[Touch is complicated, especially in vulnerable wild-eyed moments where L wants nothing more than to withdraw, but as usual, Myr's touch is a soothing and stabilizing presence, whether or not it's an immediately wanted one. Slowly, L's fingers curl against his Bonded's, but in an awkward way, as the tuft of chimera fur is still loosely held in a pincer-grasp.
Myr's refusal sets a sinking sensation in motion in the pit of his gut. His fingers tighten around Myr's hand as a bruised and restless brain formulates a determined rebuttal that he only half-wishes to argue. But he does, because if Myr cannot think of it that way? L, himself, must. There's a rigid strength to such resolve that is prone to shattering, if it's stricken in just the right manner... and Myr's proven to have a way with striking the barriers L creates in just the right manner. For a moment, that surge of deeper pain surfaces for a gasping breath, before something huge and hungry drags it below the still water once more.]
Mello practices the Catholic religion. The figurehead and effigy is Jesus Christ, the son of God, sacrificed for the many sins of humans. He's present in all branches of Christianity, of which Catholicism is just one... but Catholics in particular place great and somber importance on the manner of his death. Where you have a candle in your shrine... a Catholic would have a crucifix displayed with Christ's likeness nailed to it. The worshiper is meant to reflect on what it meant for his savior to suffer and die, with gratitude and love... but at the heart of it is the fact that Christ wouldn't be the figurehead of this religion without the sacrifice. No Catholic really wants to see Christ separated from the cross.
I don't think that separating love from pain is possible for someone like Mello. Not when he's given everything, to love some version of me, so... it makes sense to pay a price for some kind of peace.
[His voice has faded again to a near-whisper.]
I know that you understand what it is to make a sacrifice in peace's name.
[It is emblematic of their relationship that even knowing, even feeling that pain and being nearly overcome with the desire to break through all those barriers to repair it... Myr gives L space to make that rebuttal, to explain through argument why it is he has chosen this particular adaptation to last night's horror. Even if he must bite his own tongue to make himself listen, he listens, but he does not let go of his Bonded, metaphorically or physically.
What kind of demoniac god would sacrifice his own child for human sin? is Myr's instinctive first response--of course, he's dragged off into the theology of it--and before he can pass further judgment it strikes an echo that humbles him. What kind of Bridegroom would suffer to see His Bride betrayed and slain for mankind's jealousy?
This, oh--this is an analogy he understands much better, for all it throws Mello's own particular variation on the Original Sin into even starker relief. Small wonder, within that framework, why L must convince himself he'd stepped willingly onto the pyre for the protege who saw him as god. Small wonder he'd thought it the only way.
His grief and fury draw in on themselves, pushed back in the small space he keeps them when he hasn't the luxury to be so unrestrained.]
I do, [he answers, his own voice scarcely louder than L's.] I do know. But that, amatus, is better left to Those who know Their suffering redeems those who've martyred Them. They've the hearts and fortitude for it.
[For the rest of us, there are other ways.
It is, and is not, a rebuke; and it is very gently delivered. Truly healing what underlay this would require surgery, would require reopening breaks to mend what had set wrong... But now is not the time for that.
Myr dips his head, lifting L's hand to brush the knuckles with a kiss. (Seizes a moment to swallow a sneeze at the tickling bit of fur so close to his nose.) Then he's on his hooves again, the hand held turned to a hand up, if L would lean on him for it.]
[So much of Myr's uniquely potent strength is rooted in the faun's patience. L's words can be skillful in difficult places, or disastrous in those that rely on empathetic expression, but Myr's patience in particular has a way of guiding them back toward some grounded, sane place that seems natural for L himself to arrive at even if it's impossibly far from where he began his deeply unwell premise. It's a journey, at times, but always one that feels real and remembered. Every stone and tree passed and observed and considered, proof that the steps were taken and the mental miles traversed.
Just as importantly, Myr walks the path with him, observes the distance and the landmarks from his point of view. Being understood is a coveted and rare oasis for the detective, and one that Myr offers earnestly and often. It's almost normal, now; it's almost safe. L lets his guard down more and more frequently so that Myr can perceive through his mind and his senses, even if the lens is grimy or the angle off-putting.
He wants to argue that he has the heart and fortitude for it... but it's claiming the contents of a locked box be accepted on faith alone. His reaction to the situation as a whole feels spectacularly resilient to him, but in truth, it's just another distorting veil to hide the truth behind.
He accepts the hand, letting the tuft of fur flutter to the floor. He can mention its implications on the way, because "the way" will be longer and more difficult, and there will be time to talk about Niles. He doesn't have the stamina for another round of teleportation, and it's clear in the heaviness he leans with as he allows Myr to help him to his feet.]
Yes... let's. I'll finish gathering my things.
[A reluctant agreement to a necessary bit of unpleasantness. His mending would be slow and difficult, otherwise, leaving him prone to further complications or infection.
He pulls away so he can busy himself with assembling his simple away bag, but speaks over his shoulder.]
Myr?
[Spoken as if a thought had just popped into his head.]
I'm sorry I didn't think of how this would affect you, as my Bonded. If I'd believed for a second it would have caused you pain, as well..
[There are joy and sorrow--so, so much sorrow--both to be had in their journey together. There is also wonder in it, bright as the stars studding the midnight sky in L's internal world; it is this that first captured Myr, drawn him with inevitable force into a love he cannot easily compass in words. Painful as it often can be to inhabit their Bond, it is also utterly, wholly worth it.
Speaking of pain--]
It's forgiven, [before L had even tendered the apology, though that he would do so says volumes. It tightens the vice grip around Myr's heart the more; they are making progress, despite the difficulty of the road, and he is proud of every good inclination that sprouts in his Bonded's soul. But oh, how great the risk to those tender little plants, when L is surrounded by so many who would crush them without further thought.] It's all forgiven. I was more afraid for you than upset at the hurt.
[He leans down to retrieve their dropped meals; the boxes, thankfully, are none the worse for wear. The movement buys him a moment to formulate a question.]
Would you have denied him? [he asks of L's aposiopesis, gently. It could sound like coercion, he is aware only after he's asked it. Though it would be a velvet-coated sort, the thought lodges sharp and sudden in his throat.
Ordinarily, not something to worry over. In this context, with clear and aching evidence of the things L felt himself obliged to do out of duty...]
[L is grateful for the grace, although it's not wholly unexpected. It can never be, with Myr, who has already proven to be so generous and giving where such matters are concerned. How many have warned him, by this point, that L will always be the parasite who takes advantage, will leave him far more cynical and demolished than he found him? Perhaps, by the time L has run his course, Myr will be ruined for helping anyone ever again.
The impulse to part ways suddenly and insist on distance occurs to L. He doesn't want to demolish or ruin Myr, so wouldn't it be the better thing to do, of his bleak array of equally selfish options?
L finishes scooping his spare clothing into the bag. There is some vodka left, sitting vigil on the nightstand. He leaves it, but takes the bottle of pills, handling them carefully so as not to cause them to rattle. This is a decision he can arrive at later, in a moment that is less pressed and pinned.]
I want to tell you something comforting... reassuring.
[He thinks, perhaps vividly enough that Myr can catch notions and glimpses of it through their Bond, of the many times he had in some small way rejected Mello. The attempted kisses that he'd instinctively turned or flinched away from, the efforts at connection that he had rebuffed. Every single instance of spurned resentment in those piercing blue eyes.]
I'm familiar with the plight of the orphan. He's someone with everything to prove, who desires a place in the world that no one can take from him even if he has to fight every moment to defend it. It might have gone differently... but one more denial might have broken him. I suspect there was, in fact, no world where I could have said no.
[Including, unfortunately, a world in which he felt Myr's love and considered Myr's pain. He would still feel bound to choosing the unpleasant to avoid the worst.]
You may think me a coward, but there were others like him. He and I both know their histories... but there are parallels he intentionally blinds himself to. I know what he's capable of and where I can mitigate the inevitable, and I do have to, Myr.
[For all Myr sometimes lacks confidence in himself--in his capacity to achieve all he's set out to do, in his worth and goodness to those he loves--he has yet to be shaken in his conviction that he can hew to the course the Maker's words had set him. That he can maintain his hope and moral center in the face of the corroding effect of the world; that there is nothing anyone could do to him to change that. Though L may fear to darken and stain him, Myr is not--is never--afraid himself to walk into that darkness for his friend's sake.
Perhaps his is the confidence of the man who has not considered the worst of all possible futures, those that contain inevitable failure and ruin. Or perhaps it's simple faith in what he knows of L, at all odds from what he's been told; faith that whatever had warped and distorted his Bonded could in the end be requited, the damage put right, through unstinting love and earnest effort.
It may want discussion, in time. It is not an unreasonable concern, given the example to-hand of someone who'd sought to emulate L--
I want to tell you something comforting... reassuring. The words aren't enough to make Myr frown, but the impressions he garners through the Bond are. As clearly as he can feel L's tangled emotions concerning Mello--those same emotions that have enough of pity, of concern, to stay Myr's hand--he cannot but view these flashes of the younger man's behavior with dismay and disgust. No clearer evidence that L was an idol and an object, not someone but something expected to comply with the idolater's rules.
Yet he is too accustomed heeding L's analysis of a situation to discard it out of hand, even if a very large part of him wishes to say--simply and flatly--then let him break. It is a cruelty Myr can stomach...but they are not speaking simply of hurt feelings, with Mello. (Another form of coercion. More fuel for the fury.)]
I don't believe you a coward, amatus. [Never that.] But you've taken on more responsibility for him than is just to either of you. He isn't well-served by being indulged in this, and you--
[It makes his throat close to think of L enduring another round of Mello's attentions, out of fear of what would happen otherwise.] --This isn't part of your duty toward him.
Nor do you need bear it all alone. [We are in this together.]
[A side program of sorts is whirring in the back of L's mind, wondering what he's left here that he shouldn't, if he's managed to collect everything he needs to or if anything he leaves could be incriminating or used to hurt him later. The letter, he will take, and burn, and he'll wash his hands of the fur as soon as possible. An internal debate orbits itself like a binary star system, weighing whether or not he should tell Myr about Niles, or the fact that the chimera could be on his way here, now.
They could move on, they should move on. But L is a mass of pain; like anything wounded, his progress will be halting and difficult, in more ways than affect the visceral meat of his body.]
Thank you for being here. I know it's not easy.
[And there are other things Myr would rather be doing, other ways he would rather spend his morning, other sensations and emotions he would rather feel. No amount of care can turn someone into a true masochist.]
We... should go, shouldn't we?
[L reaches for the crook of Myr's arm, not alone, but resisting the urge to lean.]
[There it is: They've reached the bounds of this discussion, here and now. There are a multitude of reasons not to push it, not least among them L's battered state, yet there's a part of Myr still that aches to do it--that tendency in him to hunt a thought to its conclusion, push an argument to its end. That same tendency that brought them together, that means he's the one here for the morning-afters, to pick his Bonded up however L needed-- Oh, there are doubtless more pleasant ways Myr could be spending his morning, but it would not occur to wish for them now.]
You are welcome, [the faun says, a grave formality to his voice; one that does not hide the unstinting warmth in him, even so.] We're Bonded, after all; and I'm glad to.
[He would be glad to do worse and harder, if it could keep L from another such night.
He holds his arm out for L, inclining his head to the question.]
We should. And, I suspect, ask about healers on our way out. [All his understanding of things like brothels was book-knowledge, but surely the serials had gotten it right that the proprietors of such places would have healers with a sense of discretion among their contacts.]
[L's grip is anemic, his stance unsteady. It's difficult not to simply collapse into the stable presence that Myr represents, and even more difficult to think of what might be a taxing journey on foot. Hopefully, the healer is close; hopefully the road is smooth and the promise of feeling better will prove adequate anesthetic to soothe each sore step.
Downstairs, they're able to get a recommendation with little more than a shrug from the madam. Idiots hurt themselves all the time, after all, doing things that aren't meant to be dangerous, and she seems almost bored as she hands over the jotted-down address.
It's several blocks away. L reads it out to Myr, a flatness in his tone indicating that he's unhappy with the distance.]
The sooner we go... the sooner we'll get there, and then I'm sure we'll actually be able to enjoy breakfast...
[Steps on the stairs, and steps to find the madam, and more trudging, weary steps yet beyond that to find the healer, and then beyond to home--
Something in Myr snaps under the weight of L's suffering, under the insults his Bonded's endured through the last night and this awful morning, under that grim unhappiness with the distance yet before them. He listens to the address, setting a seal on it in his memory, then makes his decision.]
Here, [he says, handing over their breakfast.] Hold this. And-- [He slings his staff by its carry-strap across his back, arranging it with a few impatient, practiced flicks of his hands.] --forgive me, amatus.
[Because he isn't about to ask permission, though there is a warning that ripples through their Bond before he stoops to gather L bodily into his arms. Bird-boned as the detective is, it won't be any trouble at all to carry him like this--even for several blocks.]
You'll need to be my eyes for this, [he adds, almost as an afterthought. He hadn't come here himself, isn't familiar enough with the streets to walk without any kind of guidance.
[L fingers close around the meals that Myr pushes toward him, then tighten as the faun apologizes in advance. He realizes what for a few seconds before Myr lifts him with startling ease, and it's disquieting due to the reminder of a monster's inherent strength, and perhaps, also, the sobering reality that his habits have pared a slight build into something actually frail.]
No, ah...! Myr, it's actually...
[It's OK, I can walk, I want to be in control... except that he's not, and Myr's steadiness is a stark contrast to his own wavering, shuffling steps. Though he'd seized initially like a crushed spider when his Bonded had scooped him up, he goes softer and slacker in Myr's arms, accepting of the arrangement. Bruised pride is scarcely his sorest site.]
...of course. We need to take a right in roughly twenty meters, and the way is clear.
[Relatively, anyway. They're a spectacle enough that others are giving them a somewhat wide berth.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Myr's refusal sets a sinking sensation in motion in the pit of his gut. His fingers tighten around Myr's hand as a bruised and restless brain formulates a determined rebuttal that he only half-wishes to argue. But he does, because if Myr cannot think of it that way? L, himself, must. There's a rigid strength to such resolve that is prone to shattering, if it's stricken in just the right manner... and Myr's proven to have a way with striking the barriers L creates in just the right manner. For a moment, that surge of deeper pain surfaces for a gasping breath, before something huge and hungry drags it below the still water once more.]
Mello practices the Catholic religion. The figurehead and effigy is Jesus Christ, the son of God, sacrificed for the many sins of humans. He's present in all branches of Christianity, of which Catholicism is just one... but Catholics in particular place great and somber importance on the manner of his death. Where you have a candle in your shrine... a Catholic would have a crucifix displayed with Christ's likeness nailed to it. The worshiper is meant to reflect on what it meant for his savior to suffer and die, with gratitude and love... but at the heart of it is the fact that Christ wouldn't be the figurehead of this religion without the sacrifice. No Catholic really wants to see Christ separated from the cross.
I don't think that separating love from pain is possible for someone like Mello. Not when he's given everything, to love some version of me, so... it makes sense to pay a price for some kind of peace.
[His voice has faded again to a near-whisper.]
I know that you understand what it is to make a sacrifice in peace's name.
no subject
What kind of demoniac god would sacrifice his own child for human sin? is Myr's instinctive first response--of course, he's dragged off into the theology of it--and before he can pass further judgment it strikes an echo that humbles him. What kind of Bridegroom would suffer to see His Bride betrayed and slain for mankind's jealousy?
This, oh--this is an analogy he understands much better, for all it throws Mello's own particular variation on the Original Sin into even starker relief. Small wonder, within that framework, why L must convince himself he'd stepped willingly onto the pyre for the protege who saw him as god. Small wonder he'd thought it the only way.
His grief and fury draw in on themselves, pushed back in the small space he keeps them when he hasn't the luxury to be so unrestrained.]
I do, [he answers, his own voice scarcely louder than L's.] I do know. But that, amatus, is better left to Those who know Their suffering redeems those who've martyred Them. They've the hearts and fortitude for it.
[For the rest of us, there are other ways.
It is, and is not, a rebuke; and it is very gently delivered. Truly healing what underlay this would require surgery, would require reopening breaks to mend what had set wrong... But now is not the time for that.
Myr dips his head, lifting L's hand to brush the knuckles with a kiss. (Seizes a moment to swallow a sneeze at the tickling bit of fur so close to his nose.) Then he's on his hooves again, the hand held turned to a hand up, if L would lean on him for it.]
Let's find you a healer.
no subject
Just as importantly, Myr walks the path with him, observes the distance and the landmarks from his point of view. Being understood is a coveted and rare oasis for the detective, and one that Myr offers earnestly and often. It's almost normal, now; it's almost safe. L lets his guard down more and more frequently so that Myr can perceive through his mind and his senses, even if the lens is grimy or the angle off-putting.
He wants to argue that he has the heart and fortitude for it... but it's claiming the contents of a locked box be accepted on faith alone. His reaction to the situation as a whole feels spectacularly resilient to him, but in truth, it's just another distorting veil to hide the truth behind.
He accepts the hand, letting the tuft of fur flutter to the floor. He can mention its implications on the way, because "the way" will be longer and more difficult, and there will be time to talk about Niles. He doesn't have the stamina for another round of teleportation, and it's clear in the heaviness he leans with as he allows Myr to help him to his feet.]
Yes... let's. I'll finish gathering my things.
[A reluctant agreement to a necessary bit of unpleasantness. His mending would be slow and difficult, otherwise, leaving him prone to further complications or infection.
He pulls away so he can busy himself with assembling his simple away bag, but speaks over his shoulder.]
Myr?
[Spoken as if a thought had just popped into his head.]
I'm sorry I didn't think of how this would affect you, as my Bonded. If I'd believed for a second it would have caused you pain, as well..
no subject
Speaking of pain--]
It's forgiven, [before L had even tendered the apology, though that he would do so says volumes. It tightens the vice grip around Myr's heart the more; they are making progress, despite the difficulty of the road, and he is proud of every good inclination that sprouts in his Bonded's soul. But oh, how great the risk to those tender little plants, when L is surrounded by so many who would crush them without further thought.] It's all forgiven. I was more afraid for you than upset at the hurt.
[He leans down to retrieve their dropped meals; the boxes, thankfully, are none the worse for wear. The movement buys him a moment to formulate a question.]
Would you have denied him? [he asks of L's aposiopesis, gently. It could sound like coercion, he is aware only after he's asked it. Though it would be a velvet-coated sort, the thought lodges sharp and sudden in his throat.
Ordinarily, not something to worry over. In this context, with clear and aching evidence of the things L felt himself obliged to do out of duty...]
no subject
The impulse to part ways suddenly and insist on distance occurs to L. He doesn't want to demolish or ruin Myr, so wouldn't it be the better thing to do, of his bleak array of equally selfish options?
L finishes scooping his spare clothing into the bag. There is some vodka left, sitting vigil on the nightstand. He leaves it, but takes the bottle of pills, handling them carefully so as not to cause them to rattle. This is a decision he can arrive at later, in a moment that is less pressed and pinned.]
I want to tell you something comforting... reassuring.
[He thinks, perhaps vividly enough that Myr can catch notions and glimpses of it through their Bond, of the many times he had in some small way rejected Mello. The attempted kisses that he'd instinctively turned or flinched away from, the efforts at connection that he had rebuffed. Every single instance of spurned resentment in those piercing blue eyes.]
I'm familiar with the plight of the orphan. He's someone with everything to prove, who desires a place in the world that no one can take from him even if he has to fight every moment to defend it. It might have gone differently... but one more denial might have broken him. I suspect there was, in fact, no world where I could have said no.
[Including, unfortunately, a world in which he felt Myr's love and considered Myr's pain. He would still feel bound to choosing the unpleasant to avoid the worst.]
You may think me a coward, but there were others like him. He and I both know their histories... but there are parallels he intentionally blinds himself to. I know what he's capable of and where I can mitigate the inevitable, and I do have to, Myr.
no subject
Perhaps his is the confidence of the man who has not considered the worst of all possible futures, those that contain inevitable failure and ruin. Or perhaps it's simple faith in what he knows of L, at all odds from what he's been told; faith that whatever had warped and distorted his Bonded could in the end be requited, the damage put right, through unstinting love and earnest effort.
It may want discussion, in time. It is not an unreasonable concern, given the example to-hand of someone who'd sought to emulate L--
I want to tell you something comforting... reassuring. The words aren't enough to make Myr frown, but the impressions he garners through the Bond are. As clearly as he can feel L's tangled emotions concerning Mello--those same emotions that have enough of pity, of concern, to stay Myr's hand--he cannot but view these flashes of the younger man's behavior with dismay and disgust. No clearer evidence that L was an idol and an object, not someone but something expected to comply with the idolater's rules.
Yet he is too accustomed heeding L's analysis of a situation to discard it out of hand, even if a very large part of him wishes to say--simply and flatly--then let him break. It is a cruelty Myr can stomach...but they are not speaking simply of hurt feelings, with Mello. (Another form of coercion. More fuel for the fury.)]
I don't believe you a coward, amatus. [Never that.] But you've taken on more responsibility for him than is just to either of you. He isn't well-served by being indulged in this, and you--
[It makes his throat close to think of L enduring another round of Mello's attentions, out of fear of what would happen otherwise.] --This isn't part of your duty toward him.
Nor do you need bear it all alone. [We are in this together.]
no subject
They could move on, they should move on. But L is a mass of pain; like anything wounded, his progress will be halting and difficult, in more ways than affect the visceral meat of his body.]
Thank you for being here. I know it's not easy.
[And there are other things Myr would rather be doing, other ways he would rather spend his morning, other sensations and emotions he would rather feel. No amount of care can turn someone into a true masochist.]
We... should go, shouldn't we?
[L reaches for the crook of Myr's arm, not alone, but resisting the urge to lean.]
no subject
You are welcome, [the faun says, a grave formality to his voice; one that does not hide the unstinting warmth in him, even so.] We're Bonded, after all; and I'm glad to.
[He would be glad to do worse and harder, if it could keep L from another such night.
He holds his arm out for L, inclining his head to the question.]
We should. And, I suspect, ask about healers on our way out. [All his understanding of things like brothels was book-knowledge, but surely the serials had gotten it right that the proprietors of such places would have healers with a sense of discretion among their contacts.]
no subject
Downstairs, they're able to get a recommendation with little more than a shrug from the madam. Idiots hurt themselves all the time, after all, doing things that aren't meant to be dangerous, and she seems almost bored as she hands over the jotted-down address.
It's several blocks away. L reads it out to Myr, a flatness in his tone indicating that he's unhappy with the distance.]
The sooner we go... the sooner we'll get there, and then I'm sure we'll actually be able to enjoy breakfast...
no subject
Something in Myr snaps under the weight of L's suffering, under the insults his Bonded's endured through the last night and this awful morning, under that grim unhappiness with the distance yet before them. He listens to the address, setting a seal on it in his memory, then makes his decision.]
Here, [he says, handing over their breakfast.] Hold this. And-- [He slings his staff by its carry-strap across his back, arranging it with a few impatient, practiced flicks of his hands.] --forgive me, amatus.
[Because he isn't about to ask permission, though there is a warning that ripples through their Bond before he stoops to gather L bodily into his arms. Bird-boned as the detective is, it won't be any trouble at all to carry him like this--even for several blocks.]
You'll need to be my eyes for this, [he adds, almost as an afterthought. He hadn't come here himself, isn't familiar enough with the streets to walk without any kind of guidance.
But they'd manage. They are Bonded, after all.]
no subject
No, ah...! Myr, it's actually...
[It's OK, I can walk, I want to be in control... except that he's not, and Myr's steadiness is a stark contrast to his own wavering, shuffling steps. Though he'd seized initially like a crushed spider when his Bonded had scooped him up, he goes softer and slacker in Myr's arms, accepting of the arrangement. Bruised pride is scarcely his sorest site.]
...of course. We need to take a right in roughly twenty meters, and the way is clear.
[Relatively, anyway. They're a spectacle enough that others are giving them a somewhat wide berth.]