The Stool
Three
She hated this.
She seriously hated this.
Misa huffed and puffed, crossing her arms over her chest and made general sounds of annoyance and anger, hoping the show would make L leave.
She should have known it wouldn't be that simple.
Honestly, she thought as she grumbled to herself under her breath, how rude of him to sit in on such an important day! It was their nine month anniversary and Misa would be darned if the weasely detective would ruin it for her. Light was, of course, spending the supposed date time talking to L about the case. As if they didn't do that 24/7?
Glaring at L had no effect, she soon realized, which only proved to make her angrier. She looked at him, all curled up in the chair in that odd way of his, picking at a piece of cake lightly with a fork as he spoke, as if the mere act of touching the sweet was enough to soothe whatever beast lay inside him that craved for sugary desserts.
Misa's eyes followed the fork and landed on the vanilla-iced treat. Her stomach quivered, craving the soft cake that was, most assuredly, delectable (L only had the best of everything) but as he picked up a bite, she knew that eating it would kill the diet plan she was right now.
Not that it was that hard to resist, Misa told herself straightening her spine as L's eyes met hers. Not when he was the one holding the damn cake.
She couldn't stand the way his toes moved on the chair and after he sat in one place she couldn't sit there until it had been cleaned. Misa's foot phobia was a difficult force to reckon with.
Misa'd like to see what would happen if someone gave him a stool to sit on. She decided that it would be, without a doubt, severely entertaining to watch L struggle to curl up on something like that.
A smile curved unbidden upon her lips at the thought and her annoyance melted a degree as she imagined how the scene would play out.
End.