Sweet Little Lies

Pancakes And Perfidy

"So...how did Light Yagami sleep last night?"

The pair were seated at the dining table in L's kitchen—a place they had been seated many 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒚 times before, and yet, it felt like the first time. A foreign activity that both had only just taken up. From what L could gauge from the experience so far...it was insufferable.

"Okay, thank you...how about yourself?"

In actuality, Light hadn't slept his best at all. He couldn't recall a time where he'd slept properly since meeting the detective—an exception being, the period of time where his memories of Kira had left him. Prior to this, and 𝒏𝒐𝒘...yes, thoughts of L kept him awake and thinking.

'𝑰 𝒅𝒊𝒅𝒏𝒕 𝒔𝒍𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝒘𝒆𝒍𝒍٫ 𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒂𝒅٫ 𝑰 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖; 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒔𝒐𝒐𝒏٫ 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒈𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝑫𝑰𝑬'

For obvious reasons, Light couldn't say that. But the 𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒂 of doing so...almost curved the edge of his lips into—what some may interpret to be—a smirk of smug complacency. But, what L, and those 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 him, couldn't understand was that this wasn't so at all. Such an authentic display of triumph was not out of self-congratulation per-say...𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒂𝒅, it was the true, unfiltered pleasure of a god who could finally bask in the contentment of 𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔. Millions who could enjoy a world entirely void of any pain or strife inflicted upon them at the hands of others. Only L stood in his way; soon he wouldn't have the ability to stand...there would be 𝒏𝒐𝒃𝒐𝒅𝒚 after the famed detective, to oppose him, as L, was Kira's greatest foe. Defeating 𝒉𝒊𝒎, proved that all others could be conquered, because L was the only man to be a substantial opponent. There was 𝒏𝒐𝒃𝒐𝒅𝒚 else alike to him, and there would never be—Light continued to suppress a smile, that became harder to subdue.

"It was...satisfactory"

"You didn't sleep did you? And...why aren't you eating your pancakes? You need to eat Ryuzaki it's important"

L jabbed at his pancakes with a fork—moving them around the plate joylessly; as though he were curiously prodding an unsavoury animal with a stick. Alternatively, to his feigned repulsion at the meal, from the singular bite in which the detective had taken...it was delicious. A revelation that for once, didn't compel L to eat them up with haste. Because, Kira it seemed, possessed adequate knowledge on how to construct pancakes that were 𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 appetising—Kira didn't deserve the satisfaction.

L wasn't eating his pancakes—the bastard. It was just as Light had predicted...he'd made them 𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 appetising—the trick was vanilla extract and an additional tablespoon of melted butter. Light knew how L liked his pancakes; he knew this would happen. Why wasn't L eating his pancakes? Because...they were 𝒎𝒐𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒘𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒍𝒚 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒇𝒆𝒄𝒕. The detective didn't want to give Light—who he still believed to be Kira—the satisfaction of watching him enjoy them wholeheartedly, as he craved to do...the ideal, seemingly unobtrusive torture, yet it was the 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒕 kind—catered to L perfectly. Even better still, if L decided to speak up; 𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒔𝒆 the unusually good quality of the dish presented to him, Light would argue that he sounded ungrateful, because he'd made them '𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆𝒅'. Kira had trapped L in a box—he couldn't eat, nor could he speak, only frown, with defeat and Kira had won.

L perceived, that 𝑳𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 perceived, L was perfectly aware of his plan...Light had made the pancakes, tastier than usual...it was no coincidence. Light understood how the detective preferred his pancakes—he'd learned through practice over many weeks and 𝒚𝒆𝒕, they'd 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓, been this delectable...Kira was trying to torture him—𝒕𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 him with the superlative outcome of fried batter in which he'd attractively flipped in the pan several times. In every instance, the detective crossed fingers and toes that he would lose coordination and fail...but no. 𝑫𝒂𝒎𝒏 𝒉𝒊𝒎. Worse, still, if L decided to speak up; urge Light to disclose his reasonings for such a sudden change in decided recipe...the boy would only argue that he sounded ungrateful, because he'd made them '𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝑳 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆𝒅'—that would most likely be, his 𝒆𝒙𝒂𝒄𝒕 wording.
The detective was trapped in a box, how should he escape?