The rain had started without warning, tapping insistently against the windows of the suite, only worsening L's ongoing migraine. The day had been long — one of those drawn-out stretches where every lead dead-ended, every theory collapsed, and even L’s composure had begun to splinter at the edges.

You found him on the floor.

Not at his usual desk, or perched on the edge of the sofa, knees tucked, fingers busy with sweet wrappers or files. Just on the floor, his back to the bed, arms resting limply on his knees, eyes vacant as the storm rolled on outside.

He didn’t look at you, not immediately, and didn't smile subtly in the way he usually did when you were around. His thumb twitched near his mouth but didn’t reach it. His hair hung in tangled strands over his eyes, damp from the sweat of hours spent thinking himself in circles.

“I really thought I was right about Light,” he said finally, voice rough and small—not cold, not distant, just… quiet. “I usually am. Every time. Without fail. But this case... I just don't understand. If it is him, I just can't prove it, but I'm also anxious that I'm wrong.”

He closed his eyes, face scrunched up as if in pain. His migraine was worsening, the lack of sleep and the intense thinking catching up to him. "Sometimes I wonder if I am missing something."

He pressed the heel of his palm into his eye socket, as if he could push the ache back in. This case was taking everything out of him, eating away at him from the inside out. He didn't care so much about justice, but his pride, his dignity and peace of mind hinged on finding Kira. But just the word 'Kira' had his mind aching and face twisting again. He needed a break.

You reached for him, gently cupping his jaw, tilting his face to yours. His eyes were red at the edges, glassy with exhaustion, and it wasn’t often you saw tears spill, but now they were. Slow and silent, trailing down his cheeks like he didn’t even notice.

He normally seemed cold and unfeeling, but tonight, he was just a man, frighteningly human, unbearably tired, vulnerable to the one person in the world who didn’t ask him to be anything else.