HE IS L’S SHADOW, an echo of who her beloved used to be. could have been. perhaps, never was. she can’t help but catch herself swallowing resentment, swallowing anger into pieces of hatred that she knows just aren’t quite genuine. grief is an ugly thing. it balls itself up and pushes itself into your heart until you are just as ugly as it is. SHE DOESN’T WANT TO BE THIS WAY : it twists knots into her stomach and makes her throat rise with bile that flutters into butterflies that eat away at her insides. there’s something inside of her and it’s becoming her. in every move she makes, there is a trace of who she used to be before L’s death. it stitches itself onto her palms and smears WATERCOLOR STAINS onto the world, diluting the colors until there is nothing left but pain.
but he’s told her, THIS IS A SERIOUS INVESTIGATION. she cannot let her emotions get in the way. she cannot live as a human, must throw emotions aside to become an asset instead. she sips slowly at tea, hues overlooking a tape that runs on replay. a soft murmur, and a hand drops to scribble something on a drawing that is more detail than anything else - SHE CANNOT SEE WHAT SHE NEEDS TO, and it is killing her. it’s early morning, or possibly late night ( … ) the days blurring together until it’s nothing but a timelapse of half finished images. near enters the room with padded steps, and truthfully? abel feels him before she sees him. SUCH FAMILIAR energy, wafting over her until her spine crumples and her hues deflate. [ BUT NOT TODAY. ] if she was to do things wrong, she would do things wrong differently. ‘ good morning. ‘ soft voice floats upward, gaze peeking over from beneath lashes. ‘ would you like a cup of tea? ‘
What would L do, he often wonders, when things are quiet and he’s all alone and he’s suddenly very aware that he’s freshly eighteen, still practically a child, putting his life in danger to catch someone the world may not even want caught. It can be terrifying when he dwells too much on it, which is why he doesn’t. What would L do, he thinks again. But what did L do that ultimately led to his demise? That is what Near wants to know. Got too close to the enemy, perhaps. Showed his face like an idiot, and then suddenly all responsibility was dropped in the lap of a sheltered boy.
And what would L do about this one little problem? Near had already spoken to her. Direct, honest, with little interest in coddling her feelings. Grief is a horrible thing, so he’s been told. It affects everyone differently, in a variety of ways. And even after years she still grieves, and she looks at Near but sees someone else in his place. It was irritating, to put it lightly. Do you understand what’s at stake? He had asked, peering at her over a wall of building blocks. If you can’t take this seriously, work on this case on your own.
It wasn’t a difficult talk for him, really. Some would call him emotionless, but he prefers the term efficient. He feels emotions well enough, he just knows when to set them aside and not let them cloud his judgment.
Surprisingly, she had been receptive. Somewhat. There is still a tension lingering beneath the surface. Pull it any tighter and it might snap.
Near hasn’t slept. It’s six in the morning. He’s spent the last four hours lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling, listening to the same recorded conversations and news reports over and over, memorizing each and every one word for word. Thinking, thinking, thinking. Always thinking. Never a moment to let his mind rest. He can’t afford to let his mind rest.
He rises slowly, saunters wordlessly into the next room where multiple monitors flicker and glow. She’s there now, and he doesn’t expect her to address him first. Near blinks slowly.
“Good morning. No, thank you,” he replies simply. He sits down in the middle of the floor, one knee drawn up to his chest. Near twirls a lock of hair around his finger. “What have you found?”
turnnoffyourmind
stormborns
baratheonpilled
dededos
yousharknotpass
