Chapter Text
the first thing L noticed was that light had stopped trying to kill him.
it was not a particularly obvious development. there had been no sudden alteration in light’s demeanor, no loss in his composure whenever L entered the room, and no careless mistakes that could be categorized as evidence without a double meaning.
light remained as he had always been; composed, articulate, and irritatingly self-assured. he continued to argue against L’s deductions whenever they displeased him, and regard L’s eccentricities with annoyance, but a reluctant amusement. he would complain about the interminable hours that were spent by the investigation against himself, despite being perfectly willing to remain awake until the sun’s thin rays of light penetrated the office windows, if doing so meant proving himself innocent.
but most importantly, light continued to deny being kira. that had not changed.
perhaps that was why L had been so slow to recognize everything else; the alterations were almost imperceptible. light had begun withdrawing from meetings a few minutes earlier than necessary, and he had begun sleeping and eating less. he had developed an inexplicable habit of glancing toward L whenever he entered a room, as though confirming that L was someone whose absence would have been a more significant loss to light than his presence.
three nights ago, at approximately two in the morning, light had risen to get a glass of water. he had walked halfway down the corridor before abruptly stopping. light heard the soft sound of footsteps. only the staff of the headquarters, or L, could have been inside. he had quietly turned around, to see L, his eyebags just as bad as usual. L had been awake. their eyes had met.
“you’re still awake?”
“yes.”
“you should sleep.”
“so should you.”
light had remained silent for several seconds before continuing downstairs. he filled the cup silently, before taking a seat at the dining table and turning on his laptop to get some work done. always claimed it may bore him enough to be able to sleep. at the time, L had dismissed the encounter as meaningless. however, his conclusion was ephemeral, he was no longer certain. he followed down the staircase, pausing for a few moments before speaking.
“why do you keep glancing at me?”
light did not look up from his laptop. “am i?” he questioned, only half aware of how often his glaze would take itself to L.
“yes.”
“then you must be doing something interesting.” light started dismissively.
“i’m watching you.”
light sighed, trying to keep his gaze on his computer. “i noticed,” he said, fidgeting with the corner of the device.
light finally lifted his eyes. there was a faint smile upon his face, the sort of smile L had come to associate with his attempts to determine whether an apparently innocuous remark concealed an accusation.
“why?” light asked.
“because you are behaving strangely.”
“that’s an extraordinarily vague accusation.”
“i didn’t accuse you of anything.”
“you implied it.”
“i imply many things. sometimes i realize it, and sometimes i dont. it’s important to know that interpretations follow whatever you believe, or what you want to hear. tell me light, why are you so defensive to the idea of me thinking you’re kira?”
light exhaled through his nose and returned his attention to the laptop.
“i’m not a fan of being accused as a serial killer, please and thank you.”
L continued watching him. not merely because light remained suspicious; light had always been suspicious. but also that something that had begun to manifest itself so gradually that L had initially mistaken it for coincidence.
light had changed.
the problem was that L could not determine how. nor, more importantly, why. he had spent enough time studying human behavior to recognize the ordinary manifestations of deception. liars became defensive, frightened people became evasive, guilty people overcompensated, and those who possessed something to conceal tended to construct their behavior around the concealment itself. and the problem was that light exhibited all of those tendencies when it suited him. but recently, there had been moments in which none of the established patterns applied.
light would look at him without suspicion, nor irritation, nor with the guarded attentiveness he normally reserved for L. and then, inevitably, he would look away.
L had begun cataloguing those moments. why he did, he was unsure.
“light.”
“hm?”
“do you trust me?”
light’s fingers ceased moving across the keyboard. only for an instant. a split second where the feelings he felt for L thrived, only for him to suppress them by processing L’s question.
“that’s a strange question.” he said softly, trying to sound neutral in his tone.
“it’s a simple one.” L responded back, his tone unintentionally softening for a moment as well.
“not really.” light replied, keeping his gaze down.
light closed the laptop. the soft click of the lid seemed disproportionately loud in the quiet room.
“why are you asking?”
“because you haven’t answered. i’m very curious” L said. in all truth, he wasn’t fully asking to find out if he was kira, but was also unsure of the alternative.
“i don’t think anyone in this building trusts you.” light muttered, tempted to open his laptop again, since this conversation was going no where.
“that wasn’t my question.”
“then what answer are you expecting?”
L tilted his head. “the truthful one.” he spoke as if the answer was obvious. a small pause between their conversation lasted for half a minute, before L continued. “you know, for someone who claims to never lie, you do it a remarkable amount.” L said through his monotone voice, looking ever so slightly more pushy.
light gave a quiet, humorless laugh. “i don’t lie.” light insisted.
“you absolutely do.” L continued.
“only when necessary.”
“that’s still lying.”
“then perhaps you shouldn’t trust me.” light finally said, his tone having no evidence of how he felt.
silence settled between the two. not initially, but it grew more and more uncomfortable as it continued. L studied him. light’s expression had changed. not much, but sufficiently. the amusement had disappeared from his eyes.
“perhaps i shouldn’t,” L said.
light looked away. “probably not.” he practically muttered.
something about his answer unsettled L. not the words themselves, but rather the manner in which light had spoken them. there had been no hesitation or sardonic undertone, and no attempt to redirect the conversation into some constructed manipulation that light tended to do. L picked up on his conversation habits, and the way he would respond to allegations. primarily because of the kira case of course, but there was a second reason that L himself was not aware of. L turned to his own monitor, as h was likely not going to be able to sleep anyway.
“how interesting.” he said to himself, the sound of a keyboard being typed on echoing through the quiet room. light barely caught his words.
“what is?” he said, now wondering why he said what he did.
“nothing.” L responded without turning around, his focus gone from light. (at least, he pretended)
light reopened his laptop, since the conversation was apparently concluded. but reluctantly, L found himself returning to it repeatedly. wondering why light was responding the way he was. why he found himself possibly caring about light.
and that disturbed him more than the idea of being in the room with a killer.