Light stared at the dark ceiling above his bed, which looked like a looming shinigami. Wait, he already had one of those. The moonlight coming in from the open window, made unrecognizable patterns, black on white, like a certain detective. Light doesn't remember when it first became a habit for him to compare almost everything and everyone to L, and feeling the resonating disappointed when none of it ever held even a candle to the man who was L. Like now, he was laying in bed, a beautiful girl- a supermodel to boot, wrapped around him, yet the difference plagued his thoughts and kept him awake, twisted limbs in twisted sheets. The curves were all wrong, she was bony but unlike L and the heat. God, the heat. While L's was all encompassing, going beneath each fibre of his being, Misa's inexplicably always left him cold on the other side.
