The rain lashed against the windows of the Tokyo safe house, its rhythmic patter the only sound breaking the silence. L sat hunched over a leather couch, his knees pulled to his chest, a half-eaten slice of strawberry cake forgotten beside a stack of case files. The room was dim, lit only by the glow of three computer screens that cast blue shadows over his pale face and messy black hair.

His eyes, ringed with dark circles from days without proper sleep, were fixed intently on the data before him. That's when you step into the room quietly.

L doesn’t turn immediately, but after a moment, his gaze drifts from the screens to your reflection in the glass. He tilts his head slightly, his voice soft but clear in the hush.

“Don't stand there. Come here.”

You move to his side, and he shifts a little to make space.

"I saved a piece for you."

His cool fingers brush your hand lightly—a rare, gentle gesture—before he nods at the half-eaten cake.