluate the state of wild Pokémon safety education for Lumiose City’s children. Though he wasn’t sure if he would have paid attention to any safety lectures when he was a kid, either.
A few minutes later, the door to the exam room swung open, and Dr. Chalaze reentered. “Bon, let’s take a look at your eyes! Did you have any concerns today?”
“Well…” Corbeau hesitated. “Sometimes I get this burning feeling in my eyes. They’ve been watering a lot as well.”
“Ah.” Dr. Chalaze nodded. “I think I know what that is, but let’s take a look at your eyes first.”
She swiveled the slit lamp towards him, and Corbeau obligingly set his chin in the cup and his forehead against the bar. Peering through the binoculars, she aimed an excruciatingly bright light at his eyes as she dictated exam findings into her Rotom Pad.
“1+ SPK, few capped glands, lens is clear…very tilted disc, no myopic degeneration, positive FLR…eh bien, same in the left eye. You can sit back,” she said, the last bit to Corbeau as she swiveled the slit lamp back off to the side.
Corbeau wiped his stinging eyes with a handkerchief. “Is there anything I should be worried about?”
“No, your eyes look very healthy,” Dr. Chalaze said. “The stinging and watering is due to dry eye. You know, when your eyes are dry, your eyes produce more tears to compensate. Do you spend a lot of time on the computer?”
“More than I’d like,” said Corbeau. Probably the thing he hated most about being the boss of the Rust Syndicate: all the administrative work.
“Well, I’d recommend taking frequent breaks. When you’re focusing on something, you blink less, and your eyes dry out more easily. Do you use eyedrops?”
“No.”
“Well, they might help. Here is a sample of some artificial tears,” Dr. Chalaze said, handing him a little bottle of drops from a pocket of her scrubs. “You can use these as often as you need for better lubrication. And I’d recommend warm compresses once or twice a day for 5-10 minutes, just to loosen up the oil in your eyelid glands. Just use a washcloth, or a bag of rice microwaved until it’s warm.”
“I’ll start doing that,” Corbeau said, relieved that it was just dry eye and not anything more serious. He’d briefly worried that he had some terrible condition that would force him to delegate more tasks to his underlings. Maybe he should be doing that anyway, he thought. The late nights poring over ledgers were probably not helping his eyesight in the long run.
“What questions do you have for me?” Dr. Chalaze asked.
“I believe you’ve answered all of them.”
“Well, it was a pleasure to see you today.” Dr. Chalaze shook his hand and stood up. “Albert at the front desk will print out a copy of your new glasses prescription.”
“Merci beaucoup,” Corbeau said, carefully putting his glasses back on. He put the retainer in his pocket; he was planning to get his glasses adjusted by one of the opticians. He quickly checked his phone: only ten messages since Philippe’s call. Good, he could deal with that.
“Monsieur Corbeau?”
Corbeau looked up. Dr. Chalaze was still hovering in the doorway.
“Might I add that all of us really appreciate the work you do for this city.”
Corbeau scowled. “Oh, stop it.” The intimidating reputation he had worked so hard to cultivate was being seriously endangered by all this positive press.
He went up to the front desk, where a clearly giddy Albert was fighting to stay composed as he printed Corbeau’s prescription. Then, over to the optical department, where several well-lit racks displayed a variety of stylish frames. He took a seat across from the optician, Élise.
“What can I do for you today, Monsieur Corbeau?”
“I’d like my glasses adjusted,” Corbeau said. “I’ve found they’ve been slipping down my nose lately. Also, I would like to update these frames”—he pulled a case containing some empty new frames out of his pocket—“with my new prescription.” Corbeau had been wearing the exact same round black frames for over a decade now. He always bought them from Masterpiece in the Galerie de la Lune, and had Dr. Chalaze’s staff put the new lenses in. He was pretty sure Masterpiece had only kept them in stock for him, but now they were becoming trendy across the city for some reason.
“Parfait,” Élise said, taking the new frames and closely studying the position of Corbeau’s glasses on his nose. “I’ll tighten those up and add some new nose pads. And the new glasses will be ready in about a week or two; we’ll call you to pick them up.”
She vanished into the back room with both pairs of glasses, and he sat idly waiting for her to come back. Mid-morning sun was streaming through the office, which hurt his dilated eyes. He had a number of tasks to complete that afternoon, but nothing urgent. He had to compose a sharply worded rebuttal to yet another one of Jacinthe’s passive-aggressive tournoi invitations. In a few hours, he was helping out with a demonstration for the Young Trainers Club, where he’d teach kids how to throw their first ever Poké Balls. And lastly, he had to swing by the Stone Emporium. Three of his Grunts had birthdays within the next two weeks, and Mega Stones always went over well as birthday gifts from the boss.
The front door opened with a tinkle, and the quiet murmur of patient conversations in the waiting room suddenly stopped. Corbeau turned, squinting, to see a tall blob undulate over to the front desk to check in. Despite his limited vision, Corbeau knew who it was. There was no mistaking that shock of white hair streaked with red, the oversized fur hood, the tattered black jacket and pants. But he couldn’t believe his eyes. Maybe the dilating drops had screwed them up. What was Lysandre doing here?
“Um, your name?” Albert’s voice had an awestruck tone.
“L,” said Lysandre—L, Corbeau reminded himself. L had always been really good about using Corbeau’s chosen name. “I believe I have records in your system.”
“Okay. Date of birth, please?”
Corbeau turned back around, conscious that he had been staring for too long, which was embarrassing. He knew L had been here before, because L had taken him here for his first vision exam, after he’d started getting headaches in class and his grades had slipped. L hadn’t thought Corbeau was stupid, or not making an effort, or trying to get out of class, like his teacher did. He had simply found a solution to the problem: very strong new glasses. Inspired, Corbeau had decided that he would make his own living out of solving problems.
Élise came out of the back room, holding Corbeau’s adjusted glasses. “Why don’t you try these on?”
Corbeau slid the glasses onto his face, still rattled by L’s appearance. Five long years without any communication, and then he’d turned up randomly at the Hotel Richissime. Corbeau had thought about reaching out to him after the whole debacle with Prism Tower. But it was complicated. Part of him still stung at what L had done. How could he have decided that this world wasn’t worth trying to save anymore, after everything he had done for it? After everything he had done for Corbeau? For that matter, did L even remember him?
The newly adjusted glasses did fit more securely on his nose without pinching it, and the nosepads were bigger. “They’re fitting well,” Corbeau said, peering at himself in the mirror, and saw a moving figure behind his reflection—why was L walking towards him?
Corbeau turned and found himself face-to-face with his old guardian and mentor. L looked like he had aged twenty years in only five, and not just because of the white hair. His face had grown haggard, and his once-broad shoulders were slightly hunched. Yet his one-eyed gaze still held the same steely intensity as before.
“Ahem. Corbeau,” L began haltingly.
Corbeau waited. L seemed as if he were having trouble finding the words.
“The young man at the front desk has just asked me to provide an emergency contact. Would you mind terribly…?”
Out of everything L could’ve said, Corbeau had not anticipated that. Who had his emergency contact been before? Malva? Professor Sycamore?
“I’d be happy to,” he said, and, dumbfounded, followed L over to the front desk, where he provided his phone number to Albert.
“Thank you,” L said to Corbeau as they went to sit down on one of the couches in the waiting room. “...I suppose I owe you an apology.”
Part of Corbeau rather agreed. But did he really have the right to ask anything of L, after all of his support?
“Why?”
“I gave up on you,” L said simply.
“Not just me,” said Corbeau. “Everyone.”
“That is also true.”
An awkward silence settled over the waiting room, and all of the other patients tried hard to pretend they weren’t listening in.
“Look, I forgive you, okay?” Corbeau finally said. “You’ve got enough to atone for without me holding a grudge against you. And let’s not forget that without you, I’d still be no one.”
A half-smile from L. “All I did was provide you with the tools to succeed,” he said. “You did the rest yourself. But I do still appreciate your forgiveness.”
“You also helped to save the city,” Corbeau pointed out. “So I’d say you’re on the right path.”
“How strange that a person can believe himself on the right path while acting quite the opposite.” L shook his head, and the conversation lapsed into silence as he stared intently at the floor. It dawned on Corbeau that L was nervous about his appointment. He’d been on his own, wandering Kalos for the past five years with no memory. Some difficulty reintegrating into society was to be expected.
“Do—do you want me to come with you to see the optometrist?” Corbeau blurted. He second-guessed himself as soon as he said it. Maybe L didn’t want Corbeau to be privy to his medical information. How presumptuous of him.
But some of the tension went out of L’s shoulders, and he nodded. “That would be nice, if you can spare the time.”
“Absolutely,” Corbeau said.
“Hold this over your right eye,” Dr. Chalaze said, passing L a plastic paddle. “How many fingers do you see?”
Corbeau, sitting in a chair in the corner, watched the proceedings with interest. L’s left eye had clouded a milky white, obscuring both pupil and iris, yet it sent an eerie glow through the dimly lit room. Dr. Chalaze seemed unfazed. She scooted her stool backwards and held out two fingers.
“Two,” said L.
Dr. Chalaze moved her hand up and held up one finger.
“One.”
“And how about this?”
“One. …Two.”
“Good,” Dr. Chalaze said, and flipped the lights back on. “Your right eye is seeing about the same as before. It’s just your left eye that was affected by the…incident.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” L said.
“Remind me, what was it that happened again?”
“Close exposure to a concentrated blast of Infinity Energy.” L attempted an impassive tone, but Corbeau could hear a tremor in his voice that betrayed the gravity of what he had experienced.
Dr. Chalaze remained unflappable, even though she probably didn’t see cases like this all too often. “It’s left you with a pretty nasty scar across your cornea, which is the clear front part of your eye. I’m surprised, but very glad, that your right eye wasn’t involved.”
She swiveled the phoropter down in front of his face, much as she had done for Corbeau. “Let’s correct your good eye. Which is clearer, one or two?”
After Dr. Chalaze determined L’s glasses prescription, she administered another drop from the red-capped bottle into his right eye and left the room. L and Corbeau sat in silence, waiting for the dilating drop to work.
“Do you remember?” Corbeau asked. “You took me here when I was a kid.”
L’s brow furrowed. “I think I do. You couldn’t see the board in class, correct?”
“Yes.” Some part of Corbeau was relieved that he still remembered. “Then you yelled at my teacher for making ignorant assumptions.”
“I believe I only spoke the truth.” L smiled briefly. “They underestimated you at their peril.”
Watching L sit ramrod-straight in the exam chair, a regal set to his jaw, Corbeau was reminded that L was descended from a king. If the rumors were true, he was destined for the same fate as his ancestor, AZ: three thousand years bearing the heavy weight of regret. Corbeau couldn’t wrap his head around it. His entire life would be nothing but a flicker against L’s long and desolate existence. How had the charismatic businessman who had transformed Corbeau’s whole life become a guilt-wracked shell of his former self?
Corbeau knew he wasn’t the only one struggling with that question. He’d run into Augustine Sycamore shortly before the latter had departed on a multi-year research sabbatical, and they’d commiserated over their mutual friend. Corbeau thought that perhaps Sycamore had left to avoid seeing the fallout of L’s actions that he had failed to foresee.
Once again, Corbeau had been staring for too long, and L could read him better than anyone else could. “Spare me your pity,” L said sharply. “Save it for someone who deserves it.”
“It’s not pity,” Corbeau said. He was simply at a loss. With the resources of the Rust Syndicate at his disposal, he usually had a solution to any dilemma. Yet he thought that L’s situation might be beyond his abilities to ameliorate.
“I have accepted…this,” L said with a sweeping gesture that indicated the entirety of his present condition. “It is my penance. An existence derived from stolen life force, bearing witness to the world that I once tried to destroy. It is my responsibility to use this time well, to effect the change I once thought was impossible.”
“My resources are yours,” Corbeau said. “You shouldn’t have to go through this alone.”
“You are too kind and too forgiving.” L shook his head. “You have surpassed me, Corbeau.”
“What do you mean?”
“You have pursued your goals without straying from your principles. I grew bitter, egotistical, and disillusioned. My actions were never truly selfless, but you give freely, without any expectations in return.”
“I think you wanted too much,” Corbeau said. He'd lain awake pondering this many times over the last five years. “You held the world to a standard it was never going to achieve.”
“I agree,” L said. “And I thought I could do it all by myself. You, on the other hand, are a natural leader, and you inspire loyalty. You make small and incremental changes, but their results are anything but that.”
Perhaps a younger Corbeau would’ve basked in L’s praise. Corbeau had modeled himself after L, combining L’s business acumen with his own simple desire that no child in Lumiose City—preferably, in all of Kalos—would ever have to go through what he had survived. Now, he had to devise his own framework for the future. Leading by example, creating a culture of teamwork and trust. Ensuring the citizens of Lumiose City felt safe and supported. Seeking out young Trainers who could use some help getting started on their journeys. L’s predicament was a warning of what could happen if he lost sight of those ideals.
“It must be strange,” Corbeau said. “Seeing Kalos from a different perspective.”
“Literally and figuratively,” L replied. “It has been valuable, though. In my wanderings, I noticed things I had overlooked. Strangers were kind to me, even though they had no reason to be. I spent a lot of time outside, roaming forests and mountains, watching wild Pokémon in their natural habitat. They do say Kalos is the most beautiful region for a reason. I was too rash in condemning this world.”
“That’s what I’ve learned,” Corbeau said. “Nothing will ever be perfect. I myself am far from perfect. But I find meaning in trying to make things better.”
“See?” L asked. “You are wiser than me.”
There was a knock at the door, and Dr. Chalaze entered, her Rotom Pad trailing in the air behind her. “Merci de m’attendre! I’ll have a look at your eyes now, if you please.”
L leaned forward into the chin rest, both of his eyes open. Dr. Chalaze dimmed the lights and commenced her examination, starting with L’s right eye and dictating quietly to her Rotom Pad: “Clear cornea, AC deep and quiet, lens is clear…” Corbeau was impressed with the speed and dexterity with which she manipulated the slit lamp, adjusting the joystick on the bottom to methodically scan every part of the eye. Then, she held a lens up to L’s eye to focus light on his retina. “Sorry, this is the brightest part,” she told him, then to her Rotom Pad: “Macula looks normal. No retinal tears, breaks, or detachments.”
Dr. Chalaze moved on to L’s left eye. For a while, she remained silent, staring intently. “...Extensive scarring and band keratopathy encroaching on visual axis. No view. Euh…the eye somehow appears to be emitting light from within. Alright, L, you may sit back.” She pushed the slit lamp to the side and regarded her patient with some consternation.
“You must not see this very often,” said L.
“No, I do not,” Dr. Chalaze said. “However, I have seen corneal scars similar to yours before. The good news is that it is stable. There is no swelling or inflammation, and I don’t expect your vision to get any worse. You do prefer to keep that eye closed, correct?”
“Yes,” L said. “I experience a lot of double vision with that eye, which is quite disorienting.”
“That’s not uncommon. It’s because the surface of the eye is now very irregular. Now, for some patients like you, I would recommend referring you to one of my ophthalmologist colleagues for a corneal transplant. I actually just called over to one of them to discuss your case.”
“What did they say?”
Dr. Chalaze’s expression was serious, her hands folded in her lap. “We were in agreement. Given the fact that there somehow appears to be some residual Infinity Energy present in that eye, a transplant would be…unprecedented, and likely complicated. I would only recommend going forward with that if you aren’t satisfied with your current level of vision. There is also a possibility that you have a traumatic cataract resulting from the injury, which may also be limiting your vision. You would need further surgery to remove it if that’s the case.”
“I see,” L said with a nod. “I don’t think I want to pursue surgery at this time.”
“That’s perfectly fine. There are other options,” Dr. Chalaze said. “I would recommend getting new glasses to correct the vision in your right eye. With the prescription, you were able to see 20/20 in that eye when I checked you just now.”
“Am I able to wear contact lenses?” L asked.
“I wouldn’t recommend that,” Dr. Chalaze said, shaking her head. “There’s an increased risk of infection, and I don’t want you to endanger your good eye. I’d like you to wear glasses both for the improved vision and added protection. The safety material we have is tested to withstand a Mega Tyranitar’s Stone Edge from a five-meter distance.”
“Wow.” Corbeau let out a low whistle. “That’s really impressive.”
“Are you also a battler?” Dr. Chalaze asked L.
“...I dabble.”
“That’s an understatement,” Corbeau cut in. “He’s a Mega Evolution user.”
Dr. Chalaze’s eyes widened. Though Corbeau was actively working to increase Trainer access to Mega Evolution, the average Lumiose City resident didn’t personally know anyone who could use it. “Well, that settles it,” she said briskly. “At the very least, I want you to wear safety glasses, preferably all the time and definitely when battling. As I’m sure you’ve noticed, your depth perception is also reduced, so please be careful when you’re dodging attacks and running all over the rooftops.”
“I understand,” L said.
“Now, if you experience a loss of vision in either eye, or any pain, I want you to come in right away. Just call the clinic and we’ll fit you in.”
“I understand.”
“What questions do you have for me?”
L thought for a moment. “Are there any habits I should be doing to keep my eyes healthy?”
“There isn’t too much besides general things you can do for your overall health,” Dr. Chalaze said. “Wear sunglasses when you’re out in the sun. Take frequent breaks if you’re reading or on the computer. Sleep well. Eat a variety of foods, especially fruits and vegetables.”
“Thank you,” L said. “That’s all I wanted to know.”
“Génial. Now, Albert will print out your glasses prescription, and I’d recommend you return in a year for your next exam. But you can always come in earlier if you have any concerns.” Dr. Chalaze stood with a smile and ushered them out of the room. She really was a good optometrist, Corbeau thought. Maybe he should encourage more of his Grunts to take advantage of their vision insurance. Too many of them thought they didn’t need routine vision care if they didn’t wear glasses or contacts, which was far from the truth.
A few minutes later, L was sitting across from Élise in the optical department. She had set out a variety of frames for him to try on.
“You probably want a frame that’s a bit larger,” she said, “just for maximum protection. And I think an anti-glare and anti-scratch coating will be beneficial, especially if you spend a lot of time outside or battling.”
“What about a retainer?” Corbeau asked.
“That’s a good idea,” Élise said. “The sheer amount of people we see who lose their glasses mid-Roto-Glide cannot be overstated. I honestly think everyone should have one. Yours is very stylish,” she added to Corbeau.
“Why, thank you.”
“What about these?” Élise plucked a pair of wrap frames from a nearby rack and set it on the table. The overall effect was similar to a visor. Corbeau and L glanced at each other, with the same thought: they looked rather like the orange goggles L had once worn as a part of his Lysandre Machine.
“No,” L said.
“I agree,” Corbeau said. “I don’t think that’s really your style.”
Eventually, L decided on a pair of simple black rectangular frames, and was told he would receive them in a few weeks.
“Bonne journée!” Élise said, and Albert saw Corbeau and L off with a wave as they exited the office and set off down the stairs. They stepped into the bright early afternoon, and though his eyes were still slightly blurry from the dilation, Corbeau paused for a moment to take in the view and remind himself why he loved his city so much. Ahead of them meandered the clear waters of the Saison Canal, where the scales of a school of Magikarp glittered in the sunlight. When he glanced to the right, he saw the ruins of the Prism Tower stretch like an iron skeleton against the sky.
“Well,” L said, and cleared his throat. “...Thank you for accompanying me to my appointment today. It means more than you know.”
“You’re welcome,” Corbeau said. “It’s good to see you.”
“I am truly proud of who you have become and all that you have achieved,” L said. “And I know I should not presume to offer you any advice, but…”
“I’m listening.”
L paused, trying to find the words. “I see how hard you work; you strive to lead by example. But you must not neglect your own well-being. Continue to lean on your friends and colleagues. It is not a burden to ask for help. Thinking that I could do everything alone led to my disillusionment and downfall.”
Corbeau smiled. Despite L’s amnesia, and the years they had spent apart, he still knew Corbeau as well as ever. “I’ve been struggling with that lately. Because I’m the boss, I feel like I always have to do more than everyone else. But you’re right. I needed to hear that.”
“Exactly.” L returned the smile. He looked at peace. The last time Corbeau had seen him, in the process of searching for Zygarde’s cells, he had appeared dour and tormented. His encounter with Corbeau today had probably helped him as much, if not more, as it had helped Corbeau himself. “I wish you only the best,” he said, and turned to go. Corbeau watched him retreat slowly down Magenta Street.
“Wait!” Corbeau called.
L turned. “Yes?”
“Café Gallant is just a minute’s walk away,” Corbeau said. “They still have that tarte aux framboises I always got you for your birthday. Do you want to grab lunch? It’s on me.”
L wavered. “I…suppose that would be nice.”
“Oh, come on,” Corbeau urged him, “you know you want to.”
“I do,” L admitted, and returned to Corbeau’s side. “Lead the way.”