Light's eighteenth birthday is a small affair, even by his standards: just him and his mother and sister. It's been years since he's been particularly interested in birthdays, his own or others', beyond the implicit social obligations. And this year... this year, he's been distracted. Such a diligent young man, so hardworking – and he is working hard, though not, perhaps, at what his mother believes.
But not right now. Right now he'll smile at his family and blow out the candles on his cake – eighteen full candles; Sayu insisted – and when Sayu asks what he wished for, he'll tell her wishes don't come true if you confess them, and they'll all know he's teasing, that he's too old for that sort of thing really. And if no one ever hears from L again, it'll be a complete coincidence.
"I'm sorry we didn't get you much," Sachiko will say, her brow showing traces of worry lines that weren't there a year ago, and again Light will demur, because what he wants is already all but his.
Anyway, not even Sachiko could cover the world in gift wrap.
Tiny, tiny, tiny little drabble for his birthday. And it's half an hour late. D: I'm sorry, Laighto.