(no subject)
Characters: Light Yagami (night_god_moon), L Lawliet (watashi_wa_eru) and Touta Matsuda (happyoblivious).
When: After Matsuda arrives in Adstringendum.
Where: Light and L's apartment.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Matsuda's being his usual incompetent self and needs a talking to.
Placing the PCD down on the coffee table, Light sank back into the couch, fingers massaging the already exacerbated tension in his brow. For the last few nights he'd found himself in a state of fitful restlessness, awakening at odd intervals drenched in sweat; his conscience burning with the recollection of what had transpired and how close he had come to killing L; eyes stilled on the expanse of his wrist where the handcuffs had been not so long before. Part of him still railed in justifying his actions--how L had prompted him to do it by refusing to leave him alone--while the other part capitulated to feeling an immense amount of shame at how little control he'd been able to exercise over his own emotions. Surreptitiously, he glanced towards the detective sprawled on the couch, his gaze lingering fleetingly on the other's wrist--the wrist he'd sliced open and watched in horror as blood gushed out in copious amounts.
But now, despite his usual affinity for prolixity, he didn't really know what to say to L and so, conceded to keeping his mouth shut. Certainly he'd already said enough in those final moments before the detective lapsed into an unconscious state; Light wishing he could retract every single scream, every sob, and every plea that had surfaced in the heat of the moment for L to stay alive. Shuddering slightly, he'd beaten it into his brain so many times since then that it had just been because of the blood--because there was so much of it and because it just wouldn't stop--that he'd reacted the way he had.
A knock at the door distracted him from his thoughts and swiftly, Light lifted himself from his seat, refusing to spare the detective another glance, nor give him another moment of thought, and strode into the hall. Turning the doorknob--grateful that he wasn't still wearing that damnable dress--he greeted in a low voice, "Thank you for coming, Matsuda-san. We have a lot to talk about."
When: After Matsuda arrives in Adstringendum.
Where: Light and L's apartment.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Matsuda's being his usual incompetent self and needs a talking to.
Placing the PCD down on the coffee table, Light sank back into the couch, fingers massaging the already exacerbated tension in his brow. For the last few nights he'd found himself in a state of fitful restlessness, awakening at odd intervals drenched in sweat; his conscience burning with the recollection of what had transpired and how close he had come to killing L; eyes stilled on the expanse of his wrist where the handcuffs had been not so long before. Part of him still railed in justifying his actions--how L had prompted him to do it by refusing to leave him alone--while the other part capitulated to feeling an immense amount of shame at how little control he'd been able to exercise over his own emotions. Surreptitiously, he glanced towards the detective sprawled on the couch, his gaze lingering fleetingly on the other's wrist--the wrist he'd sliced open and watched in horror as blood gushed out in copious amounts.
But now, despite his usual affinity for prolixity, he didn't really know what to say to L and so, conceded to keeping his mouth shut. Certainly he'd already said enough in those final moments before the detective lapsed into an unconscious state; Light wishing he could retract every single scream, every sob, and every plea that had surfaced in the heat of the moment for L to stay alive. Shuddering slightly, he'd beaten it into his brain so many times since then that it had just been because of the blood--because there was so much of it and because it just wouldn't stop--that he'd reacted the way he had.
A knock at the door distracted him from his thoughts and swiftly, Light lifted himself from his seat, refusing to spare the detective another glance, nor give him another moment of thought, and strode into the hall. Turning the doorknob--grateful that he wasn't still wearing that damnable dress--he greeted in a low voice, "Thank you for coming, Matsuda-san. We have a lot to talk about."