[Getting pity out of one of his alternates is not exactly everything Light could want. His hand tightens around the satsuma he's stripping down; the juice congeals on his fingers, and smarts beneath bitten cuticles. His breath catches in a sob. He'd rather the other one had told him what a disgusting mess he is - because he knows it, he does, and perhaps part of that is why he's wearing the tracksuit at all.]
No. Don't want anything of yours. Ever.
[Oh, his instincts still tell him to lie - but he gives himself away; there's too much sticky envy, too much of a croak to his voice. I want what you have, and I hate it.]
no subject
No. Don't want anything of yours. Ever.
[Oh, his instincts still tell him to lie - but he gives himself away; there's too much sticky envy, too much of a croak to his voice. I want what you have, and I hate it.]