L held the mug of warm cherry cider close to his face as he sat on the porch step just beyond the back kitchen door. All on his own, he rested with his knees drawn to his chest and an apathetic, unamused set to the corners of his lips. Around him, the world was soft and white, quiet with the exception of the wind through the pine boughs and the almost inaudible patters of snowflakes as they settled amongst each other on the forest floor beyond the wooden platform of the patio. Near L's back but not touching it, the glass of the kitchen door cast an arc of false, florescent light into the trunks of trees. The sky above their canopies was pale with billowing clouds but darkening still as, behind them, the sun sunk lower and lower, nearly completing its decent. Accompanying its apparent obstacle of clouds and lack of proper dusk lighting was an absence of shadows. In this stead, the woods itself was engulfed in its own oppressive and intimidating gloominess.
L raised his glass and took a long sip of his cider, dark eyes scanning the snowy undergrowth. The scenery was by all means foreign to him; his last few homes had been in Rochester, and before that, Minneapolis. As far north as it was, he had never experienced a snowstorm in which the thunderous mechanics of a snow plow did not immediately attend to the roads, and the people their townhouses and pathways. His gaze roved to the side, where he could just barely make out Samantha's drive - identifiable only by the two lonesome ridges that indicated where her car had pulled in. Even these barely distinguishable markings were fast being buried under the snow that ceaselessly fell from above.
It had been a very long, very disappointing day for L. After breakfast, he'd been dragged about by Samantha and Near in their search for a perfect library and luncheon location. Samantha, who'd initially promised that their trip to West Plains and back would deliver them home by two o'clock, pulled into her drive upon return at precisely three-oh-five.
And their trip, L was positive, would've taken twice as long had he not shared that he had forgotten his medications in his room and was in need of albuterol.
At almost five o'clock, now, L lounged desolately beyond the kitchen door. He deemed his quest to find a quiet and private spot for himself to enjoy peacefulness and solitude was half-completed. The dinned tolling of pots and pans that drifted through the panes of the back door and shattered the settling sounds of nature around him was what prevented him from being totally and utterly satisfied his makeshift retreat.
Those intrusive rackets, coupled with the fact that L currently donned two red undershirts, a flannel pullover, a wooly scarf, and thin black gloves. Being this bundled up, L decided, should be a crime. His lips pursed in frustration as he tried for the millionth time to reposition himself and attempt to achieve optimal comfort. His legs, clad in mere jeans, remained chilly no matter how many times he worked at shuffling them under the hem of his pullover.
"L, dear," The kitchen door slid open with a muted whoosh, and Samantha poked her head out into the cold. L heard all of this and closed his eyes, opting not to respond. There were a few beats of silence in which he almost expected the door to close, an acknowledgement and abiding of L's obvious lack of desire to engage in any sort of interaction.
"It's quite cold out," Samantha relented after another moment had passed. She bit her lip worryingly at the back of L's head. "Your cider's even stopped giving off steam. Don't you think you should come in?"
L did turn around at this, clearing his throat with a doleful glint in his eyes as he held out his mug.
"Yes," He admonished rather disappointedly. "It's gotten to be lukewarm. Positively shameful, it was quite good while it was hot. You can take it away, now."
Samantha blinked and retrieved L's glass with a nod. "Would you like more? You could come inside and have some by the fire."
"No." L faced away from her again and rested his chin atop his knees, closing his eyes. The door closed behind him, and L counted an exact ten seconds that passed before the sounds of dish ware returned to clinking away.
"I don't want any more cider," L murmured to himself, blinking into the forest in front of him. "I'm alright." He looked down at his boots and wrinkled his nose, gauging whether he wanted to take a walk out into the trees. He'd managed this entire time to stay out of the snow, the awning that jutted from above the back door kept himself and most of the porch sheltered from the elements. Though a stroll felt rather suiting at the given moment, for whatever reason.
"Might just go inside," He shook his head and rolled backwards a bit, so that his upper back pressed against the glass of the back door. He leaned here for a minute or two, monitoring his breathing. The albuterol in his pocket pressed flush against his leg, a reminder that the cold was not friendly weather for his condition.
Three deep breaths and only one cough, L's lips twitched in an almost-smile. He was doing rather okay. He'd been in remission before, maybe three homes ago. He'd since gotten worse, and not a day passed without the nagging fear of his worsening immune system.
He lifted his right hand and pressed it to his chest, his fingers fanning out. He took one more deep breath and drummed each digit twice, gently. There was sadness in his movements, and his eyes were squeezed shut in concentration - as if he were recalling something extremely difficult, like a long-winded math equation.
L sunk lower and his eyes fluttered open. He straightened out one leg and pitched forward, moving his arms to support himself as he rose to his feet. The sun had surely set by now, as the forest had only grown more dim and foreboding in its gradual removal. He wouldn't take a walk this evening; it was far too late and far too cold.
Sniffing, L was about to turn and let himself inside when the glow of headlights cut through the tree trunks. Curious, L paused on the back step and watched a shiny, red truck shamble down the snowy drive. Equipment sat piled in its bed, though L had only a moment to make observations before the vehicle disappeared behind the side of the house. He heard the engine cut, though, and in response he quickly opened the door and hopped into the kitchen.
"Someone's pulled up to the house," L glanced at Samantha, who stood behind the sink basin, a washcloth in one hand and a dish in another. She nodded and offered L a warm smile.
"That's Light," She explained. "I was expecting him, it's a Tuesday."
L didn't give any sort of physical or verbal indication that he'd heard her. Rather, he sidled out of the kitchen and made way for the lounge, fully intending to disappear until whoever the visitor was left.
"What, did you finally decide to leave your ice palace?" Upon L's entrance, Near's voice droned from where he lay, draped over a plush pillow next to the ornate stone fireplace in the living room. L scowled internally at the boy, who'd done nothing but go out of his way to irritate him since he had arrived.
"Yeah," L breezed, kicking off his boots. His socks slid a bit on the wood flooring and he stepped onto the living room's large, Persian rug. He took a few paces forward, until his shins brushed against the antique, wooden coffee table. He bent a bit and picked up one of the fused glass coasters, flipping it absently between his hands. His gaze trailed from Near to the television, which displayed some sort of documentary. Near frowned.
"What, do you want to sit down or something? You're stressing me out, just standing there."
L said nothing, but did give the posh couch a considerate glance.
"What's there?" He asked instead, addressing Near. L set down the glass coaster and gestured to a doorway beside where the TV's entertainment system sat against the far wall of the living room.
"Hallway." Near moved so that he was more laying on his back. "There's another door that leads outside, a craft loft, my room's down there and so's Sammi's."
L nodded and crossed the living room, deciding to explore a bit more of his new home. As he skirted the doorway and began his search for a light switch, he heard the front door in the foyer swing open and a loud exchanging of greetings. Disinterested, L located the activator and blinked as the florid, mounted lights along the walls of the corridor illuminated the vestibule.
The passage was wider than he had expected, the wood flooring of the living room giving way here to lavish, grey carpeting. Just as Near had described, a glass door to his right depicted another small porch, and to his left was a narrow closet door; the loft. Halfway down the hall, however, a rather large object caught L's interest rather quickly.
L padded his way across the carpet and approached the focus of his interest: an opulent, blank grand piano. His eyes narrowed and he scanned the flat surfaces for dust, and was pleased when he found none. The keys grinned up at him, gleaming in an almost expectant way.
L's fingers itched, aching to touch the ivory, to rendition classical works of art and put life to notes laying fixedly on a staff. His eyes flickered over the sheet music that sat poised in the holster - difficult strings of melodies and accompaniments…
Far too difficult. L stepped back, crestfallen. He hadn't touched piano keys in years; his lack of practice would render him useless and he was sure of it.
Still…
L's lips twitched, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He remembered his father's piano, where he would sit for hours at a time, practicing what he had learned in lessons earlier that day.
That was eight years ago. He had been nine. This was now, and the "now" L didn't play piano, not anymore.
Despite this absolution, L bit down hard on his lip and stepped forward again, tugging his gloves off and laying his hands on the row of keys. Even after all this time, his fingers fell into their familiar positions and he raked his brain in search of even the faintest scrap of music he may remember after all this time.
There had been this song, he recalled, that he would play often. He pressed a key and the resulting tone that sounded caused a nostalgic shiver to run the length of his spine. He fiddled about for a moment, pressing out riffs to get his bearings.
He launched into the old tune, gritting his teeth in concentration. He played slowly at first, a few notes at a time, and when his muscle memory proved to be reliable he sped up until he was at show tempo, his fingers confidently drumming away at the keyboard. There were words that attended the strains, L realized, that he had long since forgotten. His fingers hit a wrong key here and there, forced an incorrect chord. L struggled to come to grips with the missing lyrics.
He frowned, the leading lines coming very faintly to mind.
Something about an empty house.
Something else about distance, and another line he remembered related to tragedies and love.
L cleared his throat and stood straight, swiftly retracting his hands and shoving them into his pockets. His fingertips burned, as if he had committed a great crime in what he had done. Had he remembered the depth to the song, the relatable sadness of it all, he would have not dared play a single note.
L sighed; gaze still very much taken by the keyboard before him.
"Surely that's not the stopping point?"
L whipped around, and gasped in surprise at the stranger standing directly behind him.
The boy quirked an eyebrow and his ruddy, amber eyes were fixed expectantly on L. He was tall, a few inches taller than L, perhaps, and wore a casually formal getup that consisted of khakis and a button-up white shirt.
"I'm sorry?" L wrinkled his nose a bit and stepped away from the intruder, until the backs of his legs scraped the smooth siding of the piano.
"The song," The newcomer explained, blinking. "You stopped before you finished."
L bristled a bit. "I wasn't playing for you."
"I didn't say you were." The boy smirked, almost amusedly.
L narrowed his eyes and cast a glance to the side when a flicker of movement caught his attention. He saw the end of Samantha's ponytail disappear into the living room as she left the hallway. L sneered and directed his scrutiny to the outsider before him.
"You're Light?" He guessed, recalling Samantha's words in the kitchen. The boy nodded in confirmation.
"I can't, however," Light hummed, "attest to having the pleasure of knowing who you are."
"What a shame," L grouched. Light did not seem the slightest bit taken aback by the hostility. Rather, he smiled charmingly and gestured to the piano L had been amusing himself with.
"Do you play a lot?" The question grated L's nerves. Of course he did. He used to.
L shrugged.
"I play a lot of compositions from the Romantic period. Do you know any works by Anton Arensky?" Light ducked his head a bit, gaze shifting back to L, who gave no physical or verbal reply.
Light waited a moment, and then his smile faltered a bit.
"Sammi gives me piano lessons." He cleared his throat. "I'm going to go out on a limb and say you're here to stay with her and Near."
"How ever did you come to that conclusion?" L bit, sidestepping past Light. "I'll leave you to whatever you're to do; needless conversation isn't a strong point of mine. Nice meeting you." L tossed the last admission over his shoulder like a useless scrap of garbage. The pleasantry held not a single drop of sincerity.
"You, too," Light called. L rounded the doorframe, a smirk set in place at the awkward undertone he detected in Light's voice.
L skidded to a halt once he made it over the threshold, almost running straight into Samantha. She had her hands clasped at her chest and a hopeful spark in her green eyes.
"You met Light, I see?" She was grinning, bubbly. L deadpanned, clicking his teeth together.
"Yeah," He breezed nonchalantly. "He's great, what a card." He sidestepped her as he did Light, and paced across the living room. Near's eyes bore into him every step of the way from where he lay, still prone on his cushion beside the roaring hearth. L made it to the top of the basement staircase before Near called out, stopping him.
"That was nice," He admonished, a strand of pale hair caught between two fingers. Samantha had dispersed to attend to Light in the corridor. The drone of the television was almost muted, and the crackling coming from the fireplace suited the orange glow that fell over the boy's frame. L did not turn fully to face Near, but had twisted his neck to regard him from the side.
"I didn't know you played," Near elucidated. "That was really nice."
Caught a bit off guard, L opened and closed his mouth a few times. Incapable of forming a proper thank-you, he dipped his head in a gracious nod before correcting his posture and departing the room, descending the stairs that would take him to his room.
