Disclaimer: I don't know why I have to keep telling people that I don't own Death Note or any of its characters. Because, trust me; you would know if I owned Death Note. (: All credit goes to Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata. Lucky them...
Author's note: This was... the drabble that grew. Dun dun duuuun. Anyways, if you don't think that this is a mainly happy one-shot, tii-chan17, then I give up. Officially. (: Also, this fic takes place during the time when Light casually forgets that he's a mass murderer. You know, as you do.
Please, please review. I honestly love reviews. A lot.
~A Way to Relieve Boredom~
It's three o'clock in the morning, and Light Yagami can't sleep. He's been awake for hours on end – though he has no idea why sleeping is stubbornly evading him - and, finally, the boredom is getting to him.
So he sits up, stretches his stiff arms, rolls his cramping shoulders, and smiles as the thin, silver chain between him and the man lying next to him tinkles quietly.
Light is incredibly thirsty; his throat is burning with an aching, dehydrated heat – but he doesn't want to wake L up. Sleep is a rare occurrence for the quirky detective, and Light doesn't want to disturb him.
Usually, when Light needs sleep, L simply follows him to their shared bed, and watches quietly as Light falls asleep. Knowing that L's watching over him as he sleeps comforts Light for reasons still beyond his understanding.
Light glances at the clock to his left again – it's two minutes past three. He then glances back at the sleeping man beside him – he's a mess of impossibly pale skin, untidy dark hair, and white duvets - and suddenly a strange curiosity overwhelms Light.
Light holds his wrist up to his face, and follows the chain down across the bed to where it's attached to the handcuff fastened around L's slim, pale wrist. Curiously, Light bends forward to inspect L's wrist, and notices the blue veins just below the almost transparent skin. Slowly, Light reaches forward, and gently places two fingers over L's wrist – feeling his pulse.
For some reason, it makes Light feel strange; feeling the warm blood pumping through L's veins; keeping him alive.
Light smiles softly to himself, and diverts his attention to L's fingers. They're long and thin; very much like a pianist's fingers. Light briefly wonders if L can play the piano. It certainly wouldn't surprise him.
Light glances at L's fingernails, and notices how clean and nicely-shaped they are. To say he bites his fingernails, they're certainly in good condition.
Light leans back, blows air out of his cheeks, and rubs at his eyes. He's feeling just a little bit creepy in his inspecting-L actions, but this is one of the rare occasions where he can study the detective, without the words, "Everything alright, Light-kun?" resounding in the background.
Light leans forwards again – creepy actions be damned – and follows the length of L's arm until he reaches the raven-haired man's shoulders and chest. Unsurprisingly, they're covered by one of L's many white shirts, and Light can barely make out the shape of the body underneath. He expects that L's body is excruciatingly thin.
Light briefly wonders what it would feel like to have L's thin arms wrapped around himself; what it would feel like to bury his face into his friend's chest.
He knows that it's not normal to have those thoughts about one of your only close friends, and, because Light could never be considered anywhere near stupid, he's come to realise that he's slowly falling in love with the bizarrely eccentric man beside him.
At first, the realisation made his heart heavy, and he felt absolutely guttered - he, Light Yagami was gay - but soon Light began to realise just how happy being around L made him. And Light quickly realised that he didn't care that L was a man, or that he was unusual, or that the genius would never, ever fall for someone like himself, because - if nothing else was possible, then Light is happy with just being friends.
Light snaps out of his inner speculation, and smiles as L twitches in his sleep. Funny; he always thought that L would be a very light sleeper, but it appears that that's not the case.
Light's golden-hazel eyes follow the line of the detective's slender, surprisingly elegant neck until they reach L's face.
Light shifts his body to get a better look.
L's face. It's definitely the most striking part of the detective. His skin; beautifully alabaster, and flawlessly smooth. His cheekbones; so sharp that they could cut glass. His lips; pale pink, impossibly-smooth looking, and Light imagines that they taste sweeter than anything he could ever imagine. They're parted slightly at the moment, and L's shallow breaths are the only noise in the silent darkness. His nose; thin, sharp and just a little bit pointy. His eyes… oh, his eyes. They're dark, emotionless, and framed by a curtain of long, dark lashes, and, for some reason, Light can't stop himself from melting into them.
And Light wants to be the person - the only person - to bring emotion to those obsidian orbs.
Right now, L's dark eyes are closed, and his eyelashes are lightly brushing his cheeks. His dark, thin eyebrows are furrowed together; even when asleep, he's thinking intently about something. L looks so adorably vulnerable, and, really, it's no wonder why Light is falling deeply in love with him.
Suddenly, Light becomes conscious of just how much he's moved in the past few minutes.
Unconsciously – or maybe it was subconsciously; Light's not quite sure – he's moved his body so that he's leaning over the detective; his honey-brown coloured hair almost brushing L's forehead. Light's hands are on either side of L's peaceful face; his position is very suggestive.
Light's eyes widen, and he quickly moves backwards slightly; his face slowly turning red. He thanks God that L's a deep sleeper.
But Light's curiosity isn't satisfied. And, surely he needs to take this chance to fulfil said curiosity?
Light moves forwards again, tilts his head to the side slightly, and frowns.
L's hair has always intrigued him; it practically defies gravity, which is something Light has discovered is definitely not a common occurrence.
For reasons beyond comprehension, the mass of inky-black hair splayed out on the pillow behind L's head makes Light smile.
He presumes that it's possible for L's messy hair to get even messier.
Light chuckles lightly to himself, and hesitantly reaches a hand forward to gently comb through the charcoal wisps.
The detective's hair is amazingly soft; not that Light is surprised. Everything about his friend is mysteriously attractive; why should his hair be the exception to the rule?
Light groans inwardly to himself; being so sexually aware of someone who will never feel the same way really is tormenting, but he can't help it as his finger slowly makes its way down L's jaw line. L doesn't move beneath him as Light gently runs his index finger over his parted, pale pink lips. Light can feel L's warm breath on his finger, and it makes him shiver.
And then, in an instant, Light realises that all he wants to do is to kiss the man lying beside him.
But then Light has a sudden thought.
"What if L wakes up?"
Because it would be hard to explain why he's all but molesting the dark haired detective. And Light doesn't think that L would be too pleased with the explanation, "I was bored."
So Light sighs quietly to himself, and instead presses his lips to L's pale cheek in a brief, chaste kiss.
And, as the young, good looking man with the high intellect and the nice smile turns around and resigns himself to sleep, the other man – the one with the higher intellect, and the debatably nicer smile – cracks an eye open.
He brings his fingertips to his cheek, and smiles.
"Goodnight, Light-kun." He whispers into the darkness.