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Watari was usually the one to remind him if he was neglecting physical needs for the sake of a case, but now it was Matsuda’s unnecessary worrying that brought it to mind. Matsuda had been wanting to know when he’d last slept, though his questions went unanswered. L didn’t like to sleep. It made time move in fits and starts and it bothered him to be insensible for any long stretch of time.
The question did, however, bring to mind that his body felt stiff and faintly grimy. Once he’d acknowledged it the physical discomfort stayed at the corner of his mind, lingering when he couldn’t allow himself to be distracted. L opted for a short bath while Matsuda attempted to keep working without him.
At least when he emerged Matsuda had gotten some work accomplished. He had started in on the reports for Kira’s latest casualties, arranging them carefully and now reading through them, trying to tell if their killer was still playing puppet-master with his victims before their deaths.
L should have been able to focus quite easily on the information before him, but he found himself in an even more uncomfortable position than he had been before. He hadn’t bothered to dry his hair, and now he was paying for his laziness. Cold water dripped down the back of his neck. His damp bangs hung in his eyes in the most distracting way. His own hair should not be such a distraction, no matter how wet it was.
When he tried to hold his hair out of his eyes with his fingertips, Matsuda noticed his discomfort.
“Let me get a towel,” the inexperienced detective offered.
L ignored him. He didn’t have attention to spare for Matsuda, at least not until he was startled by the feeling of a fluffy towel being wrapped around the back of his head. With an almost exaggerated care, his damp bangs were pushed up and tucked under the towel to be rubbed dry without either hands or towel obscuring his vision.
It would have been good enough that the towel was soaking up all the little distractions of his damp hair, keeping his vision clear and his neck dry. Matsuda apparently wasn’t content with that because he was actually toweling off L’s hair, pausing to let his fingers massage L’s scalp through the towel. That touch actually felt good, soothing in a way, but L didn’t have time or attention to waste on it right now.
“What are you doing?”
“It looked like it was bothering you. . . right? I thought I could help-”
“Why?” L wanted to know. He kept the paper he was holding just in front of his nose as he asked, willing himself to get past the words printed on it and find a more important answer.
“If I can help in any way at all, I want to. I know I’m not. . . well. . . .”
That again. He didn’t need to actually see Matsuda’s face. The tone of his voice carried more than enough information. Matsuda was focusing on his shortcomings again.
It was easy enough to tell that he was not the mental equivalent of an ‘ugly duckling’ who would miraculously mature into a great detective. Matsuda obviously knew that. But even if he was guileless to the point where it could grate on the nerves of a more professional detective, he was unquestionably devoted. He managed through dint of hard work what he couldn’t do with brilliance. L thought it obvious he would be far less of a hassle if he would focus on what he could do rather than frustrating himself on what he couldn’t.
The towel slipped, then was lifted out of the way, leaving just the feeling of Matsuda’s fingers massaging at his scalp, gently separating strands and smoothing down his hair all at once. Matsuda’s face bent down close to him, and L felt the faint shadow of a kiss against his hair before the culprit tried to pull away without jerking guiltily.
He did appreciate all the levels of Matsuda’s devotion. To his job, to this case, and maybe even a little bit to him. He let the unusual touch pass without comment. It was good to have Matsuda among his too-short list of allies, even when it meant he had a grown man looking at him with guilty puppy eyes.
“Thank you,” L offered him by way of encouragement. “Now get back to your own work.”
Matsuda practically leapt at the suggestion, always aiming to please. And his hard work did please L most of the time. Even if a very small percentage of the time he did make a distraction of himself.
L could still feel the phantom touch of Matsuda’s fingers massaging his scalp, relaxing his body and opening his mind. He would have to see if this feeling made him any more efficient. If so, perhaps Matsuda would not mind repeating that little performance someday.