Fingers, long and crooked, pluck up the silvered teaspoon from a napkin on L's desk, stirring inside the teacup. Black glossy fingernails reflect beneath the fluorescent, interior lamps.
L gazes up pensively, as Light narrows his eyes at him. "Yes? Did you require something?"
It takes a second, or two, but Light's mouth uplifts into genuine, lighthearted amusement. "No, thank you," he declares, nodding politely.
Black suits you.
Death Note isn't mine. A very teeny tiny fic for a teeny tiny love I had once for them. It brings me baaaack. Thanks for reading and any comments/thoughts appreciated!