[It's the age-old question; is it a worse feeling for the blade to go in, or to be extracted? L's brow knits and his shoulders curl inward, because he's at a crossroads here, can see many futures laid out in front of him.
The good one is a result of choosing the selfless choice. One wound, the knife going in, and Shōyō would feel hurt and embarrassed for a little while. Probably, he'd find a real and true love in a month or two, and become as happy as he deserves to be. He fights the urge to tell this to Shōyō, practically promise it if only he wouldn't look so red-faced and sick.
Because Shōyō didn't blow it. He did nothing wrong, and yet this is something L can't do. It would only be selfish, endlessly and monstrously selfish, and Shōyō is not the shadows and daggers sort, he would not see it coming when it hurt both of them even worse, in the end.
A man who was whole and honorable would make the right decision and let Shōyō's heart break and heal. L, still a child in so many ways, chooses selfishness, and it only takes a single moment to the thousands it will feel like for the blade to, eventually, be extracted.
He reaches for Shōyō's hand, grasping it more tightly.]
No... don't be, that's not what I meant. I'm just... shy about it being in public.
[It tracks seamlessly with everything about him. Far more canny and suspicious people than Shōyō would believe it easily.]
I'll make it up to you when we find a room.
[When, not if, and he pulls Shōyō after him toward the stairs.
The skeletons there standing guard are currently preoccupied with some ruckus or distraction down the hall. Only one seems to notice them, staring long and vacantly in L's directly as he trails along the line of doors, picking one at random and trying the knob.
It opens, and he pulls Shōyō with him.
The room is decorated in a way that is simultaneously gothic and minimalist, expensive-looking sans ornamentation or knick-knacks. The bed is huge and spacious and neatly-made, and some abandoned notes and tea mugs are strewn about. Moonlight streams and pools through the window of a spacious bathroom, just off the bedroom.]
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The good one is a result of choosing the selfless choice. One wound, the knife going in, and Shōyō would feel hurt and embarrassed for a little while. Probably, he'd find a real and true love in a month or two, and become as happy as he deserves to be. He fights the urge to tell this to Shōyō, practically promise it if only he wouldn't look so red-faced and sick.
Because Shōyō didn't blow it. He did nothing wrong, and yet this is something L can't do. It would only be selfish, endlessly and monstrously selfish, and Shōyō is not the shadows and daggers sort, he would not see it coming when it hurt both of them even worse, in the end.
A man who was whole and honorable would make the right decision and let Shōyō's heart break and heal. L, still a child in so many ways, chooses selfishness, and it only takes a single moment to the thousands it will feel like for the blade to, eventually, be extracted.
He reaches for Shōyō's hand, grasping it more tightly.]
No... don't be, that's not what I meant. I'm just... shy about it being in public.
[It tracks seamlessly with everything about him. Far more canny and suspicious people than Shōyō would believe it easily.]
I'll make it up to you when we find a room.
[When, not if, and he pulls Shōyō after him toward the stairs.
The skeletons there standing guard are currently preoccupied with some ruckus or distraction down the hall. Only one seems to notice them, staring long and vacantly in L's directly as he trails along the line of doors, picking one at random and trying the knob.
It opens, and he pulls Shōyō with him.
The room is decorated in a way that is simultaneously gothic and minimalist, expensive-looking sans ornamentation or knick-knacks. The bed is huge and spacious and neatly-made, and some abandoned notes and tea mugs are strewn about. Moonlight streams and pools through the window of a spacious bathroom, just off the bedroom.]