More than just cake - Lawliet x OC -

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Wondering about that picture? That's Césaire, Fay's ex-boyfriend. (Though I have no idea who that hot dude really is.) Yeah, we're back in Paris! And things are about to get really weird.

Thanks for reading! Please comment and vote too, that means the world to me.

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20 hours later, Paris.

She had been away for three months, but her name was still on the door.

Oh, Césaire, you should've gotten rid of that.

She hadn't slept in the plane. In fact she felt like she had never slept in her life, like sleeping was one of those things other people did, people who still had places to go, people to meet, life to live.

She was so exhausted and drained, that her hand didn't even shake when she pressed the doorbell. She heard the familiar sound through the door, the note that made her heart ache in the strangest way.

She hadn't realized she had missed this place, not until now. She hadn't realized she had missed Césaire, her painfully normal life with him, something that now felt like a distant dream.

And then, his footsteps. Fay could tell he was barefoot - a thing she had loved about him. Her heart skipped a beat as the door opened, and she saw him.

His beautiful, blue eyes widened, he went pale. He grabbed the doorframe, as if it was difficult for him to stay on his feet.

"Fleur..!"

His voice was nothing but a thin whisper.

"Please." Fay breathed. "I have nowhere else to go."

A silence that lasted for an eternity. Césaire's gaze went from Fay's eyes to her crumpled clothes, to the small bag on her shoulder, and back to her face. She knew she looked like Hell, and it was obvious he noticed it.

He leaned on the doorframe, barefoot, in a T-shirt and jeans, and silently shook his head. A long sigh escaped his lips as he ran his fingers through his chestnut hair.

"Fine. Come in."

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She was standing in her old bedroom, staring out of the window, at the Arc de Triomphe in all its glory. Césaire had given her the bedroom, a true gentleman, sleeping on the living room couch himself.

It was cold. Fay wrapped her arms around her shivering form. She was wearing only L's old T-shirt - she hadn't brought a nightgown, and it had felt wrong on so many levels to borrow one of Césair's shirts. It felt wrong enough to sleep in his bed, to take advantage of his hospitality after the things she'd put him through... but this had been the only option.

She needed a place where no one could find her. A place to think.

Her body was still in Tokyo time, and after a couple of hours of restless sleep, full of nightmares, she had woken up at 3AM, knowing it was futile to even try to fall back to sleep.

The night of Paris was beautiful. L's scent lingered in the air around her, and she inhaled it, desperately, trying to fill her lungs with it, so that it would never leave her.

Futile, she knew, but still she tried.

Tomorrow she would write down everything she remembered, every little detail of the Kira case. And send it all to Wammy's house. To Near and Mello.