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The room is too quiet.
It always is, when it’s just the two of them.
Light Yagami stands near the desk, arms crossed, posture rigid—far too rigid for someone who insists he’s perfectly calm. The black cat ears perched on his head do nothing to help his credibility. If anything, they make the tension worse.
Across from him, L Lawliet watches.
Not casually. Not absentmindedly.
Carefully.
“L,” Light says, voice controlled, measured. “I’ll ask you once.”
L doesn’t respond immediately. He’s crouched in his usual way, chin resting against his thumb, eyes locked onto Light like he’s solving something intricate.
Or savoring it.
“How,” Light continues, slower now, his arms now dropped to his sides, eyes avoiding L's piercing gaze, “does me wearing 'this' affect my Kira percentage?”
A pause.
Then—
“It increases it.”
Light exhales sharply, irritation flashing across his face before he can stop it. “That’s not logical.”
“It is,” L replies simply.
He leans in, just slightly, but enough that he’s closer now. Close enough that Light notices.
Close enough that it’s distracting.
“You’ve adjusted them four times in the last two minutes,” L continues. Light unconsciously reached for the cat ears on his head, patting them down. L mentally corrected himself, five times, before continuing, “Your breathing is uneven. Your attention is divided.”
“My attention is not divided,” Light snaps.
“It is now.”
The words landed softer than expected.
L gets up from his seat, standing with his hands flat on the table, shamelessly allowing his eyes to scan every crevice of Light's body, before settling back to his face.
Light doesn’t move—but something about him tightens. His shoulders. His jaw. His focus.
“You’re reacting differently to me,” L says, almost thoughtfully. “Your usual responses are delayed. You’re choosing your words more carefully.”
“That’s because you’re making baseless accusations.” Light retorts.
“No.” L tilts his head, studying him from a closer angle now. “It’s because you’re aware of how you appear.”
Light’s eyes narrow. “I’m always aware.”
“Not like this.”
Silence stretches between them, a thin thread threatening to snap.
L leans in just a little more. His ear ghosting Light's chest.
“Your heart rate increased when I stood up,” he adds quietly.
“That proves nothing.”
“It proves,” L says, voice dropping just slightly, “that I am affecting you.”
Light’s breath catches—just for a second.
And that’s all L needs. He pulls back, his thumb back to his lips, big eyes staring back at Light.
There was a flicker of something—satisfaction, maybe— that passes through his expression.
“Your Kira probability isn’t rising because of the ears themselves,” L continues.
Light swallows his irritation. “Then what is it?”
L’s gaze sharpens.
“It’s because you care.”
A beat.
“About what?” Light challenges.
L doesn’t look away.
“About how I see you.”
The words hang there—dangerous in a way neither of them acknowledges.
Light lets out a quiet, controlled breath, forcing composure back into place. “You’re twisting the situation.”
“Am I?”
L was now standing in front of Light, hands in his pockets, with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face.
Now they’re too close.
Close enough that the air feels suffocating.
“You haven’t taken them off,” L points out softly. “Despite being fully capable.”
Light hesitates—just for a fraction of a second.
“…That’s irrelevant.”
“It isn’t.” L insists. “You’re choosing to stay like this,” he continued. “Even while I’m watching.”
Light’s gaze hardens—but it doesn’t break.
“And what conclusion are you drawing from that?” he asks.
L studies him for a long moment.
“That you don’t mind my attention as much as you claim.”
Silence.
Heavy.
Charged.
Light’s lips part slightly, like he’s about to argue—tear the logic apart piece by piece—
…but nothing comes out.
L notices.
Of course he does.
A faint, rare hint of a genuine smile appears.
“Interesting,” he murmurs.
And for the first time:
Light Yagami looks genuinely, undeniably distracted.