paixaorpg | A Sweet Reunion [Active]

There was a visitor. L didn't get visitors.

He had been spending most of his days staring listlessly at the small, electronic journal, not sure of what moves to make. There seeemed to be no crime for him to investigate, nothing strange so far...that is, except for the high amount of magic about the area. Something he never could believe in, and yet...here it was.

He rose slowly from his seat in the bedroom and slowly made his way over to the sitting room, where the entrance to the apartment was. He was expecting NiGHTS, or someone similar, but instead...found Light.

Without missing a beat, he said, "I take it you saw the room I made for you. Lovely, isn't it?"

Similarly, without wanting to be bettered, he responded immediately (despite having seen nothing of the sort) with, "Just lovely, thank you. You're alive."

Not alive, that last part consisted of Light's brain re-wiring mid-sentence, but L was walking and talking and definitely not cradled in Light's arms with an expression of utmost horror as he was murdered by his best friend. Alive for all intents and purposes, certainly, if not literally.

Amber eyes roamed over the other man, simply taking him in as Light's knees stiffened in an effort not to buckle; for all his taunting over the journals, he'd assumed it might be some elaborate trick, that it wouldn't actually be L that shuffled into sight looking as wiry and hunched as usual. God, as usual. This was so ... awful, on so many levels.

"I never thought I'd see you again," he said, taking an honest route. His voice, surprisingly, was smoother than he'd hoped.

L said nothing, but instead swayed slightly on the spot as he observed Light carefully, waiting for any sudden movements. Here HE was, still looking alright...save for the tattered clothing. It was a story that could wait for after the "tearful" reunion was over and done with.

He could feel his stomach turning. God, how this boy- this man, now, he supposed- had managed to best him. After all his careful planning, he was still alive...no, scratch that, he could have died, he had died...but there were people still alive....

L dismissed his brain just long enough to say curtly, "I hoped I'd never see you again. Let's be honest." Not that every part of him wasn't sick, but that this was his last ounce of self-control...he was using it, but it wouldn't be long before he'd have to sit down for a while.

It was ridiculously easy to keep his poker face straight; his skin felt numb, refusing to twitch. He was rooted to the spot ... just like L, apparently. And it was as if he could read the others thoughts just by staring in those fathomless, hard black eyes, because Light understood that sick hesitation only too well, felt it rippling through his pounding veins in an oncoming migraine. First things were first - they both knew what he was and the footing was equal, something he simply couldn't allow if he was going to be alongside L for any period of time. He had to have some kind of trump card, needed to appear regretful and wan in order to gain a powerful ally in Paixao. However much he hated L, he respected him just as fervently and knew there would be no one else worth having on his side in this circus.

Light glanced away, brows drawn as his throat worked to swallow a lump. He sagged against the door a little, seemingly unsure where to look as chestnut bangs shielded his eyes.

"I was afraid you would say that," he muttered.

He didn't have to fake a nervous sweat.

Well, didn't he look ill.

L could see right through him, for the most part. His words and tone seemed genuine enough, but the act was a bit too melodramatic, even for Light. If he was going to play along, he'd be playing into Light's hands...If anything, unless Light still had the Death Note on him, they should be able to trust each other. If Light pulled a similar stunt, then he wouldn't be able to get away with it as quickly. L had died once, and didn't think he could die again, not when this place seemed like an afterlife. He and Light were stuck here, in the same hell.

It seemed alright. L reached a hand into his black mess of hair and scratched it, still staring at Light unblinkingly. "We can still be friends, if you'd like. I have no objections."

Of course he'd say that, because he knew Light would be angling to be acquaintances again, which meant Light had two choices; take what L was saying at face value and go the path of letting his mind fit the state of his body, or challenge him directly about the underlying distrust that would always linger between them so long as they didn't talk about what had happened. They needed to, any normal person would be ashamed of their actions and desire forgiveness, but only an idiot would forsake their pride in favor of an awkward relationship. So, wasn't L simply testing the waters, seeing if Light was playing him? He would have to show more truthful anxiety than blithe misery, something that an Asperger sufferer would more readily take on board. L had always been emotionally selfish. It would all have to relate to a state of psychosis on Light's part that he could easily classify.

He wanted L to believe in him - it would be like placing a leash around the detective's throat in return, this time in lieu of handcuff chains.

Light waited a while before moving off the door and into the room, resting a hand on the back of a chair as his frown lifted to L's face, settling just beyond his shoulder.

"I was never your friend, not once. I wanted you dead and I achieved that." Light looked away in frustrated disgust. "If I were you, I'd hate me ... I already hate myself."

Now he was being honest; even L could tell that much. But what good was it to him if he was trying to mend their relationship; did he still have a plan in mind? Was this all some clever ploy to kill him once again, AND possibly turn the tables so he didn't end up here? Besides which, if this was the afterlife, why was he here with Light, of all people? L was a good guy, wasn't he?

He...wasn't dead after all.

L continued to lie, even after Light had spilled the beans; the shields were up, and he wasn't going to bring them down anytime soon. "Hate is a strong word," he said simply, turning his back to the other man and moving slowly over to a nearby chair.

God, he was so angry at the bastard! This, he knew, was an emotion he had to direct with all the accuracy of a torpedo. L wasn't giving anything away about his own feelings, leaving Light to effectively bash his own against a brick wall. Hardly fair play, and L had to know it.

"I know I took some misguided -" but not wrong "- actions, but I - I thought when I saw you at the end, in that warehouse, you'd forgiven me. I thought you were waiting! That we were on equal footing and I didn't need to be your friend for you to understand why I did what I did!" The bitterness clouding his face dispersed like old storm clouds, leaving in its wake a wounded expression like to that of a kicked puppy. Light pursed his lips and swallowed before taking a step forward and hoarsely, quietly croaking, "It wasn't you, though, was it? You weren't really there."

A bitter, raw bark of laughter left him as he shook his head.

"Which means I was hallucinating everything, probably even the regrets I felt ..."

If anything, he looked like a man robbed of his last penny, broken and disbelieving.

"It wasn't you, it was a figment of my imagination, making everything I'm feeling now bullshit!" he concluded, smacking a fist on the back of a sofa.

L was quiet through Light's outburst, but his heart had begun to pound a little faster. Some part of him, some part that hadn't budged since after he had died, was beginning to stir. He felt his muscles tense for a fight, if it would come to such a thing. How sad, that this ingenious man was now breaking down before him when he hadn't lifted a finger.

"I didn't visit you," L said, sitting down and staring at the wall. His fingers fidgeted slightly, but he gripped his curled legs to still them. This was the last time he would want to show Light that he was on high alert, ready to strike if need be. "I came straight here."

He paused, then said very quietly, "I wouldn't have wanted to visit you."

L meant it in a good way; he didn't want to watch Light at what must have been his darkest hour. People were ugly when they smashed into pieces; it was the last thing he wanted to see, especially right after he had been murdered by the very man he chased. If Light thought he had won, well...they still had to be fighting, or else he and this murderer wouldn't be here together.

He laughed - genuinely laughed through the façade of a pitiable, broken doll of fate and grinned as he did so; laughed and laughed and laughed, tears smarting at the corners of screwed-up eyes. Light covered his face with his hands, breathing hotly against dry palms, chuckling without a trace of humor.

After a short pause, he lowered his hands to reveal an expression out of sorts with a flushed pallor; serene, he said quietly and without inflection, "You think I wanted you to visit?"

He had to turn his disgust at such a conclusion around, had to seem caring ...

"If that hallucination had really been you, I'd never have lived down the humiliation. Now that I know you couldn't be bothered with anything of the sort, that worry will no longer plague me. All that matters is we have been reunited."

He looked up abruptly, swiping carelessly at unfallen tears.

"I don't know if I can be your friend," Light confessed. "You won't accept my way of thinking and I keep finding faults in yours. So ... the fact of the matter is, L - who else have I ever had to talk to?"

No one had ever kept Light ~~partially~~ sane the way the detective did. Light didn't want to lose the only decent conversationalist around due to a clash of conscience, not on foreign ground.

Light sagged, not entirely faking remorse.

"Whether we like it or not, I have to stay here with you."

Who has Light had to talk to, besides L? He wasn't much of a conversationalist; he would have been flattered if this wasn't Light doing the complimenting. Without turning away from his examination of the wall, L simply replied.

"Yourself, Light. And..." Here he raised a finger into the air, as if punctuating his point further. "That shinigami that followed you around. I'm certain he made a better friend than I may ever be."

L knew he was right. He didn't want to turn around in fear for what might be waiting there. He kept his gaze focused and steady, forcing himself to erase his mind in order to focus better. The last thing he wanted was to stay here with him (the sparks would fly), but as it stood, he wasn't going to deny him. He wanted so badly to turn him away, but what would happen if he did so?

For the first time in forever, L was just the tiniest bit frightened.

"You can sleep in the spare bedroom. It's down the hall." He moved the finger in the air to point to the room farthest from his.

Analyzing L's body language, it was clear the other man had struck a classic defensive pose - or classic for L, at any rate; hunched, bright-eyed, toes gripping the edge of the seat. Wryly amused, Light took several slow, measured steps towards him, talking levelly as he did so.

"Don't you know, L? Didn't you figure it out? I think you did, because Near arrived at the same conclusion, only he managed to stay alive long enough to test the theory out. Shinigami don't befriend the owner of a Death Note, it doesn't work that way; it doesn't matter if you beg or plead for them to write a name down for you, they just won't do it. Actually, the only name they ever feel like writing down, if a situation like that arises ... is yours."

A small, cold smirk appeared at the corner of plush lips and still Light advanced, pacing around the furniture like a serpent winding around obstacles.

"I asked Ryuk to write down the names of the Task Force members and Near's special ops, the SPK, but he refused and murdered me instead. Me! He treated me like a pawn, as if killing off the petty thugs, psychopathic deviants, murderers of children and rapists of innocents wasn't enough, as if it were all a grand game. Isn't that funny? Shall we laugh about how the great Kira was taken for a fool all along?"

He paused directly in front of L, head canted up while amber-red eyes stared down, unable to mask the contempt he felt in having his chance at redeeming the entire world snatched away - and it had all started, the challenge had initially, undeniably begun, with this man curled up in a little ball barely thirty centimeters away.

Fingers twitched, balling into white-knuckled fists.

"I talked to myself, though," he whispered softly, a flicker of something indefinable and lonely behind the shadows in his eyes, even as he smiled. "Quite a lot."

The closer Light got, the more L had to coax himself into remaining steady. He lowered the hand pointing towards the spare room (the diversion wasn't working) and lowered it to his leg, where it continued to grip his pants leg. Oh, weren't words so precious in this situation; never had he felt pressured to say the right thing at the right time. Hadn't Light always made him feel that way: pressured? L was saving the lives of criminals for once, just to get a chance to persecute this evil, evil man. There was no loathing, only a sense of problems unsolved.

And solving problems were his specialty.

He looked up into Light's eyes, noting the emotion raging through them dryly as he attempted to log down all the information he was receiving. So the shinigami did not help humans, but he had been murdered by a shinigami. Light had seemed awfully happy at the sheer convinience of it. Was it merely the Hand of God, a happy accident, or had it been the result of a very carefully planned path to take?

L would have loved to comment on this. He would have loved to tell Light just how much he was appreciating this point of weakness, how much information he was storing away for later. They had nothing left to lose, now. It was just them and this crazy city. Didn't Light know that he was now giving everything away? He still underestimated his greatest enemy, didn't he?

No words escaped L. Instead, all he did...

Was open his mouth and let out a small laugh.

With everything he had, his arm snapped back and Light aimed a vicious punch at L's head, clenched teeth bared on a snarl like a rabid beast.

He saw red; his gaze burned.

The punch hit L square in the face. He barely staggered from the punch, letting the pain sink in a little.

Not this again.

Without another second spared, he rapidly pushed himself off the chair and swung one foot towards Light's abdomen. How easy this was without handcuffs; he would feel free, if this murderer was not still here with him.

Knocked by the brute force in the kick, Light stumbled wildly backwards, crashing into a side-table as he went down and managing, somehow, to keep his rotting left arm cradled out of harm's way. His right leg shrieked with pain and eyes bulged, but stubbornness and pride forced him back to his feet and into a direct lunge at the other man's torso, aiming to knock L off his high-horse.

And possibly smash his skull off the carpet ... whichever, really.

Right before L was punched, he managed to notice Light favoring the other arm. Even in fighting-

And then he was knocked back to the ground, the air swiftly leaving him. He let out a shuddering gasp, looking up to face Light again. Nursing his injuries could come later.

"You're still giving out weaknesses," he said calmly, shaking a finger. "You have a lot to learn. I can certainly teach you a thing or two."

With that, he kicked Light in the face- hard.

How in the Hell L twisted his leg up into such a position, Light didn't have time to figure out; all he registered was a hammer-like force belting him around the head and sending black spots before his eyes as he was slammed into the floor ... on his dying arm. A noise that had rarely left him in life did so immediately, hoarse and grating and filled with agony as he clumsily threw himself aside, right arm wrapped around the left, hugging it close to his chest as he hunched in a protective ball on the floor.

Screaming with pain, he ripped off the sleeve of his shirt and ground his teeth, snarling thickly as the torn shinigami flesh artlessly refused itself back together along with a few stray threads of cotton he hadn't had the presence of mind to remove. Rigor mortis stiffened his muscles, yet the meat continued to move, bathed in blood where the impact of the fall had burst the foreign hide.

Light hid his face in the carpet as tears burned down his cheeks, twitching in distress.

Blood. L had rarely seen blood in person, only in pictures or when he himself got injured. The sight of it dripping onto the carpet, staining it, the sight of it actually in motion, made him halt. The cries got to him afterwards.

Having landed in a crouching position after the kick, L's fingers dug into the ground at the sound of Light's screaming. He felt no pity; in his opinion, Light had only brought it upon himself.

But his shinigami flesh...it was difficult to look at. How had Light even done such a thing? Was this a new element of the Death Note L had failed to discover before his death?

Was Light simply putting on a show to gather pity from the man? No...L didn't like to show pity. Light knew that.

"Sorry. I had no clue," he said quietly, standing up again and watching Light writhe.

Well, that was that. He couldn't very well pretend anything any longer, not now his ugliest secret of them all was laid painfully bare. Grinding his teeth, Light shuddered against the carpet, gasping dryly.

"Get w-water," he stammered, hissing against the intense urge to scream at L for standing there so fucking uselessly. "Hot water!"

It was almost as if a switch in him had been turned on. L turned to the kitchen and shuffled over to the sink to fetch a cup of water. "Yes. I had almost forgotten you were injured."

Why was he going completely numb at the sight of this? It wasn't as if he hadn't seen gruesom scenes like this before.

Maybe it was because Light was a shinigami now.

The hot water spilled onto his hand and burned him, but L failed to notice. He moved back into the sitting room, where Light was, taking his sweet time in arriving. Carefully avoiding the blood spot, he held out the glass of water for Light.

"Avoid bleeding on my good carpet, please," he said, still watching Light without budging. "Lift your arm off the ground, if possible."

The cold words washed over him with much less effect than the hot water did over his arm; Light hissed as the dead skin prickled, prompting blood to flow smoothly through ice-cold veins. Gasping where he lay, his anger slowly curbed the pain and he lashed out, throwing the glass at the other man's head.

"I hate you! I hate you and I'll kill you, see if I don't, see if you aren't erased from history when I have my own notebook!" Sneering, the agony of the seeping wound that numbed all the way up his arm clashed with the viciously pounding blood in his head, and, unable to cope with the mental anguish of his predicament, of being around L - of being dead - Light's eyes clouded and he toppled over with a loud thud.

Having passed out, the derisive curl had still not left his lips, nor the frown from his brow.

L only had a second to react to the glass being thrown at his head. He put his hands up quickly and moved his head to the side, but even so, the glass hit his arms and shattered, a few pieces falling to the ground and cutting his bare feet. There wasn't a lot of blood, luckily, but L wasn't going to move easily for a while.

Slowly, he put his arms down by his side...only to find Light passed out on the ground.

Light had been overwhelmed by the sheer sight of him from the beginning, it seemed. How this would take some getting used to! Was he simply going to pass out every second he got? In spite of Light's flustered behavior just before his eyes had closed, L somehow thought of this as one big cop-out.

Hell, the detective could face him with a straight face.

Daintily picking up his injured feet, he made his way over to Light and bent over his face. He stuck a finger out and prodded him a few times, just to make sure he was gone.

Then, carefully, he began to lift him up into the air in order to drag him over to the couch.

It was quite some time before Light managed to open his eyes; the view outside the windows was somehow darker and the noise from pedestrians was almost nonexistent. Apparently he had been moved to a couch where he lay with his injured arm flopped across his chest, every inch of his body aching and desperate to remain deeply embedded in the soft, cradling cushioning. Dark circles - though nothing compared with the hollows a certain detective sported - hung under his limpid gaze as it swam over the ceiling, recent events filtering through his mind's eye.

He didn't want to move, so he wouldn't. L could go and screw himself if he thought Light was about to be forced to shift in any way, shape or form. He felt desperately childish, but at the same time he simply couldn't bring himself to care, knowing who he was once again up against. He just ... didn't need any more stress.

It would be fine, in the end. L couldn't do a thing to stop Light's ascension to shinigami and a Death Note would eventually, rightfully belong to Light forever - no one could take it away from him. Everything was going to work out for the best ...

He just needed to sulk like a baby for a bit in the interim.

L never had time for nothing more than a planned (sometimes unplanned, if he was working hard enough) snooze during the night hours, but there was no way he was sleeping soundly until he sorted everything out.

He sat on the couch in front of one of the bigger windows in the apartment, looking out on the town below. There was no one around at this time of night, yes, but the lights outside blazed still. L kept the apartment dark, letting his mind work in the quiet of the early morning hours.

There was the issue of how he and Light would live together. L had always relied on someone else to do the mundane chores of living for him- cooking, cleaning, shopping, and the like were tasks not suited towards him. Of course, now the detective was completely on his own, having to take care of himself.

But now that Light had agreed to living here, wouldn't it be so much easier to let him do the work while he tried to make a life for himself?

He rose slowly and dragged himself over to where Light's new room was. L's body was exhausted, both from the fight and otherwise, but still, he managed to tug his bandaged feet across the carpet to the closed door. He pushed it open with one finger, sticking a head inside to look upon the other man.

"Pssst. Light."

He considered pretending to be asleep; L would know Light was faking and Light would know that L knew, and it would be amusing for all of ten minutes, at least. Then again, he might be left well alone if he simply answered, which he did.

Sourly.

"What."

"Oh, you're awake," L said in a light tone, beginning to close the door slowly. "It's one in the morning, in case you were curious."

There was no clock in there, after all.

L moved back to the kitchen, rustling noisily in cabinets for something Light could eat. He was hungry, wasn't he?

All there was to be found were sweets, but L picked up a cupcake anyhow and began to make his careful way back to Light's room. Sugar was good for you.

He was up and brushing the wrinkles out of his clothes by the time L had returned to the kitchen. Light met him on his way back and stared at the cupcake.

It was smarter not to point out that Light hated every fiber of L's being and had in fact been throwing kitchenware at his head not more than a few hours ago; he eyed the treat flatly and merely commented;

"You have no real food, do you."

It wasn't a question. He took the cupcake into the kitchen where he attempted to find enough things to make a strong cup of coffee, biting into the sugary dessert without preamble as he faced up to a truth darker than his own fall into the arms of death ...

He was going to get diabetes in this God forsaken dive.

L stood where he was, still halfway to Light's door, staring at it with the tip of his index finger in his mouth. "You waste no words," he muttered before turning around, making his slow way back to the kitchen.

At least Light wasn't screaming anymore; L's ears thanked him for that much. At least he was making himself at home and wasn't putting up much of a fight. He had lived with him once, he could do it again.

L perched atop one of the coutertop stools, watching Light rummage around inside the kitchen with a tinge of amusement. "The coffee's in the third cabinet to the left of the fridge," he said, pointing to it with the index finger not in his mouth. "Second shelf up. I'm sure you'll find plenty to suit your tastes."

He didn't want to do any analyzing right now; there was no need. All he had to do was keep him calm and as content as he could get for now.

Yep, coffee's on the left, sugar's plainly in sight and domesticity's just to the right of the biscuit tin, can you see it? Patronising bastard.

Just as L felt no need to analyze, Light felt no need (with all the glass-hurling he felt like out of his system, for the moment) to take up beef between them while his stomach was growling. The cupcake did nothing to dent his hunger and he was mildly surprised to find a pack of unopened pasta in a cupboard, complimented with half a block of cheese during his raiding of the fridge. Sipping his coffee, he dumped a random jar of sauce in the microwave, heating the pasta over the cooker. If there was enough for two it was solely for the purpose of keeping L alive long enough to kick his ass in the not-so-distant future.

He said nothing pertaining to his feelings; it would have been surplus, anyway.

Light planted a grater and the cheese on a plate on the counter, taking up stirring the pasta as it heated.

"Make yourself useful," he directed. "Grate that up."

L looked at the cheese with mild uninterest. Did Light really expect him to follow through with this?

Nevertheless, it'd be a lot more interesting than simply watching Light cook pasta. He slid off the seat, gingerly placing his injured feet on the floor, and moved over to the sink. L may have no interest in appearences, but he was no germ factory.

He turned the sink on and took his time washing his hands, counting out twenty seconds quietly as he scrubbed them thoroughly with soap. L didn't care if Light got annoyed; he was helping him feed himself and he should be grateful. This was L's apartment, after all.

They were going to play by his rules.

It was obvious that small-talk was nonexistent so he turned on the radio and ignored L's presence, adding a little salt to the pasta as he went along. Finding a crumpled newspaper, he flicked it out and bent over the pages, scanning articles out of habit.

L? L who?

Tum tee tum ...

He finished washing his hands and made his way back to where the block of cheese sat on the counter. Glancing over to where Light sat and noticing him reading the newspaper, L stopped for a second.

What did he expect to see?

He turned back to the cheese and began to grate it slowly and carefully.

"See anything of interest?" he said loudly, forcing himself not to turn around to eye Light's reaction. Surely this would reflect on Light's current emotional state without making L do any work. He was only going to listen, not look...listen, and not look...

Grate, grate, grate...

"Someone saved a kitten," he said pleasantly enough, scanning the columns. "That was nice of them."

Touché.

"Really? No..."

Grate, grate, grate...

"...murders?"

"Of kittens?" he lightly remarked, tsking. "That's a bit dark, L, even for you."

Page turn time!

Grate, grate, grate...

Grate, grate, grate...

"You seem to be so interested in killings, Light," L called over his shoulder.

"I beg your pardon, you're the one that brought up murder."

Snorting softly, he tossed the newspaper aside and stirred the pasta, taking a twist out to nibble. Meh.

"Try this." Cue spoon to L's mouth.

It's not poisoned, don't give him that look.

Grate, gr-

L instinctively moved his head away from the pasta, looking at it with unveiled disgust. "Honestly, we're not very good friends," he said, "We don't know anything about each other."

I mean, seriously...it was taking enough of his control to even touch the cheese. Who did Light think he was?

He was delighting in L's discomfort more than he could afford to let on, serenely eating the pasta L refused, returning to stirring the pan with a shrug.

"But, Ryuuzaki, aren't I your first friend?" The smile he conjured was, for all intents and purposes, flawlessly sincere, complete with an amused chuckle. It wasn't just a smile though; it held all the conviction of the innocent, a kind and brilliant young man with a sparkling future ahead of him in the Japanese police force, someone a mother and sister could praise with emphatic love and an honorable father could truly be proud of. Trust, just enough weakness to be human, the combined strength and gentility of sane calculation and passionate values. Look at the good in me, Light managed to physically phrase despite his current ragged appearance, somehow managing to shine in the dank hovel of L's kitchen. There's so much, how can you not trust in it?

It was the smile of a monster.

Light tilted his head, unrelenting as he placed a hand on a hip and let brown eyes crinkle endearingly, as if they'd just finished up a friendly game of tennis.

"You know I'd never hurt you, right?"

The act Light was putting on only served to annoy L further. This was absolutely foolish, wasting time trying to get L to like him. Did he truly believe L was merely going to throw the past aside, forget about his own death, and give Light a hug?

L was starting to wonder why he offered Light a place in his home. It was the least he could do, of course, but it didn't mean he was going to kiss Light's feet sometime in the near future. (Or the far future, for that matter.)

L turned his eyes away from Light and focused on the cheese once more: it was almost entirely grated up. Picking up the block and resuming grating it up, he said, "You know I don't like pasta. Some friend you turned out to be, hmm?"

If L had actually paid attention, he'd probably have decked Light then and there. Assuming death had screwed the detective up more than either of them could ever know, Light merely rolled his eyes and cocked a brow, stirring the pasta.

"You can't eat sugar all the time," he said flatly.

"Of course I can. It's very good for you."

At least he was still holding on to his crackpot notions; it was a sign he hadn't lost himself. L finished grating the cheese and backed away from the counter. "You can use that now. I'll just go over here."

"You might consider staying there too," Light said smoothly, a hint of cruel disregard in the indifferent reply.

"This is my apartment, Light. I make the rules."

L sat down and turned to the window. "I'll stay for as long as I want."

A Sweet Reunion [Active]

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LATE REPLY AHOY also spoilers; I might be a bit clumsy if they talk about the ending.

Dude, who hasn't watched DN yet; no such thing as spoilers anymore. ¬_¬

A single tear rolls down my cheek. :(

Don't make me lick it off. ;P

Don't be creepy, you. XD

I am everything sweet and charming~

Of course you are :D

Look who's talking, Kicky McCapoeira

Look who's talking, um...gramps!

WHIPPERSNAPPER >=B

While replying to this, a friend sent me L's theme. Coincidence or COINCIDENCE?

While replying to this, I ate some chicken.

While replying to this, I was in too silly a mood to normally play L. But I did.

Ironically, as I reply with this, I'm moisturizing. X3

As I replied to this, I was trying to ignore the bazillion huge insect bites on my legs. >_>

Hmm, I need a sandwich.

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