Most of L's clothes are black these days, fitting his whip-thin figure closely. The change from the faded, drab, baggy garments he wore before he started receiving Pulses wasn't an entirely sudden one, but it was probably the most noticeable after he came back from the hospital following Moises' death. He used to dress like someone a stiff breeze could push over; now his steel-toed boots give his steps some weight, and the form-fitting jeans and jackets ensure that anyone who wants to hurt him will have to get close enough to feel that weight.

He glances up at Cesar's approach, probably seeming more surprised that is polite. "Oh, you... made it. I'm glad."

The implication, of course, is that he had doubts about whether or not Cesar would make it. He stands, leaving his coffee half-finished, slinging a heavy backpack over his thin shoulder.

"The next bus comes in five minutes. Are you ready?"