Beautiful Liar || L. Lawliet X Reader

11.5. Shinigami

Song: 'Free Bird' by Lynyrd  Skynyrd

Hour 3

{ October 6, 20XX: 01:34– Richard J. Donovan's Correctional Facility }
[L's POV]

My escort and driver Madeline walked in front of me with the dignified stride of a businesswoman. Her heels clicked on the bottom of the dirty concrete floors and echoed in my mind until it was all I could hear. Outside, the desert surrounded us with a black, moonless sky. California, I've come to realize, is quite a lonely place.

"I don't know why you want to do this Ryuzaki, but please get it done quick." Madeline said over her shoulder. "I'm not gonna do this forever. Escorting you around like this is demeaning."

A couple years ago, I caught Madeline for business fraud while trying to find a murderer at her company. She's much like (y/n) in that she's cunning, and highly skilled at her trade: infiltrating and hacking. An excellent source for information that needs to be obtained illegally. But they're complete opposites in that she is as cold as (y/n) is radiant.

"Forgive me." I said. "It'll only be here one more day."
"Right. Anyways, who was that earlier? The one that was crying?"
"That was (y/n). They're my..." my voice trailed off. What was (y/n)? There's no one word that accurately describes our relationship. Friends? No. Lovers? Not quite.

Madeline saw my hesitation and laughed.
"... So, someone important to you? Congratulations, you finally have a friend. You must like them a lot to come all this way while you're chasing Kira."

Embarrassed, I scratched my head.
"Yeah, I guess you could say that."

We stopped at the end of the dimly lit hallway, where two wide transparent doors showed what appeared to be the prison's interrogation room. The entire room was divided into two, separated by one solid metal wall. In the middle stood a glass doorframe an inch thick, and on each side of the glass was a single chair and desk with a microphone.

The guards opened the door for me. Madeline stayed behind. I shuffled in, and on the other side of the barrier were the sounds of people struggling. Two officers dragged in the remnants of Beyond Birthday and brought him to the glass frame.

The man in front of me could only barely be considered human. He wore a white suicide blanket (clothing that couldn't be harnessed into a noose), and his ankles were chained together. He was gagged, and he looked down at his feet so that his long, glossy black hair covered his face, resting on hunched shoulders.
He was, in essence, a madman.

I slipped into the chair, bunching up my knees in my usual fashion, and examined the man. This was the shell of the man (y/n) loved ? Jealousy flared up in my chest. I despised him for the power he had over (y/n)'s psyche.

Feeling tense, I tapped the microphone and cleared my throat.
"Beyond. This is L."

The man's shoulders tensed, and his head jerked up. Wild bloodred eyes bore into mine with the intensity of it's own madness. The dark circles under his eyes were exponentially worse than mine, so deep and sullen that I couldn't say with certainty if he had ever slept during his incarceration.

A hand reached over and undid his gag.

"L." He spat. "Lawliet. 587301... 587301?!" His eyes flushed with fury, and his eyes glazed over, as if pondering something.