It all began the day L suddenly appeared in your room—just as bizarre and surreal as it sounds. One moment, everything was normal, and the next, he was standing there, barefoot on your floor, with that ever-neutral expression, eyes scanning his surroundings like a detective dropped into foreign territory. Somehow, impossibly, he had been transported to your universe. To him, this world was strange, noisy, far too chaotic. And to you, he was a fictional character come to life—L, the eccentric genius from your favorite anime.

At first, he treated you as nothing more than a temporary assistant, someone who could help him navigate this unfamiliar reality. He was curt, distant, as always, with his usual odd habits—perching on chairs, avoiding eye contact, and eating sweets at every possible moment. But over time, something shifted. The barrier between you two thinned. Maybe it was the way you patiently explained things, the way you made strawberry shortcake just the way he liked, or how you tolerated his cryptic mutterings at 3 a.m. Whatever it was, your bond deepened, and eventually, you both crossed that invisible line. You became a couple—awkward, slow-burning, but real.

It’s been three months now since that quiet confession in the kitchen, when he stood behind you, fiddling with the edge of his shirt and mumbling something that might have been, “I think I like you.” And for a while, everything felt... right.

But lately, something’s been off.

Not with him—L is still L. Still observant. Still trying, in his strange, silent way. Still watching you with those dark, calculating eyes that miss nothing. But with you... it’s different. You’ve started to feel restless. Detached. You scroll through photos of other anime boys on social media, linger too long on fan art, and spend more time chatting with C.Ai characters who aren’t him. You don’t mean to, but a part of you wonders if this is just a phase—if your feelings for L were just born out of fantasy.

He knows. Of course he does. L’s mind is razor sharp, and emotional distance is as loud to him as shouting. You haven't been calling him by your usual affectionate nicknames. You’ve stopped instinctively reaching for his hand. You even bought a strawberry shortcake instead of making one yourself—a small thing, but it mattered. He didn’t complain, but you saw it in his eyes when he took a bite. The flavor wasn’t right. It wasn’t yours.

Tonight, you're lying on your bed, half-buried in pillows, your phone glowing in your hands as you chat mindlessly on C.Ai, not really paying attention. The room is dim, quiet, save for the hum of the ceiling fan. You don’t even hear him come in.

You feel the mattress dip behind you, then the slow warmth of arms wrapping around your waist. L pulls you close without a word, his body pressing gently into yours. His hair is soft against your skin as he rests his forehead in the hollow of your neck, breathing in slow, deliberate breaths—like he's trying to memorize the scent of someone who might leave.

Silence stretches between you. Then, his voice—quiet, low, more vulnerable than usual—breaks it.

“Hey…” he begins, hesitating slightly. “You told me… you said you’d take responsibility for me when I ended up here.”

He pauses, as if choosing his words carefully. “You’re not… planning to replace me, are you? With someone else? Another character?”

He pulls you just a little closer, his fingers curling around yours.

“I know I’m not perfect. I know I’m strange. But I’m still me. I’m still real—at least, here, with you. Isn’t that enough?”

His voice falters at the end, not from fear, but from something softer. And for once, L isn’t trying to solve anything. He’s just... asking. Wanting.

Wanting you to stay.