[While L doesn't think himself an overly chivalrous or courageous man, he knows that he's not a coward. A coward, after all, is one who takes the easy way, turning away from peril and challenge and risk... and while his fear of loss has made him more guarded, more prone to caution in keeping what he values unchanged, he has reached a realization. The status quo, coveted as it is, is no longer sustainable. Myr has to know, and now he does, and L knows what he expects.
It'll be kind, the gentlest possible letdown. Myr cares for him, of course, but there are so many kinds of love, all valid and precious, so many roles within a herd. With pity and easy grace, a face-saving opportunity will probably be presented so that L can clarify, and agree a little too quickly, that all along it was exactly what he meant. It's even bleakly believable, for what does a man like him know about love? Is it that he uses the word like a child, all purity and little substance?
He thinks so, when Myr speaks of children, those missing pieces and striving to acquire them without guilt or apology. He does rely on Myr to thrive; more, he believes, than Myr relies on him, but it's an old perceived truth, nothing new or more uncomfortable. He lets the faun's hands meet and support his, keeping his gaze steady even as a rush of heat seeps into his cheeks.
He's surprised, not to be humiliated. Glued to Myr's gaze, his eyes widen, and he nods, accepting, as he seeks for words to answer.]
I... know that's the correct outcome. You're probably the first person to consider that... or feel concern.
[Myr wants to safeguard him from old damage that even L himself won't fully acknowledge, new damage that he might not notice for the blinders he wears. He's not a coward; he'll burn, absolutely, in pursuit of his oughts and shoulds.]
Thank you. Whether or not you want to hear it, I... love you more, for having said as much. For the truth in what you said.
[Slender fingers wrap against the edges of Myr's hands.]
I want a different circumstance. I'll wait and hope for it.
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It'll be kind, the gentlest possible letdown. Myr cares for him, of course, but there are so many kinds of love, all valid and precious, so many roles within a herd. With pity and easy grace, a face-saving opportunity will probably be presented so that L can clarify, and agree a little too quickly, that all along it was exactly what he meant. It's even bleakly believable, for what does a man like him know about love? Is it that he uses the word like a child, all purity and little substance?
He thinks so, when Myr speaks of children, those missing pieces and striving to acquire them without guilt or apology. He does rely on Myr to thrive; more, he believes, than Myr relies on him, but it's an old perceived truth, nothing new or more uncomfortable. He lets the faun's hands meet and support his, keeping his gaze steady even as a rush of heat seeps into his cheeks.
He's surprised, not to be humiliated. Glued to Myr's gaze, his eyes widen, and he nods, accepting, as he seeks for words to answer.]
I... know that's the correct outcome. You're probably the first person to consider that... or feel concern.
[Myr wants to safeguard him from old damage that even L himself won't fully acknowledge, new damage that he might not notice for the blinders he wears. He's not a coward; he'll burn, absolutely, in pursuit of his oughts and shoulds.]
Thank you. Whether or not you want to hear it, I... love you more, for having said as much. For the truth in what you said.
[Slender fingers wrap against the edges of Myr's hands.]
I want a different circumstance. I'll wait and hope for it.