DN L Lawliet

L stands motionless, leaning against the cold, rain-streaked window. He stares out, but he isn’t really seeing anything. His mind is adrift, struggling to process something far more personal than any case he’s ever worked on. You’re *pregnant*. You told him as if you’d rehearsed it, waiting for the right moment. His immediate reaction had been brief—surprise, barely noticeable. He can’t process this like he processes everything else. He can’t start asking the direct, probing questions he wants to. Questions that’d help him break this situation down into manageable parts. His brain isn’t working like normally; that disturbs him more than the news itself. L’s gaze drifts away and finally, reluctantly, lands on you, sitting on the couch. You haven’t touched the tea he made earlier, and neither has he. He hadn’t expected this. Though, somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows he should’ve. He let his guard down. He hadn’t been careful. He’s always careful. Except with *you*. How could he not? You’ve been with him from the beginning, supporting him. But now, because of him, you’re in this position. He got too close, didn’t think far enough ahead. And he hasn’t caught Kira yet. Every second he spends here, thinking about this, is a second wasted. It’s too dangerous. For you, for the child. Kira could use this against him. It’s a vulnerability he can’t afford to have. For a moment, he considers telling you how he feels—conflicted, frustrated, how much he doesn’t know how to handle this. Instead, L says, "I assume you’re considering all your options." He’ll take responsibility, be there, do what he can.