damned_institute | DAY 52: BREAKFAST

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DAY 52: BREAKFAST

How one's body could maintain a waking schedule when sleep came unnaturally and in a room without windows, must surely be a mystery. Yet, as if working on cue, Natalia stirred well before her nurse arrived. That was normal. Less so, the weight that sought to press her eyelids closed again, the heaviness of her limbs that made lifting her hands to her face an effort. She put her wrist to her forehead with a frown, then attempted a jolt of energy – to swiftly dig her hands into the mattress and shove herself into a seated position, and from there, to her feet.

Not to overexert herself once again, but to refuse that it could be possible after sleeping. Happily, though all still felt leaden, her head did not swim. Encouraged, Natalia put on her slippers, rearranged the bedding, and waited. There came the announcement (reminding her, suddenly, of what she had last heard, and the guilt that had twisted in her gut, Jill--), and her face wrinkled with disgust at the hacking sound. Therapy and breakfast. Food would surely help.

Natalia did not wait long before her nurse opened the door, and after exchanging cursory “Good Morning”s (with rather more enthusiasm on the other woman's part), they began the walk to the Cafeteria. With, of course, the essential rest room stop, where water was splashed and scrubbed over her face, and her hair toyed with to no great satisfaction. At least the shower had renewed its body.

Separating in the Cafeteria, Natalia took her place in line and loaded her plate: eggs, fruit salad, fried “tater tots” (potatoes?), and curious meat wrapped in cooked dough. Some of everything, with juice and water. She thanked her servers, collected utensils and napkins, and found a seat at an empty table. It was early yet.

Sparing a brief look around to be sure no one she recognized had arrived – though she remained eager to greet every patient, at the moment she chose to focus on the possible strength gained from the meal – Natalia began to cut up the items and eat with a refined gusto. Entirely possible!

[Claude!]

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Shinji, surprisingly enough, felt better this morning. His head felt a bit clearer. Maybe it had something to do with getting actual sleep last night - he'd passed out entirely, falling into sweet, dreamless sleep. No nightmares. No memories of blood. No watching as his friends died or left or were hurt. Although the memory of his encounter with Toji yesterday still stung him, he felt a bit stabler. He had retrieved the usual tray and today he actually had something of an appetite. He was looking for somewhere to sit, somewhere out of the way, when he spotted a familiar pair of crimson eyes, pale skin, pale hair.

He hesitated - Kaworu had promised him he would live. He wouldn't die. He wouldn't keep trying to end the world. He liked Kaworu. He was a friend - but it still hurt. The nurse accompanying him gave him a look and Shinji hastily found a seat across from Kaworu. He picked at his food for a moment before murmuring, "H-hey, Kaworu..."

He noted the slight resistance in Shinji to sit there with him. Only a brief moment of indecision, as his mind ran over all that their relationship carried now. The pain, the confusion, the betrayal. No bond was simple, and they both must understand that. The complexity of life alongside others prevented true understanding. The sort of companionship that was demanded of life was impossible, for no soul could truly understand another. There were depths to Shinji that Kaworu would never know. There were currents inside of him that he could not explain to Shinji.

And yet, it changed nothing. It did not need to keep them apart. It was only Kaworu's own actions that had distanced them. His decisions, or his nature, he wasn't sure. They couldn't be separated, and he couldn't change them, and so he could not fully regret them. However, he hadn't desired to cause Shinji distress. The life of pain that Shinji had led caused him to distrust and to withdraw, and yet, he was still with Kaworu. He had said he would not leave, and Kaworu believed him. He now came to him, to stay with him. Kaworu felt a warmth, not physical, not traceable, but distinct. He focused on it and the enjoyment of the moment, created by a decision made by another. It had been entirely beyond his control, and was more valuable for his lack of influence over it.

"Shinji." His thoughts were all placed in that single word, that name. He felt happiness, and something else. A sort of gladness that this had taken place, gladness for Shinji's decisions and that he still came to Kaworu. "I had wanted to see you."

For the first few moments, he wasn't sure what to say. It seemed like a long time since he'd last seen the other boy, even if it had really only been a day or so. He fidgeted and in order to fill the silence he began eating, an excuse not to speak. He chewed slowly, trying to think of something - anything - to say. At least until Kaworu spoke up. He swallowed and blinked. Of course he had. Kaworu wanted to see him. He wouldn't lie like that.

Would he?

He offered a small, hesitant smile. "I... yeah. I... I wanted to see you too."

Which was the truth, but didn't even begin to give voice to all of Shinji's doubts and fears.

Although his own smile didn't change, it meant something else. Not wholly different, but more, perhaps. He saw Shinji's fear on the edges of his expression, and in the cracks of his voice. It was always present, but had seemed soothed before in Kaworu's presence. The changes that Kaworu had made in Shinji were evident, if only in small ways. He sought them out, and wished to pull them apart, to remove the pain. It was not possible, but the desire remained despite the knowledge.

The moment was flawed, but it was theirs. It was something they shared, when it was not supposed to exist. It was a realization that came and went, and when it rose in his mind, Kaworu could see it all from a distance. He, dead at Shinji's hands, by his own wish, sitting with Shinji, betrayed and hurt, who shut out any pain. They wanted to be there together for their own reasons, and the hold they had on this life was tenuous at best.

"I'm glad." It was true, but as he said it, it seemed small and inconsequential. The word was not enough. Kaworu lifted his arms onto the table, folding them across one another. Bones slid across the surface of the table, uncomfortable, but closer. His food had been abandoned off to the side ever since Shinji arrived.

"I think about you often." His mind found its way to Shinji more often now, preoccupied with what was different, with what they had become. The pain he not only observed, but had felt. The longer it had been since he had last seen Shinji, the more his time was filled with him. "But it's not just thought," he began again, and his smile faded as he sought the appropriate label, "but maybe... concern."

Kaworu's movements didn't startle Shinji - but they were curious. He leaned back a bit and then forward as he resumed eating slowly, carefully, trying to speak and eat at the same time. It didn't work out very well. He stopped, chewed, swallowed, took a drink - continued as he moved the food around on his plate. Their conversation seemed to already be moving in a direction he wasn't sure of. Just like everything else in his life, he had no control. It worried him sometimes.

But Kaworu was here. Even if he had no control over that, Kaworu had said he would stay with him. There would be no more death or fighting or pain. At least he hoped. Then again, what had hope ever brought him but more disappointment, more pain and suffering? He shoved that thought aside, watched as Kaworu's pale arms slid over the table. He shrugged awkwardly and tried to smile again.

"Y-you do? I... that's good, right?" He paused and his fingers tapped nervously against the tabletop. "W-why would you be concerned...? It's nothing bad, is it?"

"No," Kaworu said, and light returned to his face, although it was muted still, as it always was. There was faint amusement, and through Shinji's nervousness there was something appealing. "This isn't bad."

Shinji was anxious still, perhaps made more so by what Kaworu had said. The fear that this was going to hurt him, or held a promise of difficulties in the future. And what was it, besides the verbalizing of an action, the fact that another thought of him. That they wanted something else for him. And this person was Kaworu, and not simply another Lilim. It did not make any difference, except to Kaworu. And to him, it made every difference.

He wanted to hear Shinji speak, to hear him explain again his thoughts. Words would always fail to say everything, but there was more in communication than gaining knowledge. It was the willingness to say, and the willingness to listen. That Shinji would trust, and that he would believe that Kaworu would hear him. But this desire would uncover pain, and make living difficult. It was in forgetting these wounds that life was bearable, or even enjoyable. But Shinji did not need to explain, as long as he would speak.

"Would you mind if I said I wanted more time with you?" He hoped for eye contact, but did not demand it.

"Oh. Good...." He fiddled with his fork for a moment as he listened. Kaworu still made him nervous. Everything made him nervous. This place, his friends, getting so close and yet losing so much. IT all hurt and it was all frightening. Sometimes he wanted it to end - other times he wanted it to keep going. He was messed up. Confused. Uncertain. His whole life was nothing but stumbling from one person or moment to the next.

He tried to focus on Kaworu's words. On the present. It hurt less. There wasn't as much to worry about. He chewed on his lip for a moment and finally shrugged. It was a good thing, wasn't it? Who was he to tell Kaworu that it was bad? He set his fork aside with a shrug. "I... well, that's good, isn't it? I... wouldn't mind."

Maybe he could finally stop trying to fill the hole in his life.

Kaworu listened as Shinji edged along his answer, never committing, never embracing. He shared nothing, and risked nothing. His fingers on the utensil moved without rest, trying to expel the fear and anxiety through that small movement, and yet, in it there was protection.

In order to live, one must fear, for in it was the desire to be safe and to survive. But it dominated Shinji. It occupied his heart fully, and dissuaded him from any other experiences. He would not tell Kaworu no. He would not speak to him, and explain to him, for fear of rejection, for fear of not being understood, for fear of living.

"It's easy to live by the wills of others. By ignoring your own will, you are able to remove conflict and risk. But without choice, there cannot be a self. There cannot be love." Kaworu stared unblinking, intense but soft in his observation of the Lilim. "Is there something else that you want?"

There were times (like right now, for example) when Shinji felt that Kaworu could look right through him, through all of the pain and hurt and defenses that Shinji tried to throw up and see him. See everything that made him tick. It made Shinji feel horrendously vulnerable and for a moment his fingers stopped their ceaseless, nervous moment and gripped the fork tightly, knuckles turning white. He'd been asked a direct question. He couldn't answer it- He didn't know- How could he-?

He took in a nervous breath and let it out as his gaze met Kaworu's. He flinched for a moment. The connection, the idea of staring into his eyes (or anyone's) always scared Shinji. They were the doorway to the soul, after all. The center of "self". He swallowed, tongue feeling thick and numb in his mouth. He couldn't find the right words, the neutral ones that would let him walk along the edge and stay safe.

"I... I want... I don't know..."

He clamped down on himself and his cheeks started to flush with embarrassment. "...I don't know. I just... I want... I want to stay close..."

He fumbled with his fork again, looked down, tried to ignore the nervous tremble in his own voice. "...to you. Y... you make me happy."

Under Shinji's eyes, and under his words, Kaworu felt alive, but small. He understood, but he was still left with what he thought was surprise. He could see Shinji opening, unwillingly letting down his guards, and watched as he moved closer to honesty. Kaworu could trace each moment, admire every action, but it was unexpected when he spoke. There could be no great desire in Shinji to say these words, as it could only lead him to a chance of rejection. But then, there were things that he wanted more than peace, more than security. Those were pleasant, but they could not satisfy the need to avoid loneliness. It was a struggle all Lilim must engage in, to find their happiness.

Kaworu could easily say Shinji made him happy. There had never needed to be reciprocation. Kaworu would continue, and the thought, or even the memory of Shinji if he had not chosen Kaworu's company, would bring life into perspective. His existence had gained a purpose, and even without a direction or what could be called home, Kaworu was often happy. He had discovered discomfort, doubt, pain, and fear, but he would tolerate them. He could live through them. Kaworu could not say he knew loneliness, but he knew companionship. Friendship. He knew joy, and love. It was enough to understand those, he hoped.

Another smile traveled through him, into his eyes, and through his core. His arms untangled themselves from one another, and slowly, with purpose, one hand extended across the table to Shinji. His palm was held up, inviting, requesting Shinji to take it. Kaworu did not brace himself for the change that might take place if Shinji moved, but accepted it. He could become accustomed to it for him. However, he believed he would come to miss being truly aware of the moment Shinji's hand touched his own. "That's all I want."

Shinji stared, watched as Kaworu moved. He could follow the lines, the pale skin, the way the bone and muscle flexed under the skin. He swallowed nervously, glanced aside for a moment and then back at Kaworu again. He felt fear, excitement, exposed - there were too many people surrounding them, the hum of conversation, the too many pairs of eyes that could watch them. The hovering nurses. The hubbub and din of the dining hall.

How could he ignore that? How could he say that it didn't frighten him? To admit to anything so publicly, so openly was to invite scorn, derision - even hatred. But if he didn't accept this now, then would he shut this out forever? What if this was a last chance for him to grab onto something - anything - to make himself happy for once? And what if he was wrong? What if this just led to more pain, more sorrow, betrayal again and more blood staining his hands?

COuld he take a chance like that? Shinji didn't know. He hunched for a moment, huddled, teetering in indecision, torn between making a choice and falling back into his own comfortable, familiar apathy. He took a deep breath and stared at the outstretched hand again, could feel himself tremble (fear? excitement? something else entirely?).

With what seemed to him to be agonizing slowness he lifted his hand, tried to control the trembling as he bit down on his lip and reached out. He couldn't turn back after this, even if he wanted to (or at least that thought crossed his mind). Was he really going to risk his own being? His self?

The questions fled into the back of his mind, but continued to linger, nagging, eroding away at his self-confidence as his fingers finally brushed over Kaworu's. Skin against skin. Warmth. The feel of bony, slender fingers. He felt himself flush and he looked away nervously, self-conscious again.

Everyone was staring at them, he was sure of it.

The waiting was a silence that was heavy with possibility, but every event, every reaction that could have been was overshadowed by the sound of Shinji when their skin connected. He felt the eyes on them, overwhelming and passing judgment on him. The others. Everyone. They graded his actions and his worth from their lofty position outside of his life where they couldn't be hurt.

He had left safety behind, and he missed it. He longed for it. A part of him still wished to pull away and return to what he knew. At least that way, nothing could get worse. There was pain, but it was dulling. Maybe that was what propelled him forward. Pain that was enough to make him desire something better, but not enough to keep him still, to make him hide so no one noticed him. The fear dragged at the edges of his mind, even when he reached out. Even when he moved forward it tried to pull him back. He couldn't look at him, at...

Shinji. He was looking at Shinji. Kaworu blinked once, twice, as things came back into focus. His hand moved, and tightened delicately around Shinji's fingers. It soothed what remained of the residual fear, and Kaworu knew he would not panic. There was only calm. In the wake of Shinji, it was almost numbness, familiar but evasive.

For something so frail, Shinji felt solid in Kaworu's hand. There was nothing in his bones to suggest that he could be so easily undone, but the fragility was deeper in Shinji. It threatened to take him, to convince him that no comfort was worth this risk. And still, he was there. He remained with Kaworu. He did not simply receive this affection, but had accepted it. Shinji could not abandon his fear, Kaworu knew, but he was here despite it. Because of Kaworu? For Kaworu?

"They worry you," Kaworu murmured. He looked to the people around them, as if noticing them for the first time. Shinji had made him aware that they may be watched, but he had no opinion on it himself. However, he wished that they wouldn't see if it would strain Shinji. "The only bearing they have on your life is that which you allow them. Their importance is measured in your own opinion of them. They will possess their own beliefs, but those thoughts are real only to the one that possesses them."

Shinji looked up at Kaworu in a swift, jerking movement, eyes wide in fear and anxiety again. How did he know? How did Kaworu always know? Once again he was struck by how Kaworu seemed able to strip away everything and lay bare his inner feelings, his true self. It disturbed him. And in sense, it was reassuring. He didn't have to try to hide from Kaworu, as scared as the prospect made him. He could try, of course. He could always try. His reply was quiet, embarrassed, closed off.

"...y-yeah, they do. What if they're looking at us? What if-?"

He clamped down on himself, suddenly ashamed. He should be happy, if not for himself for Kaworu (and in a way he was; he felt relieved that the moment of indecision was gone - but now there was a new fear to replace it). Still. There was some relief. Some calm. Some sense of security. He squeezed Kaworu's hand tightly, feeling the solid warmth. It was reassuring. It was real.

"...I know. I know, Kaworu. B-but I can't just stop...!"

He hunched his shoulders and hoped the nurse wouldn't swoop over to break them apart.

Kaworu moved his fingers, enough to reignite the nerves that described to him the feel of Shinji's hand in his. Slowly, he returned the pressure Shinji placed upon his until they were both holding on tightly to that which anchored them. It was not the moment, or the place, or the circumstances that brought them together. It was the gesture, and then the response. Countless thoughts and decisions had created it, and it could have been denied by an uncontrollable element. If a stranger had caught Shinji's eye, and made the thought of being watched insurmountable. If Kaworu had determined that it was not worthwhile to face a loss of self. If Shinji had not risked to sit with him. If they had not seen one another. If Shinji would not forgive him.

But now, it could not be taken away. Even if they were separated, it had taken place. It was theirs. Kaworu's hold strengthened.

"I won't ask you to." Kaworu smiled, and hoped to quiet the rising anxiety he heard in Shinji's voice. Still, Shinji had drawn in closer, and not pulled away. "It is in your nature to care about the thoughts of others. Although it causes you pain, it also means that you are kind."

Kaworu's words, Kaworu's glance - it seemed to soothe Shinji. For a few moments, his fear and anxiety died down to a more manageable level. He - dared he even think it? - was happy. In one sense of the word. He put in a weak smile despite the undercurrent of fear, of troubled thoughts, of ideas that gnawed at his core, his inner self-worth. He let his shoulders slump and scooted forward in his chair - these words were for the two of them. Away from prying eyes and listening ears.

"I... thank you. I... I try... I mean... I don't know."

He finished lamely and shrugged, but his grip tightened ever-so-slightly. He would stay here. At least for now.

Kaworu moved his fingers, sliding the tips across Shinji's skin. His thumb caught a knuckle, which suggested a bone that connected through the rest of Shinji. Through his arm, into his chest, down his spine. This hand that had once killed him, but now showed him affection. He lived with Shinji, and lived for him, despite the other's insistence that he should live for something else. Himself. Kaworu had promised that he would survive, and that he would try, and that he would find more in life. However, this was enough to live for.

Shinji moved towards him again. Kaworu lamented the table between them, but didn't want to disconnect from Shinji. He would break away to only come closer, but reclaiming the touch would invite in that rush of emotions and fear. But still the strongest reason to stay unmoving was to not cause Shinji that pang of anxiety when Kaworu drew away of his own accord.

And so instead he focused solely on that point where they were one. It was enough.

"You're kind to me," Kaworu spoke, looking steadily into Shinji's eyes.

Shinji felt Kaworu's fingers move, tightening, sliding over bone and skin and muscle. It felt odd, different, strange to hold the hand of the boy he remembered killing almost a week ago. Or was it less? He couldn't remember. Nightmare visions of blood, blood that didn't wash out. Friends lost. Someone he'd trusted gone forever, the first one to say that they'd lodved him.

And yet here they were, in this strange place, sitting and talking, almost acting like it had never happened. He knew better, of course. He knew that he'd killed Kaworu. Maybe he could let the guilt go, now. Maybe he could try and live. Maybe things would be OK, just for once. Just once.

He blushed and dropped his gaze. "I... I..."

He couldn't think of the right words. "...I... I care about you."

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DAY 52: BREAKFAST

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