mk.05 (text)

[paraclete]

Who: Kaworu Nagisa, anyone else!
Broadcast: fleetwide
Action: his bunk, the Vanquish
When: this afternoon

Need advice for when one's body is trying to kill oneself

[Shipmates may notice how he hasn't left his bunk but a couple of times in the entirety of this past week. This means he's been of no use as an engineer, which is bad news considering this mysterious bug business. Even without that, he should at least be tending to the ship's overhead lights, which have been flickering on occasion... (The particularly astute might note that this seems to coincide with the muffled sounds of what could be... sneezes?)

But, alas, he is dying. He's pretty sure of it.]


(augment glitch = baby's first flu!)

Comments

[astrobleme]

[Shinji can't write off any of this as feverish rambling. There's that old maxim about how hard it is to build up trust, and how easy it is to tear it back down... which is what has happened here. Just when he thought Kaworu could feel good about being himself, Shinji had to go and ruin everything. Shinji's fault. Shinji shouldn't have reacted the way he did. A single apology won't make up for that failure.]

You were doing what you thought was right. That's the important part. [He doesn't pull his hand away, of course. He doesn't ever want to punish Kaworu like that again. It's with his other hand that he removes the sunglasses, revealing tear-filled eyes and the equally ardent red within them. The same species. Despite days of living with it, he still feels like an imposter, a clone, maybe a sick joke.] And you weren't trying to hurt me, [he says, his voice wobbling,] so don't think about that anymore. You're a good person, Kaworu-kun. I can see that. I promise you, I can see it.

[And that's why Shinji is resolved to not leave Kaworu's side until he feels better. Shinji packed a generous handmade backpack with all sorts of supplies: water, juice, medicine, snacks, magazines for reading. It should be enough to sustain them for a while. He doesn't even care if this sickness is contagious, as long as Kaworu ends up feeling better.

Now his fingers stretch out, carefully petting Kaworu's hair.] I'm going to take care of you. Okay?

[paraclete]

[The eyes are no less astounding now than when they first manifested. Maybe it's even better, seeing them this time, dewy with real love instead of angry and afraid. Kaworu's still holding his water bottle with one hand; but the other hand, uncharacteristically clammy, raises up to Shinji's face. Kaworu's fingers trace Shinji's brow, then the soft skin beside and below his wet red eye.] I still think it's pretty. [This might be the first time Kaworu's sounded anywhere close to shy about complimenting Shinji. (Close, but still not quite.)] Even when you were angry with me, when I looked at you, I thought you were very beautiful. [He stops to clear his throat, but he isn't finished: ] But I didn't want the final Shinji-kun I saw to be that way... I really thought it was the last time I'd ever see you. I don't know what I would have done. [Well. "Died," he guesses. He sniffs.] I promise you, I'll wait as long as you want for anything, but if I knew I couldn't ever see you again, I...

[He's confessing more now than he would otherwise intend to. He's not trying to make Shinji feel guilty—he never wants Shinji to feel badly for anything involving Kaworu or their friendship. (Maybe once in his youth he felt an injustice coming from Ikari Shinji; maybe once he wanted that moody boy to feel bad for giving Kaworu all these gross and squirming feelings. But...) But... A breath of air, right now, feels more amazing than it ever has before. And saying these miserable things is helping Kaworu to breathe.]

[astrobleme]

[Pretty. Very beautiful. Shinji is tempted to write off Kaworu's compliments as some feverish rambling, but he knows they're all sincere. He stays very quiet and still while Kaworu touches his face, other than the furrowing of his brow. He won't be so ashamed that he'll run away from Kaworu. Never again.] You shouldn't have listened to me, [he says afterward, trying not to sound accusatory for it.] When I told you to--to go away--Kaworu-kun, you shouldn't have. The only time I'll say that crap is when there's something wrong with me. It's not your fault. I told you before...

[But it ultimately doesn't matter what he said and what he meant. Things happened the way they happened, and now he's trying to put what's broken back together. The scariest thing in the world is knowing he doesn't deserve Kaworu's forgiveness. Kaworu has forgiven him for everything, for every stupid mistake, from a missed note on the keys to getting him killed. But a screaming fit, nearly rabid, that was aimed at Kaworu's heart on purpose...

Unconscionable.

He leans down, planting a kiss on Kaworu's forehead. Warm. Way too warm. It's actually kind of alarming when Kaworu has been so cool, like a stone at the bottom of a riverbed, for as long as he's been within reach.]

I want to spend my whole life with you. Remember that.

[paraclete]

[Beneath the feeling of Shinji's gentle kiss, Kaworu's eyelids lower. He keeps his fingertips at Shinji's face, afraid to lose his sense of touch, afraid to separate ever again. It and the fever combined are enough to make Kaworu shiver, just one moment of delicate shuddering. But his hand remains steadfast.]

You know, it's allowed to be my fault. Many things have been, I'm afraid. I don't— [He lapses into a cough, but recovers quick enough from it to continue: ] I don't want you to blame yourself for being upset. I want to be someone who does the right thing, [and he guides his hand into Shinji's hair,] but you shouldn't force yourself to believe that I am. I didn't lie to you, but I... [He's savoring the feel of Shinji's hair against his hand, carding his weakened fingers, slow but now more certain.] I wasn't honest with you. From the very start. That wasn't right. It's okay to tell me it wasn't right. And you're allowed to be upset with me. [And that's true, and that's normal, but Kaworu's also saying, You're allowed to hurt me.

He has to wait a moment more before fluttering his eyes a bit wider to focus on Shinji's face. While he's slowly growing to be more sure of himself, he's tentative once more in this moment, taking Shinji's words into himself as if he's afraid they aren't real.] And, [he says finally, and soft despite the creak of his voice,] in theory, an Angel could live for a very long time. Did you know that?

[astrobleme]

[Shinji knew he had several things in common with Kaworu, but he didn't know they had this much in common. He could swear he's said similar things in the past: it's allowed to be my fault, don't blame yourself, I want to be someone who does the right thing, I wasn't honest with you, you're allowed to be upset with me. Kaworu is determined to take on the blame, the entirety of the blame, for self-defeating reasons. And it'll be pretty much impossible to convince him otherwise. Frustrating. But that doesn't mean Shinji is going to give up.]

If you had told me... [Now he lifts his head, but he isn't planning to leave Kaworu's orbit. His face is close and he won't break away from the searching splay of fingers.] If you had called me down to the piano, and the first thing you did was tell me I'm an Angel... I would've thought you were lying. Or crazy. Or being very cruel to me. And that wouldn't have helped me at all.

[He doesn't know that he ever would have accepted the truth if not for the physical evidence of it. Even his most delusional denials can't explain away the blood-red eyes in the mirror. Speaking of which...]

No, I didn't know that. [There's a lot he doesn't know about Angels. He's afraid to ask, but being afraid of reality hasn't led to anything good.] How long is a "very long time"? [he murmurs, trying to smile a little for Kaworu's benefit.]

[paraclete]

[Shinji can't be blamed for not knowing that all of this misery really is of Kaworu's making. Even that, the lack of understanding, is Kaworu's fault as well. His relationship with Shinji—despite his earnest love—it's fundamentally dishonest, isn't it? It started out that way because Kaworu was doing as he was ordered, and he thought his orders were good, or necessary. Not much has changed. All this time, Kaworu has been doing what he was certain was good and necessary. Yet things are still turning out this way... And yet, and yet, and yet—

He can see every detail of Shinji's face. He can hear the forgiving, loving quality of Shinji's voice. Kaworu's own eyes are glassy; and his brow is creased, just slightly, as he tries to concentrate on all of Shinji's traits. He breathes in with a bit of a whistle.] And what if I had told you, [he asks, both determined and afraid,] that I am an Angel? What if I had told you, Shinji-kun, all about myself?

[He thinks he knows, and he doesn't blame Shinji for it at all. It isn't right for Kaworu to ask this. And it isn't right for him to keep stroking Shinji's face while he asks it. And yet, and yet, and yet. Shinji had asked Kaworu, What's the right thing? Kaworu isn't sure he will ever know the answer.

His eyes are as earnest as they are glassy, determined, and afraid. He sinks a little further against the pillows. His arm is tired—what a feeling!—from keeping his hand at Shinji's face for so long, but he doesn't want to lose the contact.

...]

What if I had told you that an Angel is supposed to live forever?

[astrobleme]

[Shinji knew Kaworu could be persistent, even stubborn, but all his protesting is borderline painful to listen to. At this point, it doesn't fucking matter if Kaworu could have said or done something differently. Their lives--their fates, destinies, whatever--unfolded the way that they did because that's just how it happened. So it's with a softer, sadder smile that Shinji peels away Kaworu's hand from his face. He gently presses it to the bed, where he keeps it clasped, their fingers interlocking.]

I don't know, Kaworu-kun. [He exhales. His lips twist with indecision.] On some level, I think I realized... you were different... maybe not that different. Not at first. But it wouldn't have been the craziest thing to find out. [Regardless, maybe he would have lashed out at the Angel. Maybe he would have cried. Maybe he would have sat in shell-shocked silence, wondering if it were a bad joke, or another example of the apocalypse turning everything inside out.] It doesn't change how you're the only one who's ever really appreciated me, [he confesses in a rush. That's the only thing that matters. The only thing that's truly crazy.

He swallows down some anxiety--and it's visible, a real traveling lump in his throat. His eyes are still damp enough to catch the light, all crimson glimmer. Physically, he can't claim to be exhausted or even a little bit tired, but his mind has been through a dozen marathons by now. He squeezes Kaworu's hand harder.]

If an Angel's supposed to live forever, then we'll be together forever. Obviously.

[paraclete]

[Kaworu knows a lot about hope, and he'll praise it at every opportunity. He'll preach it with evangelical fanaticism. What you need, let's become, there is always. Yes, Kaworu's claim is that there is always hope—no matter the circumstances. If he doesn't believe this, he will carve out his own core. Nothing would be bearable, without hope.

And yet he wonders now if he has ever hoped for a forever. His first forays in love weren't quite so dramatic: he wanted to hold onto Ikari's body and he wanted to share his heart and Ikari's in equal parts. But he didn't think, I want to be with you for the rest of my life. It didn't even occur to him.

When it did occur to him—the rest of my life—he had fallen into resignation: his time with Shinji would be short. He isn't sure when that resignation happened. He isn't sure when death became so routine. "Forever" just didn't seem like an option. Kaworu defers to fate, whatever he thinks fate might mean, and fate had seemed to tell him that it was one boy or the other. Kaworu was never meant to be the survivor, between the two of them.

So at this revelation, at the blooming notion of eternal coexistence, Kaworu starts to panic. He thinks of how easy it would be to lose. He thinks of how easy it would be to fuck it up. He thinks of how a commitment to "forever" would mean forsaking death as a fallback. That is the greatest unknown. There were no Scrolls written for a scenario like this.

He shuts his eyes. His chest rises and falls more deliberately when he breathes. His fever attaches a distinct tilt to his surroundings. But despite all this, and despite that fear of the unknown, that fear of further failure, he says,] I've never been so happy, Shinji-kun.