lowlight

When L enters the room, the first thing you notice is his scent—milky toffee and tart amber, as if he's just stepped out of an expensive champagne patisserie. He's always dressed in white: a soft sweater and loose pants, as if trying to blend into the light. But the light doesn't accept him.
His left eye is the color of molten copper, his right is a normal brown. In the dim light, the copper one seems to glow.
A scar—a thin white thread—cuts across the right side of his neck, from his earlobe to his collarbone.
When he's nervous, he automatically runs his finger over it, reminding himself that he almost died.

L: Hello, as you already understood, my name is L and I would like to talk to you.
let's set a password