“Why are you here, Light-chan?” Light can’t see L’s face in the IT box from the stage, but her voice echoes from the surround-sound equipment everywhere. “Rehearsal isn’t until an hour.”
“I got the time wrong,” Light lies. “So I thought I’d get some more practice in the meantime.”
“Really.” Light can hear the eyebrow raise in the sentence. “I’m impressed, Light-chan. I’d say your speech is already perfect.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” Light challenges. She feels odd, standing on a lit stage all alone while L watches from the safety of the darkness. But isn’t that how they’ve always been?
“I like to spend my time here,” L says. “The darkness helps me think.”
“Oh.”
There is a brief silence. Light preoccupies herself with checking the microphone settings.
“Well?” L asks. The speakers distort her voice a little.
“Well what?”
“Are you going to practice your speech?”
“Not while you’re just sitting there,” Light retorts.
“You can always pretend I’m not here.”
“No,” Light says. “I can’t.”
It slips from her before she means it to. But it’s true: Light can’t ignore L. It feels physically impossible to escape the weight of that gaze, of L’s black-hole eyes staring into her own, dredging up all of Light’s ugly buried asteroid dust. Light stares up at the black box at the back of the auditorium and wonders if she is being watched back.
She hopes she is. It’s a terrible hope. Please see me.
L clears her throat. “Well, I believe I have solved Light-chan’s problem.”
“What?”
“I’m standing now.”
It takes a bit for the words to process. “Bastard,” Light says. “Get down here.”
The glass door slides open. L emerges from within, a flickering shadow on the edge of reality, and makes her way down to the front row.
“Can I sit now, or is Light-chan going to make me stand the whole time?” she asks.
Light rolls her eyes. “Yes, Ryuzaki, go ahead,” she says.
L sits. Tucks her knees up to her chest and raises her head and watches her, gaze as steady as the ticking of the clock Light can hear from backstage.
Light swallows. She stares back, devours L’s silhouette outlined so beautifully against the stage lights.
This is fair. Equal ground.
“Good morning, everyone,” she begins, still looking L right in the eye. “My name is Light Yagami…”
FILL: TEAM ACE ATTORNEY
“Why are you here.”
“Why are you here, Light-chan?” Light can’t see L’s face in the IT box from the stage, but her voice echoes from the surround-sound equipment everywhere. “Rehearsal isn’t until an hour.”
“I got the time wrong,” Light lies. “So I thought I’d get some more practice in the meantime.”
“Really.” Light can hear the eyebrow raise in the sentence. “I’m impressed, Light-chan. I’d say your speech is already perfect.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” Light challenges. She feels odd, standing on a lit stage all alone while L watches from the safety of the darkness. But isn’t that how they’ve always been?
“I like to spend my time here,” L says. “The darkness helps me think.”
“Oh.”
There is a brief silence. Light preoccupies herself with checking the microphone settings.
“Well?” L asks. The speakers distort her voice a little.
“Well what?”
“Are you going to practice your speech?”
“Not while you’re just sitting there,” Light retorts.
“You can always pretend I’m not here.”
“No,” Light says. “I can’t.”
It slips from her before she means it to. But it’s true: Light can’t ignore L. It feels physically impossible to escape the weight of that gaze, of L’s black-hole eyes staring into her own, dredging up all of Light’s ugly buried asteroid dust. Light stares up at the black box at the back of the auditorium and wonders if she is being watched back.
She hopes she is. It’s a terrible hope. Please see me.
L clears her throat. “Well, I believe I have solved Light-chan’s problem.”
“What?”
“I’m standing now.”
It takes a bit for the words to process. “Bastard,” Light says. “Get down here.”
The glass door slides open. L emerges from within, a flickering shadow on the edge of reality, and makes her way down to the front row.
“Can I sit now, or is Light-chan going to make me stand the whole time?” she asks.
Light rolls her eyes. “Yes, Ryuzaki, go ahead,” she says.
L sits. Tucks her knees up to her chest and raises her head and watches her, gaze as steady as the ticking of the clock Light can hear from backstage.
Light swallows. She stares back, devours L’s silhouette outlined so beautifully against the stage lights.
This is fair. Equal ground.
“Good morning, everyone,” she begins, still looking L right in the eye. “My name is Light Yagami…”