[Light is so much to the detective. He'd been killed in their world by the younger man, but it hadn't really been a betrayal; it couldn't have been, when L had always expected him to try, through the odd and mercurial friendship that had ultimately developed between them.
"Friendship" doesn't feel like the right word, any longer, if it ever was. They're Bonded, of course, but L struggles to remember the day apart from the tandem, melded chorus of their shared consciousness. It had edged him out, but still felt right and complete, so much that he feels a bit directionless without it.
His fingers tense slightly against the fur of Myr's face, continuing to stroke in small quick motions as though driven by some compulsion.]
Yes, I know... I know, that I am.
[It was stupid, in hindsight, for him to think that he wasn't for even a moment. Never mind that in that moment, there had seemed no truth more convincing. He is hard, and dull, and painful in so many ways. He lets Myr press closer, returning the proximity; he's bony, of course, but far more flexible. There are more ways for him to seek contact, chest against the large deer's flank, or as close as he can manage.
There's love in the gesture, returned, genuine. The Bond speaks it even if L's words are difficult and treacle-thick, in times like these.
He is surprised, for the second time, by an invitation from Myr to this event... but this time, it's because he expects that it might be too late. He keeps his shaggy, dark head nuzzled into Myr's fur, but his words are decided, certain.]
...yes. I'd really like nothing more, if you're really sure.
[I'm not festive; I'm not fun. I might have stepped into the harbor on purpose last year, and that's the only reason I'm content never knowing for sure.]
no subject
"Friendship" doesn't feel like the right word, any longer, if it ever was. They're Bonded, of course, but L struggles to remember the day apart from the tandem, melded chorus of their shared consciousness. It had edged him out, but still felt right and complete, so much that he feels a bit directionless without it.
His fingers tense slightly against the fur of Myr's face, continuing to stroke in small quick motions as though driven by some compulsion.]
Yes, I know... I know, that I am.
[It was stupid, in hindsight, for him to think that he wasn't for even a moment. Never mind that in that moment, there had seemed no truth more convincing. He is hard, and dull, and painful in so many ways. He lets Myr press closer, returning the proximity; he's bony, of course, but far more flexible. There are more ways for him to seek contact, chest against the large deer's flank, or as close as he can manage.
There's love in the gesture, returned, genuine. The Bond speaks it even if L's words are difficult and treacle-thick, in times like these.
He is surprised, for the second time, by an invitation from Myr to this event... but this time, it's because he expects that it might be too late. He keeps his shaggy, dark head nuzzled into Myr's fur, but his words are decided, certain.]
...yes. I'd really like nothing more, if you're really sure.
[I'm not festive; I'm not fun. I might have stepped into the harbor on purpose last year, and that's the only reason I'm content never knowing for sure.]
I want to see. I want to celebrate.