Work Text:
Light and L called each other names all the time.
Kira. Ryuzaki.
Arrogant. Stubborn.
Liar.
It was nothing new, the two of them flinging labels at each other as part of a game no one else could see. The Task Force was used to it, had come to expect it, the rivalry between those two.
It was a dreary day, the rain coming down in sheets just beyond the walls of the building. The gloom hung over all of them as they typed away at computers, or cross-examined the same files for the fifth time. It was mundane, routine, everyone throwing theories at a wall and seeing what stuck.
The door opened softly, so quiet it almost went unnoticed, and Watari entered, a plate of pastries in his hands. He set them down next to L, a movement practiced and perfected by years of the same thing.
As if acting out the next scene of a play, L took up the fork, spearing a stray strawberry and lifting it to eye level. Light knew this script well, knew which order L would eat the sweets in and which one's he enjoyed the most.
It was an investigation, a competition to know more about the opponent then the other. That was the only reason those small details always stuck with Light, details like how many sugar cubes went in each cup of tea, and how to tell the subtle difference between the detective's many identical white shirts. L would eat this strawberry, then the chocolate scone on the left-most edge of the plate. After that the macaroon and-
“Light-kun.” L's voice interrupted his thoughts, and Light seethed silently as he turned his head to once again look at the dark haired man. “What is it, Ryuzaki?”
“Here.” L was holding the fork suspended between them, the red fruit still impaled on the end. That wasn't supposed to happen. Light stared at the fruit, vibrantly red against the dull silver of the fork and the pale skin of the hand.
. Was this a test to prove he was Kira? What could he possible prove from the denial or acceptance of offered food?
If he rejected it, would that make him seem like he didn't trust people, or like he was paranoid, which could be indicators he was hiding something? Would accepting it make him seem more trusting, or would it give the impression that he was trying to hard?
“What's with the sudden change in heart?” He asked, expertly hiding his inner turmoil. Because he knew this must be test. L never did anything just because.
“Do you not want it?” L asked, head tilting slightly as if he was a cat. The fork never moved, seemingly locked in time hovering between them. There wasn't anything L could deduce from such a simple act, right?
Plastering on a smile, Light leaned forward and caught the berry in his teeth, carefully dragging it off the metal tines without his mouth touching the utensil. A God's saliva need not mix with a sinner's. The juices filled his mouth as soon as he bit into it, and even he had to begrudgingly admit it did taste good.
Luckily for him, L seemed to have no further interest in extending the interaction, turning back to the screen in front of him. Light got back to his work too, trying not to think about how his Kira percentage most certainly had gone up.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
It became a common thing, L offering a piece of food and Light accepting. Just like the rest of the routine, it became ingrained into the schedule. Like how Matsuda always arrived a little late, and how Aizawa always had to have coffee to be productive.
L would silently hold out a piece of food on a fork, sometimes a spoon, and Light would lean ever so slightly to take it, eyes never leaving the file or computer. He had long since convinced himself that whatever L was getting from this wasn't enough to truly incriminate him, and it would break the odd, unspoken truce that bound them to refuse.
L would continue to try to prove Light was Kira, and Light would continue to seek out L's true name. That was their reality, and if a cream puff or two were exchanged during it, then so be it.
The Task Force was more lively today, the promise of progress a shining sun in their eyes and minds. They were all engaged in their own work, which Light was thankful for as Watari entered the room with the near hourly tray of snacks.
Despite the consistency of their strange ritual, the other members still shot odd glances at them when the cold metal fork was raised.
As Watari set the tray down, Light's eyes flicked to it for a second to survey. He had no real preference for which sweet he was offered, but L had the incredible ability to uncover every hint of emotion in him, deducing his favorites from among the sugary foods.
It took barely a moment after the food was delivered for L to raise his utensil, gracefully stab a chocolate coated strawberry and hold it out for Light, who quickly took it in his mouth, lips sliding over the metal.
He found he wasn't as repulsed by the idea of touching the fork. L always wiped it before he used it, so it didn't matter. As strange as this dynamic was, this dance, this rivalry, it had become familiar and comforting in a way.
L and Kira.
Kira and L.
Perhaps, Light thought wistfully as his gaze wandered to the dark haired man, he would miss this when he kills L.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
“Here, Sweetheart.”
Light doesn't even notice the word's spoken as he pulls an impaled macaroon from the end of the tine. What, he does notice, however, is the hush that falls over the entire room.
Then the realization hits him, and it takes all his willpower not to spit out the snack and demand an explanation. Instead, he halting chew before swallowing and turning to face the man in question.
“What?”
L blinks, a different sweet halfway to his mouth. “Do you not like that flavor of macaroon? I'm sorry, I'll note that down for the future.” What? Light blinks before protesting.
“No, it's not that!” It had been a red one, and Light found he quite liked the taste if he were perfectly honest. But that wasn't what he had been inquiring about. “What did you call me?”
”Sweetheart.”
Light blinks, taken aback. L notices, of course, though he seems oblivious to the eyes of the Task Force, of Matsuda's mouth hanging open or Soichiro carefully avoiding looking at them. “Did it make you uncomfortable? If so, I do apologize.”
Light knew how to react to a lot of things. He knew how to reject dates, and quickly find an excuse for anything he didn't want to do. He knew how to lose gracefully and win modestly.
But the words that had just come from L's mouth were something he had never encountered before. The pet name had been disorienting on it's own, but the consideration he showed moments after? Almost every girl he had ever dates called him a term of endearment, like Babe or Honey. But they never offered to stop, or thought about his reaction to it. It was meant to tell the world he was theirs for the brief moments he was.
In L's voice, Sweetheart didn't feel possessive or threatening, it felt... almost cherishing, like something sacred. Light couldn't tell if he minded or not.
But that did raise another question, what did it mean? L was obviously doing this to see if he was Kira, there was no other possible reason, but how could he defend his innocence? He couldn't be antagonistic, that would do about as much good as confessing, but would gently rejecting it be any better?
L's mind was complex and there was no telling what could pull the floor from under Light's feet and expose him? In the end, the path of least resistance seemed the safest one, so Light smiled at L, closing his eyes so he wouldn't have to see whatever hints of emotions would cross his face.
“It's okay. I don't mind... Cupcake.” He was fairly certain his dad had left the room at this point, and he could feel Matsuda's stare from across the room. He was going to regret this.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Light did not regret it as much as he had hoped he would. He had met Misa, who was all over him, and nicknames fell from her overly red lips like leaves in autumn, every moment there seemed to be a new one.
He didn't like them, didn't like how after the first time they all sounded flat and fake. She was a whirlwind.
L, on the other hand, was gentler. Something about them had shifted, after that humiliating day, and his presence was like a balm to the burn of Misa's sun. The offerings of food were more frequent, with “Sweetheart” sprinkled in here and there, most often in moments where they were alone, which were few and far between.
Light didn't hate it.
“Cupcake” had withered and died, and he had abandoned the idea of verbally coming up with ideas for what he might call the detective. It didn't matter, not really, he just felt like he was weaponless in this odd war.
Too often he fell asleep with ideas floating in his head. It drove him mad, that L had changed the game board without his noticing and now he had no idea how to play.
Ryuk was endlessly amused, at the very least, giving Light suggestions at the most inopportune times. It was a different kind of challenge, their battle no longer one of only mind.
Light would play, he would fight, he would kill. And someday it would be L beneath that pen, lying dead in his arms.
One day, he vowed.
Until then, perhaps he could enjoy “Sweetheart.” for a little longer.