As much as he hated to admit it, Light found the tug of the cuff around his wrist frighteningly reassuring. It wasn't something he even allowed his mind to dwell on, shoving the idea ruthlessly away every time it dared to grin up at him with that cruel maw. He refused to believe that brief… incarceration had had any effect on him other than making his hair hopelessly greasy.
Which was annoying. And made the cuffs annoying. As L refused to take them off even to let Light bathe.
He wasn't even going to consider admitting that the thought of L leaving him alone in the locked bathroom again nearly sent him into convulsions. Again. Damnit.
They'd tried it once. The first time he'd had the chance to cleanse himself since the jailing. L had seemed almost… contrite when he told Light he'd allow him this small mercy.
As long as the door was locked. He hadn't needed to worry about the window; there wasn't one.
The moment the door had clicked shut, Light had found his eyes turning to the ceiling, counting the rows of tiles that made up it's garish white surface. He'd managed to shake himself from that, throwing himself into the task of undressing, first his shirt and then his trousers and then his socks and then…
He only realised he'd been stood staring at himself in the mirror for ten minutes when L knocked to ask if everything was okay.
It wasn't, but he would never admit it.
He'd called back - ignoring the small quiver to his voice - assuring L that he was fine. There was nothing to worry about. He'd just been availing himself of the other amenities first. Of course, the small camera that L thought he wouldn't noticed had already disproved that lie, but Light would go on pretending.
He just… hadn't quite recognised himself. The bones of ribs that stood like guards seemed frail with the way they pressed urgently at his skin, almost like they bayed to be freed. The faintly golden shine to his flesh had been curdled into a grey pallor, lined with the brutal blue paths of veins. Even his hair had suffered, the grease matting it and colouring it a damp brown.
He wasn't quite sure if he knew the person in the mirror. He certainly wasn't sure if he liked him.
Ignoring the stranger staring back at him he turned to the impressive array of nozzles that the shower proudly boasted, gleaming in joy at the prospect of being used. Light had noticed that while L might dress like a tramp, he always smelt clean and fresh, and the bizarre high tech shower seemed to prove that L loved the bathing routine.
Snorting quietly at the idea of a merrily singing L stood with a hand outside the spray to protect the sliver of cake it grasped, Light reached to turn the wheel and start the cleansing.
He didn't quite remember what happened after that. Only the sound of pounding drum falls battering at his ears. He vaguely recalled screaming - it couldn't be his own - and the sudden warm clasp of hands on his shoulders.
After that nothing. Until he'd woken up to find himself clean and stretched out in bed, his de-greased hair long since dry.
It frightened him. That he could be so out of control that he didn't even know what had happened. L had clinically reported that he'd fallen into a fit, during which Watari had swiftly sedated him. They'd washed and dried him while he'd been out and then Watari had clothed him before placing him into the bed.
Light was slightly repulsed that they'd seen him naked, but he would never admit it.
After that L had refused to take off the cuffs, no matter how much Light had protested. He'd simply push Light gently in the direction of the bathroom, follow him, then fall into that strange crouch on the floor, turned away from the sight of Light undressing silently behind him.
They never said a word after Light's initial protestations. The only sound was the heavy drum roll of water and the soft clinking of the chains between them.
He'd never admitted he knew that L tugged at them gently every so often. Just to remind him that he was there.
L wouldn't let him sit out on his own showers either, pulling insistently on the chains and whining that Light loved to be clean, so how could he stand a dirty L just a few feet away? Needless to say Light would bite back that L's state of cleanliness wasn't exactly something that interested him. At all. But it would only take a few minutes of L's pining to have him trudging grudgingly into the bathroom after him.
L pretended not to notice when Light tugged at the chain to make sure he was there.
It was, however, more than slightly embarrassing whenever one or the other of them had to go to the toilet. Even then L refused to release the handcuffs. Light frequently remained unrelieved for several hours so as not to face the embarrassment often. It was only when L would notice his squirming and suddenly announce that he needed to go the bathroom that he'd allow himself that weakness. After all, L had admitted to it first.
Invariably his sleep was troubled by his need to know someone was there as well. He'd wake frequently in the night, shivering with the remembered cold of the concrete floor provided him. Often times he'd find L's eyes staring back at him, the warm touch of fingers on his own warding away the frozen touch of loneliness.
Neither of them admitted to these regular interludes occurring. Light just closed his eyes and ignored his fingers as they twisted to catch L's.
Even when Light remembered everything he still found himself reaching for the comforting weight. As he turned away he could hear the reassuring clang of metal, even while he spelled out death for Higuchi.
And therefore L. Therefore L. Who tugged briefly on the chain to remind him he was there.
Suddenly the constant reminders took on a whole new meaning. L hadn't ever been reassuring him, he'd been threatening him! Showing him that Light still wasn't free, that L would uncover him as Kira someday.
And suddenly all Light wanted was for the wretched things to be off. He found himself ignoring the questioning pull, the tentative chipping of one link against another. No longer did he wake up and reach for the comfort of L's fingers on his own. Of course not. What a pathetic notion. No, he simply turned away, pretending that he'd never woken up at all, ignoring the mourning stroke of fingertips on he back of his neck.
If he just pretended, none of it would have happened.
And even when the cuff was finally taken from his wrist, L's solemn, and deeply sad eyes refusing to meet the triumphant lilt of his own, he decided he wouldn't admit it. Not the despair that screamed within him; not the sudden break of noises upon his ears; not the desolate feel of his bare skin.
No. He'd never admit it, he thought. As horror assailed him when L stopped moving.
----
Death Note and the characters L and Light belong to Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata.
Further exploration of the effects of the incarceration, this time the period after it. All in brief of course. And oh so fun to write! Traumatised Light is strangely (worryingly???) appealing. Is there a hint of LxLight in there? I'll let you decide.