Title: "Shadows," prompt by (erogenous).
Pairing: L/Light/L and Kira + L
Warning: Only mild angst—whoa, a precedent! Unbeta'dness
And, I claim nothing but my own insanity.
SHADOWS (743 WC)
It's hardly a date—the rain isn't even warm.
(Bitter on the skin. Typhoon season. September.)
And L, legs close to his body, has his toes curled around the edge of the lawn chair, not avoiding eye contact yet not bothering to make it either. He watches as the raindrops make ripples in his cold tea, no longer suitable for drinking. (Just watching, watching.)
Light leans back on the chaise lounge—of course, with a towel and a golf umbrella of sorts to keep him dry—and makes a face as if he were just humoring the man beside him, even though that isn't true. They sit by the abandoned poolside, and he doesn't mind at all, and L knows in that irritating way he always does—making it a point to turn to him and give him a cheeky smile, almost as if to say, 'It's okay to release your facial muscles now.' And like always, Light pretends not to be flustered. Feeling a shift in the wind, he takes the moment to look away and readjust the positioning of the umbrella.
L would be ruthlessly direct and selfish, denying him that juncture to regain his composure with a (soft) hand on the shoulder, forcing Light back out of his blind spot to see the eyes (so close) that say, 'Don't. You promised me candor.'—Or at least on the surface level, because Light looks deeper and finds the second message, written in the deepened creases under the dark eyes—
'You'll only be lonely that way.'
—And Light frowns and narrows his own eyes because it seems patronizing (and L's intent doesn't matter when he's patronized). 'Who are you to tell me that?'
Then he opens his mouth to speak.
"Ryuuzaki, you're getting my sweater wet."
The man tilts his head, black hair clinging to his wet face, looking horribly honest with his thumb on his lips. Gesturing to his own soaked shirt, he asks, "Is such a thing a problem?"
L's tone holds no intent to provoke, but the honest curiosity irritates Light anyway. He feels dismissed in both their spoken and silent conversations, but he shoves the feeling deep into that place where he has locked Kira away for the day. Today belongs to just the two of them.
"I guess not."
L seems to take that as a cue to reach over and close the golf umbrella, much to Light's shock and displeasure (he had to stifle an ungainly squawk as he met the unwarranted rush of water). As he tries to formulate words, L contemplates him, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, "So the 'Wet T-shirt' phenomenon does not carry over to woolen garments…"
Light bites back a snarl of "Or to men!" when he really takes in L's appearance for the first time that day—the white shirt looking as translucent and delicate as his skin, wild hair tamed by downpour…
But his eyes don't linger long enough.
Staying in the now has never been one of their strong suits, anyway.
They sit facing each other now, knees touching, the rain coming down a little harder. L's teacup is flooding, deep ochre spilling and diffusing onto the concrete where he had set it. They try not to speak for a few minutes, because it feels more right just to be there, but knowing them, they can't help themselves.
Light breaches the silence, and the words come like a bitter aftertaste. He feels irreverent somehow.
"Why do you have the job that you do?" 'L.'
L lifts a ghostly eyebrow at him—'I thought we were to avoid this subject today'—and then bows his head to observe his own hand, tracing a thumb over the fleshy mounds of his palm.
"Why do you have the job that you do?" 'Kira.'
It's not that he didn't have an answer. There is just no answer to be had.
***
It was hardly a date—the rain wasn't even warm.
(Loud on the windows. Typhoon season. September.)
Even though they woke in the same bed, they really didn't "meet" the next day until they found themselves in the investigation room.
The closeness of the day before was gone—Kira had phased in, Light had phased out. There was no proof, no reminder, no trace left that it had ever happened, save for the syncopated lullaby of the deluge outside.
Maybe it was just L's wishful thinking, but he thought he had caught Kira smiling at the sound.
FIN