Sweet Little Lies

Ghosts Aren't Real

Light hadn't slept very well at all. He was up, until the early hours of dawn tossing, and turning, and 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈. He'd left L's room abruptly.

'𝑰 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒈𝒐'

There was no explanation, just Light's overt expression of horror preceding a swift departure. Thinking, thinking, 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈...Light thought about the lips on his neck when he touched there. It hurt slightly. He was in bed with fidgeting fingers and an active mind 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈. The young man had appeared blatantly 𝒂𝒇𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒅—it wasn't that. It was being close to the detective it...unsettled him. How did it come to that?

Light felt unwell, when the sun's rays stretched over his body and blinded him. He'd barely slept. Sitting up, the boy groaned in frustration and rubbed a palm into his face with grievance. What should he do? Should he meet L for breakfast, and salvage what he could? Talking themselves back to some sort of superficial normality would most likely be the best way to begin. It was important that appearances were '𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕' kept up. Light still wanted to '𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝑲𝒊𝒓𝒂' after all. That was what everyone thought...𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒃𝒐𝒅𝒚, except that dark eyed man with his enigmatic aspects and unimaginable intelligence. His foreboding magnetism was a conundrum. That brain whispered incantations of the ignoble. They were hushed; 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒌𝒐𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈...not because the sounds were any comfort no..but they lured one in with a hook of curiosity. L hardly revealed 𝒂𝒏𝒚 of himself...it made others wish to know more.

For the most part, well-rested, Light wasn't entirely used to being the opposite. His limbs were heavy as he dragged them out of bed and across the bathroom floor. A 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓 would undeniably rouse the boy from lethargy...it was where Light was reunited each day, with the '𝒑𝒊𝒄𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆𝒔'. The detective's depiction, manifested there with him now, as it did, every morning.

Light would go to L's room shortly. Just for the fact that, he couldn't let last night take control of him in this way. He must gain composure, and be the better man. Assert himself; be in 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒍. To avoid the detective entirely would show weakness. Kira isn't weak...Kira is a 𝒈𝒐𝒅.

It wasn't necessarily a burden, of course. But accommodating Kira's unfathomable force was overwhelming to a mortal man's body. Light had to mildly exert himself to cope with the strain—that was why he tapped his foot, that is why he fidgeted fingers within his trouser pockets. That is why his heart raced. This is why he had to forcefully compose himself; subdue these restless movements as L's darkened face became visible in the widening gap of an opening door. He was alike to a creature, guarding the tunnel descending into the underworld—into the depths of Light's past with him, memories which he strove to bury.

L stood there, analysing the view before him with much scrutiny. Light couldn't exactly wrong him for this—anyone would be confused as to why one would return after yesterday's mortification.

"Light..."

It wasn't a question, more so a statement. As though his presence was expected but not really. L was regarding his existence bluntly, without 𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 its reason for being. Light was just '𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆'; the detective looked irritated at that fact.

"You look surprised to see me—well, as surprised as 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 face can get anyways"

A playfully boyish grin became wider when the detective did that 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈—when he briefly looked away, the bastard, and it was obvious L chewed the inside of his cheek, to defeat a rising smirk seeking to soften an intimidating countenance of stoic indifference that so habitually ruled that interesting face. Light's impish air was further fragranced with a livelier joy at this fact. It wasn't to be mistaken, no, Light did not care for L and his 𝒔𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒆—the subtle, innocent one that made him appear momentarily blameless for any immoral aspect he possessed. The young man did not care for it, not at all. He smiled because L was in the palm of his hand; Kira had won.