[L says nothing, at first, allowing Mello the chance to say his distant and highly bitter piece. His fingers are loose around a fork that does not move; it seems that after an absolutely paltry amount, he's either eaten his fill or lost all desire to eat.]

I... understand your pain.

[It's a strange thing to tell someone, considering it's a secondhand echo of what belongs to him, foremost.]

And I'm sorry. I've been looking into ways to fill the hole you're talking about.

[With varying success. Alcohol numbs it for a bit and removes the edge, but it also removes his edge, making him sloppy and stupid. What is worse?

He averts his gaze, staring down at his hands, spread out on the counter. No hidden cards, here, even if he can't seem to make eye contact with the man who consistently demands more than he has to give.]

I don't know if I did. I don't know what love feels like, or... lust, or what the difference between them actually is. I think the difference might be selfishness, and I know that I hurt myself often to protect it. Take from that what you will.