L, being a much-lauded and world-renowned genius with several increasingly nonsensical and obscure aliases, should have known from the start that the relationship wasn't going to work out.
Raito, aside from being Kira and quickly corrupted by power and weirdly obsessed with neatness, had a possessive streak a mile wide. Under normal circumstances, this would have hardly been a problem, as L spent most of his waking--read: all--his hours dedicated wholeheartedly to stalking Raito with his vast resources.
However, whenever the subject of gods of death arose nothing seemed to deter Raito's furious annoyance other than some rather filthy interactions of the very, very carnal sort. Considering it was only an idle and unsubstantiated pursuit on L's part--how would jealousy over a god of death be possibly warranted? it was a mythical creature, there was no possible way L could be have some sort of affair with it unless he was deeply fond of rubbing vast amounts of historical Japanese tests against his genitals!--L saw no reason for Raito's irrational behavior. It was a subject which puzzled L to no end, which in turn only infuriated Raito more, which was strangely attractive and unfortunately addictive, as Raito was cute when he was infuriated, in a dangerous, perhaps the scarfing could become deadly this time around sort of way
The problem was that it had escalated, until it reached a threshold which L had calculated mathematically as being "no longer bearable or worth the tradeoff of a steady source of carnality." As it was, L got very little rest. He didn't intend to spend his many, many waking hours sore all the time in an effort to keep his sort-of boyfriend from sulking off to have a nice killing spree.
That was the problem about dating in the workplace: relationship problems always translated to office tension.
One day, rubbing his large, haunted eyes, L asks the chief of police, "Did you hug your son enough as a kid?"
The chief just gives him a strange, hamstrung expression before saying, "No."
L sighs. "That explains part of it," he says tiredly.
Six hours later, L tells Raito that they can't see each other anymore. It was beginning to make his favorite seated position inhospitable and there were many sacrifices he was willing to make--but not that one.
Raito stormed off, and four hours after that, all the detectives gather around the television, torn between laughter and louder laughter when a gang known for kidnapping, gang-raping, and trafficking young girls and boys into prostitution all die of what appears to be autoerotic asphyxiation--bodies falling conveniently in a public square.
The chief squints. "Does that--?"
L narrows his eyes and drinks more coffee.
"Yeah," one of the others says.
"It totally does," another detective chimes in.
"L SUCKS DICK," the Chief reads.
Just under his breath, L mutters, "Not anymore, that's for damn sure."
L researches traditional behaviorisms in jilted lovers as, due to lack of time, interest, and waking hours, he's never bothered to experience it first hand, and finds that Raito, despite his extraordinariness in every other sense, is textbook predictable in this sense. L theorizes this is because Raito never made plans for in case he was jilted, as L cannot imagine anybody in the world jilting Raito except for L himself. It is a case of gross but appropriate irony.
"You're being childish," L says, seeing that his computer screensaver changed to a print ad for medication for erectile dysfunction.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Raito quips.
"And anyway," L goes on casually, "Matsuda can vouch I don't need it."
The next day, Matsuda is found dodging Raito the entire afternoon, sensitive and watery-eyed.
"He said he would kill me," Matsuda hisses, glaring at L. "What did you say to him?"
L, oblivious, nods, murmuring, "Hm. Giving himself away--interesting."
Raito has a sort of attractive pallor that L supposes would otherwise be found on poets suffering from wasting diseases. He is terrifyingly smart, unbearably attractive and somehow fragile-looking, shooting L angry glances that would melt through titanium. After a few very intense weeks of this--the duration of which finds members of the group eager to escape any location that could be found in the line of sight between Raito and L--he begins to reexamine his reasoning for ending the relationship.
Granted, Raito is a terrifying, jealous, power-hungry, arrogant sociopath serial killer, but these are all things that L knew the first time he and Raito played six hours of mind games that led to strip poker and somehow anal sex. It was really rather unfair of him to simply abandon the game mid-session; it wasn't as if he wasn't allowed to change the rules. Perhaps, he'd been hasty.
Despite Raito's clear sexual frustration--he's been making eyes at Matsuda, hopeful ones alternating with disgusted ones when he realizes what exactly he's done--he is resistant to L's advances, which mostly consist of questions about casework in which L has used his extensive knowledge of cryptology to code in things like "Perhaps we should reconsider our relationship and consider reapplying generous amounts of sex in the butt." (Though it frustrated him greatly, even L's awesome mind could not properly work the semantics of forensic pathology and the word "fucking" together.)
Raito raises one fine, fine brow at L when L says this, and replies, "On the other hand, perhaps the coroner wasn't thorough enough in his external examination--needle-punctures can be wildly difficult to locate and I have not yet abandoned the idea that some of these deaths could have been caused by the application of excessive insulin. Local law enforcement has, after all, been writing them off too easily on Kira."
After Raito has left the room, L says, "That was completely uncalled for."
On consideration, L consults the team for help.
They are predictably useless.
"Girl troubles?" Matsuda says sympathetically.
Matsuda's excited any time L shows interest in somebody that will steer Raito's persistent resentment away from himself, and actively encourages L to have relationships with most things that are capable of sentient thought. L would find this funny, if he isn't so convinced that this is the only reason Matsuda is allowed to live.
Chief Yagami looks enormously grateful, though L supposes this is largely because he Chief Yagami is smart enough to know that his son was not always found nude in the company of L because they were planning on being completely heterosexual with one another, but also hopeful enough to believe that perhaps L has acquired some other form of distraction.
"Relationships are good for you," Yagami says approvingly. "But just be careful, meeting people on the internet--you never really know who they are."
L thinks that he met Raito in person, and he's still the most dangerous man alive, background checks and all. Perhaps, it has nothing to do with the other person at all, L considers, perhaps, this is commentary on L's decision-making abilities.
Matsuda nods supportively. "But I'm sure they're really nice," he amends, and adds nervously, "Say, have you told Raito-kun about this, yet?"
L, mostly because he's feeling merciful, says that he plans to, and makes a note in his mind to mention dating a woman named SEXYCHICA009 he met in Yahoo! Chat to Raito at his soonest possible convenience.
Raito does not take the news of L's newest relationship with SEXYCHICA009 well. In fact, he is seen skulking around several of the computer terminals doing something that looks suspiciously like trying to track down the name and face of SEXYCHICA009. As L does not actually know who SEXYCHICA is, he feels that it may be unfair to have her suffer the brunt of Raito's anger should the search for a photograph and real name prove fruitful, and becomes somewhat concerned until he realizes that SEXYCHICA is Russian, and that even through his best efforts and Babelfish, Raito has no idea who she is or what her name is. L rewards his own cleverness with half a chocolate cake and four episodes of Seinfeld, badly dubbed in Russian.
"You have absolutely no social graces," Raito says mildly when all the other detectives have left the room. He's propped himself up in L's chair in a way that is distractingly attractive, but that is Yagami Raito in two words all the time, and not just when he is attempting some sort of ham-fisted reconciliation.
At times, L can hardly believe that anybody takes either of them seriously; they're teenagers or just out of that neck of the woods, they can't be trusted with cars or members of the opposite (or same) sex or alcohol, but everybody looks at L like he can answer all of their questions. This may be true--but L also watches a lot of porn, it's nicely derivative, and he enjoys the music.
"It was never given much import during my early education," L says lightly.
This is untrue; L could dine comfortably with Victorian aristocracy, with their elaborate dinners and four forks. In fact, L can fold swans out of napkins, and has done so out of sheer, desperate boredom before one Christmas having been invited to take tea at court.
Raito smirks, and L feels a little shiver below where his belt would be if he could be bothered to wear one. Mostly, it's unnecessary, and while he and Raito were having sex frequently, it was an annoyance put to much better potential use not around his waist. (L still has fond memories of surfing S&M websites with Raito; bathed in the glow of the computer, it was almost romantic.)
"I find that I perhaps am being unfair to the investigation, being so frequently absent," Raito says.
This may mean, Can we get back together? But L's only good at cryptography, not dealing with Raito when he's acting like a fourteen year old girl--serial killer or not, he still whines like a teenager.
L's instinct is to say that the investigation is going along swimmingly. He reigns this in long enough to reply, "Your renewed presence would be a quite a gain on our part, Raito-kun."
"Yes, I feel that way, too," Raito says agreeably, but his eyes flash quicksilver and L has a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach that this is as close to seeing death face-to-face he'll ever be without ever having to draw a last breath. "On the other hand, we shouldn't waste our time pursuing ridiculous, fairytales like gods of death."
"I really don't see why you're so sensitive about it," L observes.
Raito's eyes narrow.
"On the other hand, you bring up a valid and important point about time management," L demurs.
It figures, he reflects glumly several minutes later while Raito is tearing off his clothing, that he would be bored by everybody on the face of the earth with the exception of Raito.
L, being a much-lauded and world-renowned genius with several increasingly nonsensical and obscure aliases, knows from the start that this isn't going to work out, but someone is going to win, and L is at least somewhat fairly convinced it's going to be him--maybe.
So L researches gods of death secretly on the side, and Raito never really abandons his loathing of Matsuda or his search for SEXYCHICA009. L still thinks Raito is a serial killer and Raito still wants to find out L's real name so Raito can add L to his list of victims, but it's all done in a way that's kind of sweet, when you ignore the rising body count.