Author's Note: I do not and never will own Death Note. AU.
L can't sleep. It's not something new, but in a way it is. He's never had a murder suspect slumbering next to him, connected to him by a six-feet length of chain before. It's unsettling, the way Light's face relaxes when he sleeps. He wonders if his own face does the same.
Another good reason not to sleep, L thinks, and ignores the prickles of exhaustion that burn his eyes. He piles sugar cubes by his bedside, drops handfuls of marshmallows into his hot chocolate. He wants to sleep now, but he knows that if he tries, he won't. He'll toss and turn, but there is nothing restful for him between the blankets tonight.
Light shifts beneath the sheets, a muffled snore slipping free. L looks at him, trying to calculate probabilities, before giving it up as futile. He needs rest to properly deduct, but how can he rest when he's handcuffed to the person who is most likely the world's worst serial killer?
It's not fair. He's always been an insomniac, but this is ridiculous. The hours tick away as he crouches on his side of the bed, fingers tapping away on the laptop. The sun will be up soon, he realizes, and groans. Light Yagami slumbers peacefully beside him.
If I can't sleep, then you can't sleep. L knows he's being spiteful, but doesn't care, as he taps in a request for Watari. Minutes later, he comes in himself, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips when he thinks L isn't looking, as he hands L a plastic cup full of ice and cold water.
I am childish and I hate to lose. L told the investigative team that when he first met them. Perhaps it applies in more than one way.
After moving the laptop to a suitably safe location, L crouches next to Light and carefully tips the cup, splashing ice and freezing water all over him.
"Hey!" Light splutters, flailing awake, water dripping into his eyes. "What are you-" He stops when he sees L huddled there, smirking at him, the cup held loosely in one hand.
"You are sleeping when there is work to be done, Light," L explains simply, as if a burning desire to solve the case is all that motivates him. Light glares at him, but pushes himself to a sitting position anyway, fingers sliding on a stray ice cube.
"And you should change," L adds, slipping off the bed. "You don't want to catch a cold."
Behind him, he catches Light's huff of displeasure, and grins.