Sweet Little Lies

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"Well that certainly was an unpleasant outing"

Light felt the detective's presence behind him as he squelched amusingly into the room. The boy himself, sat atop the stairs, drying himself off. L wasn't wrong, it was...𝒆𝒙𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒍𝒚 unpleasant—more so awkward, ungainly and strange, than anything. Light knew L was lying about the depth of his feelings he 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆. No, the 'love' wasn't reciprocated however something irked Light Yagami. Something just...wasn't making sense. If L's glaring dance of 'I'm about to die' was real then what was even the point of pretending any longer? Admit the truth, and be done with it—what's there to lose? Bastard was still, even in his helplessness, trying to 𝒊𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒉𝒊𝒎; create unanswered questions for Light to carry with him after L's body were merely 𝒃𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔. Pity for him, obviously Light didn't care enough about that to dwell on it longer than he had to.

"It's your own fault—I mean what did you expect?"

Most likely, L just wanted to draw Kira out into the downpour just to inconvenience him, while he still could—a final win that was only a small 𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒑, over a pebble in the path that remained travelled because L's minor influence no longer mattered. Was Light completely and 𝒖𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒚 obsessed with the detective's every attribute? Yes. Did he hate him? 𝒀𝒆𝒔.

"You're right. I'm sorry"

Light opened his eyes to the odd sight of L, crouching upon the stairs—which was, in itself normal—yet, he held his bare foot, and looked up to the confused young man of which it belonged to, with an eerie normality over the circumstance.

"What are you doing??"

"I thought I might help you out...you were busy wiping yourself off anyway"

Was the detective attempting some act of sanctimonious symbolism right now? There was no way this was a gesture of sincere affection.

"Look it—it's fine you don't have to do that"

"I can give you a massage as well? It's the least I can do to atone for my sins?—I'm actually pretty good at this"

After everything they'd done. After everywhere L's hands had been...this shouldn't have startled him—but it did. Light wasn't sure why he agreed. The situation was off-putting and odd, to say the least. Undeniably; 𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒍𝒚...the detective's cold hands with their—strategically employed—softly pressing fingertips, still generated electricity within him. Not to mention something about it was gratifying...as though at last, L bowed before him in a yielding that had been unalike to any other display of submission he'd experienced.

"Fine, do what you want"

"Alright"

Hands proceeded with a delicate nature that contradicted L's previous words of rebuttal. Fingertips dragged over the sensitive arch of Light's foot and he flinched—in turn recalling how good the detective's hands could make him feel.

"Hey!"

"You'll get used to it"

L had a pretty voice. A captivating one. Subdued and gentle, yet potent and ruminating like a contemplative philosopher. Light was entranced by it at times and in this moment, desired for it to trickle its whispers, as lips hovered closely by his ear to please his brain; roll brown eyes under the influence of flattery.

Dark hair hung low over his large eyes—emulating the detective's alluring mystery...and was still wet, obviously, so the long strands accumulated together—saturated with rainfall—to concentrate water down their length's and drip, occasionally, and irritatingly upon Light's skin and it was cold. L could never do anything properly. The boy experienced a twinge of nurturing fondness for it. He would've pulled him near, to dry his whole body had their rooftop conversation not been so...unpalatable.