Help Me Heal The Cracks Of My Heart

We Are Having This Conversation

The meeting seemed to drag on longer than it should have. Wishing he could do anything to get out of it sooner. All he could do was continue to stare at Mr. L and shrink as he stared back. He knew he wasn't looking at his mask, but rather behind it, at the broken face he had caught a glimpse of. When the meeting finally ended Dimentio didn't even give his signature ciao before snapping his fingers to teleport into his room in a vain attempt to hide. Of course, that didn't stop Mr. L, he knew exactly where Dimentio had gone.

In truth, L was still reeling from the whole experience. He had never imagined he would get to kiss his crush, let alone almost go to the next step. After seeing what had hidden behind his poncho L knew he needed more answers. He didn't get a good look at it but it seemed to be a large black tattoo, along with some strange splotches on his skin. He needed to know more, he also needed an explanation for the kiss.

Rounding the corner of the second floor he made a beeline for Dimentio's room. No one went into his room as it was strictly forbidden, and if you did you would end up with more than just a simple prank. The threat did not deter him however as Mr. L pushed the door open so he could talk with Dimentio in private.

The room was nothing yet everything Mr. L had imagined. The room was mainly black with most of the furniture purple. A queen-size bed in the middle of the room with dark oak posts and silk drapings. There was a large mirror beside the bed and on the other side was a table that held a lamp in a few assorted things. Across the room were two bookcases completely filled with books. Adjacent to it was a closet that was closed so he couldn't see what was inside.

The farthest wall had a large window with purple curtains and the wall closest to the door had a desk that was also dark oak and a really comfy-looking chair. There were multiple eschewed papers and writing utensils while above the desk was a display of multiple variants of a porcelain mask. L assumed those were the prototypes before landing on the one he uses now.

And there, sitting on the bed, was Dimentio. His legs pulled up to his chest with his arms wrapped around them. He knew L would follow him, and he did owe him some answers.

"Whether you like it or not we need to talk about this."

There was no point in sugar-coating it.

"I know."

Mr. L hated the broken and small voice that came out of the jester; it didn't fit him at all.