[If it were anyone else, the strangely gentle, intimate gesture would cause a recoiling and skittish reaction from the detective. Hell, he still thinks it's bizarre... but the SQUIP is the only one who is allowed to get this close, sans more of a stiff and negative reaction. L's uncertain, which makes him unhappy, because the overture isn't something he knows how to properly deal with.
His gaze vacillates between a random corner and the SQUIP's face for a few stressful seconds, and then he realizes what it's doing. The itch and sting of those small cuts is beginning to abate; he'd almost forgotten what it felt like for them to be absent. His eyes travel back to the SQUIP's face and stay there as it takes away the scabs and twinges in a way that L himself has never been able to master.
It's a simple gesture, but he doesn't know what to say, finally, he settles on a stammering response.]
no subject
His gaze vacillates between a random corner and the SQUIP's face for a few stressful seconds, and then he realizes what it's doing. The itch and sting of those small cuts is beginning to abate; he'd almost forgotten what it felt like for them to be absent. His eyes travel back to the SQUIP's face and stay there as it takes away the scabs and twinges in a way that L himself has never been able to master.
It's a simple gesture, but he doesn't know what to say, finally, he settles on a stammering response.]
I... always wear long sleeves.
[It's true; the cold cuts right through him.]