𝕋𝕚𝕞𝕖 𝕊𝕥𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕤 𝕊𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕝 - Hawk & Stri

What Orpheus didn’t realize was that L had discovered he was not watching yet the other immortal for mistakes anymore. Once, he had been. Once, he had followed expecting any vague hope he had that Orpheus would turn out to be a decent person to be immediately dashed. He was suspicious, borderline paranoid, and he didn’t trust Orpheus obviously - he though he knew him better than he knew L - but he no longer thought Orpheus deserved this, and he had stopped expecting his tentative hope to be shattered. When had that happened? He didn’t think it had happened all at once. A gradual thing, spread over four hundred years of silent watching.
He was relieved Orpheus wasn’t upset when he didn’t have any firewood. He was no longer a silent observer, and he had no idea what to expect. Surely anyone would expect him to pull the weight he had left to Orpheus all those years. Surely even a kind man would expect something in return for what he gave. L couldn’t help worrying that he didn’t have enough to give, that somehow this wasn’t what Orpheus had had in mind. It was possible that that worry had kept him in the shadows even longer. It was possible that the thought that he was a disappointment made him want to run back to them.
He stared at the fire. Was he supposed to be talking? He wasn’t used to having anyone to talk to. Orpheus had gotten to know people over the years, dead now of course, but he had interacted with people and L….L hadn’t. Probably the only reason his voice was in as good condition as it was (and it was still raspy) was because his body no longer seemed to change.
The warmth of the fire was enough to make him relax a little bit, but only a little. There were still too many thoughts in his head, too much newness, more than he’d experienced in centuries. The shadows, those were comforting, familiar now. This? This was neither. But he still found he didn’t want to leave.
The smile as he reached for the dough reassured him that he’d understood correctly, which pleased him. He carefully pinched some off, not enough to significantly lesson the amount Orpheus had to work with, but enough that he could get a good taste.
He leaned back holding the piece of dough. He had mostly wanted to take a piece so he could compare it to the cooked version. He didn’t think Orpheus was likely to poison him, but he wasn’t so in awe of him that he didn’t think it was a possibility, either. Waiting for Orpheus to eat it first, that wouldn’t be considered rude, would it?
Oh well. Better rude than dead. Hopefully, he hadn’t offended Orpheus too much.
He watched as the other man continued, the dough held lightly between his thumb and index fingers, his eyes curious. He didn’t actually know how food was prepared, having never had the opportunity to cook before. This was an interesting process.

It said more about L than it did about Orpheus that poison was on L’s mind. Orpheus could have been anyone at all and L would have feared the same thing. Maybe it was a valid concern and maybe it wasn’t, but he couldn’t quite dismiss it. Orpheus could have wanted to eliminate the other immortal. He could have been luring L out of the shadows to make sure he never followed him again.
Did he believe that? Did he really believe that was the sort of person Orpheus was? He didn’t believe Orpheus was any more suspicious than anyone else was, but that was the problem. Everyone was suspicious. Everyone had the capacity to hurt and betray and kill and L couldn’t afford to trust someone just because liked them. And he did like Orpheus. He liked him a lot, and after that long watching him, maybe he should have trusted him, maybe he should have known by now that Orpheus wouldn’t hurt him, but the fact was that he didn’t know Orpheus. It turned out you couldn’t really get to know someone just by following them for four hundred years.
He watched carefully as Orpheus ate his own piece of dough. Was he trying to reassure L? Did he somehow poison only part of it? No…it was safe. If he were trying to hurt L, this wasn’t how. He relaxed a bit and nibbled the dough.
It was good. It was really good. And L was hungry, he found, even hungrier as he tasted it, and it reminded his body that food was still something he needed. Needed? Wanted at least. He became weak without it, eventually, even if he didn’t need it as often, even if he might not die without it.
He glanced at Orpheus. The other immortal was quiet. L didn’t mind that, he was used to quiet, but he hoped he wasn’t making him uncomfortable. L personally didn’t mind stopping, and he was starving, but it didn’t occur to him to say it. He did finish the dough in seconds once he started, though, and he licked his fingers, getting every bit of it that he could.
He wasn’t used to speaking. Or having someone to speak to. Instead, he accepted the plate quietly, peering at the food. It wasn’t the dough. It could be that Orpheus had made sure not to poison the dough in order to lure him into a false sense of security. He could have considered L a threat. Had coming out of the shadows been a bad idea, a moment of weakness that would get him killed? No, no, he didn’t think Orpheus was a bad person, he didn’t think Orpheus would hurt him, but he found he had to be careful anyway, because he was afraid. It wasn’t Orpheus’ fault. He couldn’t possibly have done anything more to be trustworthy. But L knew that all it took was a single moment of weakness to end him, a single moment of him missing a signal that it was no longer safe, and the game was over.
He watched, waiting for Orpheus to eat. Then he glanced at the baking dough, tilting his head slightly. That was safe enough. He just needed to wait until it was ready.
Were he used to speaking his thoughts, he might have explained his actions, but the truth was that he wasn’t used to being able to be heard. He was forgetting that if he were to speak, Orpheus might even answer him.

L continued to wait, though he was getting a little more anxious the longer it took Orpheus to take a bite. Was it actually poisoned? Had he been correct to be suspicious of Orpheus’ intentions? Was he really trying to get rid of the only other immortal either of them knew about? His mind was alive with possibilities, and he didn’t know which made sense, he couldn’t tell his paranoid ones from his sensible ones. Maybe they were all sensible. Maybe any second now Orpheus would give up his attempts to be subtle and attack.
Stop He ordered himself, taking a small breath as he did. He needed to think about this rationally. Orpheus was either the most patient man in the world (aside, perhaps, from L himself) or he didn’t mean any harm. Otherwise why hadn’t he attempted to hurt L, or anyone for that matter, before? This made no sense, and L disliked things that made no sense.
Could there be another reason Orpheus had decided not to take the first bite? Had L had any concept of manners, he might have thought of that, but he didn’t, or at least if Watari had ever tried to teach them to him, he had failed.
He blinked, looking up in surprise as Orpheus spoke. He was jumpy, very jumpy still, and he hadn’t remembered that his companion was just that: his companion. It was Orpheus. It was the man L knew was cursed and yet failed to believe he had done anything to deserve it. It was Orpheus and he looked concerned and L didn’t know if he could believe it was real, but he had four hundred years of proof.
“I don’t know whether it’s what I like or not.” He tried to explain, worry seeping into his own voice as he realized he may have already ruined this. He hadn’t intended to. He was just being careful. Surely Orpheus, being as old as he was, was the same way? Surely he too worried that L was lying, that he meant Orpheus harm? It was the only rational thing to think. Or at least, he felt it was.
“I haven’t...eaten anything made for me in a very long time.” He continued, his tone uncertain. “Logically I don’t have to worry about being poisoned when the food is not intended for me. Well…” he amended. “Not as worried. It’s possible - though unlikely - that someone else’s poisoning attempt could end up being thrown out. Or that someone could predict my movements and leave it out for me. I rarely eat, though, so it’s even less likely. And all food is by nature dangerous so there’s no way out of that, but…”
He broke off, rubbing his neck. “What I mean is, I try to eat as little as possible in order to decrease the chances of being poisoned. And that’s with food not specially made for me. The dough is alright, you ate that first.”
He stuck his hands in his pockets and looked away, half certain he had just ruined this before he could even learn what it was.

Maybe that was the difference between them. Because L had always been very good at keeping his heart whole, untouched by anyone, safe. It wasn’t that he didn’t care. He cared, deeply, so deeply it felt like something alive inside of him if ever he allowed it room to grow.
But he didn’t. He was careful, so careful. He took that feeling, roots and all, and he picked it up and he planted it outside, where it couldn’t reach him. He didn’t let it near him. It was still there, but he never let it close enough to hurt.
Maybe he was aware that the day L Lawliet fell in love was the day his heart would truly break.
Or maybe he didn’t even trust a friendship. He had never had a friend, he had never experienced that, he didn’t know whether that was something he was even capable of. L, with his frigid, untouchable heart, with his knife’s edge mind. L, who thought before he ever allowed himself to feel. Who had stayed in the shadows for four hundred years, until he wasn’t completely sure he still counted as human. Because what was a human without love? A parent to a child, one friend to another, two people who stayed because they chose to, not because they had to.
Not that any of that would matter if Orpheus chose to walk away right now. If L wasn’t good enough. He would be alone, then, truly alone, without even someone to follow. The thought hurt. He was so very tired of being alone.
He nodded once, watching Orpheus carefully. He wasn’t sure what sort of reaction to expect, really. It could have been anything. He was out of his depth here, completely out of his comfort zone, and he had no idea what he thought was going to happen.
Was he paranoid? Quite possibly. In fact, he almost certainly was, but he was also alive, and he thought he might not have been if he’d been a bit more careless. Being immortal meant there were that many more opportunities to be stupid and lose it, and he hadn’t forgotten the exact wording the voice had used when it had cursed them. Wounds grievous enough could still bring them down. Was poison included in that? Best not to find out, was his logic.
He listened as Orpheus continued, his expression slipping from uncertain to a bit startled, as he realized that Orpheus had been...being polite?
He looked down, his forehead creasing slightly as he tried to figure this out.
He didn’t understand the first part - what was wrong with his appearance? Even his words had a mesmerizing quality to them - but he thought he understood the second part, and he raised a hand to his mouth in consternation as he finally figured it out.
“Then I’ve been terribly rude.” He said, tapping his lip, his wide eyes never leaving Orpheus.
It was a misunderstanding, but it spoke volumes about how little they really knew each other. How, after four hundred years of watching, L still failed to predict the other man’s movements. It was a good thing no one was depending on him, he thought wryly, and lifted the food, nibbling the edge of it. He could tell it was good, even if something inside of him didn’t like it. It was well made, the flavors were balanced, and he understood now that it was polite to eat when someone gave you food, but he couldn’t help stealing a glance at the baking dough. That...now that was good.

Was it really alright? L didn’t like the idea of Orpheus lying for the sake of being polite, but people did it, he knew. He didn’t tend to do any such thing, though whether that was because he didn’t have a strong concept of what was polite, or because he didn’t like lying for such a poor reason, wasn’t clear. Even to him. He just knew he had tended to distress people before….well. Before.
“Yes, exactly.” He agreed, pleased that Orpheus not only didn’t seem to be upset with him, but even seemed to understand. Which meant...what? That he felt the same? L wouldn’t have minded receiving the same suspicion he gave, but he didn’t feel that from Orpheus, for some reason. Why? It wasn’t possible that Orpheus trusted him, not when, as he’d said, they didn’t know each other. Orpheus puzzled L, even more now that they were actually speaking. He was strange, and interesting, and not quite what L had been expecting, mostly because L had had no idea what he actually was expecting.
It did, perhaps, speak a bit to how nervous L was that he was attempting that elusive object known as being polite. He usually didn’t even think about it, but Orpheus seemed to care about manners. Would he be offended if L failed to follow them? He didn’t like the idea of invisible rules he was just somehow supposed to know, but he understood that some people got very upset when those rules were broken. If Orpheus was like that, they were going to have a problem right away. L was a bull in a China shop with manners.
“I don’t like it.” He said immediately, relieved when Orpheus gave him the opportunity to just say it. That had to be okay, if Orpheus had asked, to just be honest, right? He set his mostly untouched plate to the side, assuming Orpheus wouldn’t want to keep it, as L could easily have slipped poison into it while he’d been holding it. He was going to have to stop making assumptions at some point, but not today.
Then the pastry was done and L’s mouth watered at the sight of it. It smelled amazing, and the dough had tasted incredible, as well. He didn’t protest as Orpheus gave him significantly more - he didn’t know why, but he didn’t know whether it was polite to ask, and he was doing his very best not to be offensive - and he accepted the plate. This, he didn’t need to wait on. Orpheus had already tasted the dough, after all. And adding anything else afterwards didn’t make sense.
He nibbled the edge of a piece. It was incredible, better than anything he had managed to scavenge in all the four hundred years, better even than anything he had tasted before that.
He ate hungrily, forgetting his quest to be polite as he bit into it. It was gone in seconds, and he was left licking his fingers, then glancing at Orpheus, anxiety flooding his gaze as he remembered there were rules. Would Orpheus be upset with him for already failing to follow them? Whatever they actually were?

Orpheus wasn’t the only one who was tired of being alone. L was good at it, he was used to it, and yet he was so very, very tired of it. Maybe that was why he was trying so hard to make Orpheus like him, to follow the invisible rules without question, because he understood that they mattered and the thought of being rejected by the one person in the whole world who could understand what he had been through, what time felt like as it passed. And yet...he didn’t know how. He didn’t know how to be likable. Because he wasn’t likable, he knew that. It didn’t bother him. Usually.
He quietly handed the plate back, feeling as though he had done something wrong, though he didn’t know what. He hadn’t intended to hate the food. He had intended to follow the rules. It was like playing a game blindfolded, he didn even know where to start.
He was hungry, too. His stomach ached with it...he didn’t know when he’d last eaten. Or what, for that matter. It had been a while, and then he had merely eaten scraps, nothing like this. Nothing prepared for him specifically.
He looked tentatively at Orpheus, searching his expression. The other immortal seemed...sad. Had L made him sad? He hadn’t meant to, but then, people were unpredictable and sometimes they had emotional reactions he hadn’t anticipated. At least, that’s what he remembered. He wasn’t sure how accurate that was exactly. It had been a long time since he’d so much as carried a conversation, his silence was natural, not antagonistic. It just didn’t really occur to him that someone might be listening if ever he tried speaking.
The pastry was amazing, though, and it distracted him from his thoughts, reminding him of a time when someone else had baked for him. He looked up as Orpheus spoke, his eyes widening a little as he remembered he had someone there who might want to talk to him. Oh yeah.
“Yes.” He said simply, blinking slowly at Orpheus, his expression sincere. “I haven’t eaten anything fresh in...a long time. It reminds me of a simpler time.”
He shifted. He knew Orpheus would understand what he meant. Things had been simpler, once.
If he could have seen into the future, if he could have known just how complicated it was going to get...would he simply walk away now, before he became ensnared? Before he was trapped, tangled?

L wasn’t paying much attention to his plate, if he were being honest. Once it was out of his hands, anyway, he had turned his attention back to the pastry, and now that that was gone he was watching Orpheus, his expression careful, but not upset in any way. So far, this had gone much better than he’d feared it would. Orpheus seemed to be just as friendly as he’d appeared to be from afar, which was a good thing. And so far, he hadn’t even minded L’s caution, his insistence on being careful far past the point most people would go, despite the fact that he was safer than most people by a considerable amount.
It was true that L hadn’t gotten to experience cultures the same way Orpheus had, or new foods, or...well much for that matter. He had been in the shadows for so long now, he wasn’t entirely sure what all he had missed. He had forgotten what it was like, being a genuine person. A human.
He shook his head a little. “No, I haven’t.” He confirmed, his voice thoughtful. “I have discovered that we can survive a long time without food. I haven’t been able to tell whether we would eventually starve...but…”
We. He had been saying ‘we’ instead of ‘I’. Why? He didn’t know whether Orpheus’ abilities were the same, he didn’t know anything about the other immortal.
“That is,” he amended, “that’s what I’ve discovered about myself. It could be different for you. Is it possible that location could play a role?”
Things he had thought about but never been able to say. Things no one but Orpheus was likely to have any idea what he was talking about. Besides Hades, naturally, but talking to Hades had done nothing. L had tried.
“If that’s the case...I might not be immortal at all, but simply long living.” He mused. “It’s true that I haven’t changed at all, but...if my lifespan is merely elongated, that could be explained. It depends on a lot of things, I suppose. It wasn’t meant for me, it might not have fit me as well, or if I was standing too far back I might not have gotten all of it, or…”
He trailed off. Apparently four hundred years of near silence hadn’t gotten to him too much. It was...nice, having someone to talk to again. He rubbed the back of his neck a little, hoping Orpheus wasn’t annoyed by his thoughts,
He focused on what Orpheus said next, leaving his own rambling behind.
“I’ve wondered the same thing.” He admitted. “It could be both. The world could have changed, and it could just be harder for us to navigate it. I don’t know. Though...it seems the world has changed, somewhat anyway. There are specific things we can point to, as evidence.”
He couldn’t argue with what the other immortal said. It was true...how little they belonged. How much they had had to learn to survive differently.
Then he heard the question, and he met Orpheus’ eyes, something passing through his expression. Did he miss it?
How could he not?
“Yes.” He whispered after a moment, his voice almost too soft to be heard. “I can’t help it. Things were...easier. But...I still don’t want to die, somehow. It seems like I would be ready by now. I’m not.”

It didn’t occur to L that they might not talk about it. It seemed the most obvious place to start, to him. Perhaps it was because he hadn’t spoken to others at all, so he hadn’t had to get used to hiding it. He had stayed hidden completely, not led the difficult in between life Orpheus had, where he moved on when he had to but still interacted with people. Was it harder or easier that way? L thought there were costs and benefits to both lives they’d led...he didn’t expect it would be easy to tell which had been harder to live.
He did have an unfair advantage, and that was hundreds of years of watching. He hadn’t been watched in return, he had stayed invisible, done his job well.
He nodded seriously, noting that in his head. “It’s the same for me.” He mused, tilting his head thoughtfully. “I think. Time is…” he waved a hand vaguely. “Time it hard to keep track of. But from what I’ve been able to tell, yes, that’s how it is for me too.”
He considered, trying to think what else he knew. About food, preferably, but anything would do. Was he trying to impress Orpheus with how much he had figured out? Or was he just thinking out loud?
He listened, considering Orpheus’ words. “That’s true.” He mused, nodding a little as he looked at Orpheus, his expression serious. “That’s why I was thinking about poison. You don’t have much of a motive to try to kill me, but still, it’s better to err on the side of caution.”
For him, “erring on the side of caution” apparently meant mistrusting everything and everyone.
“I think…” he added thoughtfully. “That the difference would be my eventual death. Where you would live forever, I would eventually get old, though the fact that I haven’t changed in four hundred years means that it would have to be extremely slow...no way to tell that anytime soon.” He shrugged, unperturbed by the idea. As protective as he was of his life, the idea that he wasn’t actually immortal at all had crossed his mind enough times that he was used to the possibility.
He tilted his head a little at Orpheus’ gesture. It was much like his own...had he picked it up from watching the other immortal? Or had he had it before? He couldn’t remember.
“Maybe I will.” He agreed softly. “Or maybe I won’t.”
He looked back at Orpheus. His expression remained closed, mostly a mask, though a bit of his personality leaked through at the edges, unable to be hidden completely. It peaked out from behind his dark eyes and at the edges of his mouth as they curved upwards now and then in a ghost of a smile.
As they did now.
He shook his head slowly. “I would never have been ready to die.” He said simply. “Of that, I’m certain. If four hundred years wasn’t enough to make me ready, then I doubt anything could. I have lost something...we both have. But...perhaps...we’ve both gained something, too. Perhaps even of equal value.”
He leaned forward, holding Orpheus’ gaze. “Please don’t apologize.” He said softly. “I’ve been following you long enough to know you have no reason to.”

What was L expecting here? Was he expecting to stay? Was he expecting this to be temporary? How could he follow Orpheus again, after this? How could he go back? Or...was this it? Was this the end of their journey, not the beginning? Maybe Orpheus expected him to go where he wanted to go, and then disappear, for good. Maybe this was Orpheus’ way of looking for closure. L didn’t know. He wished he could read people better, so he might have a chance of finding out.
“That makes sense.” L said slowly, considering that. “Although...I don’t think it was easy before, either. I don’t remember it ever being easier.” He frowned a little, thinking it over, unsure. Though he was aware of a lot of things, the passage of time was not one of them, and he was fairly certain it never had been. Though perhaps it would get easier with time, now that he wasn’t existing in the shadows?
He blinked, surprised when Orpheus suggested learning from him. “I could help you, yes.” He agreed. “If you like, you can copy me. I don’t know whether that would help…” he considered for a moment that it might not. What did Orpheus mean by learning from him? He could teach him how to be more cautious, but he was not completely sure that was what was intended.
“What safety measures do you already take?” He asked after a moment, figuring that was the best was to start.
Oh. Right. Orpheus might not have known the motives L was referring to. Or, maybe he did but he was pretending not to. Either way, L didn’t mind telling him.
“You could want the only other immortal gone.” He began. “You could view me as a threat. That’s the main one. Others are...well. You could be bored, and think killing me a challenge. As I said. Not much, but it’s there.”
He looked at Orpheus for a moment, tilting his head a little, then nodding. “If, say, I age a year every two hundred years…” he mused, tapping his plate thoughtfully, his fingers finding a crumb and rolling it around as he spoke. “I’d have aged five years by a thousand. Ten by two thousand. Fifty by ten thousand. So, yes, I would eventually age.”
He didn’t seem concerned. That was a very long time, after all. And he didn’t expect Orpheus would still be with him by then, anyway. If he died, he suspected it would be alone.
He watched Orpheus quietly for a long moment, trying to work him out. He didn’t know him. He couldn’t read him. That didn’t mean much, though, he couldn’t read people that well in general. Odd, he could figure them out just fine, but he couldn’t read them as you do in a casual conversation. He could dissect their motives and he could predict their movements but he couldn’t tell how they were feeling.
“Maybe…” He said thoughtfully, his eyes wide as they met Orpheus’. “You may be right. And I was cursed because of you, yes. How can I convince you I don’t blame you?” He was actually asking. He really didn’t know how he could make Orpheus believe him.

For L, time seemed of pass in very inconvenient ways. It either went too fast (when had he last slept?) or far too slow. Sometimes it did both at the same time, which shouldn’t have been possible, yet seemed to be anyway. No, he didn’t understand time at all, he didn’t understand how it worked. It seemed a fickle thing for being so concrete.
He didn’t know what to expect here. He had no idea what was coming, or even what Orpheus expected from him. He was flying totally blind, and yet, somehow, he wasn’t uncomfortable. At least...not very. He found Orpheus in person was different in some ways than he had expected, ways that made him seem even more real, more human to L, ways that made him realize that though he knew a lot about the other immortal, he didn’t know anywhere close to everything.
It surprised him that Orpheus hadn’t taken any safety precautions at all. But, then, maybe it wasn’t so surprising after all, maybe it made sense. Orpheus seemed far less cautious than L was, maybe he just didn’t think about things in terms of how likely they were to kill him.
Although...how Orpheus was alive was a mystery. How many brushes with death had he had? Being alive as long as he had been, surely he had had quite a few, all humans did and that was just in their short lifespans.
He himself had probably become too careful over time, had probably become paranoid. Maybe Orpheus could help him as much as he could help Orpheus. Maybe they could both be persuaded to change, at least a little bit.
He wasn’t offended when Orpheus didn’t understand his reasoning. He just nodded. “I could expose you, without exposing myself.” He mused thoughtfully. “I don’t expect everyone would believe me, but some would. And dangerous people might, if I managed to find proof somehow. Your instrument, for instance, is very old. I could trick you into speaking a language you shouldn’t know. There would be ways.”
He didn’t plan to do it, obvious, but he sometimes liked to theorize anyway, just to see if something was possible. Besides, Orpheus wasn’t supposed to trust him, anyway. It wasn’t as though he had something to lose here, they were just two people - immortal people - traveling together.
He blinked, and paused. He hadn’t really expected the question, if he were honest. It was so up front, no attempt to trick him into telling.
“Because I wanted answers.” He said honestly. “And because I thought perhaps you’d done something to deserve your sentence. Perhaps you were dangerous, and would try to hurt someone, or do something wrong. And then I would be the only one who could stop you.”
There. A completely truthful answer. He hadn’t lied to Orpheus, he discovered, not even once. He was more than capable of it, but somehow...he didn’t want to. He didn’t know why.
“I don’t blame you because you didn’t do it.” He said simply. “Hades did.”

How many times had L nearly died? Likely less than Orpheus, if only because he had been so careful, had interacted with no one and stayed in the shadows. He was still certain he’d had near death experiences. He’d been alive too long not to. But he didn’t actually know how many times it had happened, because he was sure it had happened without his knowledge. Which was unsettling, but he was used to the idea.
Orpheus had tried to be kind. Orpheus had tried to be kind to people while L had hidden from them. Orpheus had scars from trying to help and L...L had scars from mistakes. There was a difference between them, it seemed. A pessimist and an optimist.
L’s main skill was his intelligence. His reasoning. It always had been, he’d had his mind when he’d had nothing else, when everything else had been taken from him. This was why he trusted himself, when he trusted no one else, when he was all alone in the entire world. If he didn’t have his mind, what did he have?
He had to be suspicious. He had to believe that he couldn’t trust anyone. He had, once. He had trusted one person and been abandoned by him. There was a reason he didn’t want to do it again.
He didn’t expect to ever trust Orpheus, though. So he wasn’t as worried as maybe he should have been.
He didn’t look away from Orpheus. And, consequently, he couldn’t hide the flash of surprise in his eyes. He hadn’t even considered that he might have given it back for that reason. It...made sense, though. That he might have done it for that reason.
“No.” He said quietly after a moment. “I gave it back because it wasn’t mine.”
He might not have understood what Orpheus needed to get better. He might not have even understood what he had managed to accomplish in returning it.
“I intended to give it back sooner.” He added. “It took longer than I meant it to. I did it eventually, though.”
Maybe Orpheus was more careful than he thought he was. He seemed to be careful about the lyre, anyway. He treated it gently. He obviously cared for it. And he seemed to have known enough to know to switch out his instruments sometimes, even if he didn’t get rid of the lyre. L couldn’t actually manage to blame him for holding onto it, though, since he himself had carried it for a long time, too.
He wasn’t sure whether he wanted Orpheus’ to trust or distrust him. He was just being honest, he had no plans to hurt Orpheus, but...well, the other immortal had asked. And L had answered to the best of his ability.
He met Orpheus’ eyes, his expression not quite readable. Maybe there was an element of gentle curiosity there, or sadness curling at the edges, or maybe none of that was there at all. Thoughts flickered through dark eyes and were gone in an instant before he answered in a low, soft voice.
“I think you’ve had four hundred years to do something to hurt people.” He said quietly. “I think if you were the sort of person I worried you were, then we would have met face to face a long time ago. I think that...whatever this happened for, why ever you were cursed...if you did something to deserve it, I would know by now. I see you. I’ve seen you for a long time. You are not the kind of person who hurts others.”

Neither of them understood the other, it seemed. L certainly didn’t quite understand Orpheus. Orpheus, who seemed to be as kind as he’d appeared to be from afar. Somehow, he seemed to be the person L had seen, had come to care for, even if he didn’t quite know how to admit that to himself. Yes, he cared. He would be very sad if something happened to Orpheus, he would try to stop bad things from happening to him. What more could he do?
The thing was...L hadn’t left much behind. He’d always been considered strange. Watari had taken care of him, protected him...until he hadn’t. Rational L didn’t blame him for leaving. Emotional L couldn’t help it. He’d promised not to go and he’d broken his promise, and if it had been anyone, anyone else, L would have expected nothing else. But he’d trusted Watari. Believed him. And so it hurt.
He watched Orpheus pull the lyre closer, his dark eyes careful, but also wide with something else. Interest, perhaps. Or just the same sort of wonder he’d held when he first came out of the shadows.
He meant what he said. He hadn’t given it make to deflect suspicion. It seemed he was more capable of thinking of ways he was dangerous to Orpheus than ways Orpheus was dangerous to him. Or, no, that wasn’t quite it...why hadn’t he thought of the lyre as a danger? Why hadn’t he considered getting rid of it sooner, instead of carrying it for so long?
Maybe it was the same reason he had picked it up in the first place. The same reason he had tried to give it back, on the day his life changed forever. Maybe he could sense something about it, something almost magical, something important. Seeing it in Orpheus’ arms now...he knew he’d been right to think giving it back was the right decision.
“As I said. It wasn’t mine.” He said simply, tilting his head a little at Orpheus. He hadn’t known how to care for it. Did it need care? If it did, it had probably needed it severely by the time Orpheus had had it back. Well...it seemed to be alright now, anyway.
He wished he knew what this journey held. He wished he knew what Orpheus was planning. He had no idea, though, no way of knowing what Orpheus intended. He just knew that of all the people in the world, they were the only ones who could fully under what the other had been through, they were the only ones who knew what it was like to live past your natural lifespan. Humans...humans weren’t quite meant to live this long. He wasn’t sure how they hadn’t started losing their minds yet, but it seemed inevitable to him. Maybe...if they weren’t alone, maybe they could postpone it just a little bit longer. Did Orpheus even want that? Or was he merely humoring his shadow in an attempt to lose him for good?
He looked at Orpheus, his expression shifting just a little at the words. He wanted to ask what happened. He wanted to ask why Orpheus had been cursed. Did he dare? Did Orpheus want to talk about it, or at least, would he be willing? Things L had no way of knowing, because as much as he thought he knew the sort of person Orpheus was, he didn’t know Orpheus. That was an important distinction.
“I...won’t ask what happened. Not today.” He said finally, a sliver of regret in his tone. “You don’t know me. It wouldn’t be fair of me to ask you that. But if you want to talk about it, I am probably the only person in the world who could understand.”

L watched Orpheus, watched him close his eyes, watched him hold the lyre close, like a child. He didn’t know what it would be like to own something so precious, he didn’t understand how it would feel to love something so deeply. He just knew how much it mattered to Orpheus - or he didn’t know, but he thought he did - and he had known somehow that abandoning it wasn’t an option. He’d never consciously decided to carry it. He’d never thought I can’t get rid of this. It was just that...he’d always planned to give it back, eventually. He’d just had to postpone that idea for a while.
“Oh.”
The single word escaped him in a single, startled breath. He’d never considered it his, not even when he hadn’t been certain he would ever return it. When he’d thought Orpheus might deserve his sentence, when he’d wondered if it would be his job to stop him from doing more harm. Even then...well. There was something about the lyre and Orpheus together that was right in a way it never had been with L. He’d carried it. He wasn’t so sure it had ever been his.
He didn’t argue, though. He didn’t see the point in trying. Semantics, more than anything.
He hadn’t known that it required care. He wouldn’t have known how even if he had known that. It was an object, and L had never been particularly good with those. There was a reason he owned next to nothing, there was a reason he never had, not even before his life had been irreversibly changed.
If he’d known this was the reason Orpheus decided to believe he was a good person...he would have told him not to believe it. He would have argued that such a deception would have been easy enough to carry out. He would have pointed out how obvious it was that Orpheus cared for the lyre, and how easy it would have been to pretend. But he didn’t know, and he said nothing.
If they did lose their minds, someday, he hoped only that it wouldn’t be for a while yet. He would rather see what this new chapter brought. Even if this was all they did together, even if this was the last he saw of the musician he’d watched for so long...he hoped they would both be alright, somehow.
Orpheus watched the sky, and L watched Orpheus. Watched his expression, heard his sad, gentle voice as he began to speak, to say the words L hadn’t allowed himself to ask. He knew he probably deserved the truth, an explanation, but there was something about Orpheus that hadn’t let him ask for one. It hadn’t mattered. Orpheus was the sort of person who would speak of this without being asked, who would explain anyway. L couldn’t help letting his respect for the other immortal grow.
He didn’t interrupt, not once. He listened to the story, the beginning of the story, and he tried not to feel anything for the other person. He tried to shut the door, to keep himself safe from the ending he didn’t know, but could already taste. Salty, like an ocean, like tears.
Yes, he told himself he wouldn’t let it touch him, this sad story. He told himself he wouldn’t hurt for a tragedy that happened hundreds of years ago.
He remembered it well. The cold. The hunger. Winter tasted bitter, like bark from a tree you’re forced to try to choke down. Winter was shivering, unable to get warm no matter how close you huddled with the only person who cared if you lived or died. The only person who would mourn you if you closed your eyes for the last time.
If he’d known how the story would end, would he be listening now?
He met Orpheus’ eyes, his dark ones wide and focused and unblinking. He didn’t speak. He just watched, his eyes free of judgement, of anything but the determination to hear it through to the end.

Maybe that was the difference. L, though he was good at it and he’d gotten some satisfaction out of doing it well, didn’t thrive on deception. He didn’t do it for no reason. He hadn’t actually done it much, not in a long time, since he hadn’t had anyone to deceive when he was invisible anyway. Oh, he’d deceived people before he was cursed. As a child he’d sometimes done it on purpose, just to see if he could get away with it, and more than half the time he had. He was a practiced liar and he hadn’t been born with the skill, though it had come pretty naturally to him once he began to use it.
The thing was, he’d been careful never to harm others with his lies. He’d never gotten anyone hurt with them, at least not on purpose, and if ever he had, he’d learned from it. Had he always come clean? Admittedly no. Still, he’d learned and gotten older, and as he had he’d stopped lying for no reason and merely kept it as a useful tool. It had served him well more than once, in his adult life.
A day mattered little in a normal lifespan. For them? Even a year bore little consequence. Or…maybe that was only most days, most years. L was pretty sure he would remember today as long as he lived, no matter how long that might be. He was pretty sure nothing could make him forget the day he’d come out of the shadows and into the light at last.
He didn’t think like Orpheus. Where the poet thought of losing himself, or giving up, L thought of what would happen if someone were to catch him. He worried about external threats more than he did internal ones, his mind was filled with thoughts of poison and ropes, of torture and questions he couldn’t answer. He knew what would happen if someone exposed him. There was a reason he was so careful.
Now, though...anyone could have snuck up behind him. His mind was not on his surroundings anymore, but on Orpheus, on his story. The tale he had wondered about for so long and never once asked for. It was told with an almost song like quality to it...not surprising, considering who was telling it.
But it was the words, not the style, that captured him.
It was a little like watching something very terrible happen in slow motion. It felt a little like falling. You knew you were going to hit the ground before you did. You could see the end in your mind before you saw it with your eyes. It was like that. L could have told how the story ended before he heard it, he couldn’t have told the details but he could have told the rest.
He could picture it. Orpheus was a good storyteller, he thought distantly. The thought didn’t quite connect to anything else. He was watching it play out, seeing Orpheus kicked and beaten while he refused to fight back, seeing him talk to the workers, seeing them standing together. If it felt like falling to him, how did it feel to Orpheus, who had lived it? If he felt this dread in the pit of his stomach, what did Orpheus feel in his?
To his credit, L did his very best not to care. He came close, so close. But his heart betrayed him, and for once in his life, his expression wasn’t hard to read at all. There was pain in his eyes, deep sorrow for the story he was being told. In that moment, he grieved Eurydice as though he’d personally known her, as though she’d died that morning, not four hundred years ago. He grieved the workers, the people who had dared have such a thing as hope in their hearts. L knew what a deadly weapon hope could be. He was aware of the damage it could do, if left alone. There was a reason he was careful never to let it near his own heart, his own soft, treacherous heart.
He didn’t look away. He didn’t blink. He tried to mask his expression again, but the damage was done, and if Orpheus had happened to look at the wrong moment…he hoped he had missed it.
“Hope is a weapon.” He said finally, his eyes resting on Orpheus’ face, searching it. He didn’t know the right words. He never knew the right words, but now, especially, they evaded him. “I’ve known that for longer than I’ve known you. I can’t do anything to ease your pain. I can’t do anything to make it better. But…”
He tilted his head, looking at the sky. His voice was soft, escaping on the wind.
“You’ve apologized so many times now…” he breathed, watching the stars flicker above him. How many were still there? How many were already dead, even now, with nothing but the remainder of their light to prove they had existed once? Nothing but a memory?
“...but has anyone ever apologized to you?”
He looked at Orpheus. His dark eyes reflected the light, giving him an almost ethereal appearance.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, searching hazel eyes, searching unfamiliar features. He had never been this close. He had never been close enough to see Orpheus’ face, not really. “I’m sorry for the pain you’ve been through.”
That was all he had. That was the best he could do.