Just A Dude

Cold water would remedy that situation, but steam would break up the unrelenting congestion that’s cemented itself deep in his sinuses and other chest. He’s not sure when it’d started exactly, but now if he’s careless in his breathing, his chest will heave in turn with a cough or a few if he’s unlucky. It hasn’t gone unnoticed by L, though now he responds only with tacit stares or to ensure that his cup never remains empty for long. 

The pixelated characters on his laptop blur until they’re fully illegible and leave him squinting. He must’ve reread the same victim profile a dozen times, but still he hasn’t managed to retain the information. It shouldn’t be this hard. In resignation, he grants himself a reprieve by squeezing his eyes shut, vaguely wondering how L never seems to suffer from eye strain despite being glued to various screens for the majority of his days.

He’s just opened his eyes again when his efforts are interrupted, this time not by his own plight but by the man beside him. 

“Usually you want to shower around this time.” As expected of L. The follow up statement sends cold prickles down the length of his spine. “Would you like to do that now or shall we wait until your fever diminishes?” 

“What?” 

“Your face looks 25% more flushed than it did this morning.” Gathering data as always, L brings the backs of his fingers to Light’s forehead. It happens so suddenly that he doesn’t have the time to protest. The twinge in his stomach expands to a full on ache as his body betrays him yet again by telling him it feels nice. He manages to resist the urge to smack the hand away by staring at the blanket. “I can say with relative certainty that you have a low grade fever. It’s important to stay hydrated.” 

“I might need a moment,” Light admits, voice not surpassing a volume louder than a mumble.

“I understand.”

Hopefully, he doesn’t fully understand, but it’s L after all. They fall back into a relative silence. Light forces his brain to work, surely he’s missing something. 

The thoughts are coming too quickly as he tries to find evidence to save himself from his own judgement. Kira is killing with far less discretion than prior to his self-imposed confinement and each new discovery seems to validate L theory that once again he has to wonder if he’s right about everything. 

No. 

Surely he’d remember something like that; after all, it would be impossible to murder that many people with no recollection of it. But then again, murdering via heart attack or other methods from far away and controlling a victim’s actions before death should be impossible too. Even he can agree that Misa seems guilty in some way. She has to be involved. And somehow the two of them are involved too. 

He tries to recall what had happened in Aoyama. He’d been with Matsuda and some classmates, and they’d walked around. The whole thing had been a dud but pressingly he has no memory of meeting Misa like she’d so exuberantly told L at the end of their confinement. Something is missing from the timeline. A lot of things are.

She’d showed up at his house. He said he could act like her boyfriend, but couldn’t remember the reasoning. Was it for himself or for her? He’d given up on trying to date girls in middle school. They’d kissed. He’d forgotten it until she’d mentioned it—he’d forgotten all about her during his confinement, really—but now that he thought about it, yes, they did kiss. 

It makes his head hurt.  

“Light.” L’s voice brings him back to reality, back to the words blurring into blots before his eyes on the screen.

“What is it?”

“While my suspicions of your previous guilt have not been 100% remediated, I’d like to remind you that I fully intend on working with you and not against you on this hello investigation.”

I wanted you to be Kira. 

He searches L’s face for any insight, but just finds the same neutral face he takes on when giving information. He still somewhat suspects that L gained some of this wealth by playing poker, though it’s more likely that he would’ve caught onto trends at the stock market or uncovered some deeply rooted conspiracy that led to him being set for life.

“I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”

L lets out a disappointed sigh as if he’d said something obvious. “In order to work together, you would need to be at 100%. So, I hope you won’t take offense when I recommend that you get some rest.”

He nods and lets L have the last word.

***

Light jolts against the constraints of the ensnaring linens and the actual chain binding him to L, heart rate spiking upon opening his eyes to see the man staring at him, gaze neutral but fixed on his every move as always. He’s sitting in that same strange way, still, unmoving except for his fingers clicking away on his laptop alternating between the keyboard and trackpad. The familiar percussive clacking stops abruptly, signaling that L’s full attention is on him once again.

“You were talking in your sleep.”

Waves of ice cold panic crash over him, but he manages to keep himself from falling into the trap of asking what L means by that when the burning urge to cough overtakes him again. The assault on his lungs is wet and productive and feels like something hot is searing his chest from the inside. It sounds marginally worse than it feels and the rattling of the chain links add more discord to the cacophony. By the end of the spectacle he’s created, his head is left throbbing and he’s sniffling to the point where he considers asking for a tissue.

To L’s credit, he tacitly offers the box this time. 

“Thank you,” he croaks through cracked lips. 

He submits to the audible grossness of it all, how he has to go through multiple tissues to avoid having anything wet come into contact with his palm, how they miss the wastebasket on the side of his bed when he tosses them, but doesn’t fix it so he won’t pull the chain taut.

“I think you’re right that this Kira is operating under a different set of rules,” Light admits while massaging the bridge of his nose to squash down a budding tickle. “It’s possible he’s using criminals to disguise another motive.”

L nods. 

“I think you were onto something when you showed me that CEO.”

“Mm. I suppose we could pursue some other avenues for information. Perhaps keeping an eye out for any other major businessmen.”

Light sits himself up. 

“It’d be impossible to kill so many people and not remember it,” he hears himself say. “I mean—“

L silences him by holding up a palm. 

“It seems you pushed yourself too far.” Focused gaze, never fully leaving their target, L carefully takes a glass of water from the nightstand. The way he’s holding it is bizarre and Light doesn’t care for his commentary—of course he’s fully committed to catching Kira and he wants to tell him as much—but he’s heard enough of his voice to know how pathetic it will sound so he accepts it quietly after he’s finished tending to his nose. 

He passes the empty glass back, hoping he really does have a fever as he’d been told the night before so there’s some logical explanation as to why his unconscious mind forced such a perverted dream onto him. He’s never bought into the psychology of dreams anyway, not years ago when it was one about Yamamoto in his tennis uniform pressing him into the lockers and saying things that’d come straight from one of Sayu’s favorite mangas, and certainly not now that it was L asking him why he was dating girls he didn’t seem to be interested in before undoing his belt and getting on his knees to reveal him. 

Waking up hard from something like that was yet another betrayal, courtesy of his own body. 

“Light?”

L’s head is cocked like he’s waiting for an answer. Fuck. What is wrong with him?

“Sorry. Can you repeat that?”

“No apology needed.” He bit his thumb. “You didn’t bathe last night. A lukewarm shower or bath would likely be helpful for your condition if you’re feeling up to it.” 

“Yeah.”

At least now he’s too feverish to maintain a hard on. He hopes. Without fur there  warning, L rises from the bed and Light nearly trips over his own feet to keep up with him.

“Ryuzaki, please. Warn me first.”

***

The bedwraggled reflection Light catches a glimpse of in the mirror haunts him as they walk to the showers. Somehow he looked worse now after catching a cold than he did at the end of his solitary confinement. He supposes he was overdue—he’d managed to avoid catching the “freshman flu” at university that most of his peers ended up with in the first few weeks, including Takada apparently. His body must really hate him if he’s managed to catch something in what’s probably the most sterile environment he’s ever spent time in. Apparently state-of-the-art HVAC systems didn’t do much for him when his body was under this extreme amount of duress. 

As always, L unchains him long enough for him to remove his shirt and once again the lack of weight around his wrist feels foreign and almost wrong. He can’t help but shiver at the air. The temperature is well maintained in the building for optimal performance and yet his body won’t hear of it. L, too, undresses. 

Light averts his eyes from L’s naked form, focusing on the perfect caulking surrounding the tiles. Not a hint of discoloration. The whole building is pristine, the shower mainly a mix of eggshell, chrome every surface so spotless it’s reflective. In comparison, Light feels filthy.

L personally sets the temperature for him, the dial firmly in the middle between hot and cold. He shivers as the water hits him and he’s tempted to make it warmer even if it’d risk raising his fever. 

He's never taken issue with the generic citrus scent of the soap, but the scent of the lather permeates through his blocked passages and spurs a deep pinprick tickle that wastes no time in crawling deeper and rooting itself as far back as possible . 

He goes on the defense immediately, firmly pressing  his index finger upwards against his Cupid’s bow. It’s instinctual. Automatic. But he can’t deny that for once there's a part of him that badly wants to let it out. It’s so unbelievably itchy and he’s so tired and cold. God, when was the last time he’d been able to just sneeze?

“hhH-“

The intake wobbles dangerously, defying his deliberate pacing. His hand clamps over his nose to pinch it shut. 

“Are you alright?”

Pressure smacks against his sinuses from the force of squelchy release that barely resembles a sneeze. It smarts, but he doesn’t have the time to process it.

“Ah. Bless you.”

Mortification burns hotter than his fever with the realization that he hadn’t managed to contain all of the fallout. Some of the mess had seeped out through his fingers.

“ndGkt-“

Mid-release, the chain goes rigid and yanks his hand away from his face. Simultaneously, he loses the sneeze and his balance. The nearest thing to grab onto is L. 

“Please stop doing that. There’s a chance you’ll rupture an eardrum or vessel at this rate.”

L steadies him. The proximity brings another wave of heat. 

“I should stop?” he hisses, scrubbing at his nose with his free hand. The surrounding skin is so sensitive that it stings upon first contact. He pushes through anyway, knowing that his efforts will be in vain.

“Yes.”

There’s no point in reminding him that he’d asked no less than ten minutes ago for L to stop yanking the chain around without any warning. No. It’s not even like he can talk like this.

“Sorry,” Light’s apology wobbles, his nostrils flaring widely against his will, the sensitivity only fueling the fire. He wants to argue, to tell him that he knows his body’s limits, that obviously he would just control the amount of air he’d take in to begin with, that he’d never be so stupid as to let something like stifling a sneeze cause actual damage to his body. He sniffles, mouth agape as he starts to feel what was lost come back with a vengeance. He goes to move his other hand, but L reels him in again, offsetting his balance. “eHDt-! Hhheh- Ryu-hh-Ryuzaki, lehht—.”

“Just let it out. Unless your goal is to worsen your health.”

This is ridiculous. So much so that Light can’t even pinpoint the most ludicrous part of this scenario. But now, as his breath rises and falls half his body touching L’s, he suddenly is able to. 

“It’s not that, I—hh…it’s—“ He can’t take it anymore. The wings of his nostrils pulsate wildly, and try as he might to starve it off, he knows the second he takes a breath in it’ll initiate. 

“Is it that you’re feeling self-conscious, because—” 

“hH’KNSCHh!”

It escapes him, absent of any embellishments. Like all that buildup had been for naught. 

“Ah, never mind.”

Now that the dam is broken, he can’t bring himself to restrain the rest. 

“ihKSCHh! hEHSSh! Huhhh.”

He sniffles, trying to ignore the rush of embarrassment that follows L steadying him and handing him a bar of soap. 

“Excuse me,” he mumbles, focusing on scrubbing his skin clean. 

“You are excused.” 

Something is making contact with L’s hip that’s absolutely not supposed to. Somehow he manages to not shove L off of him, more out of a fear of committing involuntary manslaughter than anything probably. This could not be happening. 

L follows his gaze downwards. Light’s jaw tenses, mouth going from slack to gritted shut. 

“At the risk of my other eye, I’d like to assure you that I stand by what I said yesterday.”

“Ryuzaki, you can’t really expect me to…yknow…”

“By all means, act like I’m not even here.”

A tall order. The pounding against Light’s ears drowns out the constant downpour of water. This is not going away anytime soon on its own. He can feel it. It’s never been this persistent, 

Maybe it’s the fever. Maybe it was his dream. Maybe it’s how much shame he’s been put through, how much he’s put other people through. Maybe it’s that for some reason sneezing in front of this man is worlds more embarrassing than touching himself, but Light again submits. L’s eyes don’t leave his as Light wraps a hand around the base of his erection. 

Each motion is clumsy, too much pressure, too little friction, too long of a stroke. He’s out of practice. Who has time for something like this? He doesn’t. The last time he’d done this was—

He’s pretty sure he’d been watching the news. When L—

Why did it always come back to L: what he would think, what he would do? He’s always there, chained to every thought Light has somehow, haunting his dreams, watching him jerk himself in the middle of an investigation. 

What the fuck?

To his credit, L keeps his eyes north of the equator, though he’s realizing it’s worse to make prolonged eye contact. 

It’s too eerily similar to the dream he’s had and he can feel himself freezing again. 

“It’s natural,” L assures him. “Your testosterone levels are likely peaking in general. Abstinence from fulfilling your basic human needs isn’t required for this investigation, Light.”

It sounds so clinical. As if it’s normal to rub one out in front of one’s colleague…coworker….classmate…captor…whatever the fuck they were. 

“Likely, the rush of endorphins will help your congestion as well.”

Fuck. 

“Just…stop talking.”

Light looks down at his hand, then up at L’s face and the extent of what he’s doing, where his mind is going, and the fact that they’re thinking two different things hits him like a brick.

“I can’t…”

He turns the water cold. 

“Ah, are you sure that won’t make you feel worse?”

“hNGK’SCHh!”

“Or put strain on your health? Bless you.”

Light’s pretty sure the cold water is the least of his concerns in regards to things that’ve worsened his condition. He shivers, goosebumps overtaking his skin, erection shrinking, growing flaccid. He doesn’t need to check to know that L is staring at him. 

“Regardless, I’ll have Watari bring some medicine. Do you have a preference?”

Light shakes his head, grabbing the shower knob for stability. His breath enters in a gasp and leaves in a ragged coughing bout. 

“Light?”

Colorful specks fill his vision and remain in some corner of his sight like stubborn glitter. His overall scope is starting to darken and his other hand finds L’s shoulder. There’s more muscle than he’d expect there considering everything he knows about him. 

“You’re feeling faint,” L narrates for him, steadying him with one hand and turning the water off with the other. “Can you walk?”

Light gives a tired affirmation—as if he couldn’t get more pathetic in this situation—and follows L’s lead to the towels, refusing to lean on him any more. They’re fresh from the dryer and the warm white fabric feels like heaven against his skin as L wraps him in it. 

“Perhaps a bath would’ve been better,” L muses. Silently, Light agrees.