Warning: Dom/sub relationships, adult language, adult themes.

13.

"Model and teen sensation Misa Amane has been arrested. Officials state the charges are possession and use of illegal drugs—" I changed the channel until I found a mindless sitcom. I'd had enough of the task force watching the live stream to Misa's isolation room.

Steam rose from the pan I leaned over, wafting the scent of bone broth and soy sauce. I was making ramen, and although it wasn't healthy, it was homemade. Not takeout. I grew tired of the same things every day.

Not for the first time that day, I pulled my hand away from my lower belly. I'd wanted more than anything to be in the promised safe space, but with the suspected second Kira in their grasp, I didn't expect either L or Watari to go anywhere.

I didn't want to push.

I busied myself in the kitchen, making ramen from Watari's recipe book so I wouldn't have to confront the fact that I could get pregnant. Could be pregnant. It'd only been a few days since L and I had had sex, but it'd been even longer that I hadn't taken birth control, and the doctor couldn't see me for another week.

I didn't know what to think, so I didn't.

I stirred. Until the noodles were past done. The vegetables too soft.

"Miss Akane." Watari's voice pulled me out of a haze. "Are you alright?"

"Of course." My response is automatic. I hadn't heard him enter the kitchen, the familiar shuffle of his Italian made shoes against the tile. "Why wouldn't I be?"

He gave a wan smile and pulled out two bowls. "Just an observation." His tone, his eyes said he knew. Why? Why did everyone know everything around here?

I shoved past the defensive rage that blossomed in my chest. "Are you hungry?" I asked because rarely did Watari ever eat with any of us.

Today was no exception. "It's time for the young master to eat something that isn't cake. Wouldn't you agree?"

I agreed, only because the look on L's face when Watari brought him soup instead of a cake would be breathtakingly worthwhile.

I leaned against the threshold of the kitchen, watching as Watari went unnoticed setting the bowl of soup in the place cake normally occupied. L thanked Watari, who then turned toward me, finger pressed to his lips.

There was something about the way L peered up at the screen. The skin beneath his eyes looked heavier, darker than usual. He was confident Misa was the second Kira. L was seldom wrong, which made me glance to Light.

In the last few months, I'd seen a change in Light that I wasn't particularly fond of. He didn't feel anymore like a friend. He felt distant, unsafe. He'd not only completely ignored the safe word, but he made sure I remembered it, then blatantly disregarded my fear. No, he preyed on my fear.

I shook my head, feeling the excitement of seeing L's reaction slip away. The deadpan look he gave us when he realized what we'd done brought a wan smile to my lips. I tried to conjure up a giggle, because it had been funny, but I couldn't feel it anymore.

I returned to the kitchen and ate my bowl in silence.

I was almost done when L joined me, sliding in the chair next to me. It was barely big enough for him to pull his legs up.

"I know I promised we'd move you," L started.

I shook my head. "Don't worry about it. It'll come soon enough. You guys have heavier things on your plate."

"Then what's on your mind?" He spooned broth into his mouth. "This is actually quite good."

I smiled. "Thanks. It's my first attempt, but I used Watari's recipe so I couldn't go wrong."

He didn't respond, initial question still hanging in the air.

I sighed and spoke barely above a whisper. "I just keep thinking that Li—"

Speak of the devil and he interrupts your conversation. I replaced my words with a spoonful of broth.

"Mina."

I raise an eyebrow at the nickname.

"Can we talk? Alone," he adds when I nod but make no move to get up.

I looked to L for his reaction. Although Light and I hadn't technically been exclusive, until L had come along, there wasn't anyone else. It felt the same with L, so Light needed his permission.

"You can have five minutes," L allowed. "If Minami doesn't mind." He hopped off the stool without his bowl of ramen. He'd finished it all and I hadn't noticed. His hand brushed hair behind my shoulder. I wanted nothing more than to lean into him. "Bring me back something sweet when you're done."

His eyes traced down my body, lingering at my breasts and taking longer to roll down my legs. I turned toward him so that he stood in between them.

Part of me wanted him to stay—just take me right here, I wanted to tell him. Since that night in my dorm room, the blazing fire, the need to have him had changed into a more subtle wanting. He leaned in, planting a kiss to the outer shell of my ear.

"Do you trust me?" The words left his lips in what could barely be called a whisper. His hand slid up my arm, settling at the base of my throat.

My chest nearly caved in. I knew he was playing a game with Light. He always was when he displayed affection in front of the potential serial killer. But did I trust him? What did he want to do? My hands shook, so I settled them to grasp the platform of the barstool. In response, my ankles hooked behind his back, drawing him closer.

His hand trailed farther up on my neck, holding me in a loose grip. He pulled away from my ear and didn't spare me a glance before pressing his lips to mine. His grip tightened, and my breath stilled. His other hand, obscured from Light's view, traced patterns on my hip to distract me.

The kiss was over before I could regain my breath.

His nose bumped mine and his hand slid up again, enough so that his thumb could brush against my lower lip. "Don't forget—you're mine."

Something in my lower belly clenched, churned. I couldn't stop my legs from pulling him closer. "Yes, sir."

He moved away, so I had to let my legs fall. The loss of his body left me feeling cold.

Light's honey flecked eyes narrowed at L's back. Their usual shine had gone dull—just another thing that had changed about him. He shoved a hand through his hair and turned back toward me. "It occurred to me that I never apologized."

I spooned soup into my mouth instead of answering because no. He hadn't. "What do you hope to gain from this apology?"

His eyes widened just enough that I knew I'd caught him by surprise. "I don't know what you mean."

"Sure, you do. You're Light." I said as though it explained everything. "If you were actually sorry, you'd have apologized long before now. So I'll ask again: what do you want?"

He looked away, crossing his arms over his chest. "I just—I miss you."

Silence permeated the kitchen, thick, unbearably heavy. "I miss you, too. But not this you." I shook my head and went to the sink to rinse my now empty bowl. "I don't even know who you are anymore. The old Light—my Light—never would have let this happen. Our time is up."

It hadn't quite been five minutes, but I was done.

His fingers itched as I passed him, as though he wanted to grab me. He didn't say anything—I guess he had nothing to say. At least, not until I was just past the threshold. "I'll get you back." It sounded like a promise he couldn't keep.