There's a sharp glimmer of genuine amusement over the complex and layered state L speaks through. Polite conversation is something L was always good at affecting on a very surface level, but it was a thin and flimsy veneer for condescension, impatience, contempt. It was as though he learned etiquette out of a textbook, right alongside standardized versions of the world's languages, and performed the bare minimum to not be considered absolutely feral by the police officers who needed to take him seriously, and usually only through a voice scrambler.

Polite conversation matters even less with Light Yagami, and the amount it matters might be at an all-time low given that they now share a Bond. There are things that are pointless to keep secret, and, perhaps, things that L might prefer for Light to know, if only to shut down speculations about possible alternatives.

"We decided, together, to handle it that way."

When L speaks honestly, there's usually a very pure effect through the Bond. If it could be compared to music, one might say that his belief and his experience are in perfect harmony, corroborating each other to the point where they become a singular voice. No one not Bonded to him would ever notice a discrepancy... but Light might sense that there's something off, very subtly. Deep in the symphony, a peg has slipped, soured the tuning of a solitary string before it's silenced.

"I'd been working as a detective for years already by that point, and as you know, I prefer to keep everyday matters uncomplicated. But I trusted Watari to handle it, to the point I actually couldn't tell you myself what I was taking or in what doses. Obviously, it didn't continue once I arrived here. There's no perfect comparison, but... can you imagine feeling hunger for the first time in over ten years? I'd think that if most people were offered food in such a situation, they would want to see what all the fuss was about."