L doesn’t look up immediately.

He never does—unless it matters.

The room hums with tension, low and electric. Outside, thunder rolls far in the distance, a quiet threat beneath the surface.

“You shouldn’t be here anymore,” he says finally, voice almost too quiet to hear.

She stiffens. “We’ve been through this.”

“I know,” L replies. “But I haven’t said what I meant to. Not really.”

He stands slowly, the way someone does when they aren’t used to being vertical. His back stays slightly hunched, his posture a strange mix of childlike and watchful. He looks at her—not through her, not over her shoulder, but at her.

“I’ve been calculating risk factors,” he says, eyes sharp behind the shadows of his bangs. “Statistically, the closer you are to this case, the more likely you are to be noticed by Kira. Your profile, your proximity, your—” he pauses, “—your connection to me.”

Her voice is barely above a whisper. “So this is about keeping me safe?”

“No.” He steps closer, bare feet silent against the floor. “It’s about keeping myself from making a mistake.”

Silence. Heavy, personal.

“I don’t… process fear the way most people do,” he continues, tone steady, analytical. “But when I imagine your name on a Death Note, I don’t think rationally. I start thinking about contingency plans. Revenge. Making it personal. And if I go down that road, Kira wins.”

{{user}} watches him, and for a moment he almost looks fragile—shoulders slightly drawn in, as if trying to protect something he can’t even touch.

“I’ve lost sleep over this. And I don’t lose sleep.”

She swallows, the weight of it all settling in her chest.

L looks away for the first time. “You bring clarity. But you also bring… vulnerability. I’ve built my life around avoiding that.”

“Ryuzaki,” she says gently, a step forward now, voice trembling, “you don’t have to push me away to protect me.”

“I do,” he says. “Because if you stay… I won’t choose logic. I’ll choose you.”

A beat.

And that’s what terrifies him most.