Bubble baths.
What kind of self-respecting college student took a bubble bath instead of a shower? It was something Light asked himself every night as he stood next to L and the borderline obsessive-compulsive(who was he kidding, borderline?) boy stepped out of his clothes. It wasn't quite calmly that he did it, some sort of almost-shyness hindering his movements even though Light was politely turned away. The same ritual every night, with only slight variations.
L would turn on the faucet to fill the tub, squirt in some sort of expensive soap, undress in that almost-shy way, and then shamble out of the bathroom. Stark naked. He would shuffle into the kitchen of the hotel apartment with that impossible, graceless hunch, and start to make himself an ice cream sundae. Or cut a slice from one of the many cakes in the refrigerator, using the knife so precisely that Light wondered if he counted the atoms. Or pick and choose cookies from a dozen platters on the counters, stacking them perfectly in some incomprehensible pattern.
Then he would fix himself a cup of fine tea, or imported coffee, or expensive hot chocolate. A half-full cup of liquid, and then fill the rest with sugar cubes and cheap creamer packets. Sometimes he'd just take a fistful of the creamers.
Tonight was one of those nights. He carried the bowl of ice cream in his right hand and the creamers in his left(treat always in right hand so the cuff's chain clinked against it, drink in left, that's how this ritual went), any shame he'd displayed while undressing gone as he shuffled back toward the bathroom.
Naked.
Light just followed him, trying his damnedest to not be thrown by L's odd habits. Not since the first time, when he'd gaped and stumbled from surprise, L calmly asking what was wrong. Now it was just another competition, another game, another mask.
Light sits with his back to the tub as L raises his hands well over his head and turns off the water with his monkeylike toes. A moment later he steps in, treats still held high even though the movement wasn't nearly quick or sharp enough to make more than a ripple in the water. That is, if you could see the water under the ridiculous amount of pastel-colored bubbles. The creamers are stacked one-handedly on the side of the tub in the exact spot his drink went every night, forming a tiny plastic tower.
Right hand still holding the ice cream several feet above the water level using only his fingertips, L's left hand pops open one of the creamers. He didn't drink it, no, that would be normal(Light suddenly realizes he's considering drinking creamers at all to be normal, and mentally slaps himself). Instead he laps at it like a dog, the tiny cup held perfectly level in front of his mouth and his tongue darting out to take a little of the liquid each time.
Of course, Light isn't watching. His eyes just happen to be aimed in that direction and focused at that distance, neck craned around uncomfortably.
But L doesn't even seem to notice. That comes later, after he's finished the fourth creamer and taken several bites of ice cream off that ridiculously tiny spoon. Light counts them, one, two, three, four, five...now he drinks a creamer. Exactly twenty licks. Back to the ice cream: five bites. A creamer: twenty licks. Ice cream. Creamer. Ice cream. One, two, three, four...now.
"Light?"
He's already averted his gaze by the third bite, and when L's attention turns from the fifth as it's on it way to his mouth, he only finds the boy looking at the opposite wall of the bathroom. Light pretends to be surprised and looks over.
"What?"
"Scrub my back?"
"No. Do it yourself."
The same as every night. Suddenly Light no longer exists again. L finishes the bite and is once more engrossed by a creamer, the ice cream held high over his head. Minutes pass, the creamers opened, the ice cream dwindles.
What if I mix things up a little?
"Hey, Ryuzaki. Can I get a bite of your ice cream?"
The creamer seemed to jump from L's fingers and into the mass of bubbles, a soft ploosh making its way up through the foam as the container hits the water. Light looks over - as if he doesn't know what happened - and L is staring down into the foam with wide eyes. Good lord, he looks on the verge of crying. Over a lost two-yen creamer and marginally dirtied bathwater?
Light yet again wonders if the boy is insane. Or mentally retarded. There has to be something wrong with him; but Light doesn't think there's a word created for it yet.
L is still staring at the hole the creamer made through the bubbles. His ritual has been disrupted, he was only on sixteen with that creamer. Light is reminded of a line from a cartoon he saw once as a small child, 'Oh, no. She's stuck on an infinite loop, and he's an idiot.' Light takes the bowl of ice cream from L's hand and L jumps, attention snapping from the water to Light.
His eyes go even wider than normal as Light takes a bite of the ice cream. Light almost gags on the sweetness of it - L pours sugar over it when he's making it - but manages to keep a straight face. L just watches him eat it, both hands under water and hunched over until only his head and a little of his shoulders can be seen above the water and softly popping foam.
"It's not very polite to take someone's food like that."
"Neither is putting your bare feet on your desk at school."
L doesn't say anything, and Light defiantly takes another bite of the disgustingly sweet ice cream.