[L's smile begins to slip. Myr is perceptive; Myr could sense the cracks before L even thought to make hasty efforts to patch and conceal them, and now, something is so obviously broken that he must acknowledge it. It wouldn't be so, in a happier world... but in a way, it's a relief that the lightness of the conversation has been sacrificed, given what an exhausting facade it was to maintain.]
I'm sorry.
[It's the sentiment, anyway, somehow more dimensional than a longer explanation or rationalization. It's more a flicker of feelings than a pair of words, containing equal measures of regret and relief. Myr needed him to be strong, and honest, and he couldn't be both. It's left them here, exposing him, making the decision... but it's a decision that's still his, in spite of that, because if he forced himself to go, insisted on it, Myr wouldn't lock him in the cottage, or call on his other Bonds and beloveds to help keep the broken one at bay for his own good.]
If you go, and enjoy it to the fullest the way Fauns are able, I'll still be able to feel it. But I don't think I'm ready.
[He knows he isn't, that every gentle moment would be poisoned by the shards of ice Niles left in his veins. Sources of uncertainty would be reasons for panic, and not curiosity. Separation from Myr, for even a moment, would shake something else loose and set him walking in any direction with every appearance of purpose, but nothing concrete. Every festive mask could be a murderer, every laughing child an enemy informant, every false fluffy tail or pair of cat ears could be Niles returning in disguise to finish him off now that he's scraping together his life and talents and reshaping them into what he must to survive.
He repeats himself, the sentiment surer this time, fully honest and not merely implicitly.]
no subject
I'm sorry.
[It's the sentiment, anyway, somehow more dimensional than a longer explanation or rationalization. It's more a flicker of feelings than a pair of words, containing equal measures of regret and relief. Myr needed him to be strong, and honest, and he couldn't be both. It's left them here, exposing him, making the decision... but it's a decision that's still his, in spite of that, because if he forced himself to go, insisted on it, Myr wouldn't lock him in the cottage, or call on his other Bonds and beloveds to help keep the broken one at bay for his own good.]
If you go, and enjoy it to the fullest the way Fauns are able, I'll still be able to feel it. But I don't think I'm ready.
[He knows he isn't, that every gentle moment would be poisoned by the shards of ice Niles left in his veins. Sources of uncertainty would be reasons for panic, and not curiosity. Separation from Myr, for even a moment, would shake something else loose and set him walking in any direction with every appearance of purpose, but nothing concrete. Every festive mask could be a murderer, every laughing child an enemy informant, every false fluffy tail or pair of cat ears could be Niles returning in disguise to finish him off now that he's scraping together his life and talents and reshaping them into what he must to survive.
He repeats himself, the sentiment surer this time, fully honest and not merely implicitly.]
I know I'm not ready, Myr.