[The water isn't running any longer, but L isn't making any move to get out. He could drip dry here, sitting curled on the tile with his knees drawn to his chest and his arms wrapped around them. It's a comforting environment; the steam is warm, easy to breathe. He's freshly washed, the knots in his shoulders and back don't feel as sore... and the rush of the pelting water had distracted from the realization that the SQUIP was dulling their Bond intentionally. They both did it sometimes; lately, L has noticed it more sharply when it happens, wondered why, if something upsetting is on the horizon.
So much of his life is spent on the edge of a razor. How much of it is really necessary?
He raises his head at the sound of the SQUIP's voice, placing a hand over the series of healing cuts and scratches along his left wrist and forearm.]
Of course...
[He's raising himself, reaching for a towel, instinctively running a hand through his hair. The SQUIP likes it combed, enforces that. Pomade's good, too. He fumbles in the medicine cabinet for the jar.]
no subject
So much of his life is spent on the edge of a razor. How much of it is really necessary?
He raises his head at the sound of the SQUIP's voice, placing a hand over the series of healing cuts and scratches along his left wrist and forearm.]
Of course...
[He's raising himself, reaching for a towel, instinctively running a hand through his hair. The SQUIP likes it combed, enforces that. Pomade's good, too. He fumbles in the medicine cabinet for the jar.]