[Myr may not notice; L definitely does, every time the blind faun's fingers manage to miss those clusters of cuts in various stages of healing. This many times can't be a coincidence; either he knows, and is trying to spare L the vulnerability and the questions, or something is leaking through their Bond to compel it. Either way, he's grateful, when so many other things are difficult just now.
A change has come over Myr, clear and concerning. It's deeper than sympathy or even empathy, at least... L is sure he knows how both of those things feel, coming from his Bonded, and this is new. It's dawning on him before it's swiftly confirmed by Myr's sudden shift in posture, one that has L grasping the side of the tub, pulling himself upright before he's quite ready for the head rush. He watches, warily, even after Myr seems to recover and keep speaking, though some unseen wound conspicuously remains in his face's shadows, the tenseness and emotion in his voice.]
No... they don't last. Mello is living proof of that, and the others who were like him.
[Ironically, the old man who had taken him under his wing had died the same day L himself had. In a way, he always was there for him, up until forty seconds before L's own death.
He keeps observing Myr, convinced that there's something deeper here than merely feeling grief on L's behalf. He's heard some already about Myr's world and circumstances, and an increasingly clearer picture is forming; should he regret being a catalyst for it, or embrace it as a way to share the burden of being so hopelessly unfixable? A segue presents itself, and though L doesn't think he'll like to hear the more detailed answer, it's something he already guesses at. It makes it no easier to entertain, because the implications are bleak and isolating, even with the gentle kindness so willingly and generously at hand.]
And what are the Tranquil, Myr...?
[Something you think of as broken, incomplete, and horrifying? Yes... that much is obvious.]
no subject
A change has come over Myr, clear and concerning. It's deeper than sympathy or even empathy, at least... L is sure he knows how both of those things feel, coming from his Bonded, and this is new. It's dawning on him before it's swiftly confirmed by Myr's sudden shift in posture, one that has L grasping the side of the tub, pulling himself upright before he's quite ready for the head rush. He watches, warily, even after Myr seems to recover and keep speaking, though some unseen wound conspicuously remains in his face's shadows, the tenseness and emotion in his voice.]
No... they don't last. Mello is living proof of that, and the others who were like him.
[Ironically, the old man who had taken him under his wing had died the same day L himself had. In a way, he always was there for him, up until forty seconds before L's own death.
He keeps observing Myr, convinced that there's something deeper here than merely feeling grief on L's behalf. He's heard some already about Myr's world and circumstances, and an increasingly clearer picture is forming; should he regret being a catalyst for it, or embrace it as a way to share the burden of being so hopelessly unfixable? A segue presents itself, and though L doesn't think he'll like to hear the more detailed answer, it's something he already guesses at. It makes it no easier to entertain, because the implications are bleak and isolating, even with the gentle kindness so willingly and generously at hand.]
And what are the Tranquil, Myr...?
[Something you think of as broken, incomplete, and horrifying? Yes... that much is obvious.]