bakerstreet | picture prompt meme.

( ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR. )

Shinji-kun.

[Here, at last: a warm hand crossing over to a thin wrist. The gentle pressure of folding-in fingers, too. There's a hint of wind in the air, and it's scented with salt that becomes a flavor for an open mouth.]

If you don't open your eyes, [says Kaworu, smiling, tasting the salt,] then how are you going to see anything?

[The sand. The water. The waves on the water. (The loneliness.) The horizon at the edge of the ocean is the sort with a sun that's bleeding profusely, staining the waves until they're red. (The crushing reality that they are alone.) It's the red of broken veins, and of Kaworu's unbroken eyes, which are neither too wide nor too narrow. He looks at Shinji evenly, even though he's by no means an equal. Angels and Lilin cannot coexist, after all.]

Isn't that better?

[This reunion may or may not be real. That's for Shinji to decide, not Kaworu. He isn't looking around at the state of the world because he's only interested in looking at Shinji. At the end of everything, he only has eyes for his Ikari Shinji-kun. Nothing more, nothing less.]

Edited 2015-09-23 18:34 (UTC)

[ It's not the sight he's afraid of.

It's not the cavalcade of sandy dunes like a formal profession of sediment enshrining his feet the further he walks out along the embankment, either. The heavier stench of salt percolates in tandem with oxygen, sulfurous and fairly stinging, abrasive in the air. Shinji can't make himself look, because opening his eyes means acknowledging Kaworu — insensibly bright, no longer dead by volition — is holding neat and precise at his wrist with the consistency of eggshells, attenuating and fragile. Kaworu treats him as if he's composed of thin panes of glass, liable to shatter at the barest provocation; this close, even Shinji's thoughts lack opaqueness, running the same insufferable mental circuit ad infinitum. Neither his father or Misato or Asuka are there to acquiesce something (anything) from him now.

His breathing leaks out in a messy blur, scribbled and thin, when he lowers his gaze it siphons off the full extent of the sea and the tide of blood, the sun painting their shadows into the dunes in stark, blocky shapes. ]

This can't be happening.

[ Obdurately, he shakes his head and averts his eyes, unwilling to examine the person (stranger, friend, enemy) at length. At his side, his fingers are spasmodically, shivering and unwound, while the rest of him attempts to hold in the full-body tremors.

As far as any ubiquitous fall from grace went, Kaworu was still as kind as ever after the descent as he was upon their first encounter.

Unbearably so. ]

Kaworu-kun, I ... I don't understand. You're really ...

[ ... gone. ]

[Kaworu takes the time to peer at Shinji's face, relearning his every beloved feature, whether it's rendered in glass or in flesh. Above and beyond all else, he thinks, this moment in time must be a gift. He couldn't have asked for a more wonderful gift than this one. And yet here it has been delivered to him, part and parcel; he doesn't know how he can ever repay Shinji for it.

His hand lingers on Shinji's wrist to ensure that they're somehow connected. The land could peel away and the skies could burn, but they will not be relinquishing this connection. Not even death can corrupt this connection. One day, one way or another, he expects to return to Shinji for good.

He offers, by way of explanation,] The imagination of Lilin is capable of so many things. Great and terrible things. How it is applied depends on the mind in question. [He squeezes Shinji's wrist again. That means you, Shinji-kun. For now, there's no doubting that Kaworu is corporeal, even if he might not be here. His kindness has its own tangible force, like electromagnetism, like the A.T. Field, and it hasn't dwindled at all. It's a constant. His love for Shinji is a constant, too.]

Do you need to sit down?

[ His spine stiffens. It was insurmountable, the ceaseless horror that continues to reanimate in his fingers: the faces of his classmates like a cavalcade, a flashflood profession of people he couldn't recall with clarity, all swimming through his mind. Terror gone corrosive by virtue of sheer incomprehension. Instrumentality couldn't have started, even when the heart of the matter was that he'd been charged with exacting it, even from the very beginning. It hadn't been a falsehood, then — Ayanami under the weight of spilling oceans rendered like blood at low tide, choking and insufferable.

Staring heavily at the endless sea scrabbling along the shore now, it holds the same likeness, as if he could extricate himself from Kaworu and go down to some leaden depths without so much as a sound to mark his passing. It's the kind of volatility that holds self-ruination in gleaming fistfuls.

It's too quiet. It's too quiet, and Kaworu is speaking too kindly, his eardrums ringing like they'd been chimed. Even as it softens, his expression goes sallow, a wan pallor cast over his skin, and he glances back at him at last, his voice mangled into something uneven. ]

None of this is real?

[ And quieter still, as if he's drawn to cause his own misery, each and every time: ]

What did I do?

If it's affecting you, Shinji-kun, then I would say it's very real. [Just because a dream can't be cupped in two hands doesn't mean the dream didn't happen... Kaworu has his doubts that Shinji wants to listen to some philosopher's take on it. Honestly, Lilin is overly concerned with what is or isn't in front of it. What Lilin does have is what Lilin should focus on until it has gone away and not a moment sooner. It's the sort of approach to the world that works best for Kaworu, at least.

Shinji doesn't seem interested in sitting down. That's all right. Standing up for himself got a little questionable by the end, so Kaworu is content to let him keep standing. Kaworu's own legs aren't suffering any weariness at all. They're no longer splintered and bursting in every direction. His heart, too, is made whole again. In spite of a sad face, the heart can be joyful.]

You've acted according to your own will... [An unscented breeze, originating from beyond the water, rushes over the two of them. Kaworu's hair tumbles into his eyes, then back out again, hardly mattering.] Does that surprise you? [he asks, tilting his head with quiet curiosity.] All along you were capable of making your own choices and living with the consequences of them. Your call for individuality hasn't gone unheard.

[ he's never found satisfaction in the intangible, but absolutes. it's a double standard that exists within himself, dwelling and incomprehensible. kaworu's like a washed-out dream, all pale, clean lines save for the looming brightness of his eyes, red with gouging severity. he's stricken with the desire to retreat, to suddenly flee, but there are only sand dunes and shores each way, no city of corrugated steel and wrought metal to return to.

he sinks further into the sand, wracking his mind with muted disconcertion, as if he was on the precipice of suffering a nervous breakdown, about to be eaten whole by his greater misgivings. ]

But ... this isn't right. Where's everyone else? Why is it only you and me here, Kaworu-kun?

[ kaworu was good. he'd been good to him, so nice he could've cried — and he had long afterwards, eyes prickling wet, blurring over in light-dimmed tears, staring out at the sunset with misato by his side. but his compassion is something strange; after the devastation he'd wrought on the world, he still spoke so kindly.

hands folded in clammy fists, he shakes his head, the spill of the sun's illumination over his face visible with wracking despair. he shuts down, the spill of air causing him to shudder into himself, and down, down — a soft collapse of limbs, like he'd attempted to take another step and instead fell from an incomprehensible height.

the sand burns beneath his flattened palms. ]

I shouldn't ... I shouldn't have come back. Not like this.

[Kaworu has to wonder what it is Ikari Shinji-kun is expecting to hear from him. There isn't an answer to that question that's pleasant--only unsatisfying, rather fraught, perhaps seeded with hope in places. The sea of LCL has the same magnificent potential for life as it did at the dawn of unicellular organisms. Frustratingly, Kaworu doesn't know enough of those details, what with Life having a poor grasp on Knowledge's natural sciences. He would just say this isn't the end so much as it is another beginning...

But saying that isn't going to offer succor to Shinji. Acknowledging his limits, Kaworu takes the time to sit down beside Shinji, the motion much more fluid, more controlled. He doesn't mind the heat of the sun permeating over the sand. The sun, the stars--constellations, galaxies, and planets--they exist regardless of what's happening here. They will continue to exist. It's with some exasperation that Kaworu thinks of Ikari Yui's intentions and what she has done to her own flesh and blood. (But what have you done to yours, Adam?)]

I wanted to see you again, [he says quietly.] You wanted to see me, too, didn't you? [He turns to Shinji, then, reinforcing his smile. The desire to be together is something he's absolutely sure of. He can take refuge in that much.] By the power of your will, you've allowed us to see each other once more. I don't know what I can do to thank you for this gift...

[He reaches over and gently, tenderly, covers Shinji's hand with his own. Compared to the sand, Kaworu's flesh has the morbidly low temperature of a ghost.]

But I can stay with you for a while. As long as you need. And then...

I did want to see you.

[ he doesn't elaborate beyond that, expression downcast, suffused with unbalanced strain, thrown out of equilibrium by virtue of being always off-center, never stable enough to his weaknesses in stride.

it's always like this: an itching sickness to his voice and his hands that he's half-inclined to wrench away on the slightest provocation until the rest of him settles. his knuckles continue to bunch up, loosening and unloosening, squeezing around nothing but air, nothing but the worst of his consternation. he's always been the coward.

spatial decay. kaworu doesn't even feel entirely real.

shinji doesn't give voice to either admission.

drawing into himself, shinji keeps his inflection monotone, schooling his expression back into a deceptive blankness, even though he's certain — entirely certain — that kaworu is peering into the depths of him, just as he always does, shedding misgivings and reservations until all shinji has is himself. as he is. as he wants to be.

it's singularly awful. ]

... And then?

[Kaworu wants Lilin to inherit the future. Obviously. But what he really wants is for Shinji to want him, to need him, to crave him... which is just impossible. Angels and Lilin cannot coexist. Only at the literal end of the world do they have a chance of sitting together without anyone to judge them.]

That makes me happy.

[However, this isn't the happiness that Shinji desired. Not even close. Kaworu isn't sure when he's going to disappear from this world, but he always does, without fail, to reawaken elsewhere. The path he follows is not one he understands, but it's one that has been carved specifically for him. The space-time continuum favors Ikari Shinji to a mystical degree. Kaworu can't escape him. Kaworu doesn't want to escape him.

Kaworu's fingers curl inward, firm and corpse-cool. Too much, he thinks, would be a burden for Shinji to hear for himself. Even something special like "I love you" doesn't benefit Shinji in the way that it should. Kaworu wonders how long either of them will be able to keep doing this.]

And then... I'll go, [he says, tempering cruelty with a smile.] If you no longer have need of me, then there's no reason for me to stay with you.

Edited 2015-11-28 07:46 (UTC)

[ More and more often, he's finding that he keeps contradicting himself, speaking dispassionately with a resolve that he doesn't emulate at all. Hypocrisy after hypocrisy. It's one thing to belie intent, but it's another to demonstrate it, and they've run into a standstill.

Like this, they stand at a direct parallel, works evoked with instigation heavy around the edges, presumption a greater covenant than the truth itself. When reality becomes too heavy to manage, he's the first to run, splitting hairs between prognostication and faith. It doesn't make sense for Kaworu to fixate on him, either, but his life up to this point has never made much sense in the long run: self-hatred like karmic retribution, forgiveness as profane as any vice.

It'd be easier to flee this time, too, whether or not the scene is predestined to loop again. Maybe in some other iteration, he's braver, has the mental fortitude to answer Misato when she's screaming wordlessly into his eardrum, when he doesn't succumb to anger with Asuka so easily, a world where neither Rei nor Kaworu dies.

But Shinji's only ever been himself. That's always been self-evident. ]

I don't want you to go.

[ His voice splits, vibrating like a wire shot through with electric volts, shock after shock. ]

I know what I said, but ... if I asked, would you stay with me? Through everything? No matter what I did?

[ The silence blisters between them like an open wound. ]

I'm so tired, Kaworu-kun. I can't remember the last time I didn't have to do anything else.

picture prompt meme.

Kaworu Nagisa | Neon Genesis Evangelion (anime)

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let me know if you want something different.

it's perfect! ♥

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i'm sorry for losing track of this!

nbd!! feel free to pick up/drop this thread at your leisure