[When a certain amount of strength and trust has been established over a Bond, images real or representative can come through with intense power and even clarity. With only the memory of sight, perhaps it's aggrandized beyond what he truly witnessed... or maybe it really was that astonishing. Will the things they share only continue to deepen in detail and beauty?
L accepts almost before he understands, watching in silence as Myr engages with his hand in such a gentle, tender way. He'd never ask for it or expect it, and yet these gestures have sort of become commonplace between them. It's no longer a shock to experience some soft touch or kiss, and L has grown to never doubt their sincerity. Nevertheless... it seems like a radical and dangerous idea to entertain the notion that another living creature could care about him beyond what he can do, alone. It could prove to be addictive; it could prove unbearable to survive without, when it inevitably unravels, but... Myr is running out of new things that could drive him away, and he's remained so far, hasn't he? In spite of what he perhaps should have done?
Is it really possible that Myr's seen potential that no one else has, in places that simply weren't worth the time or trouble to address before?
He is easy enough to steer, and not impossible to form and mold and shape. Age has hardened some of his habits and tendencies, but one of his foremost ones is seeking guidance in the myriad personal arenas he struggles to navigate alone. As they enter the bathroom and he starts to peel off layers of clothes containing a week's worth of sweat and sorrow, it occurs to him that his relative comfort level is raised partly due to the strength of their Bond, and partly due to the fact that Myr cannot see the sharp and fragile contours of his naked body, or the marks in various stages of healing that practicing blood magic in excess have left on his limbs in haphazard, careless lines.]
I'd like to talk. But beginning is the most difficult part.
[He drapes his soiled shirt on a towel rack, careful to avoid the clean linens. No sense corrupting what didn't agree to it.]
no subject
L accepts almost before he understands, watching in silence as Myr engages with his hand in such a gentle, tender way. He'd never ask for it or expect it, and yet these gestures have sort of become commonplace between them. It's no longer a shock to experience some soft touch or kiss, and L has grown to never doubt their sincerity. Nevertheless... it seems like a radical and dangerous idea to entertain the notion that another living creature could care about him beyond what he can do, alone. It could prove to be addictive; it could prove unbearable to survive without, when it inevitably unravels, but... Myr is running out of new things that could drive him away, and he's remained so far, hasn't he? In spite of what he perhaps should have done?
Is it really possible that Myr's seen potential that no one else has, in places that simply weren't worth the time or trouble to address before?
He is easy enough to steer, and not impossible to form and mold and shape. Age has hardened some of his habits and tendencies, but one of his foremost ones is seeking guidance in the myriad personal arenas he struggles to navigate alone. As they enter the bathroom and he starts to peel off layers of clothes containing a week's worth of sweat and sorrow, it occurs to him that his relative comfort level is raised partly due to the strength of their Bond, and partly due to the fact that Myr cannot see the sharp and fragile contours of his naked body, or the marks in various stages of healing that practicing blood magic in excess have left on his limbs in haphazard, careless lines.]
I'd like to talk. But beginning is the most difficult part.
[He drapes his soiled shirt on a towel rack, careful to avoid the clean linens. No sense corrupting what didn't agree to it.]