Chapter Text
“Oh, Y/N?”
…
“Could you bring me another slice of that cake I like?”
…
After years of studying criminal justice and psychology, you found yourself working as a… well, basically a glorified personal assistant for the well-renowned L Lawliet. You were one of the few who knew his real name, where he lived, who he was, what he did to the full extent. You knew his schedule, his likes, dislikes, his quirks, his tics— everything there was to know about him, you knew--aside from one thing: how he was intimately.
It felt strange knowing someone so closely and yet never truly being close to him. It almost felt parasocial. But, in reality, it was simply one-sided. You weren’t obsessed with him despite the way it seemed, it was just learned and observed over time. Over the years of spending almost every waking moment hovering over his shoulder to the point L would flat out forget you were still standing there.
Was he dismissive? No. Not quite. Oblivious? Hardly.
There was no true way to explain it, even with your bank of knowledge. L was quite the anomaly, but that was evident for anyone.
You had been, as usual, invited in on the new case he was taking on: the Kira case.
From the get-go, you had a horrible, daunting feeling about the whole thing.
It’s not like you were all that close with L, but as the years went on, it would be ludicrous to say you didn’t grow fond of him.
Something you’d only tell yourself and the pages of your personal journal: you found him quite endearing.
Sometimes those thoughts….ventured out more. Usually starting with a memory from the day of how he showed a slight smile at the arrival of you with a plate of mousse cake for him, or perhaps the way he yawned into his wrist thinking nobody was watching, or even the way he would scratch at his thick mess of hair while lost in deep thought— he had precious patterns you couldn’t shake from your mind, so you’d write them down instead.
And with each new page, each spread of ink, another butterfly became and fluttered in your stomach.
It came to a point that those butterflies would sleep until the very thought of him popped into your mind, and suddenly you would feel almost sick with the explosion of rapid little beats flitting about within you.
No surprise, this made being around him in person even harder than before. It was as if you were meeting him for the first time again and struggling to know him, despite years of such a casual relationship that wasn’t all that hard to build with him.
He seemed almost too trusting of you, in your opinion.
With so many out to get him, you’d think he would be more cautious. Or, perhaps he hadn’t considered the possibility of a woman being sent in after him.
Not that it was true, but you wondered if it was just you, or if any woman could win him over like this. Did... you win him over? Surely, that can't be it.
You learned how to make a latte during your time working under L. So, every morning— and this one was no different— you’d start with making him a latte. However, you changed the flavor every day.
As the espresso brewed, your fingers grazed over the flavored syrups.
You stood in front of the coffee bar in the task force building. At first, the idea of living in a hotel complex built into the task force building sounded wretched—but the luxury of the place made up for any and all grievances. Besides, you shared the floor with L, had your own space, and all free of charge. Not to mention the onsen that you made frequent use of. So a daily latte was the least you could do. It gave you something to do anyway.
You picked vanilla today, caramel was yesterday, and mocha was the day before. Maybe you’d add a little honey or lavender to the vanilla.
L had mostly taken over the entire case all on his own two shoulders, and you still weren’t sure if that was him being controlling or him being scared of any mishaps. One skipped detail, one little slip— and it was all over. You knew that just as well as he did, and that frightened you more than you'd like to admit. Deep down, you knew this fear was more than at a colleague's level of connection.
But, as you carried the vanilla latte, now sweetened almost to a bitter degree, you smiled to yourself in knowing that L probably already had it all figured out. For all you knew, the day he was presented with the case, he’d already gotten all the answers and was just playing the game for the love of it now.
But, that was dangerous. Would he be able to play his game and win? Or would he simply enjoy the run and fall in the end?
You shook your head, burying the horrible thought before reaching out and knocking on the door to the room L consistently worked in.
“Come in,” his sweet, monotone voice called from his seat within the room. Had you not been certain he was hunched at his desk, you could have guessed he was laying in bed from the muffle of his voice.
You gently entered the room, closing the door behind you.
“You don’t have to knock, Yknow.”
You knew that.
You looked up at L, crouched in his seat and staring at his computer screen with unblinking, dark eyes.
How did he not have migraines staring at that damn blue light all the time?
“Sorry,” you murmur as you set the saucer and cup down near his left hand, the scent of the steaming latte swirling up into the air.
“There’s no need for that,” L replied, still not making eye contact.
You forgot to say something, forgot to move.
He must have noticed when he reached for the latte, because he actually tore his gaze away from the screen…and looked up at you as you stood beside him.
“Is that the same shirt and pants every day or do you cycle through duplicates?”
His question threw you off. Talk about random.
“Huh?”
He nodded to your outfit: black pants and a tucked in, white button-up. You used to wear a suit jacket too, but there was no need when L wore the same jeans and shirt and no care for socks at the very least. Compared to his daily attire, the jacket made you feel silly and overdressed, and L didn't seem to care you ditched it either. Maybe a bit more time would build the confidence in you to wear a regular shirt with no buttons at all.
You looked down at your outfit, the toes of your black flats tucking inwards for a moment before you met his gaze.
“I cycle through three sets,” you reply simply— knowing he wasn’t much for long conversation when he was working.
L took the latte and brought the cup to his lips. Soft and delicate. He blew on it gently, the steam dancing away before he sipped it lightly.
You didn’t move. Those butterflies were awfully active right now.
He set the cup down on the saucer, something unsaid but not unspoken in the way he held your gaze.
Was he…telling you not to worry about the professionalism? A white T-shirt, it is, then. Maybe even pink or blue...
His blank eyes lit up briefly, those pale lips almost a warm pink for a glimmer of a second, “Thank you for the latte, Y/N.”
This would definitely be going in the journal later.