Sweet Little Lies

Because Of Nothing

'𝑹𝒚𝒖𝒛𝒂𝒌𝒊٫ 𝒅𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒖𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝑰'𝒅 𝒃𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒑𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂 𝒎𝒖𝒓𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒓; 𝑲𝒊𝒓𝒂? 𝑬𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒂𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑰 𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒑 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉 𝒉𝒊𝒎? 𝑫𝒐 𝑰 𝒔𝒆𝒆𝒎 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖?'

'𝒀𝒆𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒅𝒐. 𝑰'𝒗𝒆 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒔𝒐'

The door to their headquarters' apartment slammed shut behind the two men, as Light lead the way—storming through the hall, without a care as to whether L was close behind. Because it didn't matter, perhaps he wanted to punish the detective with carpet burn.

Now that they were in their home, Light could restlessly pace as much as he'd like to. Back and forth, back and forth, between their open-plan living room and kitchen space. L stood silently in the doorway—just watching. It was usually this way—L watching as Light worked himself into a state over something unimportant. 

The boy's brows had knitted themselves together, in a tight knot of vexation. L wanted to spend time carefully untying it, so Light could relax without the burden of forcefully stretched skin into a look of saddened frustration. He mumbled to himself, grabbing his face in various ways to rub a thumb and fingers in anxious contemplation over....𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈? Back and forth, back and forth. The detective observed the chain that swung repeatedly in differing directions, depending on Light's chosen course to charge his angry stride with expensive brogues that tapped between kitchen tile and carpet, as the boy retraced his circle of troubled steps over and over and over again. Back and forth, back and forth, back, and 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒉. Sometimes the chain would cease movement—swinging a little until gradually halting to a stop. L would follow the metal with his eyes; downward with the gravity that it obeyed, then up to Light's wrist as his motions ceased—with the exception of an agitated, tapping shoe. That is why he had stopped, to only ruin L's floor with a hole—caused from his incessant striking foot that beat persistently into the ground. Then the boy would continue to walk, joined by the roll of L's eyes as Light proceeded to ignore the detective's presence for the presence of his own mind, that spoke to him with alluring cruelty—no doubt tempting him to believe false truths.

"Ryuzaki?! What 𝒘𝒂𝒔 that before?!"

"'𝑰'𝒗𝒆 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒔𝒐' what the hell?!"

A pretty, enraged expression finally met L's eyes with a pretty glare as he turned to face the detective. Ah, so that's what was troubling him? Light hadn't liked it at the time—not liked it 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕𝒔𝒐𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 in fact. They'd almost physically fought over it, perhaps it was actually 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒕 for Matsuda to intervene. L would've had the boy on the floor and writhing, it would be extremely hindering to the detective's efforts at controlling himself. The task force would have to observe when L, irrepressibly, forced lips upon his companion's without constraint. It would certainly be a death sentence; a death of romance—for Light would forever despise him and the circumstance would indubitably end in a terrible everlasting grudge from the Yagami boy who, remained the most persistent man L had ever met (with the exception of a mild grudge that only L had the ability of terminating—this instance though, would be 𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒃𝒍𝒚 more severe. It just couldn't be done.) Disregarding all that, Light had kept on with the day, unaccompanied by blatant irritation at the incident. L only assumed—like most of their insignificant instances of bickering—that it was all forgotten, once the detective had an opportunity to subtly grab the enticing thigh of a focusing man in the chair beside him. Possibly not this time. Maybe Light had been burying his true feelings of aggravation underneath his skin of lies. Lies of nonchalance and strength of will to not be concerned with the ill words of others directed at him. Because he, of course—the pinnacle of fortitude—would never. He was better than that. Not with L though, he was a whiny baby with L. He'd cross his arms and scrunch his nose like a toddler and it was extremely fun to be witness to. This was one of these instances, it would be a long night.