Hi! I'm terribly sorry for making you wait for the next chapter of Sonata in L. But I just get the worst writer's block sometimes. This is an idea I'd been toying with for awhile, so I wrote it down to help ease my writer's block. Hope you like it!
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L had never been one to listen to music. He found that it distracted him from his work, rendering it unnecessary. What use was a repetitive assemblage of notes and rhythms to the world's greatest detective?
That was before he heard french bubbling out through the bathroom door.
Curious, L rose from his seat and shuffled toward the door. He knew that Natasha was taking a shower at the moment, due to the fact that she was the only other person in the room at the time and that he certainly hadn't left the shower running. The water supply in her apartment had been cut off earlier that week and, after several days of accumulating filth, she had "politely" asked if she could use L's shower. In fact, he didn't remember her asking at all, but knew that she would and he did not wish to argue with her.
"Je veux que le matin l'ígnore, le nom que j'ai dit a la nuit..."
I want the morning to forget the name I told the night... That phrase bothered L, primarily because there was a slight possibility that Natasha knew his true name. Perhaps it was merely his paranoia, but he felt a need to hear what the red-head was talking about.
He pressed his ear against the door and listened. However, he couldn't make out more than a few words at a time. He was able to deduce that Natasha was merely singing in the shower, and that it was of no importance. L made his way back to his desk, fully satisfied in discovering the cause of the noise.
Or so he thought.
Seconds later, he found himself standing in front of the bathroom yet again. The sweet melody trickled through the air, accompanied surprisingly well by the sound of the water running. The lyrics to the song were hardly discernible through the door, though. Well... it was his hotel room.
L silently opened the door and invited himself inside. He stood hunched over with his back turned to the shower, granting the girl some meager semblance of privacy.
"Je veux que le jour le proclame, L'amour qu'au matin j'ai cache."
I want the day to proclaim the love I hid at morning, L mentally translated. The song was smooth and slow, lilting and traipsing throughout the room. He was surprised at the quality of the acoustics in the bathroom.
"Et sur mon coeur ouvert penche, comme un grain d'encens il l'enflamme."
And above my open heart it leans, like an incense's grain it catches fire. Was that referring to the previously-mentioned love? He was thoroughly confused as to the song's meaning, and reminded himself why he didn't listen to music. There was no logic to it.
"Je veux que le couchant l'oublie, Le secret que j'ai dit au jour,"
I want that the dusk forgets the secret I told at daybreak. What a contradictory song. However, he found himself inexplicably enjoying it. His head swayed slowly in time with the music, and he realized with mild shock that his eyes had closed of their own accord.
The abrupt, shrill screaming, L presumed, was not part of the song.
"What on earth are you doing in here!" Natasha screeched. L frowned. He preferred her singing voice to the shrill tones he usually had to deal with.
"I was merely listening." He shrugged, keeping his head facing away from her so as to not further invoke her wrath. "No need to worry. I wouldn't dream of peeking on you in the shower."
There was a pause. "Is that... supposed to be an insult? Or..." Natasha scratched at her damp red hair. "Never mind that!" Oh, joy. Her anger was back. "Get out of here this instant!" With that, she threw a towel at the detective's head.
L pulled the towel off of his head and stared at it. "That was not a wise move on your part, miss Reanolds. I do believe you need this towel to cover yourself, considering your clothes are still in the bedroom." With a slight smirk, he made his way out the door.
"AUGH! Give that back, you lousy pervert detective jerk!"
L merely smiled as she hurled expletives through the bathroom door, humming to himself.
Revenge was possibly one of his favorite sweets.