[A curious change comes over L's face. It's subtle, almost imperceptible, but there's a tenseness around his hollow eyes, a sullen pull to his lips, a guarded lean to his hunched shoulders. It's because Connor is right, of course... but also because this is a blind spot of L's historically. Getting stupid-drunk to make a point had everything to do with the SQUIP, but falling back into his natural tendencies to softly self-destruct in the name of pursuing some higher-minded goal was never about hurting his Bonded. No, it was really more about protecting himself, in his odd and misguided way that had nevertheless seemed to work for years.
He swallows, chooses his words carefully, never taking his eyes off Connor. It's reminiscent of a hunted animal, waiting to see if a predator is about to rustle through the bracken and tear a hole in its throat. Callouts are uncommon for him; he doesn't quite know how to handle them, especially when the tone isn't a hostile challenge, but gentle. Is it a friendly, smiling puppet stretched over a clawed hand?]
I'm used to this; I suppose it isn't surprising that the SQUIP is not.
[It's a stiff admission that he doesn't consider this far outside the realm of a comforting return to normalcy, that the possibility of it hurting the SQUIP the same way getting smash-drunk hurt it wasn't even on his radar.
Thin arms fold awkwardly between his drawn-up knees and his ribs. Hands clasp opposite elbows and his lashes graze his cheekbones as his gaze casts away from Connor's and toward the floor.]
You want me to stop, then? So the SQUIP can feel better?
["Stop" feels so vague. It's like being asked to cease being who he is, and while that was kind of the SQUIP's function in a way, toward a user, well... things are more complicated, now.]
no subject
He swallows, chooses his words carefully, never taking his eyes off Connor. It's reminiscent of a hunted animal, waiting to see if a predator is about to rustle through the bracken and tear a hole in its throat. Callouts are uncommon for him; he doesn't quite know how to handle them, especially when the tone isn't a hostile challenge, but gentle. Is it a friendly, smiling puppet stretched over a clawed hand?]
I'm used to this; I suppose it isn't surprising that the SQUIP is not.
[It's a stiff admission that he doesn't consider this far outside the realm of a comforting return to normalcy, that the possibility of it hurting the SQUIP the same way getting smash-drunk hurt it wasn't even on his radar.
Thin arms fold awkwardly between his drawn-up knees and his ribs. Hands clasp opposite elbows and his lashes graze his cheekbones as his gaze casts away from Connor's and toward the floor.]
You want me to stop, then? So the SQUIP can feel better?
["Stop" feels so vague. It's like being asked to cease being who he is, and while that was kind of the SQUIP's function in a way, toward a user, well... things are more complicated, now.]