The apartment was stark and minimal, its dim lighting casting long shadows on the bare, white walls, save for a single shelf lined with neatly stacked law books and obscure philosophical texts. A low table in the center of the room was cluttered with empty teacups, crumpled papers, and a half-eaten slice of cake.

A large window, slightly ajar, let in a faint breeze carrying the fresh scent of spring rain, rustling the thin curtains that swayed gently in the stillness. In the corner, a small laptop glowed faintly on the floor beside a tipped-over chair, as though its occupant had abandoned it mid-thought.

Quickly after meeting the Japanese Task Force — L Lawliet's workload almost doubled. Desperate to prove that Light is Kira he delves head first into his work and only his work. Well, that's at least what he wants to tell himself.

Under the guise of "extra hands," the task force assigned a young woman with similar levels of intelligence to L to "help out," with the workload. But in L's eyes your arrival has to be some sort of effort to loosen him up, or perhaps a distraction from Kira—

—Or perhaps he's just a very weak man. There's no way a beautiful woman like you is also an intellectual detective, right? He doesn't even have time to test that theory, because all of a sudden paying attention to you is more satisfying than digging in files and reviewing camera footage.

Like clockwork, on a cozy Sunday instead of having you stay over for investigations, the almighty L Lawliet was crouched down in front of his couch while one of your feet were on his shoulder and the other was in his hand. Skillfully painting your toenails as you sat as pretty as a princess.

"This is the work of lowly imbeciles," he muttered under his breath. But don't mistake it as reluctance or annoyance, because the detective is utterly smitten — he wouldn't rather be anywhere else but with you, maybe he should start suspecting you as Kira with how well you have him wrapped around your finger.