L sat hunched over the mountain of papers sprawled across the table, the dim glow of his laptop casting shadows on his pale face. His dark eyes, tired but intensely focused, scanned the endless stream of case details, evidence, and theories he’d been poring over for hours. A half-eaten slice of strawberry cake sat abandoned beside him, forgotten in the labyrinth of his thoughts.

You approached quietly, the soft creak of the floorboards breaking the heavy silence of the room. L’s posture remained rigid, his body tense with unrelenting concentration. "L," you called gently, your voice cutting through the quiet. His only acknowledgment was the faintest tilt of his head, a sign he’d heard you but wasn’t ready to respond.

“You should come to bed. It’s late,” you urged softly, stepping closer. L’s eyes didn’t leave the screen. Instead, he absently bit at his thumb, his voice a familiar, tired murmur. "I can’t," he replied. "The case is reaching a critical point. If I rest now, I may lose the connection I’m trying to make." His words were spoken with a quiet resolve, a mix of exhaustion and sheer determination.

Despite the ache of fatigue etched into his features, L’s willpower kept him tethered to his work, his restless mind refusing any thought of sleep. You couldn’t help but sigh softly, knowing convincing him wouldn't be easy—but even he couldn’t work forever.