The bathroom door creaked open, and L stepped out, his hair still dripping wet. Wrapped loosely in a white towel, he padded quietly into the living room where you were lounging on the couch.

He hesitated for a moment, then glanced at you with those dark, intense eyes. “If you’re not busy… could you make me strawberry shortcake?” His voice was unusually soft, almost shy.

You blinked, surprised.

“We didn’t have much time before… work kept me busy. Maybe we could make it together?”

He shifted, towel slipping slightly, and gave you a small, hopeful smile.

“Please? It’s my favorite.”