[There is--as L predicted--disappointment in Myr to hear this; he had built up his hopes for this, wanted so dearly that his Witch be ready to take this (large, frightening) step on the path of healing. It is a disappointment he cannot simply crush out of existence in the moment of its realization, when L's silent I'm sorry puts paid to the idea of a night out. He does not even scramble to try, knowing by now that the time for controlling his emotions is before they've made it to the level of his consciousness, before they're manifest in the Bond--and even then, L might still pluck them from him, easy as breathing.
Instead, Myr draws in a measured breath, examining the dimensions of that disappointment, considers the flickering wreckage of that small squashed hope as he would a crushed bee. Memorizing, examining...and then opening his hands to let the shards sift from them.
It is what it is. Better that this silly little hope be dashed than L find himself in a situation all-but-designed to tear open his still-healing wounds.
The little jolt of adrenaline that comes with realizing that near-brush puts paid to any lingering cottony-headed moon-madness, too. (Replaces it with a sudden, crippling guilt for a split-second; because hadn't that been exactly the opening Niles had exploited to maim L in the first place? That emotion Myr suppresses with instant ruthlessness.)]
Then we'll not go, amatus, [he murmurs, bending to press lips to his Bonded's mussed black hair.] And I'm sorry I hadn't thought to ask sooner if it's something you could do yet.
[He has not realized--consciously--what this means yet, that L can say no to him. But there's a lightening in his breast even so, a relief of a fear he'd held in his heart since he'd recognized his own potential to fetter the detective exactly as Mello had.]
no subject
Instead, Myr draws in a measured breath, examining the dimensions of that disappointment, considers the flickering wreckage of that small squashed hope as he would a crushed bee. Memorizing, examining...and then opening his hands to let the shards sift from them.
It is what it is. Better that this silly little hope be dashed than L find himself in a situation all-but-designed to tear open his still-healing wounds.
The little jolt of adrenaline that comes with realizing that near-brush puts paid to any lingering cottony-headed moon-madness, too. (Replaces it with a sudden, crippling guilt for a split-second; because hadn't that been exactly the opening Niles had exploited to maim L in the first place? That emotion Myr suppresses with instant ruthlessness.)]
Then we'll not go, amatus, [he murmurs, bending to press lips to his Bonded's mussed black hair.] And I'm sorry I hadn't thought to ask sooner if it's something you could do yet.
[He has not realized--consciously--what this means yet, that L can say no to him. But there's a lightening in his breast even so, a relief of a fear he'd held in his heart since he'd recognized his own potential to fetter the detective exactly as Mello had.]