Author's Note: This is a sorta drabble about one way in which I view L, how he views himself and Light. Enjoy and Plez review!
His eyes had opened and the lashes removed a fine sheen and he had wiped away the plastic and peeled off the cellophane. He walked out with his skin smooth and white and barefoot onto the concrete. His glass black eyes had blinked at the streetlamps and then across with that light at the whole world.
Then he opened up the boxes and removed all the packaging. Smooth screens, brought back with a click. Then the white speakers, the microphones, all the wires set neatly into their sockets. His fingers danced across the keys, clack clack, in the smooth white silence. In the dark empty room, twenty stories up in the city.
He smiled with porcelain lips. This was what he wanted, this was what he was. This was what his mind had constructed on those rare occasions of reflection; his identity, his mirror perception. He holds an image of himself, pretence, and it is all thin sheets of wrapping paper and bright white technology.
He imagines his fingers are cool white plastic with tight precise little mechanisms, nanotechnology, beautiful interlacing slices of metal. He never wanted to be human, he has no past, he was never born, he has no biological trail, no threads of flesh, nothing so imprecise and superfluous.
He was immaculate and complete; he never believed he would never want anything more than the sweet sucrose in his veins and his extensions and applications. To slip out from the mainframe.
But then there was Light, from the single shiny photograph, to the video feed, to the very man before him, the interactions and the close hand observances. He wanted him. A want down to every minute component of his self; he watched with lengthy-spaced blinks the young man and felt the want in every metal spike, in every shuddering mechanism to his core. He saw a thousand little pins, a million little metal pieces and they would touch and spread and join, so perfectly, palm to palm, a flawless integration.
He wanted him so much. He could see the perfection in all of Light's features, his soft auburn hair and dark brown eyelashes, he could see the compatibility; flawless integration.
There was a calculated proximity now but the neat little distance between them was always maintained. That custom chain measured out the gap rather than bound the two men close. Always an arm's length away, always a hand's breadth. Never touching. That was the way that L used to believe human beings should interact. Even better was communication across wires where all the imperfect constraints of the flesh would not impact on just the pure correspondence between minds. That was how L would interface.
He wanted Light though, discovering the boy was a revelation. It was like encountering something alien, something divine and slowly coming to realise the quality and matter of it, a discovery more than knowledge.
He watched the boy in his own world, how the entity that was Light Yagami interacted. He saw clearly then that he was not the only one who wanted the young man, his perfection warranted many admirers. His shining white teeth glinted while he smiled, charmed, brushing his hair back behind his ears. How the young girls would melt, L believed that was the correct term; melt. Consumed by the warm, instinctual want. It was quite natural, L was prepared to acknowledge that, the want to run fingers through that hair, to smell the boy's skin and be held close to his warm firm chest; these were all natural impulses.
But L did not like to think of himself as a being of nature. He preferred the elevated state of the highest humanity; the mind; pure, mechanical. Natural, no, that was not what he was, he would tap the screen of the monitors while surveying this natural scene between boy and girl. That girl could have these natural emotions, these impulses, her faint blush, her fluttering eyelashes. Not him, not L, no.
Yet L did feel those so natural desires, the same admiration that everyone else regarded the boy with. There was no denying it, he was overcome with that immense, sweet want.
The time would pass by though, L was certain, carefully measured and observed. The soft clicks of the computer keys echoing in an empty room, communicating falling short, three feet two short, curtailed by a metal chain that coiled about the silence.
All would continue cold and unchanged. He was an immaculate entity; there would be no love.
He is a lonely L.