[The water is cooling, no longer a perfect cocoon or a sanctuary... but L is a good listener, rapt and silent in a way that even the blind can discern the intensity of. Their Bond, as usual, only makes it easier to determine the sincerity of the wavelength, and he likes to think that maybe it's why Myr speaks so long and fluidly about something so very close and difficult.
He knows the value Myr places on a spirited debate, because it's an attitude they share, having no small part in their initial, rare connection. But there are layers to this story's relationship, and it's comparable as an inverted shadow. Myr isn't solely mourning what was, but what could have been, as well. There are common strains; a desire for Myr to help someone, a friendship equal parts stimulating and frustrating, adversarial and electrifying. L remembers one very like it long before he came to Aefenglom, and though many names and faces have faded from memory in the time he's been here, one remains perfectly preserved in the amber of those intelligent eyes.
Do he and Myr get along because they're both grieving the loss of an equal but opposing mind, always there to parry and challenge and then, suddenly, just not? Is it one of the things that makes Myr so protective of his Bonded, so as to not let it happen again even if L is already damaged and so much like one Tranquil?
He's been a project before. Why should it bother him, especially when he stands to benefit from this care and affection? Is that slight darkness at the back of his skull the desire to be perceived as Myr's equal in spite of his very clear shortcomings, the way Light saw him and the way Myr saw Iseult?]
From what I know of stubborn, opinionated minds... hers was made up before she wrote you. Whatever you said... whether it was preachy, or poetry that cut straight to her heart... she would have found a way to use it to support her choice. Someone who is determined, or convinced, will do that.
[He knows; he's done it himself, often, in spite of his conviction that he values evidence above all matters to do with emotion or ego.]
no subject
He knows the value Myr places on a spirited debate, because it's an attitude they share, having no small part in their initial, rare connection. But there are layers to this story's relationship, and it's comparable as an inverted shadow. Myr isn't solely mourning what was, but what could have been, as well. There are common strains; a desire for Myr to help someone, a friendship equal parts stimulating and frustrating, adversarial and electrifying. L remembers one very like it long before he came to Aefenglom, and though many names and faces have faded from memory in the time he's been here, one remains perfectly preserved in the amber of those intelligent eyes.
Do he and Myr get along because they're both grieving the loss of an equal but opposing mind, always there to parry and challenge and then, suddenly, just not? Is it one of the things that makes Myr so protective of his Bonded, so as to not let it happen again even if L is already damaged and so much like one Tranquil?
He's been a project before. Why should it bother him, especially when he stands to benefit from this care and affection? Is that slight darkness at the back of his skull the desire to be perceived as Myr's equal in spite of his very clear shortcomings, the way Light saw him and the way Myr saw Iseult?]
From what I know of stubborn, opinionated minds... hers was made up before she wrote you. Whatever you said... whether it was preachy, or poetry that cut straight to her heart... she would have found a way to use it to support her choice. Someone who is determined, or convinced, will do that.
[He knows; he's done it himself, often, in spite of his conviction that he values evidence above all matters to do with emotion or ego.]
...I'm sorry, Myr. Truly.