[L can't really hear the purring over the sound of his own working jaw and teeth; feeling it is another matter entirely, and oh, it's hard to ignore that deep thrum reverberating in his bony chest. Whether it's voluntary or not doesn't matter; what matters is that he certainly won't be starving literally to death within the next few days as a result of this feeding, assuming it's not poisoned. And there's no indicator that it is; nothing tastes off. It's one of the better cinnamon rolls L's had in recent memory, in fact.

Red-rimmed eyes remain fixed on Niles as he chews, narrowing, haughty in spite of his less-than-dignified situation. The imminent sugar rush hasn't hit him yet; for the moment, he's still wan, subtly trembling in the hands, and he pauses to bite out words instead of pastry chunks.]

You don't know the first thing about what I want.

[It helps his confidence in the assertion that he doesn't quite know, either.]

If you did, you might have let me help you to the best of my ability, back then. Instead you tied my hands, and resented the handicap after the fact. That is hardly fair, in my eyes.

[His tone is already crisp and cutting, making it uncertain if he just emphasized the plural at the end, there.]