Impulse Control (Yagami LightxReader)

13

By the time you'd woken up the following morning, L was still out cold.

You can only hope he'd chalk it up to his body catching up on lost sleep, which taking into account his other educational vacuums in biology, didn't seem improbable. His method for that goddamn "40% increase" in his deductive capabilities still makes you cringe.

Nevertheless, you couldn't help but feel the slightest bit affected. You'd chalk it up to offense over him not waking up to accompany you on your trek to To-Oh—he made it a point to always walk you there since becoming roommates—but taking into account your psychological shortcomings, you too were probably just worried in your own, weird way.

This affectation got the better of you, despite how unwilling you were to so much as acknowledge it. You begrudgingly searched the mini-fridge for something you could envision him eating when he woke up to settle his stomach, which was little.

A meal prep item of yours from earlier this week soon caught your eye: mango and sticky rice. Sweet, and healthier than whatever French pastry he'd call in through room service. You weren't confident that L would even set foot in the kitchenette between waking up and leaving the hotel, so you opted to place it on the floor between the bathroom and his bedroom (with appropriate flatware).

That assuaged you. Plus, in the case he had any esoteric systems to check if someone had entered his room—as you've known his moral foil to have—the revelation could be excused as food delivery.

Yet, you still felt a consternation weighing you down as you prattled about the bathroom, gaze tethered to the container you'd left on the floor.

Did you give him too strong a dosage? That's ludicrous, though. A good 85% of the sleeping aid must've denatured in the process of baking it. Even then, those remaining, what, six functional milligrams were distributed throughout the candy, right? There's more percentage argon in the atmosphere than melatonin in whatever L ate. Yet..

You stormed back into the kitchenette and grabbed a napkin. After locating the nearest marker, you etched 'call me when you're awake' into the paper appliqué and stuck it atop the lid. You were halfway to To-Oh when you also recollected L didn't have your phone number. The remainder of your walk consisted of you trying to push the excess blood out of your cheeks.

Moving on. You know you said a chapter ago that you'd be avoiding Yagami like the plague for the next week or so, but the information you gathered is a self-declared exception to your social distancing. You still wish you would've found him under better conditions.

You had entered the auditorium for one of the classes you shared with the student. Nothing special: a general education course which no high school credit covered, so everyone and their dog was there. You had the misfortune of spotting and locking eyes with Yagami as you made your way to the back, and he proceeded to wave you down.

Would you have sat beside him without much thought, ceteris paribus? Hard maybe. But these weren't regular conditions. In your thoughtful pause, Takada Kiyomi's head popped out from behind her boyfriend's profile, squinting at you.

The conversation following was entirely nonverbal, with a couple meters of space between either of you. You shook your head; Yagami lowered his hand and shot you a look of perplex and minor offense. You nodded to the upset presence behind him; he looked to the side, brightened upon epiphany, and made a face—shaking his head and motioning for you to sit beside him again.

You shook your head once more, this time with added ferocity and auxiliary hand movements; his insouciant wave towards Takada and encouraging gesture forward toward you also increased in vitality. You were about to walk past his row when he abruptly turned to Takada herself, whispering something.