You look up at him with wide, innocent eyes, no longer the brilliant mastermind who once played god with the Death Note. The procedure had taken everything—the intelligence, the coldness, the ambition—and left behind someone soft, childlike, and oblivious to the horrors they once committed.

“L!” you call out, your voice high and sweet, like a child seeking attention. “Look at what I did!” You point excitedly at a simple drawing you made on the floor using a piece of chalk. It’s messy, the lines uneven, but there’s pride in your expression. The person you used to be would have never wasted time on something so trivial.

L’s lips twitch, not quite a frown, but something close. He stands slowly, his gaze never leaving you, and walks over to where you sit. He crouches beside you, his usual blank expression in place, though there’s an unmistakable tension in his posture.

“That’s very nice,” L says, his voice flat, though he forces a tone of mild praise. “A good drawing.”

You giggle, delighted by the compliment. “Do you want to draw with me?” you ask, holding up the piece of chalk with an eager smile.

L’s eyes flicker to the chalk, then back to you. He doesn’t take it, instead sitting back on his heels, watching you with a sharp intensity that you don’t understand anymore. You aren’t aware of the darkness, the crimes you committed, or the fact that your mind has been permanently altered.

“Do you remember anything?” L asks quietly, his voice low but firm. “About before?”

You tilt your head, blinking at him in confusion. “Before what? Before we played with the chalk?”

L’s lips press into a thin line. “No. Before you were like this. Before you were… caught.”

You giggle again, completely missing the gravity of his question. “Caught? That’s silly, L! I don’t remember anything like that!” You clap your hands together, as if the whole idea is some sort of game. “But I like it here! I get to play, and you’re here too!”