𝘼 𝘿𝙚𝙩𝙖𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙙 𝙍𝙚𝙨𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚 | 𝘭 𝘭𝘢𝘸𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘵

𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 21

Spending the nighttime side-by-side, blanketed in the hazy, static glow of the monitors and the comfortable silence between them had become something of a strange routine between L and (Y/n).

She wondered if the other detectives from the NPA were aware of this little nightly ritual seeing as they'd come down in the more reasonable hours of morning to find both of them together, (Y/n)-- more often than not-- having fallen asleep in her chair. She was sure her father's internal dialogue must be entertaining given the number of times he had looked strangely at them, his eye twitching just slightly when he focused on how comfortable L seemed around her and managed to exhibit more liveliness even through his monochromatic tone of voice and lack of major expression.

(Y/n) wasn't sure what she'd say if her father ever decided to corner her and ask of her relationship with L. Truthfully, she didn't really know herself.

They had kissed, but they were not lovers. They were still tentative with the word 'friend', skirting around it and toeing the lines of what bound them by the use of the term. They were confidants, yes, but whatever relationship they shared seemed far more intimate than merely mutual confidence.

Above all, they were competitors. Pushing the other's buttons to get a reaction first, petty little unspoken contests, and of course, a silent race to see whose influence would eventually win in swaying the case to their favor. They were competitors, but perhaps a better definition would be to say that they were equals.

And finding an equal when they were both the kind of people they were was rare for them, so they were bound by something they did not understand beyond a brand of intimacy specific to them and the feeling of comfort that was new and dreamlike.

The strange sense of peace that had begun to settle in his presence was still a kind of calm that remained a matter of curiosity to (Y/n), and she mulled over just when they had both begun to expect something from each other outside just the case.

Because, in the hours that were not quite night and not quite morning, they had created a space for just the two of them that existed outside their worldly ties and responsibilities. A realm meant for them to coexist, in silence or conversation, but always in solace and ease.

It existed in the way he looked at her like she would always be the greatest enigma he'd wait patiently to solve, or how he'd reach for her hand when no one was looking because he liked the way her warmth felt against his palms. It existed in the way he always managed to looked to her, no longer only to gauge her reactions for truth, but also to provide himself with evidence that she was always right there, beside him.

Neither one was unintelligent or deluded. They knew the outcome of the case they each wanted was different and, eventually, only one would stand as the true victor of this battle. In the end, they were still competitors.

But, somehow, it didn't matter in their little bubble of escapism where an extra bowl of strawberries and a blanket had begun awaiting her every time she stayed overnight at the HQ.

L expected her to be there and she always came.

It sounded practically inconceivable to herself, and a few months ago, she would've laughed at the prospect of harboring anything but contempt and irritation for L, but when he rested his head on her shoulder, she only felt something akin to fondness.

Any irritation was purely because his hair was tickling her neck and cheek.

"Strange, isn't it?" she asked out of the blue, not quite looking at the screens before her.

L hummed, always perfectly aware of what she might be referring to. He was still annoying like that. "Strange, indeed," he muttered, raising his head to look at her, "but not unwelcome."

She reached for him, hand pressed against his cheek, relishing in the contrast of temperature and the proof of his presence because it caused goosebumps to erupt on her skin. "Have you ever felt like this before?"

"No." His reply was prompt, large gray eyes never looking away from her. "Have you?"

Her lips twitched up into a smile. "Not exactly. No," she answered. "I certainly didn't expect to feel it with you."

His smiles were far and few, but they made him look younger, taking away the exhaustion so deeply set in the lines of his face and the weariness of distrust.

Not to say they fully trusted one another. But, perhaps, if circumstances had been different, they would've learned to. Had circumstances been different, they might've figured out how to stop dancing around the lines of words they were trying to use to define whatever they shared. They might've learned to accept the sense of belonging in the other.

"It is a pity," she whispered, resting her forehead against his and inhaling the scent of strawberries on his breath.

He hummed, cool fingers coming to rest against the back of her neck, curling into her hair. "It'd be easier if you chose my side," he pointed out softly, amusement of all things in his voice, and it made her want to whack him (not for the first time). "I did offer."

"You know I can't do that." She sighed. "A shame, really."

In their own little bubble, L had begun to understand that it was okay to steal moments like this. Away from prying eyes and the anticipation of what might become of the current biggest mystery in the world. It was okay to forget himself for these few precious moments because it did not matter with (Y/n).

She knew of his lack of experience in all things breaching affection. She was aware (a little too well, he suspected) of his flaws and his shortcomings. Despite them, however, she chose to stay this close. To remind him he was human. To make him feel when he often forgot to.

So, he stole another moment from the few between morning and night and pressed a kiss to her lips, still smiling.

"It's okay," he told her. "I'll wait until you do pick my side."