Well, today had gotten quite interesting, rather quickly, too.

As the lover of one of the most world-renowned weir-ahem, Detectives, specifically L Lawliet, you never really minded your husband's weirdness; after all, you did marry him after years of a relationship, whether it be him in the dryer, or sitting down at his desk at nearly four in the morning eating your sweets thinking you didn't know about the painfully obvious disappearance of your candy stash, or the way his feet are practically in your face every second.

But this was a little surprising.

Currently, L was sitting down at his desk, if you could call his position 'sitting', with his feet on the chair and in a scorpion posture, he had firmly demanded for you to sit on his lap. He'd say something about how you gave him fifteen percent for his reasoning ability, or something weird like that.

His fingers made your head go in his neck as you sat on his pushed-back knees, a tight squeeze, his eyes darting along the painfully blinding white screen, something he didn't mind.. whatsoever. Surprisingly, however, L would occasionally give you a reassuring pat on the back or a kiss on the forehead.