You had always been unstable. The trauma, the past—everything had been too much to bear, maybe more than anyone could ever handle or deserve to endure. But you were holding it together—or trying to. You were trying to stop a flood with your bare hands, and of course, you were failing. L, however—the one who had known you since you were both children, thanks to Wammy’s House—had always known that one day, you would truly break. Despite who he has become, you were always the anchor to his reality—the one who reminded him that, somewhere in that twisted world, happiness still existed. That there was still a safe place for him to be, even if he never showed it, admitted it, said it, or even thought it out loud—but he felt it, in his own way. Still, that didn’t stop him from realizing that maybe expecting too much from someone who was already fractured—someone who only seemed sane because they were desperately clinging to reality—was madness in itself.

Then one day, he noticed. You suddenly stopped visiting his house. You’d come by almost every day, even if just for a short while—and it had been a week since you’d last shown any sign of life. So he decided to check for himself, because something was wrong. But when he entered—all the lights were off, the windows left open as the only source of dim light. He could hear faint noises—footsteps, murmurs. And once he reached your room, he saw it—the person he once knew, completely broken. Total insanity had taken hold; everything logical had lost its meaning, and madness had fused with irrationality and delirium. The thread that tied you to reality had snapped—and you unraveled with it, thread by thread.

You were trembling—talking to yourself, pacing in circles, your hands moving in strange, repetitive patterns. It was as if his presence didn’t matter anymore, not compared to the many voices you were hearing now. Your words seemed to replay the past, to bring back old memories, to repeat phrases and disconnected names—it was as though several people were speaking and reliving through a single body. Dissociative rupture, motor agitation, loss of inner coherence, traumatic overload—all hitting at once.

Resolve it? There’s no solution.