A/N: Nope, I own nothing. But here's a two-shot for you!
The Facts:
L hunches like a beaten thing when he walks, crouches when he sits, doesn't wear shoes, doesn't wear socks, doesn't wear anything besides a white shirt and a pair of jeans, gnaws at his thumbs, gnaws at other people's sanity, and is perfectly happy to steal people's cell phones when the need strikes him.
Conclusion:
L has no social skills.
Or, rather, the raw disregard he felt for social customs manifested itself in a distinctly irreverent blend of idiosyncrasies that led any reasonable being to believe he had no social skills.
But Light liked to put his money on the first option.
Therefore:
L, of all people, does not devote time and brainpower (however little it may have taken) into remembering people's birthdays.
Much less buy them presents.
So really, it was perfectly understandable why when L nudged the modest package teeming with big, bright, smiling cupcake stickers and a huge red bow towards him, it took a solid minute for Light to pick his jaw up off the floor again.
Metaphorically, of course. Light didn't do undignified things like gaping.
L tugged his lollypop out of his mouth long enough to comment on the sudden sentimentality.
"Scratch the stickers, they'll smell like cinnamon."
Light gaped.
The sucker went back in, and it took only a few seconds more of staring down the bulbous adornments for Light to begin cursing his birthday. February 28th was a stupid day anyway.
L stared at him, lips bobbing nonchalantly around the purple sucker, tell-tale toes curling expectantly. Light numbly remembered to smooth the nonplussed arch out of his eyebrows, but he couldn't hide the ungainly hesitation of his hand as he slowly pulled the scarlet bow free.
A decent collection spilled out: a tennis racket, a crisp new shirt, a pack of microfiber cloths, a watch, and one glossy red apple. Light was mildy irritated to discover that he was mildy irritated that the things were actually pretty useful.
"Now you don't have to sulk about your ripped one," L offered, satisfied with himself. Light snorted, and thoughtfully passed his thumb over the sleek, tasteful metal of the watch. The gesture was almost...touching.
Except then the luscious gleam of that mythical fruit caught his eye. He picked it out of the colorful debris and thoughtfully rolled it around in his hands. He actually did like apples, but...L, do you know...His face darkened almost imperceptibly; lips thinned and eyes narrowed into a decidedly flat look. He dropped the apple to his lap and extended his palms to L.
"Well?" He splayed his fingers. "Are they red?"
L paused. Slowly leaned forward on his heels. He extended one long finger, brought it to Light's palm and drew a light, barely-there circle in the center. A careful, measured sweep brought his eyes rolling up to meet Light's. Light watched the reflection in the iris shift, but he couldn't see the quicksilver gears turning behind it.
"I don't believe they would be."
Light reclaimed his hand and fought the ignoble urge to recoil or rub it against his pants to blunt the spiraling nerve tingles.
"But you still look." It was a challenge to keep the blatant accusation from his voice. And L didn't say anything, just stared across the bed and held the lollypop firm in his fingers.
Light was pinned, just like always, by L's stare, so hard he felt the now almost reflexive urge to deny he was Kira build in his throat. L finally broke the eye contact and twirled his tongue around the sucker loftily. He cast Light a smooth sideways glance and barely seemed to move his lips as he deadpanned, "I assure you that in this I have no ulterior motive. Think of it as...encouragement that I truly do wish for us to play tennis again someday."
With that he turned to his laptop and started typing away.
Light stared incredulously at the hunched back now facing him, almost ready to believe him. Almost, except for the almost imagined shadow of a smirk that crossed the detective's face as he returned to work. As if to assure Light that, as usual, all was never as it seemed.
And in the meantime, this is fun enough.
It was three am and Light was tearing his hair out.
Metaphorically, of course.
Honestly, this time. Good self-image was one of the last refuges he had, and besides. L would ask awkward questions if Light was bald in the morning.
Said detective would likely also have been highly amused that his stunt with the gift had irritated his suspect so much. Light did not like not figuring things out. This, gesture of L's, was fairly personal, and fairly touching, but it was completely maddening to not know what motivated him to do it in the first place. It didn't feel like something L had done on a whim; Light liked to think that the Kira case occupied them enough to discourage frivolous actions.
But microfiber cloth? A jab at Light's neat-freak tendencies? Really?
It had to have been worth L's time, something on par with the case. It was most likely an attempt to gain insight into Light's character. But if L was testing him by buying him presents, then he was definitely running out of ideas. And if he had been trying to determine how Light would react in an awkward situation...well, the chain pretty much had that covered. Light bunched the pillow between his fists and tried to ignore the detective, still in his jeans and customary shirt, clacking away at the computer.
Then Light realized, as he thought of a buttoned-up shirt that fit his frame all too perfectly, and a racket that sat irritatingly well in his hand, that it was another game.
This was L one-upping Light, trumpeting his advantage with a deceptively well-intentioned present. L had researched Light Yagami to the point of exhaustion, to the point where he knew the boy maybe not inside and out, but most certainly out, and he was flaunting that knowledge. And he had the gall to flaunt in the most infuriating of ways; acting like a normal, considerate human being who actually gave a damn about social norms.
L had outdone Light in a game of social skills.
Oh, it was so on.