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He exhales with a nasal keen, and closes his eyes as L wipes his face. He's still shaking violently.

"No," he whispers, almost inaudibly.

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"Alright, A, it's alright. Here." He does climb to his feet, and does pick him up, without waiting to see if he can walk. One arm behind his back, and the other under his knees.

"Put your arms around my neck. Naomi can open doors for us as we go, if that's alright with her."

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A doesn't resist being carried. He buries his face in the crook of L's neck, his eyes still streaming tears, not thinking about how he's staining L's shirt.

"I, I..." he whispers, "I need... need to keep you safe, I need..."

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"It's not for years and years."

He sets on up the staircase.

"I think I'll get the house elves to bring us some soup and cocoa. That's what you do for people feeling badly."

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"Years," A echoes woodenly. His thoughts are as rushed as his words were, and screaming, screaming at him; can't let it happen, can't, can't...

"But I can't let it," he whispers.

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"A."

L drops it (not him, obviously) and keeps on walking, a little quickly, because although A is a tiny little thing, he is still a person. And because a warm bed to be tucked into with kittens will help.

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More whimpering, and A squeezes his eyes shut, trying to still his thoughts, to quiet the urges to go, to run, to get a lovely lovely knife and find that Light, find him and carve him, slicing tendons and sinews, taking tongue and eyes, cutting and cutting and making it last.

Shutting his eyes was a tactical error, perhaps, because now he can visualize it.

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L shifts his grip, so he's holding him more steadily.

"Breathe, and use my steps to count, alright? Four counts." He's walking quickly, so that should be hard.

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Naomi followed (or preceded - she could guess the route) in silence. Holding the doors open was quite all right with her.

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Even with his eyes open, A's not seeing Naomi. L's always got a big portion of his attention, but right now he's A's only focus.

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"I wish you two could have met under better circumstances." L meets A's eyes as much as he can, without tripping and killing them both.

"Naomi, A is my family. A, Naomi is a very good agent."

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Now was not the best time to correct tenses (or perhaps adjectives). Naomi nodded in acknowledgment as she reached the next door.

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Since L is trying to get his attention on Naomi, A squints at her blearily.

"H-hello," he says hoarsely, the word broken by a hiccup.

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"I meant to avoid this situation. I'm so sorry." He thought to himself, he'd have to write Naomi. He meant to do it right after they finished cooking, but like a fool he'd decided that it could wait until they had a date for Christmas.

These things never can wait. Never.

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"Um. Hello," she said to A, as if it were a do-over for introductions.

To L, "I agree that the circumstances could have been better." Even before letting slip on the Kira thing she'd managed to get him worked up over B.

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Now that A's made his token effort at politeness, he buries his face in the crook of L's neck again. Naomi's irrelevant in his current state of mind.

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"It's alright. It's going to be alright," he soothes, perhaps meaninglessly but there you are, as they climb the stairs.

"Naomi, where were you eventually sorted?"

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"Gryffindor." Then up to the next door, at the top of the stairs.

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A's silent for now, trembling, with occasional small sobs.

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"We're taking you out of your way. I'm sure I can manage if you don't want to follow, but..."

He glances down at A, concerned, but there's nothing to be done for now.

"...I don't want to let you leave without discussing this with someone, for context and support. You did nothing wrong. It's my fault, for delaying in writing you."

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"It's fine." Which applied to either or both.

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