Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note.
The Dew of the Morning
Misa rarely woke up before her boys did. L was paranoid and eccentric enough to make the effort to pretend he'd been awake the whole night, even though they all knew it was impossible, the way they'd tired him out. Light needed more sleep than L, but less than her, and he dropped out and back in like clockwork regardless of how exhausted he was.
Sometimes, when Misa was really lucky, when just enough sunlight was floating into the room to nudge her awake, she would be able to catch a view like this.
Beautiful.
On one side, feathery jet-black hair splayed out on all sides, brushing up against papery skin and toying with the edges of her sunny locks. Only the tips of his fingers touched her, but they always gravitated towards her. He slept on his side, his legs pulled in as always, his head bowed towards her breasts. His mouth was open, to the point where his jaw touched his chest, which rose every three seconds to release a deep sigh.
L never slept in the middle because he hated being surrounded while he slept. Yet, Misa knew that when he fell asleep, the last thing he saw was always them, and he never turned away.
Light, on the other hand, didn't mind where he was, as long he could fall asleep with at least one of them to his chest, underneath his chin. Eventually he would sleep on his back, oftentimes resulting in one of the other two using him as a pillow.
She felt his heartbeat and his breath envelop her. Like the ebb and flow of the ocean, he was a constant that held her dreams in place. When he pulled out of slumber, his body would signal it with a low, rumbling snore. His breathing would become more pronounced, punctual, as he became more aware. His eyelids would slide up as luxuriously as a king's, and the morning light would reflect in little sparks against his muddy eyes.
Once Misa awoke, she resolved not to close her eyes, in order to drink in the sight of them as best she could. She dared not move, lest she disturb the metal chains that circled them, which were already warmed by their bodies.
Lying here, flesh against flesh, breath against breath, she lived. She knew that on her dying day, she would remember this moment as the last time she felt at home.