[ When it comes to Itsuki, even Lavi gets tempted to inflict some measure of brain damage, but for fear of making the man even more annoying after recovery, he tends to refrain.
Kanda, on the other hand, has a well-documented history of rattling the info broker's limited intelligence inside his skull. Lavi is almost proud to hear that he's progressed enough not to strike him, and he would tease about it, if not offer some sincere accolades...
But Yu is closing the distance between them and the oppressive reality of what they're about to do--what he's about to stand by and watch--crushes his spirit. His smile pales slightly, resisting the urge to stare at that closed hand and prize away the drug contained in gloved digits. ]
I'm proud of you. That couldn't have been easy.
[ His voice sounds a little lower than he'd like, a little too hollow, but he pushes that aside, looking down at the book being inspected from beneath his arm. It's a simple tome, the outside worn away by time and the changing of hands, once vivid ink on its cover faded into blurry imprints that approximate a crudely drawn garden.
Lavi keeps his focus there and off the sky-colored gaze flitting to his own, seeking confirmation he can't give. He trusts Itsuki's drug about as much as he trusts all snake oils--doubts its chance of helping but is positive of its chances to do harm.
So when Yu asks how he wants to do this? The answer is simple, forms on the tip of his tongue without hesitation.
I don't.
Like every parcel of truth, he keeps it locked behind his teeth, breathes out the temptation in a soft sigh. It doesn't matter what he wants to do: he's agreed to come this far.
Still, that Yu should hesitate or even consider that he needs to ask for Lavi to tend to him in this time, that earns a slight tightening of his fingers, fists loosely forming in anxiety-laced anger he doesn't let rise to the surface.
Yu is definitely being an idiot this time around.
Shaking his head, he slips his free arm around Yu's shoulders, hanging off the man with the usual casual ease meant to irritate.
(And in part, meant to offer some measure of conciliation, of normalcy.) ]
Preferably somewhere comfortable. Come on, I'll read you a bedtime story.
[ The diary entries of one Leithian mistress, written nearly a century ago. Some of the entries aren't appropriate for polite company, but he can skip those--or wait until the man really is asleep. ]
And you can tell me what the rest of those mild side-effects are supposed to be in the meantime. My room, though. Yours sucks.
[ A sword is not decoration. It's just a sword. And kind of creepy when it's over your head. ]
no subject
Kanda, on the other hand, has a well-documented history of rattling the info broker's limited intelligence inside his skull. Lavi is almost proud to hear that he's progressed enough not to strike him, and he would tease about it, if not offer some sincere accolades...
But Yu is closing the distance between them and the oppressive reality of what they're about to do--what he's about to stand by and watch--crushes his spirit. His smile pales slightly, resisting the urge to stare at that closed hand and prize away the drug contained in gloved digits. ]
I'm proud of you. That couldn't have been easy.
[ His voice sounds a little lower than he'd like, a little too hollow, but he pushes that aside, looking down at the book being inspected from beneath his arm. It's a simple tome, the outside worn away by time and the changing of hands, once vivid ink on its cover faded into blurry imprints that approximate a crudely drawn garden.
Lavi keeps his focus there and off the sky-colored gaze flitting to his own, seeking confirmation he can't give. He trusts Itsuki's drug about as much as he trusts all snake oils--doubts its chance of helping but is positive of its chances to do harm.
So when Yu asks how he wants to do this? The answer is simple, forms on the tip of his tongue without hesitation.
I don't.
Like every parcel of truth, he keeps it locked behind his teeth, breathes out the temptation in a soft sigh. It doesn't matter what he wants to do: he's agreed to come this far.
Still, that Yu should hesitate or even consider that he needs to ask for Lavi to tend to him in this time, that earns a slight tightening of his fingers, fists loosely forming in anxiety-laced anger he doesn't let rise to the surface.
Yu is definitely being an idiot this time around.
Shaking his head, he slips his free arm around Yu's shoulders, hanging off the man with the usual casual ease meant to irritate.
(And in part, meant to offer some measure of conciliation, of normalcy.) ]
Preferably somewhere comfortable. Come on, I'll read you a bedtime story.
[ The diary entries of one Leithian mistress, written nearly a century ago. Some of the entries aren't appropriate for polite company, but he can skip those--or wait until the man really is asleep. ]
And you can tell me what the rest of those mild side-effects are supposed to be in the meantime. My room, though. Yours sucks.
[ A sword is not decoration. It's just a sword. And kind of creepy when it's over your head. ]