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.