[It's a breed of pride Myr knows all too well from the inside; finding the boundaries of his own competence abruptly redrawn smaller around him had taught him he was not nearly so humble as he presumed himself to be. He knows fighting off help he sorely needed; he knows needing the imminent threat of self-destruction to break down his own walls to admit others.
It had not been the habit of a lifetime for him; it had left deep thumbprints but had not bent him entirely to a new shape. Yet it echoes familiar, and perhaps that's why--despite Myr's own instincts, despite Niles stalking L, despite the yawning hole of a snapped Bond eating the detective hollow--the faun had not been spending every waking moment at his Witch's side.
Maybe you should have.
And maybe that is self-recrimination better left for later, or never. As with peering deep enough into the mirror of their Bond to make conscious a recognizance of the blacker threads binding them together, those shared habits of mind and manner that had even at the first caught Myr's attention. For now, there is an immediate need--several immediate needs--that want addressing and Myr is ever more steady with someone to care for.
He dips his head to the thanks, a gesture made oddly regal by the antlers.]
Always, intimus. [And thank you.
He gestures then--with the rare accuracy he's allowed in spaces he's memorized thoroughly--toward a door to their left, the movement of his hand necessarily and gladly constrained by still having an arm around L.]
My room. [To make it clear somewhere dark to lie down wasn't an exile but an invitation.] You remember it?
[Strange to think it had been scant months since he'd first brought L there, under contract, for the illusion of a candle that's the sole light in a room left otherwise dark and shuttered.]
no subject
It had not been the habit of a lifetime for him; it had left deep thumbprints but had not bent him entirely to a new shape. Yet it echoes familiar, and perhaps that's why--despite Myr's own instincts, despite Niles stalking L, despite the yawning hole of a snapped Bond eating the detective hollow--the faun had not been spending every waking moment at his Witch's side.
Maybe you should have.
And maybe that is self-recrimination better left for later, or never. As with peering deep enough into the mirror of their Bond to make conscious a recognizance of the blacker threads binding them together, those shared habits of mind and manner that had even at the first caught Myr's attention. For now, there is an immediate need--several immediate needs--that want addressing and Myr is ever more steady with someone to care for.
He dips his head to the thanks, a gesture made oddly regal by the antlers.]
Always, intimus. [And thank you.
He gestures then--with the rare accuracy he's allowed in spaces he's memorized thoroughly--toward a door to their left, the movement of his hand necessarily and gladly constrained by still having an arm around L.]
My room. [To make it clear somewhere dark to lie down wasn't an exile but an invitation.] You remember it?
[Strange to think it had been scant months since he'd first brought L there, under contract, for the illusion of a candle that's the sole light in a room left otherwise dark and shuttered.]