Maybe the surprise and discomfort currently plaguing Light was evidence of his own survival instincts. If the first thing that had leapt to his mind when Ryuzaki suggested that they be handcuffed together 24 hours a day indefinitely was what that would mean for their sleeping arrangements, then the world-renowned super sleuth might have interpreted his resulting hesitation as further evidence that Light was Kira. Other young men faced with this situation might have been allowed to display a certain level of reluctance as something other than a confession, but Light had quickly learned that the notion of "innocent until proven guilty" was not one that Ryuzaki applied to him.

Therefore, when 2 A.M. drew near and Light felt his eyes become heavy and strained from the headache-inducing glow of multiple monitors, he thought nothing of turning to Ryuzaki and informing the only other person in the room at this hour that he was retiring for the night.

Said detective drew what Light had privately dubbed as his sad panda gaze away from his own computer to look at his number one suspect, and removed his thumb from the edge of his mouth.

"Understood, Light-kun." The soft, deep timbre of his voice never seemed to indicate any hint of exhaustion, physical or mental. Light's brief, unformulated thoughts about what kind of scenario would result in a change to the sound of Ryuzaki's voice were interrupted when the seated detective unfolded himself from his perpetual crouching position and stood. He reached long, thin arms into the air for a deep stretch before bringing them back down to shove his hands deep into his pockets, slouching stance resumed. Aside from the permanent shadows under his eyes, which didn't necessarily convey exhaustion in his case anyway, Ryuzaki didn't seem very tired.

"After you, Light-kun."

"Hmm?" Light looked away from the slight distraction that was the edge of Ryzuaki's trade-mark white shirt having ridden up to reveal a sliver of smooth, pale skin. This guy really needed to get out in the sun more. He was probably suffering from a vitamin D deficiency, in addition to developing a spinal deformity from his incredibly poor posture. The detective tilted his head quizzically at Light, his wide, dark stare betraying nothing.

"Perhaps Light-kun should get his hearing checked? I said, after you." Light rolled his eyes at the calmly delivered yet snarky comment. "If we are going to accuse anyone of probable health issues, it would be y- wait, what?"

Ryuzaki frowned. "Is Light-kun feeling okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine, but-,"

Ryuzaki suddenly reached out to press the back of his unchained hand to Light's forehead, effectively silencing the younger man. His skin was soft and cool, and Light reflexively pushed his head a little more firmly into the sensation. "You feel a bit warm."

That was enough to bring Light back to his senses and he immediately scoffed, batting away the offending touch. "I'm fine, I'm just unsure as to why you seem intent on escorting me to my bedroom! There's hardly enough time for me to kill criminals during the walk between here and there."

Ryuzaki immediately stepped forward and completely invaded his personal space, sticking his face in far too close to Light's for the latter's comfort, filling his vision with eyes that seemed determined to reach in and pull out everything hiding in the depths of his own.

"For you to kill criminals? Interesting, that not only does Light-kun assume that that is my motivation for accompanying him, but that he immediately substitutes himself for Kira in that scenario. In fact, he doesn't even pose it as a hypothetical, but as a statement of fact."

"Save it, Ryuzaki," Light snapped. Though he usually enjoyed engaging in banter with the only other genius he'd ever met, he was too stiff, tired, and hot from their day's work to have the patience for it then. "I know that's how you think, so I tried to save you the breath and myself the time. And in case this isn't obvious yet to the 'World's Greatest Detective', when I speak about myself and Kira in the same sentence, assume that it's always meant to be hypothetical." The sleuth was still far too close for his liking, but Light wasn't one to back down, especially from him.

"It's dangerous for someone such as myself to assume anything, Light-kun, especially with this particular case, but I will attribute this lapse in logic to you being unwell, as evidenced by your cranky behavior and flushed face."

That was enough to make Light wrench his head back and reclaim his personal space, almost spluttering with indignation, causing a ghost of a smile to dance across L's mouth. While their similar thought processes and occasional verbal bouts sometimes bordered on that of friends rather than accuser and accused, it was moments like these that made Light realize just how much of a nuisance this person had become in his life.

He laughed haughtily and crossed his arms, pointedly looking at the door on the other side of the room. "What I said before, about saving your breath? Forget that. Go ahead and waste it until there's none left."

The phantom grin fully materialized on Ryuzaki's face. "You would like that, wouldn't you, Kira?"

"I'm going to bed!" Light snarled, and whipped around to make for the staircase, when the left side of his body was suddenly jerked backwards. Light wasn't Kira, but he was beginning to believe that they had another thing in common besides their value set as he leveled a vicious glare at Ryuzaki, whose thumb was back on his mouth and oozed an innocent, sleepy aura.

The next words out of his mouth were anything but innocent, however. "No, Light-kun, we're going to bed." And he raised a slender wrist to brandish the chain that bound them together, still smiling cheekily.

Suddenly, the detective's actions made sense, and Light felt the flush that he refused to believe was there only becoming more severe. He ducked his head and resolutely looked anywhere but Ryuzaki's eyes. "Whatever."

Hence the surprise and discomfort Light was feeling now as he surveyed the room that he and Ryuzaki would be sharing. These emotions were slightly tempered by the fact that there were two queen-size beds, as Light wouldn't have put it past Ryuzaki to insist that the only way he could properly observe the actions of the former would be to maintain as close of quarters as possible at all times.

His next yawn was enough of an out-of-body experience that Light decided he didn't care enough about changing into sleeping clothes to bother figuring out the logistics of it while chained to another man, and opted to simply collapse on the bed nearest to him. He crossed his arms behind his head and let his eyes slide shut, confident that the apparent insomniac would be too engrossed in his laptop to irritate him further. As always, the detective was eager to prove him wrong, evidenced by fingers suddenly poking at his ribs. Light didn't open his eyes. "Is this some new method of eliciting a confession from me? Sleep deprivation?"

"Light-kun should change into something lighter. Geh." While Light was indeed feeling incredibly overheated, even more so now, he was so disgusted by Ryuzaki's pass at humor and the thought of allowing him to be right about something else that he refused to move, his mouth tightening as Ryuzaki's hands continued to probe around his waist, now seemingly more with the intent to annoy rather than just get his attention.

Annoyed as Light was indeed, he realized that he was not as uncomfortable with another man in his sleeping space as he thought he would be. Ryuzaki barely even registered as a human; he was more of an occupation, really, so him now fully sitting next to Light in his own bed with his hands dancing around the latter's torso didn't seem all that strange.

That line of thinking screeched to a halt when Ryuzaki's fingers moved from their current occupation of poking to pulling at his shirt buttons. The detective had already unmanaged to unfasten two of them before Light was able to prop himself up on one elbow and use his other hand to snag Ryuzaki's wrist, stopping him in his task. Light briefly registered the fact that said wrist felt as cold and delicate as a snowflake in his grip.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked, a bit breathless from the surprise and not at all from the fact that the feel of Ryuzaki's skin was doing wonders for Light's own overheated flesh. A little part of him wondered if it was also making it worse, somehow.

Ryuzaki looked at him, a picture of puzzled innocence. "From his lack of movement, I deduced that Light-kun was feeling too weak to remove his overshirt on his own, and thought I would assist him. You are too warm as is." He looked pointedly at his wrist still trapped in Light's grasp, which made the younger man immediately let go. Sweat began to bead his forehead. When had it gotten so damn hot in here?

Light drew himself into more of a seated position, which took a surprising amount of effort on his part – coupled with his increasing heart rate, he must be fairly ill- and looked away from Ryuzaki, feeling that it was very important for the famous L to not see his face right now.

"Do as you like," he muttered. He felt Ryuzaki's hands on the front of his shirt again.

"I apologize for the close proximity," said the detective, his breath ghosting like a blessedly cool breeze across Light's neck as he leaned forward.

The husky tone of L's voice seemed even softer in the low light of the room. Light chose to focus on the dark, untamed mop of hair atop the other man's head rather than the feeling of swift, dexterous fingers making quick work of his shirt buttons. Ryuzaki then helped Light shrug completely out of the now positively stifling garment, getting far too close for comfort in the process, leaving him in just his white undershirt.

The whole endeavor left Light breathless and sweating, but slightly better than before. Or worse? He couldn't tell; he just desperately needed his space.

"Thank you, I'm fine now." He may not have wanted the help, but he would be damned if he let Ryuzaki make him forget his manners. The young sleuth gave a slight nod and lifted himself from Light's bed. He touched his thumb to his mouth. "If Light-kun is still feeling too hot, I could assist him with his pants-,"

"No! No, that's okay, thank you. Like I said, I'm fine; all I need is rest." Curse this sickness; Light was positively burning up. How could Detective Nuisance say the damndest things with the most innocent, adorable look on his face?

Adorable?

He might actually need to send for a doctor tomorrow.

"If Light-kun is sure," Ryuzaki said, a tilt to his head and a lilt to his words. Damn him, Light thought viciously, if he didn't know exactly what he was doing. He was no sad panda; he was a sly cat, and Light had never had much tolerance for unpredictable felines. He flipped over onto his stomach and buried his face in his pillow to indicate he was very sure and that this conversation was very much over, despite the fact that said pillow seemed to be made of fire and brimstone.

"Good night, Light-kun," Ryuzaki sang softly, and Light listened to muffled footsteps pad over to the other side of the room.

Finally. Light put his arm atop the impression Ryuzaki had made when sitting with him, and let out a slow breath.

It was proving to not be a good night, for either of them. Or perhaps it was more of an early morning at this point. L bit his thumbnail irritably as Light turned over again, jangling the chain in the process. He felt the cold weight of the key to their metal bond in his pocket, and not for the first time in the past two hours wished that he wasn't so stubborn. Of course, that quality had gotten him far in a number of his cases, but was also responsible for the permanent dark shadows under his eyes. A small price to pray for justice, but still a price.

He drew his gaze away from his laptop screen to once more pin Light's sleeping form with a heavy stare. Said form let out a slight groan, and shifted again, accompanied by the sound of shifting metal. L let out a sigh. He could feel his deductive reasoning capabilities drop entire half percentages every time the boy so much as moved. When had Light become such a bothersome distraction?

He wiggled his feet and attempted to hunch forward even more, though he feared that his true ideal seating form was beyond a human spine's capabilities. Still, this helped. He turned his attention away from Light for what felt like the hundredth time that hour and tried to focus his gaze on his laptop screen. Cross-referencing was boring enough an activity as it was; it didn't take much temptation to distract him from it. Like cake. Cake would be lovely right now. But making that sweet dream a reality risked disturbing what already appeared to be a restless slumber.

Speaking of temptation. L's eyes slid away from their task again to rest on Light's face, which was now turned towards him. L curled his toes in, pushed his thumb a little more deeply into his mouth. Even in the long shadows of early morning, there was a visible sheen of sweat plastering his suspect's soft hair to his forehead. A scowl twisted his features, and L could tell from the tendons in his neck and the straining of his jaw that he was grinding his teeth quite harshly.

L's gaze swept over high, delicate cheekbones and a finely shaped mouth. Had it not been for the apparent sickness causing him great discomfort, L was confident that a sleeping Light Yagami's face would be gentle and peaceful. However, based on the value set he believed Kira to harbor, he imagined the face of the serial killer he sought would also look something like this while resting. 5 percent.

L was not one for panic. If this illness continued to linger, then he would arrange for a doctor to visit the premises with necessary precautions to ensure his identity remained uncompromised. But he suspected that this sickness was more psychological in nature.

Despite how much he had enjoyed their interactions since he had released Light from his confinement, the star student seemed to walk around now with a certain weight on his shoulders. While this possibly could have been attributed to said confinement, something told L that that was not it. Recently, the detective had been observing Light staring off into space with a frown settling his features, as if he were trying to remember something, or reason out an elusive, unsolvable puzzle. Anyone else's work performance would have been severely affected with such distraction, but even in L's estimation, Light was a genius. So much so that even if he was Kira, his addition to the team was still invaluable. What other sort of unmatched intellect could pull off a feat like that? 6 percent.

Perhaps he was reading too much into it. Watch something long enough, and you may start to see things that aren't there. Even L had begun to notice just how much of his time he spent watching Light nowadays. Like right now. How long had he been staring at the younger man's face?

L resolutely turned his head to stare at his laptop screen instead, determined to get some work done. The last time he'd slept had only been 48 hours ago; he had no excuse to not finish the task before him. He shoved a hand into his pocket to fish out an emergency sugar cube and clench it between his teeth as he tried to lose himself in his project. After a few minutes, L found he was actually doing rather well and had almost completed his list when Light choked out a particularly distracting noise and flipped over on his back, borderline panting. The chain snapped and jerked between them.

L shut his laptop rather viciously and slid off his bed, shuffling over to Light with the intent of taking off his comforter, because that's what one should do when they were overheating. As he reached for the blanket that the Boy Wonder was apparently incapable of removing himself, he wondered nastily if Light was actually, in fact, an idiot. And L was surprised, if not slightly alarmed, at the pang of loneliness that accompanied that thought.

He pressed a hand to Light's forehead to keep him somewhat still and gauge his temperature as he took his sheets away, grimacing slightly at the dampness. He was warm, very warm. L hadn't realized how ice-cold he himself had been until his palm came into contact with the heat. A slight fever, to be sure, but still nothing that L felt overly concerned with at this time. He let his hand linger for a moment before crouching down to get his face level with Light's, to determine how flushed his cheeks were.

Sitting there in his typical squatted position, mere inches between their faces, L was struck with the inexplicable urge to use his hands to try and guide Light's twisted features towards something more gentle. Not one to ignore his instincts, he let himself do just that. Slowly, hesitantly, L allowed himself to cup Light's face in his hands.

It was like touching silk that had been soaked in sunlight. Smooth, sleepy, warm. Not totally understanding his actions, he slid his fingers into the hair behind Light's ears and used his thumbs to smooth and relax the corners of that tense mouth.

He was so soft. Were all humans this pleasing to touch? L wasn't really one for physical intimacy with anyone outside of Wammy House (and even then, not much), so perhaps it was his lack of experience that made it seem like Light Yagami was made from the finest velvet; perhaps everyone felt this way. This possibility didn't make him feel particularly inclined to stop, however, as the heat in Light's cheeks seeped into his own freezing palms. It seemed that they were quite suited to balancing out each other's body temperatures.

L paused in his musings to wonder why Light hadn't woken up yet, and why he wasn't particularly concerned with the matter in any case. Was he confident in the idea that Light was too locked in a fever dream to awaken, or was he relying on the fact that, if it came down to it, he could simply explain this away as another oddity of his that people wouldn't understand? Either way, he felt calm, almost zoned out, as he contentedly traced Light's face with his fingertips, committing every part of it to memory. Maybe calm wasn't the right word. Focused? Interested?

But as Light appeared to sigh and nuzzle further into his wandering hands, the detective suddenly deduced what he was feeling.

Eager.

Talk about a distracting presence. Regretfully, L pulled his hands away, not missing the immediate return of scowling Light, nor how his own hands were cold again, almost unbearably so. L halfway convinced himself that he could see the imprint of his palms on Light's cheeks, fading as they became flushed again.

The detective sat further back into his crouch, gnawing viciously at his thumbnail while Light began to fidget once more, before rising to go and grab his laptop. He then returned to Light's bed, instead coming around the other side to gently sit himself down next to the restless boy, but keeping a respectful distance. He hesitantly inched a hand across the space they now shared to lay just beside Light's bare arm. L chewed worriedly on his lip, and then allowed his pinky to just graze the exposed skin. An offering.

Even though he was still asleep, Light immediately turned over and reached for the touch of cool, taking more than what was offered to grab the majority of L's arm and press his cheek to it. It was almost comical how quickly the tension seemed to leave his form after that.

Something heavy and warm began to gather in the deepest parts of L. He stared at the person glomming onto his pale, spindly limb, waiting for a surge of discomfort, or doubt, or anxiety to flood his veins. He didn't trust this heavy feeling. It was going to disappear any second, and leave behind a powerful emptiness in its wake. But the seconds continued ticking by, and in that time the warmth had already spread to his chest, feeling like something comforted and settled, with possibly a little bit more. L couldn't afford to get light-headed, but suddenly he thought he could imagine what that felt like. What was he supposed to do with these sensations?

He turned his gaze back to his work. While completing his next project would be slightly hampered by the loss of one of his arms, maybe it wouldn't be as tedious to complete under these circumstances.

Light couldn't even begin to fathom the difference in comfort levels between his current situation and that of just a few hours ago. Was homeostasis of the mind possible? He felt like he was floating on his back in calm ocean waters. He could barely remember the last time he had been to the beach, but knew that it had been full of annoying sand and insipid girls and blazing sun. Now, he couldn't tell where the water ended and he began. It supported his body while cushioning it, so he could completely relax into its embrace - a tender companion now, a powerful ally always. Strands of floating seaweed brushed through his hair as they were pulled to and fro by sea currents. For once, he was not even bothered by the knowledge that fish pee in the ocean.

He was amusing himself with the prospect of announcing to his father that he would like to purchase a beach house when the seaweed moved through his hair a little more forcefully, pressed itself against his scalp a little more firmly before leaving again. And just like that, Light was no longer in homeostasis, because that felt more than pleasant. It felt absolutely divine.

Seaweed shouldn't feel that way. Also, he couldn't be in the ocean. Light didn't even realize his eyes were closed until he opened them, just a crack. He could barely make out the glow of a laptop screen; the rest of his vision was too blurry. The back of his head rested against something soft yet firm, while his cheek was cushioned by some other indeterminate yet comforting thing. His neck was craned at a slightly awkward angle to fit into this little nook. The rest of his body was stretched out on the bed, as he remembered. He felt seaweed pass through his hair again, only this time he knew it to be not an aquatic plant, but human fingers.

Cool, nimble fingers that used their nails to dig lightly into his scalp as they ran through his hair before pulling away, lightly tugging on strands as they left. Before Light could mourn the loss of contact, they returned to start the process all over again.

Ryuzaki was playing with his hair and had his head in his lap?

Ryuzaki was playing with his hair and had his head in his lap.

Ryuzaki was playing with his hair and had his head in his lap!

But Light couldn't bring himself to move for two reasons. The first was that knowing what it was didn't cancel out how it felt, and the second was that other certain parts of his body seemed to agree with his previous assessment of divine. So until he had both these things under control, he was trapped.

At least that's what he told himself.

Maybe he just wanted L to keep doing this forever. He couldn't remember a time where he felt so good.

His neck, however, did hurt a little bit. He tried to shift in a way that still passed for sleeping, but Light should have known that that would be a pointless endeavor with Ryuzaki, which was only confirmed when the detective exhaled a soft, "Good morning, Light-kun."

"Ryuzaki," he mumbled, burying his face into the detective's leg for a moment. He hadn't realized that these blue plants the man always seemed to be wearing would be so comfortable. Nor that they would smell so good. Or was it Ryuzaki? That seemed unlikely; the state of his hair would indicate that showering was not in the highest of priorities for the super sleuth.

Still. Light was quite content. If not confused. "Why is my head in your lap and why are you playing with my hair?"

Ryuzaki's fingers ceased their efforts at this, and Light almost wished he hadn't said anything. The genius's silence seemed thoughtful. "I am not surprised you don't remember. You were quite delirious last night."

Oh God. "What? What happened? Ryuzaki-," Light attempted to get up at that point, but Ryuzaki firmly held his head in place. The gesture made Light's heart pick up speed, and he was suddenly reminded of the second situation he had yet to deal with. "Relax, Light-kun. You were overheated and sleeping fitfully, so I moved here to keep a better eye on your condition, which seemed to improve considerably when I employed this tactic on you." To mark his point, he lightly scratched Light's scalp with his nails, and the star student momentarily ceased to function. "I would do this for my younger brothers when they had trouble sleeping as well."

Light's brow furrowed. "You have younger brothers?" It was weird to associate the famous L with anything that personal or human. Then again, the sensations he was causing and the way he felt underneath Light's cheek felt very much like both.

Ryuzaki shifted slightly. "We are not as close now." The tone he delivered that statement with indicated that that particular topic was now closed.

Perhaps if Light had gotten more hours of sleep, he would have tried to push the conversation further. But the super sleuth's continued head massage combined with how wonderful he smelled and the way Light's head nestled into his body was slowly lulling him back into a dreamscape.

Should he try to fight it? He didn't know what time it was. Hell, he didn't even know what day it was. "Do we need to get up soon?" Light didn't notice the way Ryuzaki's toes curled slightly in response to his phrasing.

"I already asked Watari to tell the others you are not feeling well and that you are getting some rest."

"What about you?" Light could barely slur out the question. Was he awake or dreaming now?

"What about me, Light-kun?"

"Are you getting some rest?"

But he fell asleep before he could hear the answer.

Light's breathing was deep and rhythmic again. Rather than getting annoyed by asking a question then promptly falling asleep before hearing the answer, L found it oddly endearing, and kept playing with Light's hair as the other boy began to slumber soundly. L usually had to be doing something with his hands anyway; he may as well let them play with something soft.

He was not even overly irritated by the fact that he was tired in a way where he felt compelled to listen to his body. He could usually go 4-5 days without sleep, with maybe a 20 minute nap thrown in here or there. L had concluded a long time ago that there was so much more time to get things done if one did not subscribe to typical circadian rhythms. After all, evil, and thereby justice, never slept. He was honestly amazed that not more people were frustrated by the fact that they were naturally wired to spend half their life not even awake for it.

But the whole point of his particular brand of sleep cycle was to get work done, and even L could admit that the combination of only one available arm, dangerously low blood sugar levels, and a "normal" seated position was making him only 50 times as useful as Matsuda at the moment. Which was to say, not very. And despite how much L bristled at the notion of wasting time, especially in the most difficult case of his career yet, he suddenly found himself even more adverse to the idea of moving Light even an inch away from where he was.

Of course, if Light was Kira, then this could be a ploy to kill L or steal information from his laptop. The first would be improbable, as L was trained to be a light sleeper and Watari was at that very moment monitoring a video and audio feed of their room, and the second was impossible, as Matt had made his laptop essentially hacker-proof, Kira or not. Also, L knew that Light/Kira's plan would be far more elaborate and better conceived than just waiting around for him to eventually pass out.

The more he thought about it, and listened to the slow, deep breathing of the person whose head he cradled in his lap, the more syrup pooled in L's veins. As he slowly laid on his back, one hand still burrowing into the soft recesses of Light's hair, L's last waking thought was one of certainty and anticipation.

This was going to be the most restful nap he'd had in a long, long time.

A myriad of emotions was working its way through Watari's old bones as he looked at the camera feed. L's face looked so young in sleep, like the 8-year-old he had picked up from the streets many years ago. He hadn't seen his protégé do this in so long, not since Wammy House, and Watari was grateful that L still felt these inclinations, and was still capable of being intimate with others. Even if it was with their current suspect. Watari turned his attention to the young man who rested his head on L's stomach, and clutched at his leg like it was his most treasured possession.

Watari believed that Light Yagami was Kira; he trusted in L's deductions 100%. And if that was the truth, then this case was about to become much more complicated, because the seasoned, brilliant inventor and philanthropist that was Quillsh Wammy knew that the blissful expression Kira wore while snuggling deeper into the embrace of his worst enemy was genuine. Tragically, achingly genuine.

Quillsh only hoped that they could rest for a little while longer.