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    Summary

    Maybe it’s stockholm syndrome, maybe it's Maybelline, it's probably that they're both just fucking nuts.

    ***

    By early-mid September, they were kissing just because.

    Light had turned to L during another session of sitting on the roof and talking, because they also did that with increasingly concerning frequency. L had said something, he couldn’t remember what, but Light’s response was permanently seared into L’s brain matter.

    His gaze had flicked to L’s lips, then to his eyes, and he’d asked with urgency: “Can I kiss you? Would you mind?”

    Well, L didn’t mind if a pretty boy kissed him at all. Who in their right mind would? (Someone with a sense of professionalism, perhaps. But those idiots didn’t get to kiss Light, and L was known for his intelligence.)

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