[private] instead of stressed i lie here charmed.

[subversion]

It's a kitchen, deserted except for Light, who's ... more collapsed than sat at the table. His arm is resting on the surface, and his head is pillowed on it; the other hand is touching a half-eaten piece of toast - perfectly square, spread thinly with some kind of golden-yellow jam, and at least an inch thick.

Over the last week or two, it's got harder and harder to keep his temper; he keeps blowing up at people. It's intolerable; the solution he's chosen is to use (not abuse) some of the prescription sedatives in his medicine cabinet. He's been careful; he's started on the lowest dose, intending to titrate upwards. Unfortunately he didn't anticipate how severe the interactions with his usual medication were likely to be.

He's literally fallen asleep at the table.

[[OOC: private to stripesandheels.]]

Comments

[subversion.livejournal.com]

[Silence, before he replies, except for the tiny crunching apple sounds. In the dark, it's easier to ask things like this. There's no reason he shouldn't take advantage of her, after all - though through the headache and the mist, the suspicion chatters like monkeys: What's she getting out of this?]

I don't suppose there's any diazepam in it? [It's grudging, as if he'd really rather not ask. Such a ridiculous thing to ask, to ask her, but...] Ah, you're going to hit me now, right?

[stripesandheels.livejournal.com]

I'm going to ask why you think adventures with diazepam will go any better than what just happened.

[Curling up next to him on the bed.]

It isn't like you to make the same mistake twice.

[subversion.livejournal.com]

It's far less powerful and easier to combine.

[And it's what he's been given in the past, even if he did spend the time drifting around in a hideous mental fog, and even if he'd been under constant medical supervision at the time. A stabbing pain goes through his temple as she moves on the bed; wincing in the dark, he shifts, ending up curled into himself on the edge of the mattress. As far away from her as he can get.]

Refining a process isn't - [ow, headache] - making the same mistake.

[stripesandheels.livejournal.com]

Do you really need to tranquilize yourself?

[She just slides closer, and rests her forehead against his back for a moment.]

You're so smart. It's- it'd be a shame, you know?

[subversion.livejournal.com]

[At her touch, his skin crawls, and he tenses as if she's cut him. For all that he's still mostly dressed, she's into his personal space.

The compliment's not without difficulty, either: he knows he's smart, thank you, but other people tend not to believe it of him. It conjures voices from his past: Most intelligent people have accomplished more by your age, Yagami-san. She isn't judging him by himself, but by those others.]

Don't touch me. Don't.

[He can't pull away further without falling off the bed, but he retreats into himself.]

I have to do something, that's all.

[stripesandheels.livejournal.com]

Turn over, look at me.

[She slides over, and kisses the spot between his shoulders. Her voice is still soft, her touch is still careful, and as soothing as she knows how to make it. She's not going to hurt him, not this time.]

Believe something for me? Everything is going to be all right. I know it hurts, but in a few hours, you won't hurt any more and everything will be right.

[subversion.livejournal.com]

[Okay, that time he throws himself forward, out of the bed and onto the floor, twisting as he goes, eyes staring over the top of the bed in the dark. The pain, as his head moves, is nauseating; the tiny sob he can't quite bite back could easily have been a lot more. It's a few seconds before he can speak, and when he does, it's barely there. Empty, not angry.]

I told you once already. Get out.

[stripesandheels.livejournal.com]

Okay.

[She climbs off the bed, off the other side.]

I'll put the prescription in the kitchen, in the pan we made the eggs in. I won't bother you again, Light, please don't worry.

[subversion.livejournal.com]

[Against the bed, he's wrapped his head in his arms; it's bursting. Once she's out of his hair, he can rest and go at his own pace and put himself back together, tiny brick by tiny brick.

The voice that cackles in the background is a girl's voice: Nothing's going to be all right, never again. The politeness is odd, after what he just said; incongruous.]

Thank you.

[stripesandheels.livejournal.com]

Okay. If you ever change your mind, you know how to find me, huh, kitten?

Take care.

[subversion.livejournal.com]

[He doesn't say anything more, just waits for her to leave, curled into his ball. As if he'd change his mind. She's nothing, after all.]