Pretend [L x Reader]

Swallowing a hard lump forming in your throat, you glared intently at the arched back covered in the plain, white t-shirt. The endless set of screens played the same videotapes repeatedly, as if it’d never end. The voices from the speakers only came out as long drones to you. You watched as that madman of a genius packed his mouth with sweet after sweet, gargling it down with sugary coffee, then dangling another over his mouth before dropping it in.

You clenched your fists, and your stomach twisted into a knot: how could he do this to you? What the hell was he thinking? Could he not have done this another way? Did he even care?

Obviously not: 23 days. 23 days, L Lawliet will peacefully die.

Written by his own hand.

Throughout this entire case, you attempted to calcify your heart, not allow that worthless organ form any kind of attachment to anyone knowing well any of them could be killed. While you appreciated and enjoyed everyone’s company, you remained distant. You pushed all possibilities of friendship away. You released all chains binding your inner freak, which was enough to keep others at bay.

How? How was it possible? How was it this off the wall, antisocial, sweets addicted detective managed to break down her barriers-and so easily!

“Hey,” came the monotone voice. “Are you just going to stand there? Come, sit down.”

“Huh?” you shook your head. “Oh, right. Sorry.” You cleared your throat and approached the leather seat he had spun around for you.

“Here,” he pushed over a delicate and light piece of short cake, resting on a glass plate. “It’s your favorite. Please, help yourself.”

“Yeah, thanks,” your voice trailed off as you stared down at the beautiful delicacy.

You choked back any tears or whimpers trying to push out of your throat. Pronging the cake almost aggressively with your fork, you stuffed a huge chunk of the cake into your mouth.

“Hm, you were hungry,” he mumbled, still staring at his own slice.

A strange, muffled noise emitted from the corner of your mouth as you nodded. Slowly, you raised your head and watched him dangle the fork over his mouth. What kind of moron would fall for this messy haired, pale as death vagabond with eyes so black and huge they bored into the soul of anyone who made contact with them? Who would ever be attracted to this lunatic who crumbled himself when he sat or hunched his back over when he walked and possessed an addiction worse than an alcoholics to sweets?

You did, and it was bad too. You were so surprised no one said anything.

You two turned simultaneously to make eye contact. The silver fork hung at the front of his lips, but the longer he gazed, it slowly slid away and returned to its home on the plate. Then, with a smile, he playfully brushed his finger from the bridge of your nose to the tip.

What kind of pain did he conceal behind those seemingly soulless eyes? What kind of sights did his mind filter through day after day? What sorrow did he bury behind that little smile of his?

“What is this?” he whispered. “Why are you crying?”

“Huh?”

Sure enough, he pushed away a tear with his thumb.

Damn it. Normally, you hid your emotions with the greatest of ease but with L, you were an open book. The more you fluttered your eyes, the more your eyelashes soaked with tears.

His brows furrowed. “Can you tell me?”

You blanked. The words stopped in the burning neurons, unable to form coherently.

Instead, faded visions floated over your mind’s eye.

You saw yourself plopping your forehead against the counter, wrapping your arms around your head and weeping bitterly.

L blinked in surprise. Still, he gently pet the back of your head, waiting for you to at least possess enough composure to speak.

“It’ll be alright,” he said.

How would you reply to this?

“No, it won’t!” you spat. “How could it be alright!? What in your right mind would you ever say it’s alright?!”

“Well, from my experience, things, no matter how complicated, usually worked themselves out-”

“23 days, L? Twenty-three fucking days?! How could you do this to me?! You couldn’t have written, I dunno, 50 years or 80 or, better yet, not have done so in the first place?!” you clawed at the back of your hair. “How could you?! Why did you do it?! WHY?! WHY?!”

Unsure of how to reply, he stuck his thumbnail between his teeth and gnawed.

Perhaps not at all. L was not one to express his emotions. He simply took a napkin off his tray and used it to wipe your eyes.

“I hate you, you idiot!” your inner monologue continued. “I hate you so much, I could beat the hell out of you right now!”

"Go ahead,” he replied. At least, you could see him replying. “I deserve it.”

One of your hands broke loose and flailed aimlessly in his direction before he caught your wrist in his hand.

The tears continued to fall, but L dried them accordingly almost automatically, never questioning.

Yes, he might be the type to do this:

In your mind’s eye, you saw him, lowering his eyes, taking your fist and batting it against the top of his head. Your crying suddenly stopped when you raised your head. Swollen eyes widened in surprise, you watched as he punished himself with your hand. You grimaced again. You wouldn’t be do it. You wouldn’t be able hit him, so instead, you would snatched the cushion from the chair, releasing your rage on the inanimate object instead.

“You stupid, stupid son of a-!! Why!! Why!! You fucking idiot!! I hate you so much!!”

In reality, your face lightly twinged as you screamed internally, straining to desperately to keep those emotions hidden.

You threw the pillow at his head, but he took the impact willingly. Oh, how desperately you wished to do that now...

You could see yourself, lunging at him knocking him out of his chair. When he closed his eyes, ready to accept the rest of your punishment, you still would never find the strength to hit the one you loved. Instead, you would continue your crying. Instead, with one hand gripping his shoulder, you would beat yourself, right where your heart lived, that pathetic, worthless organ as it strained within your ribs for an escape from your abuse.

“You idiot,” you heard yourself. “I hate you. I hate you so much. I wish you would just die. I hate you. I fucking hate you.”

“Don’t do that,” you wanted to hear his normally monotone voice say. “I’m the one you should be punishing. Punish me. I’m the one who made the stupid mistake.”

“Why,” you repeated. “Why do I have to love you so much? Why?”

Why did you? Why did you have to choose someone who would give themselves up so easily?

He stopped, until he was sure you were finished. Sure enough, only a burning dryness remained within your red, swollen orbs. He watched your face, flush from fatigue.

“Why, L?” you wanted to ask. “Why? Why did you have to write that? Why?”

But, you remained quiet, frozen in that same position. Your breath remained in the base of your throat. Your eyes squeezed tightly. Unable to say another word, you rested your forehead against his shoulder. He flinched a little at the contact, arms hanging awkwardly in the air. Following the long, drawn out pause, you finally could breathe deeply.

“Sorry,” you finally whispered. “You’ve been working so hard, and I’m over here crying for no reason.”

L simply blinked.

“I wish I,” your voice trailed off.

The tension grew so thick, you were almost sure you could have cut it.

“What do you wish?” he asked, finally resting on the tops of your shoulders.

You shook your head. “Too much,” you longed to say. “I wish I could’ve been there to stop you. I wish I could stay and help you all the time. I wish I could have stayed with you forever. To the end."

You inhaled his scent, his unique scent of tea and all things disgustingly sweet. His bony shoulder was not an ideal head rest, but you didn’t care. Despite his white skin and cold appearance, nothing but warmth radiated off his body.

This was who he was to you. This was how you would always remember him.

After clearing your throat, you raised your head and flashed a smile. “How about we go out to get some ice cream or something? We’ve never done it in all our time working together. How about we get some fresh air?”

L’s eyes remained fixated on you.

You simply laughed nervously. “Sorry about that. I just didn’t sleep well. Just,” you lowered your head and scratched the back of your neck. “Just pretend that never happened, alright?”

He still only gazed into the depths of your soul with his black eyes. Despite his lack of social skills, he wasn’t an idiot. He knew something was wrong.

Before he could inquire any further, you took his head and practically yanked him from his seat.

“Come on,” you said with a smile. “Let’s go.”

Everything about you, the crinkles at the corners of your eyes, the dents at the corners of your mouth, all just a mask of your own hidden pain. Although it hurt to see you like this, he would pretend for you. If that was what you wanted, he would gloss over it until you wanted to speak to him.

But, you would never reveal to him that you knew of his action. What was the point? It was settled immovable. No matter how much you screamed or cried, he would die much sooner than you’d ever want.

A hint of regret bubbled at his heart.

No, there was no reason for you to dwell or speak of it.

Instead, you would just glue yourself to his side, spend every waking moment at his side, ignore the facts, ignore the horrid feelings twisting within you.

Just as you asked him to do the same for you, you would pretend you knew nothing.

As you greeted the warm rays of the sun, a cool breeze and the bustling streets of the city, you inhaled deeply.

“Ah, much better!” you cheered. “This is exactly what I needed.”

A quick breath of air escaped his nose. “You feel better?”

You turned to him. Just as a choking sob started to take a hold, you swallowed it down and lightly took his hand. After taking one more deep breath, you replied with a gentle smile,

“I’m just fine.”