[L's undefined reasons for "playing coy" make perfect sense to him, and yet they unravel during efforts to consciously articulate them. It's not like he gains something by minimizing events or shrouding them in vagueness, but John correctly identified the intensity of his pride.
No matter how many layers of armor its hidden under, a fresh wound will sting when nudged. It'll sting more when pierced and twisted, and while L doesn't have a name for that feeling, sly insinuations and references sound increasingly like they could line up with L's unexplained disappearance at the beginning of the month, which Light would certainly have noticed.
Is he afraid that knowing he died will make Light think he's weaker? Or is it actually based in the realization that all those hours of sickness and pain were a unique, unconventional kind of intimate that's also uniquely, unconventionally indecent? Speaking of it almost seems vulgar, punching low at the expense of the kind of memory he seals in a glass orb on his birthday.
The impression of a foul play feels bitter and unfair, though John's broken none of the unspoken rules. Neither has Light; prying into this is a way to twist a wound, too, just like the gift of a tailored suit at his birthday party. Their own history motivates every interaction between them, and often involves some form of petty backstabbing. L can't fault him; he would have done the same in Light's position, taking advantage of an opportunity to rattle him.]
That was easier when they stayed dead, probably.
[I'll see your definitely-not-a-betrayal, and raise you one tenacious resurrection.
If only they were effortless. If only the additional chances were more infinite than they felt.]
I'd suggest remastering that before taking on a Pthumerian.
[He realizes that half of him hopes that John will offer to make Light his next attempt. L's inability to predict his own response to such a threat is thrilling, in itself.]
no subject
No matter how many layers of armor its hidden under, a fresh wound will sting when nudged. It'll sting more when pierced and twisted, and while L doesn't have a name for that feeling, sly insinuations and references sound increasingly like they could line up with L's unexplained disappearance at the beginning of the month, which Light would certainly have noticed.
Is he afraid that knowing he died will make Light think he's weaker? Or is it actually based in the realization that all those hours of sickness and pain were a unique, unconventional kind of intimate that's also uniquely, unconventionally indecent? Speaking of it almost seems vulgar, punching low at the expense of the kind of memory he seals in a glass orb on his birthday.
The impression of a foul play feels bitter and unfair, though John's broken none of the unspoken rules. Neither has Light; prying into this is a way to twist a wound, too, just like the gift of a tailored suit at his birthday party. Their own history motivates every interaction between them, and often involves some form of petty backstabbing. L can't fault him; he would have done the same in Light's position, taking advantage of an opportunity to rattle him.]
That was easier when they stayed dead, probably.
[I'll see your definitely-not-a-betrayal, and raise you one tenacious resurrection.
If only they were effortless. If only the additional chances were more infinite than they felt.]
I'd suggest remastering that before taking on a Pthumerian.
[He realizes that half of him hopes that John will offer to make Light his next attempt. L's inability to predict his own response to such a threat is thrilling, in itself.]