001. accidental video/text + action.

[astrobleme]

Who: Shinji Ikari and everyone ever.
Broadcast: Fleetwide.
Action: Marsiva, for all the new arrivals.
When: Right now, and he'll be available until the Shuffle, huddling in his bunk or counting the stars. Feel free to contact or approach him anytime.

[There's no explosion of sight or sound. No exposition. No questions. Nothing attention-grabbing at all. Just that omnipresent sci-fi hum and the sidelong view of a young boy, no older than fourteen or fifteen, lying on his back in one of Marsiva's complimentary bunks. The boy, Shinji, is staring straight upward at whatever is above him. He isn't animated except for the feeble rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. The only noteworthy thing is what he's wearing: it appears to be a form-fitting wetsuit with rib-shaped accents and other curious details.

Ten seconds later, he hasn't moved. He doesn't acknowledge that he's somewhere very new, with yet another unfamiliar ceiling. Twenty seconds later, he hasn't moved. Thirty seconds later, he hasn't moved. By now, most new arrivals would probably figure out they're not where they're meant to be, for better or worse. They'll address the network instead of continuing to stare into nothingness with a distinctly corpselike quality to their face. But, one minute later, he's still staring listlessly. Two minutes. Five minutes. Ten minutes. He isn't aware of anyone or anything near to him. This is undoubtedly the most boring show in the universe, which might make it avant-garde--fifteen minutes. Twenty. Twenty-five.

A full half-hour later, for viewers with the patience to stick around, he still hasn't moved or said anything. (Hopefully you aren't watching this live, so you can just fast-forward through the eerie silence.) It's thirty minutes and thirteen seconds, exactly, when he looks to the side with a dry, audible creak of his neck. He's looking at the communication device. Maybe he recognizes it, but it's hard to tell what he's thinking. Even he can't tell what he's thinking. Then, unsteady enough to resemble a marionette, he reaches over to grab the device from where it's resting. The view dissolves into the dark purple blur of his palm.

Just before the odd broadcast cuts off, he appends a text message.]

Sorry. I didn't know.


action, aboard the Marsiva:

[Eventually, although he doesn't remember how, Shinji hauls himself out of the bunk bed. He shuffles like a zombie through the hospitality deck, heading for nowhere in particular. He's just walking forward. Lost in his thoughts, you could say, even though his thoughts amount to little more than a ripple of confusion.

At the grand bay windows of the ship, he stops moving. He stares. He stares harder. He takes in the vastness of space; it's exactly what he was looking for without realizing it. Again, painfully stilted, he presses one of his palms against the reinforced window. He doesn't recognize the stars (except he kind of does?) (strangely?), which is why he's fascinated with them. In what must be a different lifetime, he was a self-taught student of astronomy.]

One...

[His voice is hollow and weak, nearly lost between him and the window.]

Two, three... four...

[If Shinji seems to be counting the stars, that's because he is. The longer he counts out loud, the stronger his voice gets and the more aware he becomes of what he's counting, of where he is or he is not. This time, he'll actually turn his head to stare at anyone who approaches him, or even comes close to him. There's a meager sliver of humanity to him now. He looks like he wants to ask a question, but he can't figure out how to say it. His lips are numb.]

Comments

[astrobleme]

[There was pain. There was pain. There was pain, he says, like his death was no worse than a bad hangnail or a scraped knee. It's strange to think that Kaworu, of all people, doesn't understand. If he's expecting Shinji to smile and blush and snap back to normal, he's going to be sorely disappointed.]

For how long? [Kaworu shouldn't be making promises he can't keep, even though Shinji is desperate to hear one.] How long before you... again... [Shinji's voice is failing him; he's forced to close his eyes and focus on something other than blood. He's breathing too shallowly, erratically, to speak for very long. This would become a full-blown panic attack if it weren't for his broken, sluggish heart. Everything seems to be slowing down instead of speeding up.]

Kaworu-kun left me behind...

[At the very least, they should have left together. At the very least. But now he knows that Nagisa Kaworu is just as much a temporary reprieve as anything else.]

[paraclete]

[As much as this hurts to listen to, Kaworu deserves it. He deserves every pain imaginable for doing this to Shinji. The knowledge that Shinji's state is his fault is past its dawn, and its afternoon sun is scorching Kaworu's face. He is burning. In a pit of sulfur, he should burn. Lilin is quick to damn its own kind, but Kaworu is the one who has earned it.]

I wasn't trying to leave you behind. [Believe me, believe me, says the strain in his voice. But if earnestness could fix things, Kaworu would have succeeded a long time ago.] I wanted you to be able to move forward. I wanted you to survive, and you didn't need me for that. [He is ashamed when he takes Shinji's hands in both his own, because he wants it so badly, even as he tells himself that it's to try and bring Shinji's body to stability. Shinji needs to breathe properly. A paper bag, Kaworu thinks faintly, and frowns further.] I made a mistake. I don't intend to make it again. [But when did he ever mean for this to happen?]

[astrobleme]

[Shinji is too weak to yank his hands away from Kaworu's. It's singularly humiliating that Kaworu can see his face when it splits apart like porcelain hitting the floor from a thousand feet. (Or, it would be humiliating, except he can't feel his face along with his hands and his knees.) He's cringing, shriveling, but he doesn't cry; he doesn't have any tears left to cry. He isn't drawing in air except for little guppy gasps, most of them condensing on the window, a frost of despair.

It takes him a while to say,] Don't tell me what I need. Don't you dare. [For all his muffled desperation, there's something downright acidic about what he's saying. Not necessarily in his tone, but the sleepless glimmer of his eyes, the way his shoulders jut and seesaw upward... His body language is a retreat and a sword that slices both ways. Passive-aggressive. Like he's dealing with an adult, an adult he cannot understand, who is trying to tell him what's good for him all over again.

He's on the verge of shutting down completely. But then, with meek violence:]

I need you.

[At some point, maybe insidiously, Kaworu stopped being just a friend or a tutor or a co-pilot. There are many reasons why this is a horrible, untimely confession on Shinji's part. He doesn't know how to reciprocate before it's too late.]

I need you.

[paraclete]

[Kaworu's heart is reeling. His heart is twisting, the muscle is tearing, it's seizing up. The old men needed him, to fulfill their ambition. Even the Commander needed him, it seems, to carry out his plans. But he's never considered himself vital to Shinji's peace and salvation. (His happiness...) He doesn't want to confront the idea that he could be. If Shinji is right, death is more than a mistake. It's more than a failure. If there's a sin that should go without forgiveness, it's that.

But Shinji isn't right. It's not that he "needs" Kaworu — he's just lost. He's feeling lost and what he needs is guidance. And in the end, Kaworu couldn't provide even that.]

I hoped our friendship would lend you strength, but more than that, I hoped to help you find the strength you have within your own spirit. I should have shown you that you'd be capable of that without me. But there are many things I should have done differently.

[It's agony to see Shinji's reactions to him, but again, Kaworu thinks that he deserves this. I deserved it, he wants to tell Shinji. For failing you, I deserved... No, Shinji doesn't need someone who can't get it right. Shinji doesn't need someone who can't make him happy.]

I'm sorry for leaving you. I'm sorry for harming your heart. But I can't apologize for letting you live.

[This last time, Kaworu was sure he'd succeed. He was sure of it. The promised time had come. He was sure of it.

And look at Shinji now.]

[astrobleme]

[Okay. Okay, like, there's a time and a place for everything, including philosophical psychobabble. Seriously, there is. Shinji used to spend some nights just absorbing all of the warm and wise things that Kaworu had to say about the human condition. But right now... Right now, this isn't a good time to hide behind a parable. Shinji can't even begin to wrap his mind around strength and spirit and his potential as Lilin and all of that bullshit.

He's shaking his sickened head when he says,] Kaworu-kun, you're not listening-- [And that's pretty damn scary. Shinji feels like they're speaking past each other--they're out of sync. Addressing two different things. Asymmetrical and drained down to the dregs of synergy.] I need you. I don't need your l-lessons or your apologies, I need you.

[He doesn't know how to make himself any clearer than that.

When he speaks again, he's so quiet that he might as well not exist.]

I've needed you for a long time.

[paraclete]

[Shinji is wrong. He doesn't understand what he's saying, what he's implying. Even if Kaworu had ever been worthy of the responsibility, he's failed Shinji so many times... He can't take that place in Shinji's heart. He can't take the place of the words 'I love you.' The magnitude of his deficiency is without peer.

Not for the first time, Kaworu's wondering what he should have said differently. He's changed details of his speeches enough times to converse with a multitude. He's adapted his words to his varying circumstances. But regardless of what he thinks he's fixed, he comes up short. Inadequate. Shinji said, You're amazing. Kaworu thought he was saying the right things. Now he sees the reality: what he'd said was wrong in ways he hadn't expected. Shinji thought Kaworu was a better thing than what he really is.

Kaworu's mouth twists. He can't live up to that expectation. You're amazing. If Kaworu were truly amazing, his losses wouldn't occupy half the moon. A long time, Shinji says. Does he even have any idea what a long time is like?]

I want to give you what you need, [he says, finally dropping the speeches, the pretenses. He hasn't lied, but now, he's being a little more honest.]

[astrobleme]

[Shinji can't know or understand what he hasn't been told. No one told him anything. No one thought to sit him down and explain what the hell was going on. Not even Kaworu was willing to do that until Shinji boiled over with noxious fears and frustrations. And even then, even then, Kaworu didn't explain half of what he really should have. If there's a reason why everyone insists on keeping Shinji in the dark, Shinji isn't fucking seeing it. Because he's being kept in the dark. He can't see anything except what's right in front of him. All he can see is the red quality of Kaworu's eyes, hemorrhaging an emotion that goes beyond expression.

Not for the first time, Shinji's wondering if maybe Kaworu is just as tired as he is. More tired than he is. Maybe that's why Kaworu is so nonchalant about his death.]

Then... [Shinji's hands have been limp and useless, stowed away with Kaworu. They're starting to curl inward. Even insensate, they're tightening around Kaworu's hands, tighter and tighter and tighter. It will take a crowbar or another wave of exhaustion to make him let go.] Don't leave me again. Stay with me. No matter what, you just have to stay. [It's unfair of him to say that when he has no idea what's going to happen next. But he's saying it, he said it, and he refuses to take it back. Kaworu won't apologize for dying, so Shinji won't apologize for telling him to live.]

[paraclete]

[It used to be that Kaworu intended to leave. For humanity's sake, he said, but it was always for Shinji. It was for Shinji. Since the first twinges struck his heart, since the first tepid taste, it has all been for Shinji. The old men didn't stand a chance against this fragile boy with the spindly heart. But in the lifetime he just left, Kaworu didn't wake up thinking, My fate is to perish. Instead, he had hoped to stay. He had hoped— What you need most of all right now is hope. At that time, Kaworu had hope.]

I don't want to leave you. [It's soft, not even on a real breath, and it's a confession.] Not ever again. [It's been so many times. It's been too many times. His hands are still against Shinji's.] You must understand, I would do anything for you.

[Except stay, right? Except stay alive. That's what he's never been able to do. Everything for Shinji, anything for Shinji, always for Shinji, but he's never been able to do it. His promises feel as empty as his accomplishments. Loving Shinji is honestly presumptuous. How dare he swear fealty to someone and not follow through?]

[astrobleme]

[That doesn't sound like the promise Shinji's been hoping for. He isn't stupid. He knows the difference between "I don't want to" and "I won't." But for all his selfishness, he also knows when he's being unreasonable. There's more going on with this than meets the eye. More variables beyond his line of sight. He's too tired to deal with the unknown, the unknowable. He's channeling all of his energy into holding Kaworu's hands and maintaining some definition of eye contact.]

Kaworu-kun... [His mouth is a sour grimace.] Stay, [he says, then, like he's speaking to a stubborn, ornery pet.] Stay with me. That's the only thing you have to do. The only one... [There's that wave of exhaustion, right on cue. His fingers loosen, only to tighten again, only to loosen even more. He's trying very hard not to let Kaworu slip away.] Please. I can't... [Now his head is drooping; his neck feels like it's laden with a heavy brace. He exhales into a whimper.] Can't face this without you.

[The last time Shinji acted on his own, he was punished severely. It's no wonder he's so afraid of any sort of independent action or thought. Forget Kaworu's omissions, Kaworu's mistakes. At this point, Shinji can't trust himself not to fuck everything up.]

[paraclete]

You can. [It's more of a promise than "I won't." He's quietly encouraging, softly imploring Shinji to believe him. But Kaworu's beginning to understand that that isn't enough. Do this one thing, he tells himself. Shinji just wants this one thing. Who is Kaworu to deny him?] You can, [he murmurs,] but I won't make you. [That seals it. There is no other option but to stay with Shinji. Death has always been a fallback for Kaworu. In recent lives, it had become something to avoid, but it was still a quick way out of a particularly tight spot. Now he's seeing that death is more than something to try and skirt. It's something he can no longer consider.

Alongside his fears and his self-loathing, he feels resolve. He's not going to make another Shinji happy. He's going to make this Shinji happy.]

I won't forsake you. If this is what you're asking of me, I...

[Shinji's body is rebelling. His heart is an insurgent. But Kaworu won't let him slip away, either. He shifts his hands against Shinji's slackened ones. He links their fingers, and presses their palms together. He holds on firmly.]

This time, I won't disappoint you.

[There's still time. Kaworu can still salvage Shinji's happiness. He'll dredge it up from these darkest depths and deliver it at longest last. There will be no end to Shinji's joy. Good things will happen when they're together. That still needs to be fulfilled, right?]

[astrobleme]

[It's cloudy. It's been cloudy for weeks now, and Shinji hasn't been able to view the night sky. Out of spare parts, he built his own telescope and everything, anticipating the chance to use it, to study his favorite constellations. He built it, but then the clouds came in, all layers and bad manners. Impassable. Why? He tugs on his guardian's sleeve and asks, why? Climate change. Why is that? Second Impact changed everything. For a young child, every inconvenience can feel like the entire world is aligned against them. Every grey, dismal day is a private eternity to Shinji. The nights are even longer, when he can't sleep at all, hoping the clouds will move just a little bit and let him see Andromeda. Later on, when the clouds finally, finally decide to back off...

The parting of clouds is what he's feeling now. He feels a relief so crippling that he would fall to his knees if he weren't already sitting down. He doesn't smile, afraid of jinxing himself, but he stops grimacing like he's swallowing sand. Kaworu won't make him. Kaworu won't leave him behind.]

Th... There's... one other thing, actually...

[His voice is still very quiet. He's struggling to keep his eyes open. Focused on Kaworu. That, too, is because he's fearful.]

Tell me this is happening for real.

[paraclete]

[There could be a thousand other things, and Kaworu would fulfill them. Shinji could say, There's one other thing, actually; rake yourself over hot coals, and Kaworu would fulfill it. By itself, the plea is sweet. It feels good to know that he can achieve at least one thing with ease. This much, at least, he can deliver.]

This is happening for real, Shinji-kun. [He squeezes both of Shinji's hands, not harshly, to try and convey the sensation of reality.] This is real, and I am real. We are really here, together.

[Together, he wants to emphasize. Good things. He lifts one of Shinji's hands, still holding it firmly, so that it's in Shinji's line of sight.]

See? It's us.

[Through the thin material of the plugsuits, their temperatures mingle at their palms. Kaworu, of course, is still cool, like a cloth on a fevered forehead. Or, right now, a fevered mind. Kaworu wants to take Shinji somewhere temperate and special — the beauty of the moon, without its freeze; and a sea breeze that predates the only summer children after Second Impact ever knew. He wants to clear out the climate of Shinji's heart, trade it for something better, white sand, white foam, a habitable sea and shore. Yes, he wants Shinji's heart to be habitable. Right now, its desolation rivals the Earth's. But that, like Earth, can be healed. (That's another thing Kaworu must believe.)]

[astrobleme]

[It's real. It's real. It has to be real. It has to be real, because Shinji won't survive if he wakes up somewhere else. He isn't sitting on a train that's traveling through perpetual sunset. He can't even hear anything that resembles the thud-thacking of wheels aligned with their tracks. Just that hum. His own breathing. Kaworu's voice, soft and beseeching. It has to be real, and as long as it's real, Shinji is allowed to close his eyes. Kaworu won't disappear in the time it takes him to rest a little.]

It's real, [he says, on the edge of disbelief.] As long as it's real, I'm... [He isn't okay. He doesn't know if he'll ever be okay. They're a long way off from blue waters and extinct fish swimming through them. Still, the possibility exists for him to be better than he is now. He closes his eyes, then, his shoulders quaking hard. It's real. It's real. His fingers curl inward with renewed strength. It has to be real.]

I can face this. With you. [The words sound about as brittle as a sun-dried sand dollar.

He winces into opening his eyes, but he hasn't lost anything: his hand is still there, and Kaworu's hand, and Kaworu's breathtaking face beyond that. Shinji's eyes glimmer with fresh tears that emerge out of nowhere, not yet willing to fall. The last time he cried, it was in goodbye. This is so much hello.]

Welcome back, Kaworu-kun.