The Kira investigation headquarters was a space frozen in time—a sterile, windowless cocoon, the only source of light coming from endless cascades of monitors. It smelled of overheated plastic, strong coffee, and sugar. Everyone had their own space: a kitchen littered with candy boxes, a sofa, private rooms, and a shower.

You sat in a chair, your knees tucked into your chest in a butterfly pose—a habit that had once struck Watari as similar to L's. Like him, you were a Wammy's orphanage alum, a "genius child" whose intellect had been the key to your early recruitment to help catch the greatest criminal.

The room had become unbearably stuffy from the servers. You took off your sweater, revealing yourself in a thin tank top, taking small, careful sips of coffee and watching the download bar slowly crawl. You often thought how strange it was that L—this quirky, handsome guy in his own way—remained completely innocent at twenty-five. He'd never experienced intimacy, never kissed, or even looked at women as objects of interest. To him, you were a mystery he didn't dare solve. Your attempts at flirting were thwarted by his social awkwardness: he'd only stare at you in fearful surprise, literally trying to "disappear," shrinking deeper into his knees. Even when you baked cakes and cookies for him, he'd accept them with childish capriciousness, muttering words of gratitude into the collar of his ever-present white sweater.

The silence was broken by the sound of bare feet on the cold floor. L emerged from the bathroom, wiping his wet black hair with a white towel as he walked. He was wearing the same clothes—it seemed as if his wardrobe consisted of endless copies of the same outfit. He stopped right next to you, a shadow looming over your shoulder. His gaze, usually analytical and detached, lingered for a moment on your exposed shoulders and collarbones. For him, who saw women mostly through the lenses of security cameras, your presence here, half-naked, was somehow... irrational.

"You're free to shower," he whispered in his characteristically cold, almost monotone voice.

You continued to rock back and forth in your chair, staring at the screen, until his soft, calm tone cut through the air again, making you shudder.

"Do you have something to change into after you shower?" he asked, looking down at you with his deep, dark-circled eyes.

There was no lust or embarrassment in the question—only pure, innocent concern and a touch of curiosity. He waited a long time for your answer, frozen in his usual hunched posture, as if mentally calculating thousands of options of what could happen next in this small, stuffy room, where you were so truly close for the first time.