[L tries, gamely, to not look too disappointed that Light won't injure himself trying to stab open a can of milk.
Then he reaches for the awl, punching several haphazard holes in the metal lid of a can of condensed milk. There's a haphazard deftness to it that says he's done this before, maybe even habitually. He takes a lapping sip from holes that dribble anticlimactically, putting easily as much milk on his face as goes into his mouth, which he wipes with his sleeve before regarding Light, hearing what does not go unsaid, along with all the little silent words in between.]
Yes. It is.
[He takes another sloppy three-holed sip of awl milk.]
I suppose a lot has changed. Whatever became of your father's heart?
[The question is phrased oddly, intentionally. Light's father suffered a nonfatal heart attack while L was alive and working with him. His heart would break, less literally but just as devastatingly, if he ever learned the truth about his son.]
no subject
Then he reaches for the awl, punching several haphazard holes in the metal lid of a can of condensed milk. There's a haphazard deftness to it that says he's done this before, maybe even habitually. He takes a lapping sip from holes that dribble anticlimactically, putting easily as much milk on his face as goes into his mouth, which he wipes with his sleeve before regarding Light, hearing what does not go unsaid, along with all the little silent words in between.]
Yes. It is.
[He takes another sloppy three-holed sip of awl milk.]
I suppose a lot has changed. Whatever became of your father's heart?
[The question is phrased oddly, intentionally. Light's father suffered a nonfatal heart attack while L was alive and working with him. His heart would break, less literally but just as devastatingly, if he ever learned the truth about his son.]