rollswap (L found the notebook and light is the worlds top detective)
L was not a regressor.
It didn't matter what the letter he received at age fifteen said. Didn't matter that his age range was listed as '2-3' and a permanent caregiver was recommended. L was a neutral, collected, and precocious teenager. He was mature for his age, and always had been.
Admittedly, L occasionally sucked his thumb to help him sleep. And he convinced his mother to buy him more expensive sheets because he liked to run his hands across the texture. And maybe he cast side-glances at the adult playgrounds all around the city, at the regressors who were happily running and playing on the swings.
But L was not a regressor. He got top marks. He wore stiff, professional clothes. He didn't cry, not even when he stubbed his toe. He turned his nose up at sweet drinks and packaged candy. In short, at seventeen, L was a model young man.
Which was when the notebook fell outside his classroom window, and everything got a lot more complicated.
–
Could a regressor do this? Collectively bring the world to its knees, the news outlets humming with one story? Could a regressor kill hundreds, save the general population from the evil in its midst?
L was Kira, and Kira was not a regressor.
–
L was not Kira.
L was trapped in a cell, his arms shackled behind his back, and he was absolutely certain that he wasn't Kira. What kind of idea was that, marching in and saying he thought he was subconsciously Kira? Absurd. He wouldn't do that kind of thing.
He yelled at the ceiling, pleaded with light, and received cold answers in return.
How had L sat here for a week, believing that light had been right to lock him away? It was absurd: he couldn't have committed the murders without knowing at all, it just didn't make sense.
"You told me to keep you in there, no matter what you said," light repeated calmly, his voice crackling through the cheap speakers outside of L's cell. "I'm only doing what you told me."
"Well, stop!" L shouted, tugging uselessly against the leather cuffs that held his arms behind him. His shoulders ached from the position. "Listen to me now, I'm not Kira!"
"We don't know that," light said. "Until we can be sure, you will stay in that cell. I'm sorry, L."
L felt tears well up in his eyes, and he jerked his head down to hide it. With his bangs hiding his expression, he tried to wrestle himself under control.
He felt scared and helpless and he just didn't understand what he was doing here. Let me out! a voice was screaming inside him, younger and just as frightened as he was. Please, I can't take it anymore!
What was he thinking? He was L, part of the taskforce dedicated to catching Kira. He could withstand this. He would have to.
He didn't bother to hide the tears as he raised his eyes again to the camera.
"Fine. I'll stay. But you'll see that I'm not Kira! I don't know what's happening, but I believe that my innocence will be proven one way or another."
"That's exactly what Kira would say," light drawled into the microphone, and then there was a short sound of feedback as the conversation cut off.
L rocked back to lean against the side of the bed, feeling exhausted but satisfied. He'd made his statement, and he had fought off the despair. He was L, and he would deal with this imprisonment with all the dignity he could.
