[Lycka regains enough size to ensure that she is larger than a border collie's tongue, attaining the general mass of a baby hippo so she can nudge and press against the herding dog's affection, thereby returning it.
L is better than Shoyo, as a general rule, when it comes to being stoic. He is at this time, certainly, standing a little straighter and stiffer, holding his chin high and level. It's the manner, always, of someone trying to appear stronger than he is, and that's how he's always tried to show up for Shoyo. But, ah... the truth of the matter really is that Shoyo has never actually asked him to be strong.
L's not sure what's required, now, just that Shoyo's more difficult to read that usual and seems as though he might actually be ill. L's about to resume his own seat, hoping that it will inspire the overbright and moistly, tearfully glistening Shoyo to also take one, but... ah, no, he's being pulled and crushed into a very tight hug, one that pinches near the bottom of his ribs and moves all the breath in his lungs higher and tenser.
Lycka, conversely, seems to deflate in relief. She bumps the table with her smooth, round snout, making sure that a biscuit topples roughly in Picanha's path.]
H-hey...
[Breathless. He can't not be with Shoyo squeezing all of his reedy, slender little bird-bones together, but... no, maybe there's more too it than that.]
It's... OK, you know... it's OK, it's OK...
[Definitely more to it. It's like a faucet has been turned on and the handle has jammed, and the flow shows no real signs of stopping.]
[ fingers grasp the back of such a neatly sewn gown that the spots that aren’t so tight to his frame are bunched between shōyō’s fingers, grasping for bone and flesh and making sure that it was all real. size, shape, hair, voice, smell. the second he sank his fingertips, he couldn’t find it in him to let go. ]
I was mad, but— I’m so sorry, [ it was true, that he had things to be upset about, and perhaps he still was— but shōyō recognizes where his faults were, too, especially after his own conversations with helping hands. he sputters them out in ragged breaths that really were trying to seem as composed as possible in a public area. he buries half of his face to the crook of lazarus’ neck and keeps his words hushed close to his ear: ] I thought I’d never see you again.
[L's own bewildered apology is a strange beast, seeming stricken and lost.]
There were places I wasn't looking, and things I should have seen. I didn't know that the time had passed... or how much... I just--
[He stops. Shoyo knows what he "just" did, all the ways he hasn't quite been upfront.]
Listen...
[He lowers his voice because it feels like survival.]
I've kept a lot of secrets, because I've thought I had to. I thought that your easy smile was the best thing in the world, but... whatever you want to know? I'll find a way to tell you, that's true. Even if it isn't easy.
[It's a hard thing to promise for someone who lies to stay alive, but what choice does he really have?]
[ pulling backwards would be better, to see lazarus in full as he speaks. of course, he may have to deal with the soft, occasional hitch that comes with shōyō snorting and hiccuping the remaining licks of tears rolling in. he shakes his head at the very end, and keeps his hands upon the other, right below the shoulders. ]
You— You shouldn’t have to keep things . . . You should be able to trust me, or— Or m’doing something wrong.
[ he’s untrustworthy, or as he’s beginning to perceive, too delicate for grim truths. he doesn’t want to be any of those things. ]
[Shoyo just clings, and even the hardest heart would have to soften in response to something so desperately sincere.
L's not hard-hearted. He doesn't think he ever was when it came to Shoyo, at least, since that first day they met and the ship full of frozen bodies upset him so much.]
We're closer, now. That's real, and so is the trust I have for you, but I see and deal with the very worst things that people can do to each other. It's what I'm good at... it's my "normal." It should never have to be yours.
[ it’s time to step back now, and maybe take their seats; shōyō’s eyes are a raw, rusty red and so are his cheeks and nose. the hold on lazarus lingers until they slip off along with the distance needed to settle into the opposite side of the table. picanha steps in to twirl around and eventually flop onto her belly right between them, folding her paws and gently panting away.
they could be closer. but for that to happen— it’s as lazarus says. shōyō inhales sharply, both to keep another sniff or snort at bay as well as preparing himself to say it. unlike his partner, shōyō didn’t plan for what he’d say down to a point. he’ll say what comes, but he’s chewed a general idea of it.
it doesn’t have to be his life; it’s what he said, and something along the lines of what pal will say soon enough. he nods and drags his seat inward. ]
I want you to know— even if I missed you, and I was worried about you, I’m still upset.
[ there were layers of feelings that started in one place and didn’t have an ending; it was more like intertwining. but he doesn’t want lazarus to keep apologizing or promising more than once. ]
Please help me understand what happened. I don’t want to be upset anymore.
[If you understood, if you really and truly understood, then you’d leave me and I’d have to be glad for the bullet you dodged, because I care, I actually do care… and however lonely or punishing my “normal” is, I did choose it.]
You asked once if I was CIA where I’m from. We have a CIA in that world; I was bigger, and it was all I did.
[He doesn’t know how to communicate the scope of this, and Lycka remains as she is, because his soul hasn’t changed. His soul has been what it is probably since he was five years old and lost his mother.
The things that have taken the places of parents and friends and lovers, since then, have been less than conventional, and some would argue less than healthy.]
Do… you remember the night you texted and wanted to watch fireworks, and I came over later and asked for clothes? That night, I lost my right hand to the necromantic ward of a man with nuclear bombs in his dreams, and had it mended by the very same. Afterward he took Paul home, to sleep under his roof and feel safe. When I showed up to your home it was like you didn’t see the backpack full of bloody clothes, or any of the rest… I believe I thought that meant that you didn’t want to. Maybe I was wrong; I’ve certainly been wrong before about such matters, but I knew that I had to do something about John, and dreamwalking was the only way, and you respond the way humans are really… supposed to when they see something terrible.
[L does not believe he responds that way at all, even when he tries. Maybe his fixation on the emperor was a way of over- correcting, trying to be outraged when he couldn’t just feel appalled or a typical level of grief.]
I wasn’t supposed to die in your bed. I wasn’t supposed to die at all; the information I went in for, “what I wanted” shouldn’t have come with that cost, and the fact that I managed to get it at all was what I had to hold onto. At least, I thought that. I should have contacted you first.
[Can Shoyo understand that kind of obsessive tunnel vision? Can he realize that it’s not something L can just turn off, and it’s unlikely to get better? People learn to think selfishly when they do everything alone, face everything as though they are the only one in the entire world who does understand.
It’s easier to think that way, sometimes. If everyone understood, the reaction would just mean that they didn’t even care on the level of an emotionally broken detective.]
You matter. What you want matters; I truly want to be what you want, because you’re wonderful, but in your defense I misrepresented myself greatly in the hopes that you’d think I was wonderful too.
[It seems better than saying I’m terrible, outright. L reminds himself, as he often does, that this is not about him.]
[ bigger than csi. his life was to track dangerous people, this is what shōyō is gathering. this is the first he’s hearing. when shōyō listens, and continues to listen— something changes. it happens right at the moment when he mentions losing his right hand. shōyō loses eye contact. his left is held protectively over his right, ringing around the wrist to make sure it’s still there. he looks clammy, and fights to keep his breathing even. breath, through the nose. one, two. steady.
he’s sweating cold. the same thing, the very same thing— ]
I thought— [ if only he’d known. if only he’d asked more, but then— shōyō’s mouth smacks dry when he pries it open and swallows. he’s keeping it together good enough, but he’s lost the color to his face just as brilliantly as it came when he wept. ] It was something private, and . . . I shouldn’t be . . .
[ he didn’t want to overstep boundaries, or show that he was untrustworthy. he didn’t want to pry into something lazarus didn’t want to talk about. it’s what shōyō wishes for whenever he’s caught looking at his hand— something happened. something horrible happened. he didn’t want to talk about it because he wasn’t ready to talk about it, though, not because he actively wants to hide it to spare others. he wants to spare himself above all else, first. ]
I was . . . Too focused . . . I wanted to make you happy after a bad day, not— [ he inhales, because the words are beginning to thin and waver. ] Not . . . Ignore you, I— that wasn’t a bad day, that was . . . A nightmare.
[ he’s guilty. he’s sorry. he’s so sorry, but most of all— ]
Lazarus, [ he manages an inhale that gives him enough stability to speak firmly, outstretching his hand to ask for the other’s. shōyō’s fingers are cold. it doesn’t matter right now. ] I don’t—want you to be someone you think I want. I want you to be you, or else—
[ his lips pull together and suck in. there’s a fear in him that proves what had been happening. perhaps not completely, but if it kept going . . . that’s where they’d end up. ]
What’s the point of falling for someone who isn’t real?
And— that’s what I felt, when I saw those messages. That I didn’t know who you were— but he did. I just wish . . . I could’ve.
[Shoyo seems to close in on himself when L mentions what happened. And of course he would; of course it's a sensitive subject, seeing as the same thing, roughly, happened to him. He wants to backtrack, renege, soften whatever else is to come, but he realizes that he made a vow, more or less, to tell the truth and not hold back the ugly parts. He's been doing that all along, presenting something clean and happy and palatable, and he's honestly a gritty, sad, crooked sort who can understand and even empathize with those people he calls the very worst.]
You didn't do anything wrong, that night. I fully and truly believe that. You did make me happy in spite of the difficulties, and... that sort of tendency to distract from unpleasantness became my impression of how you worked and what you needed. And if you wanted me to be me...
[He trails off. A lot of unpleasantness, that, and therefore a lot of assumed distractions, and he had delivered like the overachiever he is. He seems to startle slightly at the sight of Shoyo's extended hand, having not expected one to be offered. He reaches back, holding tightly as though it's a final lifeline offered to a drowning man.]
In a lot of ways, you know... I'm new to being a person at all. Having friends that I can keep for awhile... even a name I can keep for awhile. I don't think any of those "firsts" are false, just... new. I like them, and I really do want to be them. Who I am when I'm with you isn't a lie, it's just not the person I am at work. And with those messages, you saw me at work.
[His hand squeezes harder, approaching (if not quite reaching) painfully.]
It's true that you don't really know that person, and... the people who have known him have only come to a bad end, because of the nature of my work. If you remember the ghost... the one that you and Sansa exorcised... that was the first person I felt something like friendship toward, and he's also the man who murdered me in my world. That's how I felt like someone truly knew me, before I came here, it... meant that they could get close enough to me to kill me, and would eventually try to. You need to know--
[That I'm well and truly fucked in the head.]
...you need to know that I'm trying, and that I want to keep trying. And if that's not acceptable, then... you need to know that you deserve happiness, and as your lover, or your friend, I'll never stop trying to help you find it.
[ holding his hand in his only intensifies the need to hold more of him with each passing word. he may not understand what this or that feels like at point blank, how it burns on the skin— but he could perceive it. it makes him want to know more. it makes him want to know more of him better each day. from one hand, lazarus will gradually feel the weight of shoyo's rough, callous palm placing itself over his knuckles and the entirety of the top of his hand. from the bottom and top, he cups it, assuring him with a squeeze and eyes that are still raw with the bright rusty redness of a warmblood still crying. silently, but still shedding quiet, rolling tears that pelt either the table's surface of his shirt.
it's what he needed. it's what he's ever wanted. trust. trust that he could listen and make just as much effort to understand as lazarus was putting into spilling. that man, that ghost, that monster had killed him, too. his first and only equal, friend— and he was killed by him. it's tragically sickening. shoyo doesn't blame him now, for not trusting too many to begin with. maybe he'd do the same thing if his only friends tried to kill him.
he wished he'd known so much earlier, but it was no use dwelling on what had been. he had to do now, and he had to make it count. he had to bring him back.
discussions and arguments all played a part in misunderstandings. different people, different brains, different processes. it's what made dialogue after the emotional storm so important. it made this, and the possibility of two completely different individuals to be together and appreciate one another.
shoyo gives the hold he holds with both of his a firm, attention-seeking shake. he's looking at him. eye to eye. the hand he lost embracing the hand lazarus had lost.
it's everything he needs and more than that. ]
I thought I told you . . . I'm not going anywhere.
[ his lips quirk into a very brief smile that doesn't quite get there, mostly because shoyo is still holding himself together. the snort he gives shortly after forces him to breathe and hiccup. he knows lazarus is trying, he knows that he wants to try. he accepts that with the utmost respect. this is what he wants. ]
[It's a lot to lay out, and in more ways than not, it is terrifying to lay out. L half-expects that it will come with a net loss, but Shoyo's hand tightens around his, repositioning and covering his slender knuckles.
Maybe it would have been better, if Shoyo had known sooner. Then again, it leaves L feeling absolutely prone and naked to talk about it, so much more than it would if he'd just taken off his clothes. It's more like he's turned his ribs inside out and displayed his bloody, beating heart for anyone who might want to punch it to a pulp.
He meets Shoyo's eyes, with difficulty. Not going anywhere, and... no, no it isn't supposed to be about him. Has he manipulated the other man's sympathy, turned this into something that benefits him in spite of what's truly deserved? Has he failed to prove to himself that he's unloveable when that's, somehow, the most important thing?
What's wrong with you? The reason doesn't matter; take the offer.]
I guess I do.
[Though he doesn't actually sound sure. There's a disconnect there, a question. Some fear; some hesitation. He is above happiness, after all; his pain is productive, even holy.
He grasps back, making sure that Shoyo's hands are held, eyes locked and piercing.]
[ shoyo perceives, and he may not know exactly what it is, but there’s something that drifts lazarus away like a balloon waving from a string. the athlete holds him down. he grounds him with his hold and with his glance, going serious and thoughtful. he knows exactly what he wants, and his mouth parts to say it. ]
I want to learn what’s out there, not . . . Be shielded from it.
[ being protected was all well meant, but it left shoyo awfully unprepared for reality. that wasn’t lazarus’ fault, but it could get worse that way. ]
You’d be, like . . . My winger, you know? Help me through it. I’ll make my own shield. The same way I’ll be the same for you, for whatever feels too new for you. Even if it might be new for me, too.
If we’re going to be together, I’d like to walk with you. Together. We can take anything on, that way.
[ any bump, riff— any misunderstanding, tragedy or just a damn bad day with bad problems. they’ll make it work because they’re in it. ]
[L listens to words that are not spun into dizzying tapestries of logic and games and tricks. They're straightforward and simple, and he holds onto each one, turning it over like a slippery river stone, sure that he's missing some fossil in each only to realize that it's just a river stone, and always was.
His nod is wary, but accepting, as strange as this pure direct honesty is to him. The fact that Shoyo was able to answer the question so quickly and naturally is actually astonishing to L, who struggles to articulate what he feels, what he wants, what he thinks he can have in a world that's not set up for that to happen without a bitter struggle where someone wins, and someone loses.]
Like we walked together on the ships, when we both first arrived here?
[He thinks of the way Shoyo had fought back violent illness at the sight of the corpses. Surely there was a time when he felt that way around them, too; there must have been a point, back in distant memory, when a sight like that would have made his stomach revolt. It's like trying to remember before learning a first language, that hazy period of innocence.
If Shoyo doesn't want to be innocent, that's his right, isn't it?]
Framing it that way makes my job seem a little less selfish, I suppose.
[L knows in his heart, the way all addicts know, that he's selfish. Unlike someone addicted to a mere substance, however, he has the ability to frame his deeds as noble. On paper, they are. For justice, but it's hollowed him out and turned his eyes glassy all the same.]
So... practically applied, this would come down to not keeping secrets from you, even if I think it would make you happier not to know, or I'm worried about you associating something terrible with me unconsciously?
[He keeps secrets from everyone. It already feels vaguely unmanageable.]
[ lazarus assimilates and shows off his aim: precise. the comment brings him back, to that first day. he'd given the other his black jackals jersey, sees it upon his shoulders in a daydreaming blink of an eye— and wishes to see it again. he owed him chocolate that day, saw his first corpse, and some months later had gotten the aforementioned chocolate lapped right out of his hand. he was a mess after.
he actually chokes back a snort, but the sound doesn't hide the endeared smile that's born from it. it's not condescending, it's enamoured. it's just— his way of expression. it's wonderfully unique, and peculiar. shoyo notices and reaffirms for himself that he doesn't want it any other way, nothing forced to his liking. ]
Exactly. [ he doesn't quite think to say this part. his thumbs brush across bony knuckles, and with his lips spread just enough to convey approval, fondness and equilibrium, he points, and gestures to the man sitting across from him: ] 'Cause that's what I love.
[ like? love? whatever. he's not afraid to say it when he's sure of it. ]
[L's dark grey eyes widen at the word that's been, for most of his life, a painful or forbidden one. It comes with a cost; it comes with something he can't get back once he's given it away, it comes-
Deep breaths, because a lesson L has to learn and truly internalize is that he cannot control what Shoyo feels, nor can he believe that they are here because of something disingenuous like pity or mockery. They're well past the point where L could suspect that Shoyo's expressions of fondness, or more than fondness towards him, are fully sincere.
L's expressions are more effective, he thinks wryly, when his eyes and head are lowered against warm skin and his mouth has something to do besides speak of affection and sweetness.]
I've been in service of the truth for most of my life.
[Though he's only about Shoyo's age, he means that. He'd become a detective when he still had most of his baby teeth.]
It's ugly and disappointing, most of the time. It's difficult to love. In the end... the only reason to love it at all is because it's the only real thing in the whole world. Is... that the reason why?
[He can tell pretty lies. He can be pretty, when he lies. The notion that Shoyo prefers what's real and broken over what he's built to sustain their romance seems so improbable that he must ask, again, just to be certain he's been understood.]
[ shoyo had time to search; he's always been searching for a passion ever since he was young, and had only thought he'd found it when he was at the cusp of his teen years. before that, it was simply chasing a possibility. he'd have to take a bite, taste it and savor it to really know, to really get hooked and say this is it.
he wants the same thing with lazarus. ]
It's great because it's real. And when that's real— I know I won't find it anywhere else. [ plus, there's one more thing: ] You said "most of the time". That's not "all the time".
[One could infer that that makes the instances where it isn't ugly and disappointing and difficult to love, it's more precious for it.
He peers up through the shaggy, dark hair that falls over his face, before brushing it aside, letting Shoyo see him both metaphorically and literally.]
OK... I'll trust you.
[Far too late in coming, it speaks more of L's brokenness than Shoyo's worthiness.
[ there he is. he can see his eyes better, see the honest attempt, the color in them. shoyo's gaze lingers and seems to look at each feature of his to remember. she may be a little too far across the table to brush his hair around further, but there'll be a better time for that. for now, takes what is given with a gentle inhale— then exhales, lips pressed down to the hands he's holding like feathers. ]
Thank you. [ there's . . . something that bites at the back of his mind. he doesn't want to talk about it, but if lazarus found out on his own, it'd— totally defeats the purpose of all this. then he'd be the one in a tight position. after moments of hesitation, a staggering gaze leaving him and a bouncing, anxious leg beneath the table, he comes out with it. ] . . . Listen, um— Something happened, but— I don't want to talk about it right now.
[ his subtle body language cues shows discomfort and avoidance, not shame. it was just something he wasn't prepared to talk about. ]
—Doesn't mean I want to hide it from you, or something. Just not ready to go back to it. That alright with you?
[ it looked like progress to him— progress and possibility. while he does wish to be able to get past it eventually, relief swells in shoyo’s chest just as fast as surprise. lazarus was an astonishing detective—
but he shouldn’t have to think about it now. the implication is what he takes and returns forth. so long as they knew there were things . . . he was fine by that. ]
Hard same. [ he could hardly let go of his hands, wishing to tug them forward and put himself in place of the momentum, but . . . how certain was he that lazarus wouldn’t just fall flat onto one of the dining plates, or table decorations? he has one thing, at least, to buy him time from doing a stupid. he gestures with his eyes, down: ] She’s beautiful, isn’t she?
[ not that picanha wasn’t a beauty before ( rrr?? she goes from beneath the table, with a canine tooth overlapping her lips and making her look so much more expressive in her questioning), but picanha settles for that shortly after with an easy grin set with panting. she’s come close to nudge her snout into l’s shins and feet. ]
[So close and blinding to something true and personal, L is all too glad to glance towards a distraction. Any would do, really, but the fact that this has all been significant and harrowing enough to change Shoyo's omen cannot be ignored forever.]
She is beautiful.
[He's quick to agree, and it's easy, because he's being wholly honest.]
I liked you when we met... and I mistook that for thinking that you should never change. I think I understand better, now; your changes are remarkable, and they are your right.
[He just spent so long believing that anyone he met would be scarred, and ruined for knowing him.]
How do you think you've changed? Is it...
[Are you stronger, are you smarter? If the world has hurt you, do you at least know more about it?]
...I do like her, Shoyo. She suits you, like this.
[ how he's changed? he considers that thoughtfully, and before he could call, picanha is already spinning around to jump into his lap, causing the athlete to scoot back and allow her space. he raises her until her back falls back into his chest, with bent paws, floppy ears, and an irresistibly sweet pant. how has he changed? he's more certain, certainly focused. a little more sure of himself and his capabilities when they breach his area of expertise. how could he put that in words? ]
I think it's the smile.
[ more than that— when shoyo playfully pulls at the floppy canine lips to show off her teeth in a hilariously comedic dog grin, there are teeth. a whole mouth full of them. some longer, sharper, maybe a little more intimidating if she wanted to really show them off. shoyo had fangs, and he'd use them if he had to. otherwise, his heart was probably just this bouncing, energetic, playful thing that wants nothing more than work to pass the time and exercise both muscle and brain. ]
[Without having it all spelled out, the picture speaks a thousand words anyway. L's eyes travel over the various peaks and ridges. His own pale and slightly sad smile answers the revelation.]
Maybe; that could very well be it, now that you mention it.
[He glances at his hand on the table, where it's been resting since Shoyo let go. He realizes something with a start.]
...we should probably get some food, shouldn't we?
[ picanha has become much more ruffable, if shoyo could create new words. her hide and fur invite the spread of his fingers at the gruff ring around her neck, splaying and razzling the canine omen like he would any dog. oh, does that excite her. the tail beats between his legs and she throws her head back with panting delight. it's time to get down now, so she does all the twisting she has to slip away.
his hand is still there, and as shoyo has always told lazarus— he comes back to him. the palm of a warm hand settles on top of bony knuckles and wraps around it like a heated blanket. ]
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no subject
L is better than Shoyo, as a general rule, when it comes to being stoic. He is at this time, certainly, standing a little straighter and stiffer, holding his chin high and level. It's the manner, always, of someone trying to appear stronger than he is, and that's how he's always tried to show up for Shoyo. But, ah... the truth of the matter really is that Shoyo has never actually asked him to be strong.
L's not sure what's required, now, just that Shoyo's more difficult to read that usual and seems as though he might actually be ill. L's about to resume his own seat, hoping that it will inspire the overbright and moistly, tearfully glistening Shoyo to also take one, but... ah, no, he's being pulled and crushed into a very tight hug, one that pinches near the bottom of his ribs and moves all the breath in his lungs higher and tenser.
Lycka, conversely, seems to deflate in relief. She bumps the table with her smooth, round snout, making sure that a biscuit topples roughly in Picanha's path.]
H-hey...
[Breathless. He can't not be with Shoyo squeezing all of his reedy, slender little bird-bones together, but... no, maybe there's more too it than that.]
It's... OK, you know... it's OK, it's OK...
[Definitely more to it. It's like a faucet has been turned on and the handle has jammed, and the flow shows no real signs of stopping.]
no subject
I was mad, but— I’m so sorry, [ it was true, that he had things to be upset about, and perhaps he still was— but shōyō recognizes where his faults were, too, especially after his own conversations with helping hands. he sputters them out in ragged breaths that really were trying to seem as composed as possible in a public area. he buries half of his face to the crook of lazarus’ neck and keeps his words hushed close to his ear: ] I thought I’d never see you again.
no subject
[L's own bewildered apology is a strange beast, seeming stricken and lost.]
There were places I wasn't looking, and things I should have seen. I didn't know that the time had passed... or how much... I just--
[He stops. Shoyo knows what he "just" did, all the ways he hasn't quite been upfront.]
Listen...
[He lowers his voice because it feels like survival.]
I've kept a lot of secrets, because I've thought I had to. I thought that your easy smile was the best thing in the world, but... whatever you want to know? I'll find a way to tell you, that's true. Even if it isn't easy.
[It's a hard thing to promise for someone who lies to stay alive, but what choice does he really have?]
no subject
You— You shouldn’t have to keep things . . . You should be able to trust me, or— Or m’doing something wrong.
[ he’s untrustworthy, or as he’s beginning to perceive, too delicate for grim truths. he doesn’t want to be any of those things. ]
What’s changed?
no subject
L's not hard-hearted. He doesn't think he ever was when it came to Shoyo, at least, since that first day they met and the ship full of frozen bodies upset him so much.]
We're closer, now. That's real, and so is the trust I have for you, but I see and deal with the very worst things that people can do to each other. It's what I'm good at... it's my "normal." It should never have to be yours.
no subject
they could be closer. but for that to happen— it’s as lazarus says. shōyō inhales sharply, both to keep another sniff or snort at bay as well as preparing himself to say it. unlike his partner, shōyō didn’t plan for what he’d say down to a point. he’ll say what comes, but he’s chewed a general idea of it.
it doesn’t have to be his life; it’s what he said, and something along the lines of what pal will say soon enough. he nods and drags his seat inward. ]
I want you to know— even if I missed you, and I was worried about you, I’m still upset.
[ there were layers of feelings that started in one place and didn’t have an ending; it was more like intertwining. but he doesn’t want lazarus to keep apologizing or promising more than once. ]
Please help me understand what happened. I don’t want to be upset anymore.
no subject
You asked once if I was CIA where I’m from. We have a CIA in that world; I was bigger, and it was all I did.
[He doesn’t know how to communicate the scope of this, and Lycka remains as she is, because his soul hasn’t changed. His soul has been what it is probably since he was five years old and lost his mother.
The things that have taken the places of parents and friends and lovers, since then, have been less than conventional, and some would argue less than healthy.]
Do… you remember the night you texted and wanted to watch fireworks, and I came over later and asked for clothes? That night, I lost my right hand to the necromantic ward of a man with nuclear bombs in his dreams, and had it mended by the very same. Afterward he took Paul home, to sleep under his roof and feel safe. When I showed up to your home it was like you didn’t see the backpack full of bloody clothes, or any of the rest… I believe I thought that meant that you didn’t want to. Maybe I was wrong; I’ve certainly been wrong before about such matters, but I knew that I had to do something about John, and dreamwalking was the only way, and you respond the way humans are really… supposed to when they see something terrible.
[L does not believe he responds that way at all, even when he tries. Maybe his fixation on the emperor was a way of over- correcting, trying to be outraged when he couldn’t just feel appalled or a typical level of grief.]
I wasn’t supposed to die in your bed. I wasn’t supposed to die at all; the information I went in for, “what I wanted” shouldn’t have come with that cost, and the fact that I managed to get it at all was what I had to hold onto. At least, I thought that. I should have contacted you first.
[Can Shoyo understand that kind of obsessive tunnel vision? Can he realize that it’s not something L can just turn off, and it’s unlikely to get better? People learn to think selfishly when they do everything alone, face everything as though they are the only one in the entire world who does understand.
It’s easier to think that way, sometimes. If everyone understood, the reaction would just mean that they didn’t even care on the level of an emotionally broken detective.]
You matter. What you want matters; I truly want to be what you want, because you’re wonderful, but in your defense I misrepresented myself greatly in the hopes that you’d think I was wonderful too.
[It seems better than saying I’m terrible, outright. L reminds himself, as he often does, that this is not about him.]
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he’s sweating cold. the same thing, the very same thing— ]
I thought— [ if only he’d known. if only he’d asked more, but then— shōyō’s mouth smacks dry when he pries it open and swallows. he’s keeping it together good enough, but he’s lost the color to his face just as brilliantly as it came when he wept. ] It was something private, and . . . I shouldn’t be . . .
[ he didn’t want to overstep boundaries, or show that he was untrustworthy. he didn’t want to pry into something lazarus didn’t want to talk about. it’s what shōyō wishes for whenever he’s caught looking at his hand— something happened. something horrible happened. he didn’t want to talk about it because he wasn’t ready to talk about it, though, not because he actively wants to hide it to spare others. he wants to spare himself above all else, first. ]
I was . . . Too focused . . . I wanted to make you happy after a bad day, not— [ he inhales, because the words are beginning to thin and waver. ] Not . . . Ignore you, I— that wasn’t a bad day, that was . . . A nightmare.
[ he’s guilty. he’s sorry. he’s so sorry, but most of all— ]
Lazarus, [ he manages an inhale that gives him enough stability to speak firmly, outstretching his hand to ask for the other’s. shōyō’s fingers are cold. it doesn’t matter right now. ] I don’t—want you to be someone you think I want. I want you to be you, or else—
[ his lips pull together and suck in. there’s a fear in him that proves what had been happening. perhaps not completely, but if it kept going . . . that’s where they’d end up. ]
What’s the point of falling for someone who isn’t real?
And— that’s what I felt, when I saw those messages. That I didn’t know who you were— but he did. I just wish . . . I could’ve.
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You didn't do anything wrong, that night. I fully and truly believe that. You did make me happy in spite of the difficulties, and... that sort of tendency to distract from unpleasantness became my impression of how you worked and what you needed. And if you wanted me to be me...
[He trails off. A lot of unpleasantness, that, and therefore a lot of assumed distractions, and he had delivered like the overachiever he is. He seems to startle slightly at the sight of Shoyo's extended hand, having not expected one to be offered. He reaches back, holding tightly as though it's a final lifeline offered to a drowning man.]
In a lot of ways, you know... I'm new to being a person at all. Having friends that I can keep for awhile... even a name I can keep for awhile. I don't think any of those "firsts" are false, just... new. I like them, and I really do want to be them. Who I am when I'm with you isn't a lie, it's just not the person I am at work. And with those messages, you saw me at work.
[His hand squeezes harder, approaching (if not quite reaching) painfully.]
It's true that you don't really know that person, and... the people who have known him have only come to a bad end, because of the nature of my work. If you remember the ghost... the one that you and Sansa exorcised... that was the first person I felt something like friendship toward, and he's also the man who murdered me in my world. That's how I felt like someone truly knew me, before I came here, it... meant that they could get close enough to me to kill me, and would eventually try to. You need to know--
[That I'm well and truly fucked in the head.]
...you need to know that I'm trying, and that I want to keep trying. And if that's not acceptable, then... you need to know that you deserve happiness, and as your lover, or your friend, I'll never stop trying to help you find it.
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it's what he needed. it's what he's ever wanted. trust. trust that he could listen and make just as much effort to understand as lazarus was putting into spilling. that man, that ghost, that monster had killed him, too. his first and only equal, friend— and he was killed by him. it's tragically sickening. shoyo doesn't blame him now, for not trusting too many to begin with. maybe he'd do the same thing if his only friends tried to kill him.
he wished he'd known so much earlier, but it was no use dwelling on what had been. he had to do now, and he had to make it count. he had to bring him back.
discussions and arguments all played a part in misunderstandings. different people, different brains, different processes. it's what made dialogue after the emotional storm so important. it made this, and the possibility of two completely different individuals to be together and appreciate one another.
shoyo gives the hold he holds with both of his a firm, attention-seeking shake. he's looking at him. eye to eye. the hand he lost embracing the hand lazarus had lost.
it's everything he needs and more than that. ]
I thought I told you . . . I'm not going anywhere.
[ his lips quirk into a very brief smile that doesn't quite get there, mostly because shoyo is still holding himself together. the snort he gives shortly after forces him to breathe and hiccup. he knows lazarus is trying, he knows that he wants to try. he accepts that with the utmost respect. this is what he wants. ]
You deserve to be happy, too. Don't forget that.
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Maybe it would have been better, if Shoyo had known sooner. Then again, it leaves L feeling absolutely prone and naked to talk about it, so much more than it would if he'd just taken off his clothes. It's more like he's turned his ribs inside out and displayed his bloody, beating heart for anyone who might want to punch it to a pulp.
He meets Shoyo's eyes, with difficulty. Not going anywhere, and... no, no it isn't supposed to be about him. Has he manipulated the other man's sympathy, turned this into something that benefits him in spite of what's truly deserved? Has he failed to prove to himself that he's unloveable when that's, somehow, the most important thing?
What's wrong with you? The reason doesn't matter; take the offer.]
I guess I do.
[Though he doesn't actually sound sure. There's a disconnect there, a question. Some fear; some hesitation. He is above happiness, after all; his pain is productive, even holy.
He grasps back, making sure that Shoyo's hands are held, eyes locked and piercing.]
Shoyo? What do you need to be happy?
[There's an edge of desperation to it.]
I think that doing it would make me happy.
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I want to learn what’s out there, not . . . Be shielded from it.
[ being protected was all well meant, but it left shoyo awfully unprepared for reality. that wasn’t lazarus’ fault, but it could get worse that way. ]
You’d be, like . . . My winger, you know? Help me through it. I’ll make my own shield. The same way I’ll be the same for you, for whatever feels too new for you. Even if it might be new for me, too.
If we’re going to be together, I’d like to walk with you. Together. We can take anything on, that way.
[ any bump, riff— any misunderstanding, tragedy or just a damn bad day with bad problems. they’ll make it work because they’re in it. ]
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His nod is wary, but accepting, as strange as this pure direct honesty is to him. The fact that Shoyo was able to answer the question so quickly and naturally is actually astonishing to L, who struggles to articulate what he feels, what he wants, what he thinks he can have in a world that's not set up for that to happen without a bitter struggle where someone wins, and someone loses.]
Like we walked together on the ships, when we both first arrived here?
[He thinks of the way Shoyo had fought back violent illness at the sight of the corpses. Surely there was a time when he felt that way around them, too; there must have been a point, back in distant memory, when a sight like that would have made his stomach revolt. It's like trying to remember before learning a first language, that hazy period of innocence.
If Shoyo doesn't want to be innocent, that's his right, isn't it?]
Framing it that way makes my job seem a little less selfish, I suppose.
[L knows in his heart, the way all addicts know, that he's selfish. Unlike someone addicted to a mere substance, however, he has the ability to frame his deeds as noble. On paper, they are. For justice, but it's hollowed him out and turned his eyes glassy all the same.]
So... practically applied, this would come down to not keeping secrets from you, even if I think it would make you happier not to know, or I'm worried about you associating something terrible with me unconsciously?
[He keeps secrets from everyone. It already feels vaguely unmanageable.]
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he actually chokes back a snort, but the sound doesn't hide the endeared smile that's born from it. it's not condescending, it's enamoured. it's just— his way of expression. it's wonderfully unique, and peculiar. shoyo notices and reaffirms for himself that he doesn't want it any other way, nothing forced to his liking. ]
Exactly. [ he doesn't quite think to say this part. his thumbs brush across bony knuckles, and with his lips spread just enough to convey approval, fondness and equilibrium, he points, and gestures to the man sitting across from him: ] 'Cause that's what I love.
[ like? love? whatever. he's not afraid to say it when he's sure of it. ]
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Deep breaths, because a lesson L has to learn and truly internalize is that he cannot control what Shoyo feels, nor can he believe that they are here because of something disingenuous like pity or mockery. They're well past the point where L could suspect that Shoyo's expressions of fondness, or more than fondness towards him, are fully sincere.
L's expressions are more effective, he thinks wryly, when his eyes and head are lowered against warm skin and his mouth has something to do besides speak of affection and sweetness.]
I've been in service of the truth for most of my life.
[Though he's only about Shoyo's age, he means that. He'd become a detective when he still had most of his baby teeth.]
It's ugly and disappointing, most of the time. It's difficult to love. In the end... the only reason to love it at all is because it's the only real thing in the whole world. Is... that the reason why?
[He can tell pretty lies. He can be pretty, when he lies. The notion that Shoyo prefers what's real and broken over what he's built to sustain their romance seems so improbable that he must ask, again, just to be certain he's been understood.]
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he wants the same thing with lazarus. ]
It's great because it's real. And when that's real— I know I won't find it anywhere else. [ plus, there's one more thing: ] You said "most of the time". That's not "all the time".
[ what he means, with complete clarity— ]
Let me see you.
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[One could infer that that makes the instances where it isn't ugly and disappointing and difficult to love, it's more precious for it.
He peers up through the shaggy, dark hair that falls over his face, before brushing it aside, letting Shoyo see him both metaphorically and literally.]
OK... I'll trust you.
[Far too late in coming, it speaks more of L's brokenness than Shoyo's worthiness.
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Thank you. [ there's . . . something that bites at the back of his mind. he doesn't want to talk about it, but if lazarus found out on his own, it'd— totally defeats the purpose of all this. then he'd be the one in a tight position. after moments of hesitation, a staggering gaze leaving him and a bouncing, anxious leg beneath the table, he comes out with it. ] . . . Listen, um— Something happened, but— I don't want to talk about it right now.
[ his subtle body language cues shows discomfort and avoidance, not shame. it was just something he wasn't prepared to talk about. ]
—Doesn't mean I want to hide it from you, or something. Just not ready to go back to it. That alright with you?
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He'll learn, in time; it's sort of the promise that L has made, not nearly as painful now as it will be when he actually has to make good on it.
Thank goodness there's something else to focus on.]
I know a little... of what happened. You don't need to talk about it. I understand.
[He really understands.]
I'm here when you are ready. I'm here if you never are, alright?
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but he shouldn’t have to think about it now. the implication is what he takes and returns forth. so long as they knew there were things . . . he was fine by that. ]
Hard same. [ he could hardly let go of his hands, wishing to tug them forward and put himself in place of the momentum, but . . . how certain was he that lazarus wouldn’t just fall flat onto one of the dining plates, or table decorations? he has one thing, at least, to buy him time from doing a stupid. he gestures with his eyes, down: ] She’s beautiful, isn’t she?
[ not that picanha wasn’t a beauty before ( rrr?? she goes from beneath the table, with a canine tooth overlapping her lips and making her look so much more expressive in her questioning), but picanha settles for that shortly after with an easy grin set with panting. she’s come close to nudge her snout into l’s shins and feet. ]
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She is beautiful.
[He's quick to agree, and it's easy, because he's being wholly honest.]
I liked you when we met... and I mistook that for thinking that you should never change. I think I understand better, now; your changes are remarkable, and they are your right.
[He just spent so long believing that anyone he met would be scarred, and ruined for knowing him.]
How do you think you've changed? Is it...
[Are you stronger, are you smarter? If the world has hurt you, do you at least know more about it?]
...I do like her, Shoyo. She suits you, like this.
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I think it's the smile.
[ more than that— when shoyo playfully pulls at the floppy canine lips to show off her teeth in a hilariously comedic dog grin, there are teeth. a whole mouth full of them. some longer, sharper, maybe a little more intimidating if she wanted to really show them off. shoyo had fangs, and he'd use them if he had to. otherwise, his heart was probably just this bouncing, energetic, playful thing that wants nothing more than work to pass the time and exercise both muscle and brain. ]
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Maybe; that could very well be it, now that you mention it.
[He glances at his hand on the table, where it's been resting since Shoyo let go. He realizes something with a start.]
...we should probably get some food, shouldn't we?
and that's a wrap!🧡
his hand is still there, and as shoyo has always told lazarus— he comes back to him. the palm of a warm hand settles on top of bony knuckles and wraps around it like a heated blanket. ]
Good idea.