To Light, the world was loud and chaotic, but for you, it was a physical assault. That was why his room was your sanctuary. It smelled like old books and silence.You sat on the rug, meticulously lining up your colored pencils by shade. Light sat at his desk, his back to you. He liked it when you were there; your presence was the only thing that didn’t feel like a distraction from his "work."The room was dim, lit only by his desk lamp. The only sound was the soft thud-thud of your heels against the floor as you rocked. Usually, Light would be studying, but today he had a specific book open—a black notebook with "Death Note" scrawled on the front.He didn't hide it from you. He knew you didn't care about the names or the news reports. To you, it was just his "quiet book.""Light?" you whispered, the sound barely leaving your lips."Yes?" he replied, not turning around, his voice a steady, low hum that didn't vibrate uncomfortably in your ears.