Chapter 7, woohoo! I hope all of you have now watched the original Karate Kid like I mentioned in the last chapter. No, it isn't relevant to the story, but it is relevant to life and you're so missing out if you haven't watched it.

I've given up on some of you people, the ones that subscribe to alerts and favorite the story without reviewing. Gah! So mean of you; I don't care if you suck at English, just use your native language, chances are that I can read it! I can read quite a few languages, you know. ; )

Heh, anyway, does anyone else remember the show Totally Spies? Whenever I see Watari, I always think of Jerry from that old show. . . I miss that show now. Now go on! Hence forth to timeout time!

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L thought to himself while he monitored Light for a minute. L silently admitted that he had lost control of himself for a while there. The intensity of the fight was just proof of his loss of control. He was not used to such contact and the suddenness of it last night had frightened him. He didn't know why he was frightened, he just had been; it was probably the isolationism he usually practiced. He was used to helping the world without ever getting personally involved and now that he had to deal with other people on a constant basis he was out of his comfort zone . . . which added to the amount of candy he'd been eating lately.

But who wouldn't have been surprised? Forget that Light was Kira, a mass murderer, for just a moment. Anyone would be terrified if someone who was having a violent nightmare for 15 minutes (which of course feels like hours in the dream) suddenly leapt toward them in desperation; that's just plain scary! And that's exactly what the boy had done! L focused his eyes finely on Light, what had he been dreaming about?

Light took a minute to monitor L as well while he thought. Why had they been so angry at each other for no apparent reason? Had they even been angry? Not really, the anger was more of a welcomed middle ground. Light thought about last night and he blushed for a second before recovering. The nightmare had terrified him, but a different fear overtook him when he had awakened and had a disturbing realization: being with L calmed him down. Not just being with L, Light grimace, but coming into contact with the insomniac. Holding on to L made him escape his nightmare and he had immediately felt better . . . he had felt . . .safe. 'Oh god, this is terrifying,' Light thought. He was wondering if nightmares—verging on night terrors—were worse or better than admitting to himself that L made him feel safe. L—the one that accused him of being Kira, monitored him in his bedroom, put him into an isolated cell, and then let him out only to handcuff them together—made him feel safe. Really? But L was his only real friend, so maybe it made sense? He could see that logic . . . well, kind of.

L broke the silence, "Why does Light have to touch me so much?" He figured that he might as well just ask it straight out.

Light had a small blush hovering over his cheeks when he looked the other in the eyes, and asked, "Why do you keep wording it like that?" People were going to start thinking the wrong thing.

The detective tilted his head, "Is that not what you were doing to me?"

"L!" Light reacted, exasperated, "That sounds worse! Think about your wording, would you? Pretend Misa is here or something! She'd call you a pervert." Light's guard of his facial expressions was dropped as he blushed red; L had a knack for blowing his concentration.

"She'd probably be calling you the pervert, in this situation," L agreed, finally realizing why his words had a perverted ring to them.

They stared at each other, Light still blushing as he changed the subject, "L, we should really clean ourselves up first; your cheek is swelling pretty badly."

L touched his cheek; it hurt. "Don't change the subject."

"I'm not changing the subject!" he lied, standing up and pulling the chain and the one attached with him. "Seriously, if you look that bad, I'm sure I don't look so good either." They walked toward the bathroom, Light leading L on the chain. 'What if I really do look bad?!' thought the vain boy with dread.

"As if you could ever look bad," L mumbled under his breathe. Wait. What was that? Was that jealousy? L shook that thought out of his head. Ow, his head throbbed and judging by how equally hard he'd been hitting Light, the boy was probably hurting just as badly.

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Light frowned sadly when he saw his face in the mirror. The gash on his jaw was thick and the skin around it was raised in a purple lump. The right side of his face was all bruised, his eye swollen as well. His lip was fat and he had dried blood in both his nostrils. The left side of his face was mostly untouched, but he had a small cut on his eyebrow, probably from a fingernail. "Awful," he mumbled, turning on the sink facet to wash his face. L rolled his eyes; the boy looked beaten up, not awful.

After they tended to their faces, both still pretty swollen, they rolled up their pants and washed and bandaged their knees. Light's knee was in much worse condition than L's, but L still had to peel off some of his own dangling skin before he dressed the wound with gauze. Light slyly watched L.

Light smiled at the oddity that was L. L cleaned his injuries and wrapped them while continuing to hold everything with only his index fingers and thumbs. How did he manage to even accomplish that? Light felt a laugh in his throat and held his hand to his mouth so it wouldn't escape—he failed.

"What is funny, Light?" L asked, looking up from his position on top of the sink counter. The boy shook his head. "Tell me," he whined, pouting his bottom lip.

How was L so cute? The Band-Aid on his cheek somehow made him more innocent looking than usual. Light tried not to think about that. "Fine," he laughed out. "It's the way you hold everything."

L frowned, his bottom lip still in a pout, "The way I hold everything is funny?"

"No, it's just that," Light laughed again at the mental image, "you look like you think the gauze is going to explode or something. Do you hold everything like that?"

L thought to himself, yes, usually he did hold everything like that and Light already knew that. It wasn't because he thought the gauze would instantaneously combust; he had no real reason. "No," he answered, thinking back to when he'd lifted up the boy's head to place the pillow under it. Was his hair still that soft? It looked it. There was some dried blood in it though, probably from when Light ran his bloody fingers through it. "There's blood in your hair, Light." L jumped down from the sink and walked up to Light, grabbing a clump of bloody strands between his index finger and thumb of his chained hand. It was still soft.

Light blushed, "Get it out then!"

L smiled, "You're so vain."

Light crossed his arms and stuck his tongue out at L. He retorted, "Well you're childish."

L blinked, and then he laughed, immediately covering his mouth with his hand. Light stared at L. He'd never heard the detective laugh before. "Are you okay?" Light asked, shocked. There was only one way to describe that sound: happy. If anyone heard that sound, there's no way they could be anything but happy. It was such an innocent, pure sound . . . even if it was at Light's expense.

L stopped the laugh, but his smile remained as he responded, "Light called me childish right after sticking his tongue out at me." Light thought for a second and couldn't stop his laughter either, which made L start laughing again too. They were both childish and they knew it.

Watari smiled from his surveillance room. He wasn't going to watch them the whole time, but he had to make sure they were stable enough not to just continue killing each other. He didn't remember ever having seen L laugh before, and although he couldn't hear it, since he hadn't bugged the room for sound, the sight was enough to fill his heart. L had never looked this carefree in his life. Light couldn't be such a bad kid if he could make L laugh like that; even if he was Kira, he was alright in Watari's book.

Watari watched as L and Light hit each other mockingly and he smiled; boys will be boys. He picked up a gadget and decided to fiddle with it instead of watching the boys. He wasn't letting them out so soon though.

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After their short laughing fit, Light held his ribs. 'Ow,' he groaned in his mind. L reached out and gently poked Light's ribs. "OW!" Light yelled, smacking L's hand down and sliding his palm to palm-strike L's ribs.

"That hurt, Light," he stated. L lifted up his own shirt in order to examine the damage.

"Ooh," Light grimaced at the evidence of what his knees had done to L's upper body. The normally smooth white skin was spotted in hues of blues, purples, and greens. His left side was enlarged from the swelling. The tight muscle was overshadowed by the swollen bruises. L discarded his shirt entirely; his arms were just as discolored and bumpy.

"It's good; there's no bleeding internally nor externally. I might be in need of an ice pack though, to reduce this swelling," he reported, looking at Light. "What about you?"

Light wasn't sure he wanted to know. He felt pretty bad about beating up L like that, after all, Light was the one who pounced on L last night; L hadn't been the one to break Light's personal boundaries. But at the same time, Light really didn't want to see the damage he knew he had.

"I don't know," he said, dropping eye contact. The detective's eyes narrowed on the boy's posture. Light had taken an evading stance, his eyes not meeting L's.

"Light."

"Hmm?" Light said, looking around L's face but still not looking at him.

'Really?' L thought, 'Why is he so weird?' L watched the boy more. The way Light's hands fidgeted with his hair and his ears made it so that anyone could tell that he was avoiding confrontation. "Light, if you do not remove your shirt, we cannot properly treat your wounds."

Light fidgeted. He'd been shirtless plenty of times, he wasn't a girl. Now it was a matter of pride: L had damaged him and he was embarrassed. How could such a bony body have caused so much damage to his? Was L stronger than Light? Or was it just more fighting experience, after all, L was older; Light wasn't sure how much older, but apparently old enough to know how to hold his own in a fight and then some. "Oh," Light said, eyes looking to the ceiling, not sure what to say. The longer he avoided the inevitable, the more awkward he would make it. Besides, the pain was starting to catch up and an ice pack was sounding welcoming.

"Is Light embarrassed about his stomach not looking perfect?" L chided, deliberately making fun of the boy. Light's cheeks pinkened and L half smiled, "That's okay, I bet you'll still be pretty."

Light's eyes flew back to L's. Pretty was probably his least favorite "compliment" and of course L had to know it! He was handsome, he was perfect, he'd take beautiful and he'd accept sexy, but pretty? Pretty was just insulting. He wasn't sure why, but he hated it. "Did you want another beating, L?" Light threatened, tightening his fist.

L shook his head and answered honestly, "Nope, I don't think you could handle another beating." He fake smiled and tilted his head to the side, waiting for Light's reaction; it'd either be a punch, which he could easily block, or a surrender, which was the preferable outcome.

Light was about to argue before he realized. . . L was right. There was no way he could get up after another fight like that. "Fine," he renounced, pulling off his shirt, swiftly but shyly. Light saw L bite his lip. "Is it that bad?" he asked with closed eyes; he didn't want to look. Just imagining his beautiful skin marked with imperfections was enough to make him sad.

Then Light felt something wet burn the skin of his right pectoral. His eyes jolted open as he looked down. L was dabbing a nasty looking friction burn with an alcohol coated cotton ball. Light groaned, "When did that even happen?"

L continued to clean the abused skin and asked, "Was that rhetorical or did you want an answer?"

"Both."

"It can only be one or the other, Light," he stated, pulling some gauze across Light's chest.

"It was rhetorical, but if you actually know the instant it happened, I'm curious to know."

L viewed the rest of Light's exposed skin. It was battered and bruised just slightly more than L's own. The skin was more bruise than it was tan; welts and swollen bruises lined the boy's normally defined muscles. Had he really been hitting the boy that hard? Oops. Even with the bruises and marks, Light's body could be used as a perfect model for an anatomy diagram; how was he so well structured? He lifted Light's arm with his L-like manner so that he could look at the boy's elbow; it was bloody, so he began cleaning it as well before he answered, "It's a friction burn, from my kicks rubbing your shirt into your chest repetitively."

"I knew that," Light lied. He wasn't thinking about that at all; he couldn't think about anything but having been so badly beaten by L and now the socially awkward detective was touching his skin and fixing his wounds. Light's skin had gone fairly numb to block out the pain of the abuse, but L seemed to have slipped past that nerve barrier; Light couldn't help but to think about that stupid rush of endorphins that was spreading through him. After they had finally finished dressing their wounds and—in Light's case—cleaning blood out of his hair, they walked shirtless into the main area of their temporary space of confinement. Stuff had been spread out on the coffee table, most definitely by Watari. Thankfully, this included ice packs, which they immediately strapped to their skin.

"Want to play chess?" L asked Light after they were seated on the couch.

"Yes, I'd love to beat you at chess," Light smiled challengingly, bringing the chess board from the coffee table to the couch and setting it on the cushion between him and L.

L turned his body to face the board; Light did the same. "We'll see about that."

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Before anyone asks, I have no idea how they took their shirts off without taking off the chain. In my head, Watari has the key, not L. If you can accept the idea that writing a name in a subject book will kill someone, I'm sure you can overlook the whole shirt/physics mess.

This chapter was fun to write. I enjoy fight scenes, but there's always that darn aftermath to fighting and I promise: cleaning the damage is more painful than the actual fight. Sure, taking a punch to the face is badass, but you know what isn't? Squealing like a baby when you have to disinfect it later.

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed Light's slight realizations ;) oh ho ho, looks like we're getting somewhere fangirls and fanboys.

~Aia~

P.s. I wonder how long they'll be in timeout.

Un momento para español: oye, si entiendes lo que estoy escribiendo aquí, ahorita, en español: ¡PUEDO ENTENDERTE SI ESCRIBAS UN REVIEW EN ESPAÑOL! Es un buen idioma, no tenga miedo, por favor, tengo muchísimo amor para tú y tu idioma también.