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

[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.