I have been busy. And I honestly think this chapter is shite but I wanted to just get something out. But It is 95% crap. So be warned. FUUUUU-
I have a ringing in my head
and no one to help me answer it
even when you're close enough to kiss
He thinks he's made of candy
L was simply buzzing.
He felt like a hive of killer bees had cracked open inside of him and their furry black-and-yellow bodies were swarming over his bones, buzzing their angry warble up into his brain and his ears. L felt the grinding rumble like an earworm, chewing away at his juicy flesh and eroding all rational logical thought. And it all made him feel fuzzy. He couldn't think straight.
For the first time in a very long while he wasn't eating. Watari was having great difficulty in getting him to even drink, and sometimes L simply just refused, clamping his mouth shut as if he were being asked to swallow a cockroach. Watari didn't unserstand it. Perhaps L was getting ill - but he had no temperature, no fever, no sickness bug. L had also been spending more time with Watari, or on his own, avoiding the others. Watari was surprised that he'd given Yagami-kun such free reign. They were no longer chained together. Which was . . . odd. To say the least. Watari had gotten quite used to the sight of them standing side by side. Ebony and . . . well, L was ebony and ivory all himself. The two of them were more like smoke and fire, and there was no smoke without fire. And L knew more about fire than anyone.
"L, are you feeling all right ?"
"Yes, Watari."
"Are you sure? You haven't eaten anything today."
"I'm fully functional, thank you Watari."
"So . . . you don't want any of this dango I take it? Freshly made . . I have all your favourite toppings . . ?"
L sniffed the air cautiously. He shuddered. ". . . No. Thank you."
Watari bowed his head solemnly, emitting a little sigh as he did so. He placed the sweet-laden silver tray back on the service trolley. He'd used the biggest one in his efforts to tempt L.
"I'll leave it all here, in case you change your mind." Watari pushed his spectacles further up the bridge of his nose, peering around L's computer screen to glimpse its opulent owner. "I presume you shall be spending the rest of the evening in here again?" Here was L 's own private quarters - elaborate king-sized bed never slept in, adjourning office, bathroom and kitchen, all equally exquisite but not a pen nor paper, or speck of dust in each room disturbed. L had never used these rooms. Until now, Watari wallowed. Until three days ago Here stood two floors separate, and away from the Yagami-san and the others of the task force. Watari had been telling them that L was ill and, not wanting to affect any of the others with his suffering, had retired briefly to regain his strength.
"Yes Watari," L nodded to him. Watari recognised his dismissal and started towards the door, his weary eyes flicking back to the young detective. So often, without meaning to, Watari forgot that L was now a grown man, no longer a teen or a child. But so often he still saw the little boy from the flames. It had been too long since Watari had seen those onyx eyes smile with happiness. Kira had a lot to answer for. Worry gnawed at Watari, and it shone behind his spectacles as he turned to leave the room.
"I shall inform the others."
The door closed quietly behind him but it sounded giant in the silence of L 's expansive quarters. L breathed out something of a sigh of relief now that he was alone. He felt strangely wobbly. Like an elastic band was knotted around the base of his spine sending his nerves into spasm and all sorts of haywire. He breathed in again as deeply as he breathed out, and tasted the sweet stickiness of hmmmm . . . dango. Fresh, and hot . . L 's mouth watered; his tongue suddenly swimming in saliva. But his stomch groaned like a sword grinding at a whetstone. He was so empty and hungry, but the thought of eating, actually consuming food had him retching at the sink.
But dango, he whined.
Perhaps something sweet would help ease the vibrations in his head; soothe the constant thrum in his body, the ache in his muscles. He imagined the soft pounded rice dough touch his lips, tingle on his tongue and -though his stomach wrenched in his mid-riff- he was at the food trolley in a flash.
Dango slathered in chocolate, strawberries, dipped in anko - Watari had even put out a plate of Mitarashi dango that was L 's favourite winter snack - L ate it all in something akin to a fine frenzy. Then washed it down with a few strawberry Daifuku and anko and custard filled Taiyaki. He gulped down the sugar and tangy sweetness like nectar from the flowers. L sucked the stickiness from his fingers, his stomach gurgling. He tasted salt and searched the tray for the delicacy it had come from. He tasted it again on his lips. It was then that he became aware of the wetness on his face, the tears streaking down his cheeks. His vision was blurry; the lunch trolley suddenly shifting out of focus and the stinging at his eyelids finally hit his brain to inform him of the sensation. He was crying. Once L had realised it became difficult to stop. In fact the choking icy feeling just seemed to smack into him harder, driving his torso to bend in half and he quickly stuffed a riceball into his face, followed by another. A searing pain shot through his abdomen, striking the lump in his throat and L gagged.
Oh no. Not onigiri. . . He scrambled to the bathroom, his knees hitting the hard tiles as he threw the lid off the toilet and vomited up every scrap of food he'd swallowed. Sweat broke out on L's forehead as he retched and coughed, sobs mingling in with everything else that came out of his mouth. Maybe I really am ill, a tiny surprised part of L pondered, the idea sounding so far away from the rushing roar sounding in his ears. Was he near a waterfall?
Concentrating hard on throwing up, L was barely aware of a comforting warm weight on his arching back. A familiar shape though it was.
"You really are ill, aren't you? When I saw all the sweets I thought . . But-"
The rushing noise suddenly stopped, and something silvery appeared at the edge of L's peripheral. A brown hand proffering a glass of water. L groaned, nausea and newly born anxiety shivering the acid waters in his stomach but clawing their way up his torso, vertebrae after vertebrae. A rancid taste lined his mouth like bile.
"Here," The glass of water pushed its cold smoothness against the skin of L 's neck, "Drink this. Wash your mouth out." L started at the sudden cold and pulled away from the toilet bowl. He eyed the owner of the voice thickly through squinted eyelids - he'd squeezed his eyes shut so tight when he was retching that they hurt to open properly. Light was bending over him, concern crinkling the skin around his almond eyes. The coldness persisted at L's throat and he raised a trembling hand to take it. He took a shaky sip. Everything was shaking. L was also dimly aware of a warm wetness sticking the front of his top to him, and looking down, almost retched again. He'd gotten sick on his chest. L groaned weakly, cringing his face away, pushing back against the porcelain of the toilet, his fingers gripping the rim so tightly he was convinced either it or the bones in his fingers would crack.
"L -uh sorry- Ryuzaki? Are you okay?"
L grimaced, an entirely new broiling sensation enveloping his body. He felt the damp hairs at his scalp sticking to his forehead. His eyes were closed but he didn't want to open them just yet.
"Are you all finished?"
L teetered out a nod, not wanting to open his mouth either - afraid of what might gurgle out instead of coherent words.
"Okay, come on then," Light said gently and hands suddenly gripped L under the armpits, hoisting him easily to his feet. L's knees felt like bags of water, and his legs buckled as soon as Light stepped away.
"I can't . . . My legs are weak. I just need to sit do-"
"-No, come on. You can't sit on a cold floor," Light took L's arm and wrapped it around his neck, holding clammy fingers firmly with his left hand, supporting L around the waist with his right. L began a weak protest but Light quickly shut him up.
"Don't be stupid Ryuzaki, you're not well. You should be in bed. Or at least in some warmer clothes." Light walked him back into the living/bedroom, and L staggered finally onto the plump bed. It took a great deal of restraint to leave his feet touching the floor; L yearned for nothing more than to pull his knees against his chest and wrap an arm around them; to anchor a thumb against his lip. But he was shaking, his legs limp, and his mouth tasting sour.
"Okay, stay there - I'll get you some mouthwash."
L rinsed his stinking mouth out and spat into the glass Light provided - thinking this would probably have made more sense to do whilst still in the bathroom, but he gave Light points for ingenuity - before Light pulled him to his feet. Thankfully, L remained upright after the seventeen year old whisked away to rifle through chests of drawers.
"Why is there nothing in any of these? It's all just . . empty!"
"I. ." L swallowed thickly, still feeling the queasiness seep from every pore in his body. "I have never used these rooms. . before."
Light glanced to him, his honey head of hair falling into his eyes. "And . . now?"
L stared blankly at him, his gaze widening out into stating the obvious. "Because of my poor health, Light-kun." Not you. Not because of you. Nothing to do with you at all.
Light nodded furiously, as if trying to convince himself of a complex answer to an algebra equation. "Right," He turned instead to the tall wardrobe in the corner of the room. "Do you not have any - ah, here's some." Light snatched a long-sleeved white t-shirt off a coat hanger and strode back over to L.
"Let's get you cleaned up," he said, throwing his find on the bed and then, with L 's limp unhelpful help, he slowly lifted the grossly stained material up over L's head, releasing his thin arms from the sleeves in the process. Glancing away, Light chucked the shirt into the open bin by (what he guessed was) L 's swiftly vacated desk. L picked up the new top, his fingers clumsy from sudden exhaustion and swirling nerves, spinning like a whirlpool in his head, round and round...
Light snatched the bunched material from L, standing toe-to-toe with him, and pinched the head-hole open with a forefinger and thumb. He was trying desperately, ferociously so, not to stare at L's bare chest.
He was so white. But not as malnourished as Light had thought before - but this was only to mean that he couldn't see all of L's ribs through his skin. But the paleness! Even his nipples were pale. Light pushed the top down over L 's head and L nuzzled into the softness of the fabric. He stuffed his arms through the sleeves, fingers clinging to the cuffs, and Light pulled it down over his back and to his hips. His fingers touched his skin. L didn't even notice. He felt like he was battling off an oncoming cloud of fog, descending over his head, paralyzing his arms and legs. He squinted at Light and opened his mouth to say something along the lines of thank you or go away but his tongue felt heavy.
"You okay? L?"
L shook his head, the room swaying from side to side. Everything slipped too far to the left. Was he still standing up?
"Whoa," Light caught L as he stumbled, "L? Are you alright?"
"Don't-" someone with a voice very like L's started angrily.
"Yeah, yeah," Light muttered, batting aside L's feebly protesting arm. He scooped L up into his arms as if he were an infant and cradled him to the pillows of the bed. "Don't call you L, Ryuzaki I know."
Light carefully deposited Ryuzaki onto the mattress, peeling back the endless sheets and blankets so L could squirm his way in. He folded them over him, pulling the quilt right up to his chin. L's eyes were closed. He was breathing through his mouth. Light refilled the glass of water and nabbed a hand towel from the bathroom, placing these things on the bedside table near L's head. After a moment's hesitation he grabbed the bin and sat it on the carpet beside the detective too. Just in case..
"I'm fine, Light-kun.." L mumbled, his voice sounding thick and cloudy. His eyes didn't open.
Light rolled his eyes. "Yeah. Sure you are." But he knelt on the squishy rug at L's bedside. Without thinking he stroked the damp hair away from L's face and out of his eyes. L made no sound other than a slightly more husky exhale, and Light let his fingers linger, trailing kisses down the side of his face. He took his hands away, and hit by a blessed urge, a quirk hooking him behind his navel, he leaned forward and kissed the lonely freckle on L's jaw beneath his ear. L's skin was hot.
Then he stood, and left the room. But he paused in the doorway, looking back. His sleeves rolled up, his brown hair ruffled from where he'd run his hands through it, Light looked over to the sleeping L. A messy inkblot of black lost in a sea of white.
Sighing, and reflecting that there must be something severely mentally wrong with him, Light shut the door again and sat in the striped armchair the other side of the bed. After glancing warily at the man he'd spent a (colourful) plethora of weeks handcuffed to, he leant an elbow on the chair arm and let his chin fall into his palm. Falling into a doze, Light ruminated blearily on the bizarre fact that the greatest detective in the world looked about twelve years old when he slept.
But Light nodded, and the room fell away.
He would be there all night, and he would be there when L waked up in the morning.
Harper Lee died this month, and it made me very sad. Her writing stayed with me all through my school years, and going back and re-reading TKAMB feels in a strange way like returning home.