Title Control
Author Uozumi
Rating PG-13
Summary He allowed himself one day a year to cry.
Control
He allowed himself one day a year to cry. He could scrunch himself into the smallest ball he could, he could rock back and forth, scream if need be, but not in front of anyone. It had been sixteen years and only once before had he sacrificed this day.
His willowy fingers ran over links in a chain that lead to the eighteen-year-old sleeping nearby. Many called him a genius, wise beyond his nineteen years, and he lived up to their standards. Yet the young man who sacrificed his real name for L was still a child.
He missed his mother. He missed his father. He could barely remember their voices, and their faces were getting foggier in his mind, all pictures destroyed once he entered the Wammy House.
L was shaking. He clutched his shoulders and breathed deeply. Never in front of anyone, he repeated to himself. The teenager to his right stirred in his sleep, and L took a few more calming breaths. Regaining his composure, he ran a hand through his dark hair. If he was outside of the room, if he was amongst the adults, keeping one step ahead, this would be easier. However, he was behind doors in a large room as he typically did on this day.
He wanted to bury his face in his pillow.
That wasn't an option. Light would wake, and he would lose whatever hold he had over the younger teenager. He had to keep control of their situation if Light was Kira. He let his mind wander to the case, but it provided a fruitless distraction. He had gone over everything countless times and had nothing new to muse.
The bed shook and L froze. Muscles tensed, he waited for Light to roll over or simply adjust the blankets, but instead a hand brushed against his back, before tentatively grasping his left shoulder.
The detective stared off at the chair across the room, though he didn't register it. His ears were stopping up and dimly he felt like he would swallow his tongue.
"Breathe," a voice beside him whispered, giving away slight concern and worry.
Ears popped and L gasped for breath. He heard chain links clink together and his knee touched Light's bare skin. Reflexively he moved his right arm as he found their sides pressed together, his head resting against Lights shoulder, awkward fingers running through his dark hair.
Panic seized the older teenager. He was not in control of this situation. He should push away, he should move to the other side of the bed, he should turn away and let Light get dressed because he knew Light wouldn't sleep now that he was awake.
He made a weak attempt. Twisting his body slightly, his right hand pushed against the pillow behind Light, but nothing happened. He moved his legs and only succeeded in making both his knees pop deafeningly. He tried to lift his head up, but instead it merely turned so both his eyes were buried into Light's shoulder. Much to his chagrin, he was crying.
Shaking arms wrapped around Light's waist and bitten nails dug into him. Faltering slightly, the bleached boy stuck his right arm out, balancing himself as his companion leaned against him. He felt L's arms grip him tighter and heard a few undignified sniffles. Gently, Light bent his right arm slightly and used his left arm to guide L down onto the bed. Keeping the detective close, Light could hear joints cracking and squeaking as L stretched out slightly, moving so Light wasn't lying on his arm. Chain links smacked together and the bed gave embarrassing creaks.
Again nervous hands ran through dark hair as a pale arm fell across a tanned waist. There they stayed a silent agreement never to speak of this moment even between themselves.
The End