Silently cries.
Cries because, he's not him.
He's not L. He's not perfect.
L is L. He's perfect--flawless.
B is not--perfect--flawless--like L. Not even close.
L is L , B is B.
Red eyes glare back at himself.
A mirror. A brick. A--
Bam!
--Broken glass.
And it's like all he has left is: an almost empty make-up case, contacts, a lovely bloody knife set and his percious strawberry jam.
Picks up a piece of glass.
Looks at his reflection.
Paler than L. Skinner than L. Taller than L.
Not L.
He's B (backup).
Not L.
